by Drew Avera
He nodded, tilting his head from side to side to see if anyone paid them attention. If anyone was, they played it off better than he could. Besides, even if anyone caught on to the fact he was entering her stateroom, he doubted they would draw a conclusion regarding their distrust of Commander Quino. Most would assume fraternization threatened to break down the chain of command, not a mole placed in the Executive Officer’s position. “Of course.”
Stavis opened the door, the pale light overhead illuminating at the sense of movement before she stepped in. ilium followed, his feet touching upon the plush carpeted rug. The texture of its padding was a stark contrast to the rest of the ship. The design of the rug did not appear to be Greshian, but he could not place it. “Where did you get this?” Ilium pointed down.
Stavis pulled down two glasses and a bottle of Mar from the cabinet. “My father was enlisted in the Navy. He bought that on Belatia.”
Ilium frowned. “It’s not common for active duty Navy to have families.”
Stavis smiled, eyeing Ilium as she poured the first glass. “Oh, no. My father was discharged before meeting my mother. He served twenty years and retired.” She handed a cold, frosted glass to Ilium.
“I’m sure he is proud of your service,” he said, raising his glass like a toast.
She looked down. “I wouldn’t know. He died when I was ten.”
Ilium sighed, regretting his assumption about her family. He stammered a moment before speaking again. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
She smiled meekly. “Thank you. My reason for serving is to honor him. I do hope he would be proud.”
Ilium nodded, taking a sip of the Mar and feeling the sweet nectar wash down his throat. He still felt the effects of his first three glasses from the ward room, hence the reason he felt so talkative.
“So, what’s the plan for dealing with Quino? I’m on board. He isn’t being sincere, and I believe you that he was sent here for purposes not conducive to our mission.”
Ilium shrugged. “I’m glad you believe me because I’m about to provide more evidence to support my theory.”
“How so?”
Ilium sipped the Mar again and grinned wickedly. “I want you to bug the room and record everything.”
Stavis stepped back. “Sir, that’s a bold move, and one where we could easily be discovered. All it takes is an electronic pulse to cause the bug to reveal itself. We already know he has an EMP weapon on board. I’m not sure it’s worth the risk.”
Ilium groaned, wiping his eyes as a headache formed. “I know where you’re coming from, but the benefits outweigh the risks. If we let this man plant the device with no means of tracking his actions, then we will be at risk of losing the whole crew. I can’t have that. Better to have a black eye than a dead ship.” Stavis set her glass on the table and sat in the chair against the bulkhead. The effects of the Mar appear to be taking hold of her as well, he thought.
“Assuming you’re right, how do you plan to find the device if he hides it on the ship?”
“Put a tracker on it as well?”
Stavis shook her head. “It won’t work. The device will fry a tracker as soon as it powers on.”
“Then what do you suggest, Lieutenant?”
She sat silent for a moment, her face in her hands. When she looked up, he saw how bloodshot her eyes were. Definitely the Mar taking effect. “We find a way to track him.”
“All right, make it happen,” Ilium said, staggering toward the door. “I’ll see you in the morning. I need to get to my room before I’m crawling back.” He thought he heard Stavis say something, but when he looked back, her head leaned against the back of the chair and a light snoring sound emanated from her mouth. “I hope to the gods you remember this tomorrow,” he said. “Because if I forget too then we’re fucked.”
Ilium stepped out the door and braced himself against the bulkhead. The empty passageways made him feel completely and utterly alone, but it was a familiar sensation. As he climbed up the nearest ladder well, one rung at a time, pulling himself up with the cold, steel handrails, he felt his vision tunneling. He moved forward, drunk and delusional, not feeling as if he merely consumed too much Mar. No, the feeling was something else entirely. He heard footsteps approaching and looked up, but could not make out the face. A voice spoke, unrecognizable, and a set of hands grabbed him. The urge to fight to free himself was overpowered by his inability to control his motor functions. He tried to look around, but everything spun wildly out of control, just like his life.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his tongue half-hanging from his mouth.
A response came, but he heard none of it. All he knew turned to darkness with the blink of an eye.
Thirty-Seven
Brendle
A gentle hum accompanied the medical crew as the transport hovered over the terrain, gliding weightlessly at top speed as it careened towards the medical center. Brendle stared at Anki’s emotionless face. He no longer saw her as sleeping before his mind shifted morbidly to the fact she looked deceased. No amount of shaking the thought away kept it at bay, so Brendle stared forward, past Malikea’s worried face and to the bulkhead of the transport where pipes and tubes decorated the surface for reasons unknown to him. He focused on the hum, drowning out the conversations as best he could. It was easier when the man next to him did not tap him on the shoulder.
“What had she eaten before this happened?” the tech asked impatiently.
Brendle, startled, gazed up at the man questioningly. “Come again?”
“What kind of diet did she have for this happened?”
Brendle shrugged, trying to think back but drawing a blank.
“Just the premade meals we all consumed,” Deis answered. “We eat preserved meals. Here is one of the containers.” He handed the tech a silver wrapper.
“All of you eat these? Has anyone else had unusual episodes, blackouts, digestive issues?”
