by Kal Spriggs
“I was designed for a purpose,” Fenris said. “I was designed to defend humanity from the Culmor. That should be enough.” She didn't miss the tone of wistfulness, though, almost as if he wanted more. That's good, she thought. If he believes in more he might fight his programming.
“A purpose can be… important,” Mel said. She remembered why she’d joined the Academy at Harlequin Station, almost a decade ago. She remembered her initial desire to serve, to protect and defend humanity. She still felt it. “But a purpose doesn’t mean anything if you’re just a machine.”
Fenris didn’t answer for a long moment. “If I did have a soul… I would fear the truth that Vagyr is a human world.”
“Do you?” Mel asked.
It was even longer before the AI answered her. “I hope that you have lied. I hope that I will not kill innocent people. And if you have told the truth… I hate that I will feel guilt and that my purpose has been corrupted.”
Mel nodded, “Me too.”
***
Marcus broke his carbine down and began a full field strip.
He ignored the invisible glare that came his way from Bob. He didn't need to open his eyes to see that glare, the mixture of irritation and distrust which hadn't let up since Mel had forced the confession. He didn’t care about the glare or the distrust.
He stripped the carbine with precise motions because he had to do something; the wait was eating into him like acid. If he didn’t keep his mind occupied, he’d think about her. His hands still shook from the effects of rex withdrawal. His head throbbed with pain, both from the lack of rex and Bob’s makeshift surgery.
He kept his eyes closed in the dark, though now and again he’d see light flick across his eyelids as the others turned on the lantern or used their helmet lights to navigate the room.
His fingers flashed across the small parts of the carbine. Mentally he recited a litany of knowledge about it. It was a MP-11, the same model that Agent Mueller had had aboard the John Kelly. It fired eleven millimeter ammunition; eight different types were available, each for a distinct purpose, and the magazine could hold two types at a time, changeable with a selector switch.
He thought about the different types of ammunition as his fingers brushed, again and again, across the weapon’s parts. Blindly polishing the components, cleaning them. Modern caseless ammunition left a slight chemical residue that, given sufficient time and use, would clog the workings of the weapon.
How dare she do this to me? The thought burst through his mental focus in a spike of rage. Marcus’s hands trembled and he heard several of the pieces fall to the deck. His hand still shook as he scooped them all up and dropped them into his upside-down helmet for safekeeping.
Why had Mel chosen to go? She risked her life, again, for such a slim hope. Even if she got the antimatter away from Frost and his goons, Marcus doubted she’d escape. She never thought of herself, he thought bitterly.
His mind flashed back to the first day he’d met her. During his confession, he had told her he had panicked when he had seen her... and that had been true. But he hadn’t feared the punishment. He hadn’t feared death. He hadn’t even been afraid of her.
There in her room on her parents’ ship, her appearance in person had struck him to the core. With her blonde hair drawn back, her high cheekbones and tall stature, she’d looked every inch the Valkyrie. Her dignity, her poise, had struck him.
He’d realized then, that no picture could do her justice. Nothing could catch the vitality and life she projected in person. Her beauty had struck him to the core, all the more for the fact that she didn't see it in herself. But what had driven him to panic was her eyes; when he’d met those chocolate brown eyes he’d lost his will. He’d seen there empathy and compassion. He’d seen a wisdom that went beyond what he could have expected. Worse, he’d seen her ability to forgive.
He’d seen the anger there too, could hear it in her voice. But her anger didn’t rule her; rage at the loss of her parents had not made her bitter or changed her outlook on life. It had tempered her, forged her into a stronger, harder person, but still one with compassion.
Meeting those eyes, Marcus saw the one thing he never expected. Meeting her eyes, Marcus realized with terror the one thing he didn’t want awaited him. She would forgive him if he gave her the opportunity... even if it might destroy her to do it.
