by Chris Fox
The engineering chief was ready to hit the button as soon as the dragon latched on. He wasn’t ready for the rapid deceleration. Within meters, they went from accelerating toward the moon to a full stop. The crew were violently jammed against their restraints. Loose objects flew around the ship, slamming against bulkheads, workstations, and people.
The chief fought against the nausea. He jammed a finger on the button and nothing happened. The diagnostic display showed that a cable had come loose.
“Go tighten that down!” the chief yelled at his protégé.
“What’s going on down there, Chief?” the captain demanded. “Mike! Can you distract that thing?”
Coraolis nodded again.
“Mike!” the captain yelled over the intercom.
“Working it now,” Coraolis stammered.
He pulled from Fleeston as he conjured his own dragon. He gritted his teeth as his body, partially out of the astral plane, replicated his mental efforts. He bucked in his seat as the dragon shook the small boat.
“Quicker, jackhole!” the chief yelled over the intercom. No one was sure who he was yelling at.
Mike didn’t have time or energy to reply. The dragon took shape. The M1C poured more energy into it, increasing its size and power. He made it scream at the real-world dragon.
The dragon holding the ship replied, bugling its own challenge into the vacuum silence of space. It rent the fabric between the two dimensions and shoved its head through.
Coraolis attacked! His dragon pounced, raking its claws down the head peeking through the window it had created. Mike made his dragon bite the other, but a front claw appeared to slap the astral plane dragon’s head away.
“Now, Chief!” Coraolis managed to say. The boat bounced as if floating free in an asteroid field.
“Thrusters!” the chief ordered.
“At your command,” helm replied.
“Toros-1 and -4 are on course. No other creatures on screen,” systems reported.
“Ready!” someone called from within engineering.
“Hold the dragon steady,” the chief shouted. “Two more seconds.”
Coraolis was losing. The real-world dragon was orders of magnitude more powerful. The M1C struggled to pull his dragon back, draw the other further into the plane. He was losing strength, both astral and physical.
The boat bounced off the dragon’s back leg as the chief worked toward the metal underbelly. The clang of contact told him that he was there.
The chief mashed his finger against the button at the instant of the second clang.
In a violent spasm, the dragon kicked the boat away. In the astral plane, the dragon’s scales disappeared. The creature shrank in size.
Mike lunged forward, slamming against his restraints as he mirrored his dragon’s movement. With one great bite, his dragon took the head from the defender, spitting it into the mist. The window between the dimensions snapped shut.
“Holy crap!” the captain called. “Get us out of here.”
Without delay, the ship skewed sideways as it reoriented away from the moon. It accelerated at three gees.
“One gee, please,” the captain ordered after a twenty second burn. His eyes remained fixed on the headless dragon floating above the fourth moon.
“Tell me that you two knuckleheads got our data,” the captain said into his ship-to-ship system.
“Someone has to clean up your mess. Yeah, we both got it. Initial indications look like an advanced civilization used to be down there, but it is long dead. It’s an archaeological site, now, but there were some exotic metals within a breathable atmosphere. I can see why they built there. We’ll let the head shed figure out who takes priority and what happens next. On our way back to the Toros mothership.”
Fleeston freed her hands from Coraolis’s grip. He slowly opened his eyes.
She took the bottle first and drank deeply before handing it to him. He drained the rest and refilled it before handing it back to the M3C.
Coraolis flexed his fingers, smiling. “Well, that was interesting.”
Fleeston flexed her neck, rotating her head back and forth to loosen her muscles. “I see so much more,” she said. She unbuckled and let the seat flip back up against the bulkhead. Fleeston pursed her lips as she added, “Thank you.”
Coraolis freed himself from his seat and staggered into the corridor after his acolyte. He stopped beside her as she looked at the gear that needed to be returned to the commune chamber, turning it back into a storage locker.
“Maybe later?” she asked. The M1C laughed softly.
“Yes, later.” They turned to walk away when the engineering hatch opened and the chief popped out. He made a beeline for the mystics.
