by L S Roebuck
A few seconds passed by. Eaton didn’t know what to think. Kimberly Macready, her best friend turned traitor, now dead, was a genius code breaker. She had done the impossible during the battle of Magellan – hacked the master security codes on a waypoint. She had made code slicing devices and distributed them to her clandestine minions. The Marines intelligence had thought they had accounted for all the devices in the aftermath of the battle, but clearly, they had not. Unless Alan is bluffing, Eaton thought. But why? Even though Macready was gone, she was still haunting Eaton.
When Kimberly was thought to be lost in space so many years ago, Eaton’s heart was broken. The loss of her husband, her parents, and her friends Kimberly and Alroy almost broke Eaton, and she withdrew from everything in her life except her work. Moreno tried to reach Eaton, but the Marine was also busy with her new promotion to Executive Officer and second-in-command of the Marines on Magellan.
“Nothing to say? Well, let me spell it out for you: The will of the Chairman will not be averted. You will free the Chasm operatives imprisoned on this ship. You will turn the American Spirit around and take us back to Magellan. Or this little girl will end up floating dead in space, like so many of my Chasm comrades you condemned. It’s for the greater good.”
“What, Chasm? A sleeper? How?” Snodgrass blurted.
“Hush,” Eaton put a hand up in the face of her executive officer, then continued her discussion.
“Okay, Alan, as a show of good faith, I am going to ask the security officer to lower his stun gun, then we can talk. Officer, lower your weapon.”
The guard complied begrudgingly. The skinny girl seemed to relax some as the weapon was lowered. Eaton studied the girl’s face. She didn’t recognize her. The girl was really calm for a hostage, but perhaps too young to understand the peril of the situation, Eaton thought.
“Okay, Alan, now you know I can’t turn this boat around,” Eaton said, trying to recall some books she had read on the art of negotiation.
“Of course, you can. Let me be clear, if you don’t issue the order in the next five minutes, I’ll drop my hand from the release button, and the girl, your security guard and I get to become space debris. My hand is stuck to the release with some pretty powerful adhesive, so if you stun me, probably we go into space also. You turn off the gravity, I float up, and probably also trigger the door open. It’s that simple.”
“There’s no way he’s sliced the codes,” Snodgrass said. “He’s bluffing.”
“Let me come down to you,” Eaton said. “I’ll trade myself for the girl. You can have me as a hostage.”
“No, that doesn’t work, Captain,” Alan said. “You and I are alike. We’d easily sacrifice ourselves for what is right. You’d order your XO to flush us both out to space. But this girl, you wouldn’t want her to go into space.”
“Daddy, I don’t want to go into space,” the girl turned up and looked at Alan.
“Don’t worry dear, this is for the greater good,” Alan said, his voice wavering now. “We will be remembered in a perfect society forever. Now you be still like a good child.”
Eaton’s eyes sizzled with rage when she realized who the girl was. “You sick bastard. Your own daughter!”
“Now you see how much I am willing to sacrifice, captain,” Alan said. “That is why I am going to win. I am willing to give up everything in order to fulfill the will of the Chairman. She will bring about the perfect order of humanity on Arara. My life, and Holly here, her life, are a small, small price to pay. Don’t you see? The individual is not as important as the community. And even the community itself must at times be sacrificed for the State. The individual is nothing! Did not the Christian god even sacrifice his own child for his love of humanity? Magellan must be purged. We must go back.”
“You are insane,” the security officer said. “Don’t you love your daughter?”
“I love her, but no more than all the daughters of the glorious revolution who will live and love in peace forever because of what I am willing to sacrifice today. Such a small price.”
“You won’t go through with it,” Eaton said.
“I will,” Alan said. “Because if I don’t, then you won’t believe the threats of the next one who follows, or the next. Holly’s life now depends on you, captain. Turn the ship around. Free my comrades.”