He’d held his tongue then. He didn’t want to destroy the world of the woman who had crumbled his entire life. She made his petty arrogance and false righteousness insignificant just through her innate self-honesty and consideration. He feared to take that away from her just to end his own wretched life. And now, even if she hadn’t yet admitted it, she had forgiven him.
Marcus knew he would never forgive her if she died on him now.
***
Mel drew closer to the site of Giles’ death, feeling a stab of fear run through her. She didn’t want to enter that corridor, but she had no choice. As she walked, she noticed her strides bouncing noticeably. “Gravity plates’ capacitors are draining faster than you said.”
It took a long moment for the ship to answer, long enough that she started to wonder if he had heard her. “That is odd,” he said. “I’m detecting unusual power surges in this section of corridors.”
“Is that a bad thing?” Mel asked. She stopped at the open door to the corridor.
“No. The surges are far too tiny to be dangerous. They are peculiar, I will dispatch a repair robot to check the circuitry as soon as the power situation is in hand.”
“Okay. Any reason I shouldn’t go down this corridor?” she asked hopefully.
“None.”
“Okay.” She stared at the dark opening. Slowly, she counted to ten. The corridor seemed like the others. She stepped inside, and immediately noticed that the gravity plates were no longer functioning. She pulled herself along the ceiling.
“Temperature seems low, here.” She let out a breath and watched it fog.
“Yes, I am noticing that—” Fenris’ voice cut off in a squeal of static.
“Fenris?” she asked. She waited for some response, yet she heard nothing.
There was no answer.
After several minutes of silence, she realized she probably wasn’t going to receive one. Logically, the power surges Fenris mentioned had probably had some effect on the intercom. No doubt, Fenris would tell her to continue, if he could.
Logic held small comfort faced with the dark corridor.
She let out another steaming breath. “Okay... this is just a cold, dark corridor. Nothing to worry about.”
Despite her words, her fingers clenched tight. She had to give herself another ten count to continue down the corridor. Several side passages went off it, their doors opened by the ship when it lifted the lock-down.
“Mel…” a voice whispered, at the edge of hearing.
She started, head jerking left and right. “Is someone there?”
“…yes…”
She jerked her pistol out. “Who’s there?”
“…I understand…”
She peered ahead in the dark, gun raised. Shouted, “Who the hell is there?!”
“It wasn’t… your fault.” The voice sounded louder.
She gulped, her hand clenching the pistol tighter. She couldn’t speak. Slowly she pulled herself forwards, and froze when she saw the robotic wolf ahead of her.
It floated sinisterly in the microgravity of the corridor, catching the light oddly and casting dark shadows ahead. Her left hand clenched the nearest handhold. Her right held the pistol, aimed for the deepest shadows.
“It wasn’t your fault,” the whispering voice repeated. “I understand that.” The voice sounded like it came from only a few feet away. “You didn’t mean to kill me.”
Mel’s hands trembled. She lost grip on the ceiling. She kicked out, spinning herself around. She had to get out.
Giles hung behind her.
Mel screamed. His blood-spattered suit hung
only inches away, his gray eyes staring into her. She brought her pistol up and fired; blood exploded.
She spun away, thrown down the corridor by the the pistol’s recoil. Her leg slammed into the robot and she twisted in midair to grab at a handhold. She shoved herself off, headed away.
Until she gulped for breath, she hadn’t realized that she’d been screaming the entire time, had lost all reason.
The end of the corridor was blocked. The door was closed.
Mel hammered at it with her hands. She shouted, she screamed. Finally, she forced her trembling hands to pull at the wires.
The door opened halfway before, with a screech, it stuck.
She shoved her head, then her shoulders through the gap. She squeezed down to her hips and then wiggled frantically, sobbing as she squirmed. Finally she got her hips and legs through, toppling to the floor on the far side where there was gravity.
She turned to the control panel and jerked the wires out. She looked through the half opened doors. Down the corridor, just out of the light, she thought she saw something move.
“Come on!” she sobbed. Finally, the doors jerked closed.