“No,” Deis replied as Brendle sat there dumbly. He felt outside himself, like a soul without a body as he watched life happen around him, but could not feel himself tangible enough to partake in it.
The tech typed information onto a tablet, staring at the list of ingredients on the package as he did so. Brendle watched the man’s lips move as he read and wondered if there was anything to the chemicals inside that could have caused her condition. “She was exposed to a high dosage of radiation,” he managed finally.
The tech looked up, a puzzled expression on his face. “How so?”
“We had an incident where she was sucked out of the cargo bay through a ruptured hull without an EVA suit. This happened several months ago.”
“And how long was she exposed?” The tech began typing again, dropping the wrapper onto the seat next to him.
“I…”
“Close to two minutes,” Deis interrupted. “Brendle was exposed as well. We conducted a scan on him after discovering her tumor. His scan came back clean.”
Brendle looked over to Deis, his hand clasping tightly to Malikea’s as the constant hum droned on. “Could that be causing this?” Brendle asked.
The tech shook his head. “I’m not a doctor, so I can’t say. All I can do is make preliminary notes to help the doctor with his diagnosis.”
“But you’ve seen this before, right?” Brendle asked, his voice higher in pitch, like a whine, that made him self-conscious.
“I honestly haven’t. Most of my patients have been trauma related, broken bones, contusions, and sprains. This is the first time I’ve seen this.”
Brendle looked away, fighting the urge to think the tech was a waste of time and an excuse to have false hope for Anki’s well-being. He is nothing more than a medically trained secretary, Brendle thought madly. “How long before we arrive at the medical center?”
The tech peered towards the forward section of the transport and answered, “six minutes.”
“You would think the landing area would be closer to a medical facility,” Bren
dle whined, hating himself for it.
“A ship the size of yours would not fit in the city, sir. That’s why we had to venture so far.” The tech’s response was reasonable, but Brendle’s vulnerability came out in a childish way. He bit his tongue as he felt the transport descend. He didn’t need flight training to know it as approach maneuver. Brendle sucked in a gasp of air and held it, trying to calm his nerves while purposely not looking at Anki lying there, two shades paler than normal, her breathing barely registering above a gentle rise in her chest.
“Is there anything else you would like me to put in my notes for the doctor?” the tech asked.
Brendle shook his head.
“We have an image of the scan on this device. It was taken by our med cart,” Deis replied, handing the device to the tech. It was a small universal chip, designed to be read by scanning instead of inserting into a module. The tech took it, scanning it with an infrared scanner, and the image of Anki’s brain appeared on the monitor before him.
“That tumor is placed in an unusual location. I’m not familiar with Luthians, and I would assume this tumor is the reason for her condition, but it looks too large to be only several months old.”
“I thought you’ve never seen this before,” Brendle said.
The tech looked up. “I haven’t, but I read a lot.”
“Why don’t we let the doctor assess the situation and leave speculation out of this?” The transport grew quiet after Brendle spoke. Even the hum seemed to die down a few decibels.
“Yes, sir,” the tech replied.
Thirty-Eight
Hespha
The long flight grated on her nerves. With Ka’Hor’al in close enough proximity for his snoring to be a distraction, she leaned her body in such a way to not have to see him−and that was when he wasn’t awake and talking her head off. The connecting flight to Inara was at capacity, but the second transport carried only her and Ka’Hor’al. It was a private transport, one of those hired by organizations which paid to be left alone during the flight as opposed to the constant chirping of a stewardess asking if you’d like a drink. As Hespha sat in the chilly transport listening to the guttural moaning of a sleeping man inches away, she missed the stewardess with the drinks.
Who am I kidding, I miss the drinks.
Hespha slowly rose from her seat and stalked towards the aft section of the craft. She ran her fingers along the bulkhead above the headrests of the seats. The textured, hard plastic supported her as she leaned from side to side, trying to maintain her balance. The increased g-forces made standing straight more difficult than she imagined and she longed for a transport with an FTL drive, or at least a Key for traversing from one sector to the other. Anything would be better than slowly feeling your body crushed under the weight of two of her home world’s gravitational forces. The constant listing port and starboard made the craft feel like a cradle, but instead of being lulled to sleep, she was sensitive to the shifts in her middle ear and how uneasy it made her feel.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” the relief pilot asked as she turned a corner where the laboratory was. It also contained a small den for the off-duty crew members, a luxury the “guests” did not receive. Of course, when you live on a transport ship, accommodations probably help keep morale at a manageable level.
“I’m looking for the bathroom.”
“Certainly. It’s on the other side of that bulkhead,” he pointed with a smile. Hespha looked back and realized she’d made a wrong turn, not that she’d gone very far in the relatively tiny vessel.
“Thank you,” she replied, slowly turning back and bracing herself against the bulkhead. She thought it strange how the man felt comfortable under so much thrust. I suppose he’s accustomed to it, but I don’t think I could ever get used to this feeling.
