by Vann, Gregg
I sat down next to her and put my arm around her shoulder. “Try to relax, “I said. “You’re safe now. Everything is going to be okay.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’ve just never seen someone killed like that before. Poor Bev, and then on the planet—so many bodies…so much death. I just want to go home.”
I tried to sound reassuring, “We are taking you there now, Miss Evans—headed straight to The Verge as quickly as the ship can move. With any luck, by this time tomorrow you’ll be back in the dome working on your research.”
Her face turned angry. “My research! Without that child my research is dead. And so are the Sentients.”
After seeing the massive armada forming at Seveq—realizing the danger it might represent to humanity—I wasn’t able to hide my ambivalence very well. She saw it on my face. “Commander,” she said sharply, pulling away from me, “The Sentients are people too. I know history as well as you do, I lived it. I was around when we first encountered them.”
“So was I,” I countered. “I was in Sector Security at the time.”
That surprised her.
“How old?” she asked.
“143, give or take a few months.”
She managed a smile. “You must have been one of the first.”
“That’s what they told us. It was all experimental back then of course. Back even before the side effects were known.”
She frowned, her face becoming serious. “Children?” she asked.
“I never got the chance, I’m afraid.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “If I had known…”
“It’s not your fault,” I said with finality—determined to bring the conversation back on topic. “About the Sentients…”
“Commander…Ben,” she said, softening her tone, “I spent months with Del. I can tell you with absolute certainty that the ambassador cares about its family, and people. The Sentients aren’t all monsters.”
Maybe not, I thought to myself, but she’d spent months with Woz as well. What about that Sentient? There was no doubt that, as a race, they were a dangerous threat to humanity. Our civilization would be much safer if they were suddenly gone from the galaxy. Safer from them anyway—our own reckless behavior was something else entirely.
But humanity’s concerns didn’t make genocide acceptable. Nothing did. There were trillions of Sentients that had never done anything to deserve this brutal death—their bodies tricked into self-destruction.
Enough, I thought. All of this useless soul searching was rhetorical anyway; we didn’t have the child, or any idea where it was—we weren’t even sure if it was still alive.
Val broke the growing silence. “Forgive me, Ben, I’m not usually this emotional, I know you are just trying to protect me and do your job.”
She leaned up against me again; her hands were still under the jacket trying to get warm. I brushed a small piece of hair out of her eyes and gently tucked it behind her ear. “When you attacked the ship to free us,” she said, “that Sentient, the one you killed, struck me in the head, knocking me unconscious. It must have thrown me under the sheet with the cadavers.”
“Is your head okay?” I asked. “Maybe I should take a look at it. I’m no doctor, but I’m a decent field medic.”
“No, thank you. No. I’m okay—just a little tired.”
“You need to get some rest,” I told her. “The accommodations on this ship aren’t the best, but we should be able to set up a makeshift bed for you.”
“Thank you, Ben,” she said sincerely. I took my arm from around her and she noticed my wedding ring.
“You’re married?” she said, surprised. “I didn’t imagine a Special Inquisitor could be so progressive.”
“My wife died in the Diaspora War,” I replied. It never got any easier to say the words out loud.
“That was over a hundred years ago—and you still wear the ring. You must have loved her very much.”
“I did,” I said, extending my hand to help her stand. A thin arm slid out from underneath the jacket, and her pale legs dropped to the floor.
“I’m sorry,” she said. I gave her delicate arm a little tug, pulling her up. As she stood, she drew her arms back into the jacket, shivering.
“It was a long time ago,” I said. “And you’re freezing. Let’s get you settled into something warm so you can sleep and regain your strength.”
We found a small, empty room near the back of the ship, and I used some foam salvaged from a container in the hangar—along my civilian clothing—to make a simple bed. The finished product resembled an old style scarecrow, and I hoped that it was as successful at scaring away insomnia as its traditional counterpart had been at frightening birds. I needn’t have worried; Val lay down without protest, falling asleep within minutes. I closed the door behind me, leaving her in complete darkness and silence, then headed to the bridge for a status report.
I could hear Sa’s yelling before I even made it through the door.
“What! That is ridiculous!” it exclaimed. The doctor was stomping around the room, its fists clenched in anger.
“Even so,” Del replied, “it is in the report.”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Del was tolerating the outburst with indifference, while Stinson spoke to someone on his headset—ignoring them both.
“They think I created the virus,” Sa yelled, its volume matching the level of emotion. “They are hunting for me.”
Del interrupted Sa to explain. “I have been monitoring what military transmissions I can from the fleet; they are convinced that Doctor Sa’s kidnapping was a ruse, and that Sa really disappeared because it was responsible for the sickness.”
“I see.”
Someone was setting Sa up to take the fall.
“In that case, we will definitely hold off contacting anyone—just keep heading for The Verge.”
“There is something else, Commander.” The tone of Del’s voice became more serious—whatever it was, it was important. “They think Doctor Sa was working with the humans to develop the virus.”
“What?” Suddenly, I felt the same outrage as Sa, “Why?”
“They say Doctor Sa is a known human sympathizer.”