When Marine Commander Moreno offered Eaton the captaincy of the American Spirit, Eaton thought she would live some of her twilight years in peace on the long cruise back to Earth, then to retire to the beaches of Florida, perhaps. She never thought she would be negotiating with terrorists. And she had no idea what to do. There was no way she could comply with this madman. But she couldn’t live with herself knowing that she indirectly allowed this four-year-old girl to die. There must be another solution, Eaton thought.
Suddenly a squad of marines filled Eaton’s screen next to the security guard. She counted eight, half of the American Spirit’s military complement. She also saw Von Bumble with them. They had their weapons raised and trained on Alan.
“Escalation? Really Captain Eaton, I had thought much more of you,” Martinez said, as he held Holly tight. “You will be the death of this girl, captain. You are responsible. Choose your next move correctly.”
Even from the dead, Kimberly Macready is playing chess with me, Eaton thought.
Von Bumble genuflected and reached out to the girl.
“Holly, honey, you need to come with me now, so I can take you home,” he pleaded as evenly as he could, but nervousness still tainted his voice. “Your daddy is sick, and he may hurt you and we want to help you.”
“All lies! All lies,” Alan started to frantically yell. “It doesn’t matter. Your time is almost up.”
“Daddy, please don’t be angry,” Holly said. “I’m sorry. I will be good. Daddy, don’t be angry.”
Von Bumble scooted himself toward Holly. “Come here sweetheart. Let’s get some ice cream. You like ice cream?”
“Daddy, can I go have some ice cream?” Holly looked at her father again.
“I’m sorry sweetheart, maybe tomorrow,” Alan said, a tear running down his face, as he looked at a timepiece on his wrist. “At last. Time to be free.”
“What is going on Alan? Alan?” Eaton shouted over the intercom.
“Don’t you see, Eaton, you’ve been played. I knew you would never turn this ship around,” Alan said, tears now flowing heavily. “But now you’ve been distracted and you are about to lose half your military force. I’ve bought the time my comrades need. The American Spirit will serve Chasm again.”
“Von Bumble, get out!” Eaton shouted. The Marines looked to Von Bumble. The thought of fleeing flashed through Von Bumble’s mind, but he knew the right thing to do was to risk his own life even for the chance of saving Holly.
“Come on, Holly,” he pleaded, reaching his hand out to the girl. “Please we have to go, now.” Holly looked confused. She held her father’s hand tighter and leaned against his leg.
“I love you, dear,” Alan said to his daughter.
“Get out!” Eaton shouted again. “That’s an order!” The Captain’s voice echoed and the Marines started to back out of the portal foyer.
Von Bumble ran toward the portal in an attempt to make a grab at Holly.
“So long,” Alan closed his eyes and opened the portal.
The vacuum emptied the chamber so fast that the intercom picked up none of the sound of the man, his daughter and Von Bumble being sucked out into space.
The bridge was silent. Eaton fell to the floor, dropping her infopad. She believed that she was leaving the conflict behind when she agreed to helm the American Spirit. She wanted to live her life in peace. Instead, like a dormant virus, they carried the Chasm infection with them, and a new conflict was festering a putrid puss. She sat on the cold, rutted metal floor and leaned against the command chair.
The faces of her Marines flashed through her mind, as she tried to sum the loss. She felt paralyzed and emotionally overwhelmed.
And then she thought about Holly, the daughter of Martinez, who had been all but invisible to Eaton these past seven months. How many more like Holly will die if I don’t pull myself together, April thought. She stood so swiftly she felt light headed.
She strode to an oval counter-height navigation table and summoned the other bridge officers on deck: Communications Chief Ortega, XO Snodgrass, and Engineering Chief Himari Grace. As they assembled, Security Chief and Marine Commander Shreya West entered the bridge, with a bullet rifle attached to a ready pack he wore on his back. Himari could see tear streaks on West’s dark face, and she gently put her hand on his broad shoulder to comfort him.
They stood around the table, and though only a few moments passed, to Eaton, it seemed like hours of slow-motion heart ache. What would she say? How could she make this right? Information first, action second, mourning later, she remembers her own treatise on crisis leadership.
