by C. Gockel
Not wanting to give the guards a chance to rectify their error, Maxar hurried on, following the conduits until they turned off the corridor and went through a wall above a door. Maxar doubted the central power supply was behind it, but perhaps it was a utility room with an access way. The door was pass-code protected, further confirming Maxar’s hunch.
Just as he was formulating a way to gain access, something flew by his neck, its heat causing a searing pain to blossom. A loud concussion wave passed over him, making his ears to ring. Without thinking, Maxar clapped his hand to his burned neck and dropped to one knee, lessening his targetable profile. Looking down the corridor, he saw the three guards he’d dodged so easily. They’d abandoned their shock batons in favor of rail pistols. Well, they know I'm a Bloodsporter now.
Another projectile flew by, but this time he saw its ion tracer trail after it passed. This slug wasn't as close, but he knew if he didn't bring the fight to his attackers, they would be scraping bits of him off the walls. He cursed himself for choosing stealth over aggression. I should have grabbed those flechette pistols when I had the blighthearted chance.
He charged towards the guards, running low and veering randomly back and forth across the large corridor. Ion trails stitched the surrounding air, the rounds making strange musical tones as they ricocheted off the corridor's armored walls. The air boomed as round after round broke the speed of sound, concussion waves washing over Maxar as he ran.
In a dim, detached way, Maxar noted the looks of horror on all three of their faces. Beginning to wonder if their marksmanship will bring down the terrible beast.
Finally, a shot hit Maxar directly in the chest. Rather than being cut in half, he was knocked off his feet and propelled back ten meters. He sprawled on the floor, dazed. Maxar felt no pain where the projectile had hit, but the rest of his body ached from the massive acceleration and subsequent fall to the floor. After rolling over to his hands and knees, he looked up and saw the guards sprinting away.
Maxar rose to his feet, unsteady from mental shock rather than pain. How did I survive that? There was no way to explain it. Those were live rounds, not training loads. All the slugs ricocheting off the walls were proof. And how was I knocked so far back without injury? Maxar shook his head, trying to clear the haze. Puzzling questions that need answers, but right now I should be moving and not contemplating. Those guards will report what happened. Their commander will send more men, no doubt about that. His chances of escape had shrunk immensely.
Maxar returned to the door blocking progress towards the central power center. Accessing the terminal beside the door, he tried the same hash he’d used back on Bloodsport. The exploit failed, and he was sent back to the main screen. Maxar tried more hashes as precious time slipped away. After a particularly risky exploit, the screen flashed “Invalid” several times and posted the message “Terminal Lockout, Contact Admin for network reconnect.”
Dark star fire take them all, Maxar thought viciously, frustration pulsing through his veins. Think! What can I do? The only option was to try to find another way to the power center, and it didn't require much imagination to guess they were secured as strongly this one.
All this way just to be captured. So close, he thought bitterly, scorning himself. Chewing on his bottom lip, he stared at the door. Such a small thing to send me back to Bloodsport. Back to agony and misery. Back to death.
Disgust for the life he’d almost escaped flooded him. Maxar slammed his fist into the door in white-hot rage. It shuddered. Maxar cocked an eyebrow, examining the door closely. It was quite sturdy, a security hatch made to keep out the unauthorized. He slammed his fist into it harder and it shuddered more, trembling as if made of flimsy plastic instead of reinforced alloy.
Sensing a possible solution, Maxar dealt a third blow. This time he meant to cause damage, and he struck the door accordingly. His blow fell slightly to the right of the center seam, the hatch being two panels that slid to meet in the middle.
Maxar's blow was so hard he should have broken several bones in his fist. Intellectually, he knew this, but instead of pain, his hand felt normal. He looked down at it with wonder, and when he looked back up at the door, he was shocked even further. The right panel bowed in, not far, but it was something no human hand should have been capable of. Once again, he had to pull himself back from analyzing the situation and focus on the lack of time.
The problem of getting through the door was solved. Maxar battered it, bending the right panel farther inward until he could slither through. When he finally managed to pull himself inside, he was in a small room connected to a long corridor. Looking up, he saw the conduits running along the ceiling like a bright arrow pointing towards freedom.