Coraolis stood his ground, but Fleeston sighed and leaned back against the bulkhead. She closed her eyes and shook her head.
“Dragon. You did your thing. I did my thing. Then, dragon with no head. I had nothing to do with that part. That dragon was real. Maybe my electrical surge blew its head off. Maybe you did something.” The chief’s mouth worked trying to find the right words.
He gave up and offered his hand. “Chess at dinner?” the chief asked.
“I look forward to it,” the M1C replied.
“Thanks, Mike. You’re a good man.” The chief looked uncomfortable as he stood there for a couple more seconds before nodding toward the M3C and returning to engineering.
Fleeston opened her eyes and looked at Coraolis.
“But your name isn’t Mike.”
“There are worse things to be called, Mack,” Coraolis conceded.
If you’d like to read more by Craig Martelle, visit his website at www.craigmartelle.com. You’ll see available books and be able to join his newsletter (please join his newsletter! He lives for sending out his news and events updates – where else will you get reports from the Sub-Arctic?) Craig lives twenty miles north of North Pole, Alaska outside of sunny Fox, AK.
The Navigator
Trevor Gregg
1
Assignment
“Dr. Christopher Fox?” the attendant said, announcing it as if there were more waiting in the antechamber than just himself.
Rising, he ran a hand through his almost black hair. He wished he’d had time for a haircut. He felt shaggy and unkempt. Stepping forward, he turned to face his reflection in the viewport window and attempted to smooth the creases out of his nicest shirt. His eyes changed focus and he stared at the starry space beyond, still in awe of living in space on the orbiting station, even after many years.
And now he was going to have his first field assignment. After eight years of toil he was finally ready to apply his knowledge. It’s not like studying at the academy was bad or anything. It was just boring. He wanted adventure, excitement, and the thrill of making new discoveries. This was almost certainly his only chance.
The attendant stood aside, allowing him to enter. He strode into the chamber, standing tall and trying to portray confidence he didn’t feel. He was surprised by its sparse furnishings. He had expected the council chambers to be opulent and grand. This was infinitely more intimidating.
Seated behind a long wooden desk were the seven council members. Sitting across from them in a row of uncomfortable looking chairs was Dr. Phillips. She looked just as uncomfortable as the chair she was sitting in. He could see the look of disappointment on her face as she turned toward him.
“Please be seated, Dr. Fox, we’ll be with you in a moment,” Dr. Gron Shockly, the council chair, said to him.
Dr. Shockly was an intimidating, weathered man with a deep set scowl and stern jaw. Dr. Fox sat as he resumed speaking.
“As we said, Dr. Phillips, we are not willing to risk the reputation of our organization on your speculation.”
“But it’s not speculation. I’ve got evidence, honest-to-goodness evidence. There is a lost alien civilization out there,” Dr. Phillips responded, conviction coloring her voice.
“You have some symb
ols you claim make up a star chart. But how could primitive cultures have had star charts?”
“They’re not primitive. It’s a ruse, I believe. The cities hide a secret, I’m sure of it. The symbols I’ve decoded support my theory. You can read my papers on the topic, then you’ll understand.”
“We’ve read them,” round-faced, dark skinned Dr. Osaka Osain said from the end of the table. “And we were not swayed. Your theories are indeed interesting, but lack substantive proof.”
Dr. Fox knew Dr. Osain as pragmatic and steadfast, a strong proponent of fieldwork. Yet here he seemed to be agreeing with the chairman. In fact, all the counselors’ faces seemed to mirror the sentiment of complete indifference. He was surprised. Dr. Phillips had a sterling reputation. He’d followed her career closely, even written his thesis on her discovery of the ancient Valteran people. Maybe her latest theories were crackpot, if the entire council was this skeptical.