“Okay, let’s get this situation under control. Then let’s try to figure exactly who Alan was buying time for? A diversion? For what?” Eaton asked sternly. “Grace, what is the status of the hull and atmosphere on the Deck 3 portal foyer?”
Himari’s black eyes scanned her infopad. “We lost minimal atmosphere – maybe 200 cubic meters of air, and the foyer is sealed. I’ve dispatched two techs to reseal the portal and they are onsite now.
“Good,” the captain said, and then struggled to ask the next question. “Commander West, how many Marines did we lose?”
“All eight, and Ensign Von Bumble,” Shreya said, choking back tears. “How in Hades can we fight these guys? If they are still hiding among us? I say we airlock Chasm exiles now. Clearly, if there are other Chasm sleepers on American Spirit, they feel they could free the exiles, they believe they have enough people to control the ship. We have no idea what they have planned, but we can’t–”
Ortega interrupted the Marine. “We can’t just summarily execute those people. They were tried in a court of law. Besides, maybe Alan was just crazy and there are no other sleeper Chasm agents on board. Or maybe he was just bluffing.”
“Maybe,” the Captain mused. “We need to make a ship wide statement before the word of this terroristic act spreads too far. Ortega, start composing a message of reassurance to calm everyone–”
A soft rumble shook the ship.
The bridge crew exchanged worried glances.
“What was that? Was that what Alan was stalling for?” Grace said slowly, as she nervously pulled at her silky black hair. She grabbed her info pad off the table and called up a status report.
“Captain,” she said, suddenly panicked, “explosion in engineering!”
“Snodgrass, you and Grace get a response team over there right away. Stay in constant communication with me. Use your personal scrambled radio and stay off the ship wide comms. I want a damage report ASAP.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Snodgrass replied and started for the door with the engineering chief in tow.
“Dammit. What the freak is going on?” Eaton muttered. “West, have your most trusted Marine report to the bridge armed in case we need security, and then go down to the brig and bring me somebody who can tell us how real this new Chasm threat is.”
“Aye, captain,” I’m on it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Amberly did not come.
Dek Tigona remembered the last time he saw his love. She had visited him at his cell on Magellan, when she told him she couldn’t leave her home, not now when Magellan needed her so much.
Most of the Chasm agents and troops who were caught during the Battle of Magellan were ordered by the military tribunal to be executed. Nearly two dozen, however, had surrendered themselves before the battle ended in exchange for the promise of exile instead of termination. Dek, the messy-haired rogue and Chasm leader who had fallen hard for Amberly Macready, surrendered in the hopes that Amberly would come with him on the nearly 18-year journey back to Earth.
With no hope of ever seeing Amberly again, Dek knew he’d have some rotten nights ahead. He wondered if he would ever get over the redhead. Did it even matter if he did pine for her until he died? Dek figured he would be in effective solitary confinement for the next few years – something had to occupy his thoughts.
He hoped of course, that he could petition the captain for more freedom soon. For now, Dek forced himself to be patient, not stir crazy. And thinking about Amberly — her soft face, her piercing green eyes, her petite figure, her dizzying intellect — seemed to calm him.
Dek often thought about the choice, when he had the brawny Marine North dead-to-rights at the business end of an assault rifle during the battle of Magellan. What would have happened if he filled the marine with lead instead of responding to Amberly’s plea to spare the Marine? Would Chasm have won? Would he instead be a hero on the American Spirit, at the right hand of Raven One, heading not to Earth, but the promised land on Arara? Would he even still be alive?
If Chasm hadn’t won, and he hadn’t surrendered, Dek knew would surely be a floating body in space with so many of his compatriots, executed instead of exiled. Would that have been so bad?
Instead, first he lost the respect of his mentor and idol, Kimberly Macready, and then he lost his leader to the great void. Then he lost his love, the only woman who was amazing enough to make him rethink his worldview about the nature of men and women. Could the sexes be synergistic when they embrace their gender identities instead of shun them?