Maxar sprinted down the hall, following the arrow.
27 - Tremmilly
After reviewing the checklist and the ship's systems, Tremmilly felt ready to leave the Noor-5 orbital dock. Clicking the toggle, she transmitted, “Noor-5 control, we request departure.”
“Departing vessel, what is your origin and destination?” a smooth voice asked over the comm.
“We are leaving from the orbital dock and will be traveling to the worm area to tunnel to–” She faltered, unable to think of a lie. Tremmilly couldn't say she intended to go to Bloodsport. She'd never get clearance, and they'd likely escort her back. “What do I tell them Beo?” The wolf-dog looked back at her inquisitively.
“Didn't catch your destination, departing vessel,” the smooth voice said.
“Eishon-2,” Tremmilly transmitted, blurting out the first place that came to mind. Even just saying the words caused a twinge of homesickness.
“Not much out that way, but have a safe journey and hopefully we'll see you back in the Noor system soon.”
“Thanks for the help, Beo,” she scolded, trying to find the menu for automated takeoff. Beowulf cocked his head. After several long moments of being lost in the hierarchical structure, Tremmilly felt anxiety rise. “Where did it go? It was just here!” The whole auto-nav system had vanished. The only options available were for manual control, and Tremmilly knew she wouldn't get far piloting the ship herself.
“Departing vessel, you are cleared for exit. You are holding up the pattern. Please takeoff immediately.” The voice now sounded agitated, deepening her anxiety.
Hurriedly swiping menu entries, Tremmilly's palms started to sweat. After several tense moments, she found the problem. “I accidentally switched to manual controls,” Tremmilly exclaimed, finding the option to initiate auto-nav. “Departure,” Tremmilly voiced, selecting the command sequence she had memorized from the checklist. “Orbital dock. Launch authorized. Execute.”
Composing her voice and trying to sound professional, she transmitted: “Sorry for the delay. Headed out now.”
“No worries, departing vessel. Safe travels.”
Clearing the orbital dock, the ship accelerated for a few minutes. When the engines cut out, everything became eerily quiet. “I guess now we create the worm tunnel and travel through it to Haak-ah-tar,” Tremmilly said, trying to fill the emptiness. “Worm travel. Destination,” she said, scrolling through a long list of planet names. “Haak-ah-tar,” she continued, finding it. “Execute.”
“Insufficient gravity well clearance,” the screen flashed.
“What does that mean?” She tried to initiate the worm again, but the same message flashed. Tremmilly consulted the checklist, realized she was still too close to the planet, and executed commands to take them further from Noor-5.
After an hour, the terminal screen announced they’d reached sufficient clearance. Tremmilly tried the commands for the worm tunnel again. This time, it materialized. “Even on auto-nav, this takes some getting used to,” Tremmilly told Beowulf as they flew through the worm. She entered more commands, and they began accelerating towards the planet of Haak-ah-tar.
“You know Beo,” Tremmilly said, turning again to look at him in the nearby seat. His weight completely compressed th
e tired foam. “I think once we've found all these people, we should return to Eishon-2 for a break. Maybe just a year or so. Then we need to check out the habitable planets near Eishon, see what they have to offer. I think it would be good for us to get out and explore.” Beowulf looked back at her, seeming happy to do whatever she wanted. He had taken to space travel quickly, something Tremmilly herself was having a hard time stomaching. The drab walls and canned air smell grated harshly against her love of sunny, wide-open spaces. Despite the cramped conditions, she felt energized by this adventure. The newness of it all astounded her. Taking everything in was a great joy. And the beauties of space, she thought, remembering the huge nebula visible from the Noor system.
Tremmilly thrust her hands out just in time to catch herself as she flew forward. “Did we hit something? Why are we decelerating?” Beowulf, sensing her anxiety, whined.
Something is wrong with the ship. Tremmilly had no idea what it was or even where to start looking. To add spite to affliction, she was in an area where help was unlikely to come flying by. “Well Beowulf, guess we'll have to see what we can do. Maybe there’s a checklist for troubleshooting.” Tremmilly's voice was bright, but tinged with worry. The wolf-dog raised his ears, his eyes locked on the door at the back of the small command deck.
