Oblivion Flight

by J. R. Mabry

  “I assume you don’t mean those I’m carrying within my body?” Emma clarified.

  The man jerked a bit, disturbed at having been interrupted in the middle of his recitation. “Er…that would be correct.”

  “Good thing I’m not accustomed to carrying around internal organs in a bag,” Emma said.

  “We get the idea, sergeant. Can you just let us in, now?” Jeff asked, trying not to sound too testy, but failing.

  “Sure.” The desk sergeant tapped on his console and a loud “clack” sound emitted from a large metal door on the far side of the room. Jeff strode toward it, noting that it looked more like an airlock than a door. As he approached he saw a red light on the keypad switch to green as it caught the handshake from his neural. It flashed green again as Emma came within range.

  “I’d rather walk beside you than behind you,” Emma said, not sounding too annoyed.

  “Sorry,” Jeff said. “I’m…” he paused to consider what he was actually feeling. The jumble of emotions was hard to sort out in the moment.

  “Anxious? Harried?” Emma offered. “I get it, Jeff. Just…let me be part of it.”

  He nodded and they passed through the large metal door together.

  The hallway on the other side was claustrophobically narrow and gleaming white—a bit too bright for Jeff’s eyes. He squinted as they walked. “Why so bright?” he asked.

  “You tell me. You’re the military expert.”

  At the end of the hall was another airlock-style door.

  “Are they actually holding them off-station?” Emma asked.

  “It’s a detention pod. Only one way in or out. It’s a maximum security tactic,” Jeff explained.

  “How big is the pod?”

  Jeff shrugged. “Could be five cells and a common space, could be a hundred. Hard to say.”

  “Remind me never to sneak another piece of pie again.”

  The airlock door opened—it was smaller at this side, so Jeff stepped back and waved Emma in.

  Once inside the vestibule, they waited until the inner door read their neural clearances and activated. It swung open and Emma exited first. Stepping over the raised threshold, Jeff looked around. It was still glaringly bright. Probably so no one can hide, he thought, but he didn’t remember their own holding cells being like that. You have to account for minor differences here, he reminded himself.

  Inside, an armored and armed guard held a hand up as he read their neural clearances. Apparently satisfied, he nodded wordlessly and waved them to the left. They entered a large common area. Jeff noted white poly tables and chairs, a large view screen set to display a calm forest waterfall. The sound of the waterfall filled the air with white noise. Jeff felt himself relax. Well, that works, he thought.

  The guard waved them over to another door. He tapped some commands into the pad beside it, and it swung open. Again, it was airlock-style. “It’s a double-hatch system,” the guard explained. “When this door latches, the next one will open.”

  Jeff nodded and he and Emma stepped through. He fought back a moment of panic as he considered the possibility that the guards would not allow them back out. That’s not how they do things, he reminded himself. Once he heard the lock latch, the door in front of them emitted a series of complicated sounding clacks. Eventually, with the sound of hissing air, it swung inward. Jeff met Emma’s eyes, wondering if she was having the same thoughts. The fear in her eyes told him all he needed to know. “There’s no going back now,” he said, waving her in.

  She stepped over the airlock threshold, and he did the same. Inside, Nira and Pho were poised to act—although what those actions might be, Jeff couldn’t say. Were they ready to attack or run for the back of the pod?

  Nira and Pho relaxed when they saw who it was. Nira rushed up and hugged Jeff—a serious breach of protocol, but he didn’t reprimand her. “I was afraid they’d capture you, too,” she said.

  “They didn’t capture us…at least, I don’t think we’re under arrest,” Jeff said as she pulled away from him. “We just came to see you.”

  “You mean they’ll let you two back out?” Pho asked.

  “I hope so.” Jeff said.

  “I hope so, too,” Pho confessed, but his face was stricken.