He looked around his grey cell, measuring a mere two meters by two meters. A bed hung on one wall, with storage for clothes, a supply of washcloths and a few personal artifacts. A fold out table hung on the opposite wall. In the corner, a cool metal commode and sink provided his only access to personal hygiene. The third wall had a portal with a food tray transfer door. Opposite the door was a pull-up bar, his primary means for exercise.
He did have access to a detention infopad. Unlike almost all other electronic devices, this infopad was entirely self-contained — no communication or network capacities. On it was a full library of books in almost every language, as well as a collection of nearly every movie and vid made, dating back to the 20th century. He’d recently watched the movie Casablanca for the first time, his interest piqued by the naming of the bar, Rick’s, back on Magellan, where he had first met Amberly.
He probably watched the movie twenty times. He wondered who he was? Was he Rick Blane, the mercenary turned patriot? Or was he Victor Lazlo, the French resistance fighter, romantic and revolutionary? If he was Victor, why didn’t Amberly come with him, like Ilsa went with Lazlo? If he was Rick, why couldn’t he go to join the battle?
The infopad also had a word processor, and Dek had taken to writing critiques of the movies he would watch. Casablanca is a timeless film, with themes that still stir the heart 600 years later, he opined. The popularity of the Transformer series of films makes me question how humanity survived for so long. I have been inspired, however, to watch the children’s fables that are the source material for the films, he wrote in another entry. Nearly a hundred times, like today, he had started to write a letter to Amberly – should he ever be allowed to send it – but couldn’t get past the first sentence. Even after seven months alone in space, he couldn’t find the words.
Dek put his info pad beneath his bed and started his daily clean up routine. He disrobed, grabbed a dry cloth from under his bed, moistened it at the sink, applied sanitizer and began to wipe down his body. His upper body mass had increased significantly during incarceration, owing to the endless pull-ups he would do. His arm muscles were taught and well-defined. He rinsed and wrung the cloth and repeated the process.
As he was putting fresh clothes on, his door chimed.
“Ramos,” the man on the other side of the door said, “Would you like a visit today?”
Pastor Ramos, a thin, balding brown-faced man, had come again to see Dek. While Chasm traitors were not allowed to interact with each other in their confinement, they were allowed visitors. Ramo
s, an evangelical, was pastor of a congregation of about 75 that would meet on Sundays in one of the larger common lounges. During the week, he would spend his time visiting as many of the Chasm prisoners as possible
“Ramos,” Dek said, “Come in.”
A guard who had escorted Ramos placed his palm on a DNA scanner and entered a passcode. The door slid open as Dek pulled a clean blue shirt over his torso.
The guard looked at Ramos. “Punch the comm button when you are ready, preacher,” he said as he locked the door.
Dek indicated the bed for Ramos to sit down, but the 60-year-old man declined, instead sitting cross-legged on the floor and leaning up against the wall. Dek shrugged and sat down on the bed.
“Would you ever help me break out of here?” Dek said dryly.
Ramos smiled. “No.”
“Here is what I don’t understand about God,” Dek picked up from a conversation they left off on two days ago. “What purpose does he have for me here? Locked up in this space for the best years of my life?”
“Well, you can pray. Prayers are powerful. You know back on the waypoint, among the believers we had this popular little saying, ‘the only thing that travels faster than the speed of life are prayers.’”
“Do you think that’s true?”
“I dunno. I’m no physicist. I don’t even have a theology degree. Maybe all God wanted was to give you a timeout so you would believe in him,” Ramos said. “Do you think you would still be an atheist if you had won back on Magellan?”
“Do I believe God exists? I admit I would not have had so much time to ponder the question as I have these last six… seven months,” Dek said. “I’m not really sure that I believe that God exists. I mean, I want to believe, but how do I ever really know for sure?”
“That’s what faith is about,” Ramos replied, rubbing his hand on his bald brown head.
“That’s an easy answer,” Dek snapped back.
“Just because it’s easy, doesn’t mean it’s not true,” Ramos remarked. “You know, I think Amberly was a bad influence on you. If she would have come, maybe we wouldn’t have become friends. She and her mother weren’t exactly Christian-friendly.”