“Whether you think my research is worthwhile or not, don’t you think I’ve earned the latitude to pursue it? My research has benefited the Bureau of Cultural Reclamation greatly. You can’t deny the magnitude of the discovery it would be if my theories are correct. And if not, the BCR gains one more ancient culture’s remains to notch its belt.”
Dr. Fox watched as the counselors’ faces darkened, obviously prickling at her heated remarks.
“If I fail, I’ll step down. How’s that, enough for you people?” Dr. Phillips continued hotly.
“Indeed, I look forward to it,” the chairman replied, vitriol in his voice.
“So you’ll approve my expedition?”
The chairman snorted. “Your expedition? We’re not awarding the funding you’ve requested, that’s madness. We are graciously, and I do mean graciously, appointing a research assistant to you. Be thankful, or I may rescind even that.”
“Welcome Dr. Fox, thank you for volunteering for fieldwork. You are being assigned to Dr. Phillips for the duration of her expedition. Your stipend will be sixteen-hundred credits per month until your return,” Dr. Osain interjected.
Dr. Phillips turned, an anxious look on her face. Her eyes landed on him and he saw the same disappointment he’d seen earlier.
“A greenhorn researcher? You give me a bookworm?” she said angrily.
“Remember, we were gracious. We could just as easily not be,” the chairman responded. “You’re a resourceful woman. I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it work.”
Rising slowly, she said through gritted teeth, “Thanks for your help.”
She turned and strode from the hall, motioning for Dr. Fox to follow. He fell in line behind her, struggling to keep up with her brisk pace.
She wasn’t a young woman, but not old by any means of the word. He guessed she was forty, maybe forty five, but he wouldn’t dare ask her. Besides, his young twenty-six made him feel like a kid next to her.
“Dr. Phillips, I’m Dr. Christopher Fox. I’m so excited to be working with you, I wrote my thesis on your discovery of the Valteran civilization. I’ve read your papers, I think you’re…” he was interrupted with a raised hand.
“You’ve got two hours. The shuttle from bay A-two-seventy-nine will be your ride to my ship. Don’t be late. Oh, and don’t call me Dr. Phillips, call me Reese,” she said, turning down a corridor and striding away.
He watched her as she walked away. It didn’t matter that he thought she was good looking. It didn’t matter that she had golden hair that was always tied neatly in a pony tail. Her looks were irrelevant, he was awed by her mind. He had read all of her papers, seen all of her holovids. Her research had taken her all over the galaxy. She was brilliant, confident, and worldly.
Simply put, she was his idol. And he was working for her. Now he just had to figure out how to tell his mother he wouldn’t be there for dinner.
2
Bubbala
Dr. Fox’s communicator buzzed as it waited for the other party to answer. The quantum entanglement transmitter, or QET, was a marvel of ages long past. Due to the instantaneous nature of quantum entanglement, communication was two-way and real-time. The devices were left over from the war. The Millennium Wars had raged for a thousand years, leaving much of the galaxy in ruins. At last the barbaric Crevak Tribes had been driven back by the Consortium of civilized races.
Most of the infrastructure to build such high technology had been lost during the war, the knowledge long forgotten over the thousand years the wars had raged. The technology was still present, though. Much had remained in use, and yet more was scavenged by relic hunters, or scavs as they were also called. Dr. Fox had seen more than one academic paper with relic hunter co-authors.
His mother had been distraught at him leaving for the academy even though he was only going one planet away, so he had purchased the pair of communicators in hopes of making her feel better. It had been nice while he was away. Then she retired and followed him from their home planet of Hentaru, moving to the space station orbiting the planet Melanor, where the academy was located. Now he couldn’t get rid of the damn thing, even though her proximity meant they really didn’t need them.
After several seconds of ringing, a hologram bloomed to life in the air in front of him, his mother’s face lit by a broad smile. Her hair bounced, the same almost black hair, cut into a bob that hadn’t changed in two decades.
“Oh, bubbala, I didn’t think I’d hear from you until dinner this evening,” she said enthusiastically. “I’m so happy to see you.”
“Um, well…” he began.