  Jeff looked around. The blinding light was gone, replaced by a cool blue glow—no doubt engineered to inspire calm. The pod was about fifteen feet square—roomy enough, even for two. Bunkbeds took up one side of the room, with a table and chairs on the other. Exercise equipment was set into one wall, a treadmill stood erect against it, ready to be pulled down for use. The door to a toilet facility was just past the table. It was tidy, if a little dim. Maybe my eyes will adjust, he thought.

  He sat down on the bottom bunk. “What did you two do?”

  Nira and Pho glanced at each other and blinked. “What do you mean?” Nira asked. “We didn’t do anything.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “We don’t know. They kept calling us ‘rebel spies,’ and—” Pho’s voice became hard—“they spit on us.”

  “They…spit on you?”

  He nodded. That can’t happen, Jeff thought. Not in my universe anyway. He didn’t need to remind himself that he wasn’t in his universe.

  “Did they hit you?” Jeff asked.

  “No,” Nira said. “They just…there was a lot of rough language. It…it was like being in high school again.”

  “That is not the conduct of professional soldiers,” Jeff pronounced. No one disagreed with him, but it was hardly a revelation.

  “Are you well treated now?” Jeff asked.

  “They leave us alone. We’re comfortable here. The food is decent—at least lunch was.”

  “And the other inmates?” Jeff asked, pointing to the door leading to the common space outside.

  “There are no other inmates,” Pho said. “I mean, we didn’t see any at lunch.”

  Jeff cocked his head. This is a big facility. Why… But he couldn’t fathom it. Still, there were two other brig facilities. Perhaps this one was just used for suspected rebels.

  “When did this happen?” Jeff asked. “I mean, when did they arrest you?” And why didn’t they contact me as your commanding officer? he wondered, but didn’t say it.

  “About 10 hundred hours,” Nira said. “Security just knocked on my door and told me to come with them.”

  “Same here,” Pho agreed.

  “Why you and not Wall?” Jeff wondered aloud.

  “They didn’t get Wall?” Pho asked. “And they didn’t get you. I figured you were all being held in a different pod.”

  “No. We haven’t been arrested…yet.” Jeff wracked his brain to understand what sort of charge they might be bringing. But this was not his universe. There was simply too much he didn’t know.

  He rose and put a hand on Pho’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Mr. Pho. I won’t rest until I get the two of you out of here.”

  Nira hugged him again, and in spite of his training, he hugged her back. Emma hugged both of them and then followed Jeff to the door. Jeff waited for the door to read their neural signal. “Now I guess we’ll see whether they plan to let us out of here,” he said.

  To his great relief, the airlock opened and he and Emma stepped into it. Five minutes later they were clear of the brig and were speed-walking toward Tal’s office. Emma grabbed at his sleeve. “Whoa, tiger. What’s the plan?”

  “I’m going to find out why my people were arrested.”

  “Admiral Tal isn’t Jennings. He isn’t even your Admiral Tal. He’s not going to have a lot of patience for intrusions.”

  He felt torn. She was making sense—too damned much sense. But he felt driven to resolve the situation. The pull toward Tal’s office was almost magnetic. Emma seemed to notice. She put her arms around him and squeezed. “We aren’t going to solve this in the next five minutes. And we don’t want to do damage we can’t undo. We have to be smart about this.”

  She was right, and he
knew it.

  “Let’s eat and come up with a plan.”

  It was a good idea. He looked at his shoes. He didn’t seem to be able to move them. He fought the urge to sit down right in the middle of the hallway.

  People were already looking at them curiously as they passed. Jeff started to sweat.

  “This way, baby. Come on,” Emma said. She took his hand and pulled him toward the mess.

  “I’ll be in my ready room. Mr. Liebert, when you’ve established an encrypted channel to Coalition Command, patch me through.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Jo straightened her jacket, narrowed her eyes, and strode to the door of her ready room with the confidence and swagger of a victorious gladiator. The door slid open and then closed behind her. As soon as it was closed, her knees buckled. “Holy Christ,” she said out loud. She reached for the back of a chair and steadied herself as she sat. She pitched forward until her forehead rested on the cool poly surface of the table top. She felt like crying, but she didn’t. She felt like screaming, but she didn’t. She felt like lying on the floor, curling up into the fetal position, and rocking—but she didn’t. Instead, she just felt the table grow slowly warm, breathing in, breathing out, willing the shaking in her limbs to cease.