She collapsed to her knees and shuddered, the dead gray face of Giles stuck in her mind. How had he gotten behind her? Where had the voice come from?
“Fenris?” Mel asked.
“I am here, Mel,” his gravelly voice comforted her.
“Did you see that?” she asked, her breath coming in sharp gasps. Her heart was pounding so hard she felt it would leap out of her chest.
Fenris spoke uncertainly, “That was... unusual.”
“What happened?” Mel asked. I must have imagined it, she decided, Fenris will tell me I saw a floating body and freaked out, that’s all.
“My sensors in the corridor went out. So did my intercom. The random power surges disabled them. I do not know what happened.” The ship sounded… hesitant. “My ships sensors, however, detected two people moving in the corridor.”
Mel shuddered. She clenched her pistol and stared at the closed door. Fenris had seen two people in the corridor. “Did you dispose of Giles’ corpse?”
“No. I have no knowledge of what that would involve.”
She closed her eyes, and again, all she saw was the dead face, staring at her from just inches away. She opened them, afraid to blink, afraid to sleep, ever again. “Talk to me, Fenris.”
“About what?”
“About anything!” she snapped.
“I am armed with two turrets containing four exotic matter particle cannons, four turrets containing four heavy antimatter torpedo launchers, and ten projectile counter-fighter turrets. Additionally, I have room for six bomber and six fighter drones, and magazine storage for the nuclear warheads—”
“Uh,” she interrupted, “Thanks.”
“Want to hear more?”
Slowly she got to her feet. “What just happened?”
“I do not know.” Fenris sounded irritated.
“Do you believe in ghosts, Fenris?” She pushed herself away from the wall and started down the corridor. She ached too much to move quickly, but she managed a brisk shuffle. It took a long while for the ship to answer.
“You think Giles’ ghost caused the power surges?” Fenris sounded almost as if he believed just that.
“I’m not sure what I think,” Mel said. She shivered again, thinking about the pale, bloodless face and the dead gray eyes. How had she passed his corpse? How did it get behind me?
“There’s no evidence,” Fenris said.
“Which is why I’m not sure,” she replied, shuddering again. “Look, I don’t know what I saw. Your sensors saw two people moving in there. Do you see anything now?”
“No. The power surges have burned out the local sensors. My ship sensors do not detect movement.” His voice did not have its normal level of confidence.
“Okay.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “So you don’t know what you saw. I don’t know what I saw. Let’s just leave it at that.” Somehow, though, she knew that Giles’ dead gray face would await her in her nightmares.
***
“You are approaching the area where the others wait,” Fenris said, a while later.
Mel paused, then stood somewhat straighter. Her back and shoulders protested, but she ignored the pain. “I’ve come a lot faster with your help, thank you Fenris.”
“You’re welcome,” Fenris said. The ship sounded surprised at her thanks.
She stared at the closed door ahead of her. Fenris had left this area of the ship locked down. Behind her lay safety… though her mind shied away from the thought of Giles’s corridor. Ahead of her waited the terrorists… and her brother. “Wish me luck, Fenris,” she said.
“Good luck, Mel.” Fenris said.
She snorted and shot a glance at the ceiling, “Thanks.”
Then, sighing, she toggled open the door. The corridor ran ten meters ahead, to a heavy blast door. Beyond that door lay the engine room, she knew. She also knew, from Fenris, that the terrorists had moved to a side corridor just off this one.
She didn’t blame them; the radiation levels in the engine room were unhealthy. The ship’s designers hadn’t bothered with radiation shielding beyond minimal containment on the main reactor. The heavy blast doors and armored bulkheads of the engine room protected the rest of the ship.
Her ship suit would protect her from it for a few hours, but she felt uncomfortable at the thought of going inside. Then again, she couldn’t let the hijackers know she had the ship’s help. So she couldn’t just walk up to them; she’d told them to wait in the engine room, so she’d head there and hope they didn’t leave her there too long to cool her heels.