“You’re not coming for dinner, are you,” she said, looking dejected. Brightening, she asked, “Is it a girl? Do you have a date?”
“No mother, no I don’t. I have an assignment, a field assignment.”
“What does that mean, bubbala?” she said, sounding slightly confused
“It means I get to work for the most illustrious researcher in my field, Dr. Phillips.”
“How’s he to work for, this Dr. Phillips?” she interrupted.
“She’s fine, I think. I haven’t worked with her before.”
“Ooh a woman, eh? What’s her family like?” his mother replied eagerly.
“Mother! It’s a professional relationship and is going to stay so.”
“Okay, you know I’m just concerned, I want you to find a good woman from a nice family.”
“Mother, can we get back on topic, please?”
“Of course, dear, where are you going?”
“We are going to Serath, an alien world on the outskirts of the galaxy in the outer arm, to study a lost civilization. I’ll be gone for some time, how long I don’t know,” he explained.
“But you’ll come for dinner tonight, before you go, right?” she said desperately.
“Sorry mother, I have to leave now. This is big for me, for my career. I’ll call you later, okay?” he finished, feeling guilty.
“Okay. I’m not happy about it, but okay. Love you bubbala, be safe,” she said.
“I will,” he promised.
“Okay, let me kiss your forehead.”
“Mother, it’s a video,” he replied, embarrassed.
“Bubbala, it’s for luck.”
“Mother, please.”
“Christopher,” she said severely.
“Fine,” he said, leaning towards the holoscreen.
His mother’s lips puckered and kissed the air in front of him.
“Love you Bubbala,” she said, her image disappearing.
He groaned inwardly and continued packing. He wasn’t sure what he was going to need, so he brought everything he could carry, resulting in a substantial pile of luggage. He only had a few minutes left before he had to leave for the shuttle that would deliver him to Dr. Phillips’ ship, the Falcon. No time to repack, he would just have to bring it all.
Loading up, he stacked the bags on a rolling cart and slung a pack over his shoulder. The autocab took him to the shuttle station and he was directed to bay A-two-seventy-nine. The shuttle pilot
took his many bags, giving him a skeptical look, as if questioning his manhood.
Climbing into the seat, he secured his flight harness and tried to look casual, as if he weren’t, as Reese had called him, a greenhorn. The shuttle pilot glanced at him and chuckled.
“Relax kid, the flight’s not bad, I won’t push the g’s too far.”
Dr. Fox knew he was in for wild ride, based on the pilot’s tone. And it was. He nearly blacked out from the g’s, and probably would have wet himself had he not used the facilities prior to departure. The pilot laughed when he sent the craft into a wild spin, the high rate of revolutions making his head spin. Equilibrium failing, it sent him into vertigo. He would have flown out of his seat had he not been restrained.
Thirty minutes later they reached Reese’s ship, the Falcon. She was long and sleek with broad wings at the aft. Her gray skin appeared almost slick like a shark’s. He was slammed against his harness as the pilot applied reverse thrust. Ow, that was gonna leave bruises.
The shuttle docked with the Falcon with a clunk. Detaching from his harness, he began to float free. Following the pilot to the airlock, he pulled himself along strategically positioned handholds. He sailed through into the other ship and immediately hit the floor.
“Ow,” he said, wincing painfully as he picked himself up.
“Yeah, you’ve gotta watch the transition between zero-g and the artificial gravity generated by the deck plate g-panels,” the pilot warned sarcastically, delivering the last of his bags into the Falcon’s airlock.
“Thanks for getting my ba…” whoosh! The shuttle’s airlock door shut in his face.
He turned as the Falcon’s airlock began to open. Standing just inside, waiting to greet him, were several people. Dr. Phillips appeared confident as ever. Next to her stood a tall, ebony skinned woman with tight-cropped kinky black hair. She wore an army green jacket with “K. Hubbell” on the name tag. Her face bore a stern look and strapped to her waist was an intimidating looking firearm.