“That’s not true!” Sa said forcefully. The doctor paused for a moment, as if realizing something, then continued speaking in a more subdued tone. “I did, however, express my opinion that humans were no threat to us…quite publically I am afraid.”
“And someone has used that information to shift blame to you,” I said. Sa nodded in resignation.
“Very clever,” the doctor said dejectedly.
“Commander,” Del broke in, “the messages I’ve intercepted also lead me to believe that once the fleet has finished forming at Seveq—it will head directly to The Verge.”
“To establish a blockade?” I asked optimistically, but as soon as the words left my mouth, I knew that wasn’t their intention.
“To invade, Commander—they intend to wipe out humanity before we ourselves die out.”
“But why?” Sa asked, astonished.
“Revenge,” I answered, leaning hard on the pedestal in front of me; I grasped it tightly. Revenge for an atrocity we didn’t commit…
“Revenge,” Del agreed, and went back to its monitors.
Stinson finished speaking to his contacts and pulled off the headset to give me an update. Sector was aware of the danger and was marshaling its own forces. Our long range sensor network had detected the hundreds of Sentient ships on the move and activated the automatic warning system. Each independent Sector realized the implications, and they were all sending ships to defend the border. The uneasy alliance, held together by mutual fear, was working. For now at least.
But would it do any good?
Even with our surveillance equipment constantly monitoring Sentient territory, we had no empirical data about their ship strength or overall numbers. What we did know was enough to cause nightm
ares; they could hurt us plenty. They had enough ships and advanced technology to kick us all the way back to Earth if they wanted to—even wipe us out of the galaxy if that really was their intent.
The Sentients had proven themselves very capable of destroying our ships—Rand Sector could attest to that. They were tenacious fighters, even when they didn’t have a reason to kill humans. Now that they did, well…
I joined Stinson sitting on the floor, our backs to the wall—literally and figuratively. “I wonder about our chances,” I confessed.
“There is always a chance,” Stinson said. “We’ve made some decent technological breakthroughs since the Rand debacle.”
“Aren’t you the optimist?” I chuckled.
“In this line of work, it’s necessary; unless you want to lose your mind.”
“You’re right about that,” I agreed, unsuccessfully fighting a yawn. “I’m going to grab a couple hours of sleep; you should probably do the same. No telling what situation we’ll find ourselves in when we reach The Verge.”
Stinson’s eyebrows shot up. “What? And leave ourselves in the hands of Del and the good doctor? I’m surprised.”
“Well,” I said, gesturing at the Sentients, “Doctor Sa doesn’t strike me as the soldierly type, if you know what I mean, and Del has had ample opportunity to kill us by now, if he wanted to. I think we’re okay.”
Stinson grabbed a small, wing shaped shelf on the wall and started pulling himself up. I could tell by the look on his face that something else was troubling him.
“About Mendoza, Commander…it’s not your fault. She’s my crewman; my responsibility.” He stretched his legs, then reached down to pull me up. “I have to admit, I barely know her myself. She only recently transferred to the Babylon—but she’s already proven herself in my book.”
“Mine as well, Jeff, but you’re wrong about one thing; this is my mission. I’m calling the shots, and I alone am responsible. I promise you this; we will do everything we can to get Mendoza back…alive.”
I told Del to wake us if anything important happened, then we walked to the small room where Val was still sleeping—managing to sneak inside without waking her up. Stinson quietly balled up his Kamo jacket into a crude pillow, then grabbed an empty spot on the floor, dozing right off. The ability to sleep anywhere, at any time, was one that most active-duty military developed quickly—I couldn’t help but be envious.
I was dead tired, but couldn’t still the racing thoughts keeping me awake. Humanity on the brink of war—the complete extermination, through war and disease, of all known sentient life in the galaxy; it was all just too much put aside easily.
Staring at the black ceiling, unable to empty my mind, I looked over to see Val Evans curled up in the fetal position—her improvised bedding clutched tightly. Now that my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, I could get a good look at her—even covered in grime and dirt, she was beautiful. But there was more to her than that, I realized, she had something else—something special.
She was so different from my wife, in both appearance and demeanor, but for the first time since Natasha’s death, I was truly attracted to someone. I was attracted to her.
What an absurd time to consider such nonsense, I thought. But there was no denying the truth. Even though we’d only spoken briefly in the hangar, I knew I felt…something. There was a definite connection. Val and I had a mutual if divergent history, a common background that so few shared. We were two of the first, two of the oldest humans in the galaxy.
Maybe that was it, or maybe it was simply chemistry, I really didn’t know. But I knew I wanted to get to know her better, and for that, I felt a deep sense of betrayal. In my mind, I could picture my life with Tasha as if it were only yesterday, not 114 years ago.
Natasha had been a short, active woman, with dark hair and an overabundance of energy. She loved nature and had a perpetual tan. In those days, we were always outside; hiking through the hills, playing different sports, or going to the beach. Everyone was outside; El Ferras had been so beautiful then…
Tasha’s energy and drive were as legendary as her cooking was bad, and it was always difficult for me to keep up with her—much to her amusement. As a shuttle pilot, she was naturally the adventurous sort, and prized her flying time above everything else. She’d even started to play the piano when the war started, but never got the chance to get very good at it.