  She’d never thought about what Captain Telouse—or any other captain she’d ever served under—was like when they were behind closed doors, with no other company but themselves, their gods, and their conscience. She never suspected they might be like this. It was unthinkable. How could she ever expect to rank among them?

  I can’t, she thought. I don’t.

  Yet here she was, in command of a war vessel, hurtling through deep space, going…where? She was about to find out.

  There was a computerized ping, and Mr. Liebert’s voice broke the silence. “I’ve got an encrypted channel, sir. Patching you through now.”

  Jo jerked upright and ran her fingers through her hair. For what good that will do, she thought. She straightened her red uniform jacket and stared at the monitor. “Thank you, Mr. Liebert.”

  The screen flickered and a 3D image of Admiral Alinto resolved itself. She was Maori and about fifteen years her senior. Her broad brown face was deadly serious. “Acting Captain Joleen Taylor. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

  Jo swallowed, then nodded. “Admiral Alinto. Captain Telouse was the best captain I ever served under.”

  The admiral’s mouth quirked. “He was…a complicated man. I could tell you stories, but…now is not the time for stories. But he was a fine captain, as you know. No enemy was safe when he was at the helm of a battle cruiser.”

  “No sir.”

  “How are you doing, Commander?”

  “Sir?” It wasn’t like an admiral to make small talk. Jo felt at a loss.

  “I’m not saying ‘How do you do?’, Commander, or as you Yanks used to say, ‘howdy.’ No. No. No. It is imperative that I know your state of mind. Are you physically fit? Are you emotionally stable? Are you well rested? I must assess your well-being. So I will ask you again. Commander Taylor, how are you doing? Please be aware that if you answer, ‘fine,’ I’m going to instigate a court-marshal.”

  Did the Admiral almost smile? It was hard to tell. Jo swallowed. How much should she say? She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Then she said, “I just threw a man out an airlock. He had instigated a mutiny and declared himself captain. He was stealing the ship and going pirate.”

  The admiral’s eyebrows rose. “I look forward to the full report on that one.”

  “Yes, sir. I retook the ship, liberated my bridge crew from the brig, and put things in order. Then I came…to…talk to you.”

  “I’m going to make a few guesses and you’re going to nod if I’m right.” It was not a request. It was an order.

  Jo nodded.

  “The adrenaline is wearing off and your hands are shaking.”

  Jo nodded.

  “You’re extremely thirsty, but you don’t really have the energy to do anything about that.”

  Jo nodded.

  “Commander, is everything well and truly under control there? Don’t lie to me, kotiro.”

  “Everything is in order. My A crew is on bridge, my B crew is free and sleeping. The mutineers have been offered clemency for returning to their regular posts without complaint, although a note will go in their permanent file. And the leader, as I said, has been dealt with. Everything is f—” She stopped short of saying “fine.” “—satisfactory. Sir.”

  The Admiral’s eyes narrowed momentarily. Then her face softened. “Good to hear that. Now let’s see if you can follow orders. Can you follow orders, Commander?”

  “Sir. Yes, sir.”

  “We’ll see about that. First, I want you to put another pip on your uniform. We’ve got a fight brewing about fourteen parsecs off your starboard prow, and I need a captain I can trust in your seat. I don’t have time to play musical chairs, so you’re my man. Effective immediately. Welcome to the chair, Captain Taylor.”

  Jo swallowed again. She tried to move her lips, but nothing came out.

  “We need you in battle as quickly as you can get there—”

  “But sir, Captain Telouse and four of our men are dead. Someone needs to find out who killed them and why.”

  “Yes, they do. That someone will not be you, however. I’m up to my hairy armpits in agents, but what I need are seasoned battle commanders. You can rest assured someone is going to investigate, but you, my dear, you’re going to fight. Is that understood?”