Just as Tremmilly sensed his alertness, the hatch opened, and to her shock, a man shambled through. He was rumpled and disheveled, long brown hair tangled and greasy. Swaying, the man held an antique looking glass bottle in one hand. It was partially filled with a clear liquid that sloshed gently as he rocked back and forth.
“Hure you? An why arh ya on muh ship?” he asked, voice slurred. Tremmilly stared for a moment before realizing he must be the captain of this junk heap.
“I'm Tremmilly Octus,” she replied, fixing her gaze on the man's muddy brown eyes. She figured it was far past the point of using deception to attain her goal, so she decided to tell the truth. “I needed passage to Haak-ah-tar. Your ship was available, so I took it.”
“Shtole it ya mean,” the drunk man replied, tall frame still wavering as he moved to the middle of the deck.
“Yes, I did steal it. I would have gladly paid the fare, but no one was willing to go to Haak-ah-tar.”
“And why whould they want ta? Itsa whar zone there right nhow. No one whants their ship pulled apart by Enphos.” A note of disgust had entered his voice. The man looked around the small flight deck, not really seeing anything. His eyes slid right across Beowulf, who had taken up a position next to Tremmilly. The man did a double take a moment later. “I don't whant nothin tado with ya,” he stammered. “Gotta go back ta sleep. Need more ta drink.” The last statement was said in a low voice, speaking to himself.
He turned and left the deck, disappearing back into the bowels of the ship. Tremmilly hesitated, but she had to figure out why they’d stopped moving. Her intuition was screaming time was critical, and she was swiftly wasting the little extra she had. Tremmilly hoped she wasn't too late to rescue the man from her vision.
“Wait,” she said, stepping quickly to catch up with the captain. “Please, I need to talk with you. It's vital we get back underway towards Haak-ah-tar.” As she walked through the doorway, she saw the piles of garbage and refuse once again. How this man had let his ship fall to this condition was beyond her understanding. When she saw what he was doing, she realized why she’d missed him on her initial search.
The drunken captain was burrowing down into a particularly large pile of garbage and filth, using it as bedding. He would periodically take a large gulp from the bottle, being extremely careful not to spill. Tremmilly felt disgusted. Beowulf, picking up on her emotions, growled softly.
“Sir,” she said imploringly, “I need your help. Something is wrong with the ship and I need to get to Haak-ah-tar.”
“Nuthin' wrong with muh ship, I jus diabled main power. I don't let shcamps steal muh ship. Now leat me shleep.” He collapsed into his garbage bed, taking no further notice.
Well, perhaps since he only disabled it, I might be able to figure out what's wrong, she thought, feeling optimistic. Walking through the cargo hold, she opened the engine room door. One look inside told her it would be impossible. Everything was complicated and foreign. There were too many wires, circuits, and components. Her pleasant outlook faded as she shut the door. Whatever the captain had done, Tremmilly knew she wouldn't be able to find it.
Developing a plan as she went, Tremmilly walked back into the cargo area. She reached through the piled litter and shook the man briskly, hoping to awaken him before he fell into a drunken coma. He moaned, slapping at her hand. Beowulf was in the captain's face in a split-second, growling. This had the effect Tremmilly wanted. Captain Garbage sat up, a scowl on his deeply lined face.
“What?” he asked, more sober now than during their prior conversation.
“First, if you could tell me your name, I could address you properly.” Tremmilly spoke in a bright tone she hoped would not be taken as sarcastic or high-handed.
“Jaydon Erath,” he snapped back.
“It's a pleasure to meet you, Captain Erath.”
“The name is Jaydon, Captain Erath was my father. He's dead. What else do you want?”
“Can you please reverse what you did to impair the engines?” This she said while giving him her most winning smile.
“You are touched by the dark star if you think you can steal my ship, flounce your way into a battle zone, and then try to sweet talk me into helping you. It's not gonna work.”