In almost every way, she was the woman of my dreams, and the complete opposite of Val Evans.
Despite her fame, Val Evans wasn’t an extrovert. She was more withdrawn, shy even—but she wasn’t weak. My mission briefing revealed a woman strong in her conviction to help others—both through her scientific work and altruistic enterprises. She was a sincere, decent person, with a big heart—often worn on her sleeve.
According to Breth, her sister loved to garden, but it was obvious that Val spent most of her time indoors working in the lab. Her skin color spoke volumes about how much she’d avoided the dome’s artificial sunlight—it was like flawless ivory. Her body wasn’t muscular, but it was long, lean, and fit; in all, it was a beautiful combination of features.
I tried to focus in on reality, smart enough to wonder how much of my emotional reaction came from my current position as ‘Rescuer-in-Chief’, and how much of it was genuine affection. Was I just naturally feeling protective and responsible for her, or was there really something more there?
Maybe I was just exhausted to the point of temporary insanity.
This was not the proper venue for such foolish, romantic speculation. We were on the wrong side of The Verge in a Sentient ship, and in the next few days, we could all very well wind up dead. Besides, who knew how she felt? Or if she felt anything at all. She was a traumatized crime victim, and I was sitting here playing fantasy-future in my mind, like some love smitten teenager.
Lovely.
I needed to clear my head of this frivolity and get it screwed back on tight. Deciding that checking on Mendoza would be a good first step; I rose and carefully slipped out the door.
As soon as I entered the infirmary, I knew that something was wrong. Through the clear top of the stasis chamber, I noticed that Mendoza’s pressure bandage was gone. The abdominal wound now covered by a hard, green, scab-like substance. She was also as white as a ghost. I slid my headset up and keyed the earpiece, already tied into the ship’s com system. “Del, I’m in the infirmary. Please come here immediately.”
It took less than two minutes for the Sentient to arrive. “What is it?” Del asked, walking over to the stasis chamber to check the readings.
“I think her wound is infected. There is a green fibrous substance forming over it—she’s also lost a lot of her color.”
Del moved to a second monitoring station and waved its hand over the input device. The display’s colors shifted from yellow to deep purple, and flashing symbols flew across the screen. The Sentient looked, well…perplexed.
“She is stable,” it said finally, “as stable as possible under these conditions. The pod provided the membrane as a therapeutic intervention.”
“It’s healing her?” I asked.
“No. It was designed to heal Sentients, so it is…improvising.” Del seemed genuinely surprised by the chamber’s actions. “The pod isn’t designed for human biology, so it can’t repair the damage. It has, however, found a way to better ensure her survival by adding the membrane.”
“What about her skin color?”
“She’s lost a lot of blood, but the pod doesn’t have the capability to manufacture more, not human blood anyway. The machine is doing all it can, but because she isn’t a Sentient, it can’t completely freeze body functions and provide a true stasis. All it can do is slow things down. She needs surgery.”
“What about a blood transfusion from one of us?” I asked.
“I don’t think we should take her out of stasis—even for that. She will start bleeding as soon as I turn off the field. It may well prove fatal.”<
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“If it becomes necessary—if her condition worsens—it’s a risk we’ll have to take. I’m sure Dr. Evans could make it happen,” I said.
“I will let you know if the situation gets that desperate, Commander.”
“Thanks.”
I looked at Mendoza laying there, her gaunt form walking the thin line separating life from death, and I felt the weight of responsibility crushing down on my shoulders. I never should have brought her along, I thought, She’s just a kid. But she wasn’t really—she was a soldier, and to think of her as anything less was an insult to her and her sacrifice.
“I need to go back to the Central Hu…the bridge,” Del said. “This equipment is set to automatically notify me if things get worse, but I will have the monitor’s information stream sent to my station so I can actively watch it for changes.”
Somewhat relieved, but still needled by guilt, I nodded and accompanied Del out of the room.
We walked silently together toward the bridge, each lost in our own thoughts and concerns. Reaching the door of the newly established, and terribly under-furnished human dormitory, I quietly asked the Sentient to wake me in six hours if I wasn’t up already. Then, as noiselessly as I could manage, I opened the door and slipped inside the room. Light filtered in from the brightly illuminated hallway, and I saw that Val and Stinson were both still sleeping blissfully, despite the accommodations.
Carefully closing the door behind me, I stretched out on the floor, shoved my hands under my head, and tried to force myself to sleep….
I was back on El Ferras.
Explosions ripped apart the nighttime sky, sending multicolored streams of metal and smoke drifting down onto an already scorched landscape. Buildings and people alike caught fire and burned, and the distant horizon glowed as if the entire planet were alight.
As I ran through the twisted wreckage of the city, ripping my pant legs on broken glass and fractured metal, I heard a high pitched scream coming from somewhere close by. It was loud… incessant. It sounded like a child, but I realized with a sickening feeling that it was actually a man’s voice pushed to its limits. I darted around the corner of a collapsed building and ended up in front of what used to be a bank—coming to a full stop two meters in front of him.