She walked past the closed door to the side corridor without a glance. She didn’t know if the terrorists had any remote sensors of their own; it wasn’t something she’d thought to ask Fenris. The skin between her shoulder-blades started to itch.
She reached the engine room door and started to pull out wires, then frowned at the panel; someone had already wired it. She started to cross the wires when a voice spoke from behind.
“Don’t move. Don’t even breathe,” came the cold voice of Colonel Frost “Where are the others?”
She swallowed, suddenly terrified. Here was the moment she’d dreaded. “They didn’t trust me. They didn’t believe my story.”
“You came back alone?” Frost demanded.
“Yes.” Mel said. The area between her shoulder-blades itched furiously. She tried not to think of the guns pointed at her.
“Turn around, slowly,” Frost said. “And don’t touch those wires, they’re rigged to explosives.”
Mel’s hands jerked back and she winced. Slowly, she turned around. The terrorists waited in the corridor behind her; apparently they did have remote sensors. She just hoped they didn’t have any further back down the corridor.
“Take out your pistol and slide it over,” Frost said. He stood behind two of his men, both of whom had their weapons aimed at Mel.
She complied, moving as slowly as she could. The pistol slid down the corridor and stopped just shy of the two men.
“Search her,” Colonel Frost said. One of the men came forward. Mel slowly raised her hands.
The man frisked her quickly and thoroughly, though he took the time to cop a feel. She set her jaw and ignored the leer on his face.
“She’s clean.”
“Bring her here.”
The terrorist dragged her down the corridor.
She looked into Frost’s eyes. Earlier, she’d worried that she wouldn’t come across as convincingly afraid. She needn’t have. Something about his set jaw and cold, unfeeling blue eyes terrified her.
“So you failed.” He cocked his head. “What happened?”
“They—they didn’t believe me,” Mel stuttered. “They nearly shot me when I showed up.”
“Why didn’t they?” Frost asked.
“I don’t know.”
Colonel
Frost frowned as one of his men passed him her pistol. He ejected the magazine, and she felt her heart stop as he stared at it. “You expended four rounds.”
“I…” she gulped, “I had to enter the corridor with Giles’s corpse. I got scared in the dark.”
Frost looked up, catching her eyes. “Is that so?”
She shivered.
“Rawn.”
Her brother stepped forward to the Colonel’s side. “Sir?”
“Brief your sister on our current situation. Make sure she doesn’t get in my way.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If she distracts you from your other assignment, let me know.” Frost’s tone lightened somewhat, “I can have someone else babysit her.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rawn stepped forward and grabbed her arm, “Come on.”
He pulled her down the side corridor, growling: “I can’t believe you tried that stupid plan! You’re lucky they didn’t shoot you. I told you those others couldn’t be trusted.”
Mel didn’t answer. She cast a last nervous look back at the GFN leader.
When she looked forward again, she found that Rawn had stopped her next to a pile of supplies. Sitting next to the pile was the antimatter core.
She smiled grimly, “Sometimes you have to stick your neck out.”
***
Michael Frost grimaced at the woman’s back.
“Captain Roush.”
His second in command hurried over. “Sir?”
“Go check on our men in the hangar. See how that project is coming along.”
“Yes, sir.” The other man started to turn away and then paused, “You believe the bitch?”
Frost continued to stare at Mel’s back until her brother led her into the side corridor. “For now.”
He honestly wasn't certain if he believed her or not, but he didn't see any point to her coming back if she hadn’t truly changed sides to him.
“Sir, Giran was a friend of mine,” Roush's voice held hatred, but Frost doubted that he really had been friends with Giran. The two had worked together before a number of times, and were both known for their particular interests. Sadism and torture were the only things the two men really held in common, as far as Frost knew, but that was enough he supposed for the two to have something of a bond. A very twisted bond, he thought, but there's no accounting for taste.