  Jo didn’t agree, but she didn’t protest. “Understood, sir.”

  “Good. Now here’s what I want you to do. Turn about and make for the Aken system—I’m sending a data packet with the coordinates now. It will take you about nine hours to get there at C7. Don’t delay, we actually need you there sooner, but don’t tax your engines. Do you hear me?”

  “I hear you, sir.”

  “Good. Once you get your new course laid in, I want you to go to the infirmary for a cocktail of Paxium, Newzit, and Flush. I’m putting the request in to the doctor myself, so I’ll know if you don’t. Then I want you to get a massage. There are six registered masseurs among your crew. Pick one. If there’s a ship’s counselor, go and talk—what you’ve been through is traumatic, I don’t care how tough you want to appear. Then eat something heavy—none of that salad crap—and hit the sack. When you drop into normal space I want you to be rested, relaxed, and invigorated. Do let me know if there’s anything you don’t understand, Captain.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Good. Then get moving. Sensors show that we have twenty-six Authority battle cruisers headed our way, and we need every gun in the fight. Alinto out.”

  Chapter Five

  It was the shaman. He was holding a globe aloft—the globe was spinning on the tip of his finger, like a basketball—but slowly, too slowly to stay in place. Jeff could see the land masses as it turned, but he didn’t recognize any of them. The shaman looked up at him and smiled. “Find me.” Jeff was certain the little man was speaking to someone else, but when he looked away, the only one he saw was Emma, getting out of the shower. She slipped, and bashed her elbow on the poly sheeting of the shower stall. “Goddam it,” she said. He thought he should help her up, but he couldn’t move. He could admire her boobs, though, and did.

  He looked over at the shaman again, but he was gone. The globe was still spinning, however, hanging in free space…

  Jeff’s eyes snapped open. He looked up to access his neural and read the time. He relaxed. He had forty-five minutes before he had to meet Danny. Plenty of time.

  He flipped the gray blanket aside and headed for the shower. Ten minutes later he was walking toward the mess and his first cup of coffee.

  He felt a stab of guilt that he was walking the corridors free when two of his crew were in the brig. He should be storming heaven to free them, but Emma had been right, as she often was. He had to play this smart.


  The mess was busy, but not crowded. He snagged a tray and piled up a good breakfast. He placed two cups of coffee on it and found a table in the corner away from everyone. No one seemed to notice him.

  He was grateful to Emma for stopping him. He knew his emotions were running the show, and that had never worked out well for him. Somehow knowing that didn’t help to quell his impulses. And he had little hope when they’d settled down to eat that they’d come up with much of a plan. The answer had come when they were nearly finished eating. Jeff’s neural had pinged and he called down a note from Danny inviting him to join him on inspection of a newly commissioned battle cruiser this morning.

  He’d often wondered what would have happened to Danny had he not died. This was probably as close as he was going to get to finding out. He flashed on something the kid guarding the security desk yesterday had said: “The Butcher.”

  Every drop of taste seeped out of Jeff’s tongue at the memory. His toast became a dry, unsavory thing, sawdust in the form of slices. He chewed anyway.

  That’s me, he thought. I’m the Butcher. The Butcher of Catskill.

  Only in this world, it was Danny who had to wear that mantle, to carry that weight. His heart went out to his friend in a way he had never allowed himself. Pity was anathema, a gift to be given but never received. The revelation was jarring but there was nothing to be done about it. A person like him didn’t deserve pity or forgiveness or love or…

  “Anything good,” he said out loud. Just then it struck him why he felt so neurotically driven to get Nira and Pho released. He longed for some form of redemption, as if the emancipation of these two might somehow balance the scale of justice—even the tiniest bit—for his crimes. Catskill had been heavy enough. He’d been kicking himself in the gut for twenty years over that one. But now…

  I’m the Butcher of String 310, he thought. He stared at his plate, but he did not see it. He reached mechanically for his coffee, but he did not taste it. There was no redemption for someone as damned as he was, as unlikely, as worthy of hatred and scorn.