Stumbling into the bathroom, Hespha’s stomach turned with an acidic taste rising in her throat. She stopped moving, holding onto the sink counter and gazing into the small mirror. Her reflection showed a face three shades paler than normal, all the blood seemingly vanished from her cheeks. Beads of sweat formed on her brow despite the chill she felt. What the hell is wrong with me? She leaned forward, focusing on her reflection and noticing her dilated pupils.
Without thinking about it, she sat on the toilet and pulled out her com-unit. In her mind, something wholly familiar worried her, something from her past she never thought she would experience again. As she searched the feed for the symptoms she noticed, her heart sank.
“No,” she croaked, tears already welling in her eyes. “I can’t be pregnant.”
Thirty-Nine
Ilium
A piercing sensation pulled Ilium from his slumber, and dim lighting screamed through his slit eyes, driving him into the fetal position as he covered his head with a pillow. Moments later the reveille bells clanged, boring into his skull like a jackhammer to the point he felt his eyeballs shifting inside his head. “Make it stop,” he groaned, lacking the energy to scream or move beyond his position. He feebly hoped for death.
A knock at his door crippled his spirit. Through cramped muscles and a pounding sensation in his head, he limped towards the door to open it, finding his new XO standing in brilliant, white light. “Good morning, sir,” Quino said with more cheer than Ilium could process.
“Quino,” Ilium muttered. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s nine in the morning, sir. I came to check on you.”
Ilium took a step back, looking up at the bulkheads for the time before remembering there was no clock in his stateroom. “Nine? I just heard the reveille bells a minute or two ago.”
Quino shook his head. “No, sir, it’s nine, three hours past. Neither you nor Lieutenant Stavis showed up on the bridge today.”
Stavis? Ilium could barely remember the night before, but he did remember walking her to her stateroom. “Have you checked on her yet?”
“No, but I did send someone,” Quino replied.
“All right, can you give me some time to get dressed and I’ll be on the bridge momentarily?”
“Of course, but are you, all right? You look like you had a rough night, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
Ilium supported himself with a hand on the bulkhead as his eyes adjusted to the brilliant light peering into his room. “I’ll be fine. I think we hit the hard Mar last night is all.”
Quino grinned from ear to ear, his teeth showing. “You really put it on last night, sir. It was a very nice welcome.”
“It’s the least I could do,” Ilium said, looking away from the man and facing a dim part of his room, a place he wanted to retreat to and forfeit the day as a loss instead of facing it.
“Well, I appreciate it. I’ll leave you to get ready and meet you on the bridge?”
Ilium nodded weakly. “Sure.”
“Roger that,” Quino replied and faced left before stalking down the passageway, disappearing around a corner and leaving Ilium exposed to the light baking his retinas.
“Oh, fuck,” Ilium spat, slapping the door closed and returned to the darkness. The bed on the other side of the room beckoned him, but that would be a mistake to skip work. How do you keep a crew under control if the captain is out of control? It was a lesson he learned by example from Captain Crexon.
Ilium dressed in a haze of misery. Nothing seemed to stop the pounding in his head, and even the dim lights in his stateroom seared his eyes with their sharp illuminance. He finally stood, awkwardly making his way to the door and out of his stateroom. The passageway felt like its own form of hell as he steadied himself, keeping a hand along the bulkhead as he put one foot in front of the other, hoping to not faceplant before achieving the captain’s chair.
“Attention on deck,” a Sailor shouted as he entered the bridge. It felt like a slap in the face with the battle raging behind his eyes.
“Carry on,” he groaned, wincing with each step. The bridge was a hive of activity; beeps and drones enveloping the space threatened to chase him away as h
e collapsed into his seat. He placed a hand in front of his face to cut down the glare, but it was useless. Stavis entered moments later, a despondent expression painted on her face to match his own. She made eye contact with him briefly, but if it pained her as much as it did him to focus on anything, then he understood all too well why she quickly looked away. At least that was the acceptable reason he hoped justified her actions.
“Are you ready for the morning report, sir?” Lieutenant Serran Teirs asked as she approached him.
“Is it all that different from yesterday’s report?”
She frowned. “No, sir, all parameters are within the same thresholds.”
He nodded. “I think I’ll skip the morning rigmarole today if you don’t mind.”
Lieutenant Teirs looked to the XO and back at Ilium. “If you say so, sir.” She turned to walk back to her station as Ilium swept his gaze towards Quino who wore a shit-eating grin on his face. The man did not look at Ilium, but he didn’t have to in order for Gyl to know the man was enjoying every moment of this. The real question was whether Quino was behind it in any way. Mar never gave Ilium a hangover before, and he’d had enough of those to recognize this one felt different somehow.
What are you up to? Quino peered in Ilium’s direction and made eye contact with the skipper. “How are you doing over there, sir?”
“Fucking great,” Ilium replied.
Fucking great.
“Sir, there’s an unidentifiable vessel to our port side.”
“How far?” Ilium croaked.
“Ninety-thousand-meters and closing,” Lieutenant Teirs replied.
“They’re coming towards us?” Ilium rose reeling from his seat and limped towards the monitor his combat control officer enlarged to get a better look at the ship. “It looks like they’re drifting sideways. Are they under thrust?”