“I don't have time to explain, but it's vital we get to the Bloodsport asteroid as quickly as possible. There is no time to waste. It's critical.”
“I'm sure it is, but you aren’t listening. I'm not going to help you. Neither is the A'Tal's Revenge—my fine ship in case you were confused. Now please, leave me so I can drink in peace.”
Tremmilly grew more and more desperate as time slipped by, and she felt herself on the edge of hysteria. A new idea occurred to her, but she was loath to carry it out. As another minute dragged past and Jaydon continued to lie in his rubbish bed, she realized it was her only option. You have to put your conscience on hold. “I'm very sorry to do this, but we have to get to Bloodsport. I asked nicely, but you wouldn't listen.” Tremmilly gave a quick, one-handed signal to Beowulf and the dog advanced towards Jaydon, thick fur erect on his back. A deep chested growl intensified as he got closer.
“Really?” Jaydon asked, sounding exasperated. “You're gonna force me like this? Can't you just let me be till I sleep this off? We’ll work on it when I'm in a better mind.” Tremmilly merely looked at him, saying nothing as Beowulf continued advancing. “Alright, alright, since you’re gonna let that dog take a chunk out of me, I'll fix this junky crate. But I'll tell you again: this is a bad idea. Personally, I couldn't care less about my hide or this wreck, but I'd hate to see your pretty face get blown into the void.” At first, Tremmilly thought his comment was backhanded, but then she realized it was genuine. She began to blush. Tremmilly recalled Beowulf and watched Jaydon rise and walk to the back of the cargo hold. He removed a small panel next to the engine room door, reached his hand in, and did something she couldn't see. The ship lurched, ceasing its deceleration. After a moment or two, Tremmilly felt them speed up.
“It's a bad idea to go to Haak-ah-tar right now. I admire your daring in stealing my ship and going headlong for whatever goal you're punching towards, but all it's gonna do right now is get you stuck in the crossfire between the Ashamine and the Enthos.
“I'm going back to sleep. If you need anything, wake me. But please, don't need anything. I have to sleep this off. If you're gonna get us killed, please do me a favor and make sure it's quick. The void is fine, but I don't wanna get burned to death or anything like that.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked back to his garbage nest, taking another tug of the clear alcohol.
Feeling there was nothing she could say, Tremmilly returned to the flight deck, leaving
him to his drink and sleep. Once back in the pilot's seat, she scanned the ship's grungy terminal screens. According to the computer, it would be another hour before they reached Haak-ah-tar space. She was beginning to feel a bit drowsy herself. Knowing things would probably get crazy when they reached their destination, she decided to take a quick nap. Beowulf was back in his seat, watching the stars through the dirty view window. Tremmilly’s eyelids grew heavy and she nodded off.
She awoke from dreamless sleep with a start, nearly falling off the seat. She managed to catch herself on the control panel, but it took her several seconds to fix everything she’d accidentally hit in the process. For a moment, she wondered what had awakened her so violently.
“Unidentified craft, turn away from this facility. We are not accepting inbounds at this time. Be aware, this whole sector is in a state of conflict and is declared off limits for civilian traffic by the Ashamine. Please acknowledge receipt of this transmission and turn away at once.” The voice was coming from the ship's comm, sounding tinny and garbled.
It took several moments for Tremmilly to realize what was happening. She quickly looked at the terminal displays, showing the ship had arrived at its destination. The auto-nav had automatically slowed and vectored them to the Bloodsport orbital landing dock. Apparently they weren't going to let her land, an obvious development she felt quite stupid for not having anticipated.
The voice came over the speakers again, repeating the message. Tremmilly began chewing her nails, a nervous habit she'd acquired recently. Beowulf whined softly. Say something! Say anything! Just as she was about to transmit, Jaydon arrived on the flight deck.
“Hold on, Trem,” he said. Tremmilly found the nickname simultaneously irritating and endearing. “I'll handle this one. Been in plenty of tight spaces. I know how to work the system.” He was sober, although she noticed he was still lugging the clear bottle around. It looked like it held as much liquor as it had earlier in the day.
