by C B Williams
Grale took a deep breath. “So, Aiko, do I have a chance? Will you take another look at me?”
She blinked, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “On one condition.”
His face lit up as he gently wiped the tear away. “Anything. Anything at all.”
“Just don’t stop calling me Kitten, Cowboy.”
Chapter 17
Jon Gaylord
Jon Gaylord could not sleep, or so it seemed. He could fall asleep. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was managing to stay asleep because when he slept, the dream came. The same dream.
The advent of the dream usually woke him. After that, it wasn’t worth trying to get back to sleep because, in trying to go back to sleep, all Jon did was recount what happened in the dream. If he wasn’t dreaming about it, he was thinking about it. That had become his new nighttime activity.
With a groan, Jon threw back his sleeping cot covers and flipped on the light in one seamless movement, born of a thousand repetitions. He stomped into the WC, something else he’d done a thousand times, and tried to relieve himself. But a full bladder wasn’t the reason he was awake, so why pretend it was?
With a sigh, he turned on the faucet, splashed cold water on his face, and stared blankly at his reflection, which was staring blankly back at him.
He used to think he was quite good-looking, glad he took after his father’s side of the family. He was taller than average, had an athletic build, deep-set brown eyes which one girlfriend had dubbed smoldering, and a chin another girlfriend had called manly.
But now his smoldering eyes were bloodshot and shadowed with lack of sleep, and his manly chin was rough with stubble. Jon rubbed his chin, wondering whether to shave or not. The time was 0230, so his stubble would be back by 0600.
Not worth the effort.
Jon left the mirror and surveyed his sparse little cabin, looking for something to put on. He tugged on a loose-fitting shirt and athletic pants, and flopped into his desk chair. Deciding he could function with four hours of sleep, he turned on his personal data processor and opened up his private files.
At first, Jon thought he was hallucinating, some odd flashback from his days of debauchery, those last weeks of defiance before his father gave him an ultimatum. He had hoped it was a hallucination. But once the dreams started—the one dream, he corrected himself—he began a journal, and did his best to research the phenomena with the limited resources the ship’s computer provided.
The closest he could discover was something called remote viewing, although it didn’t really fit what happened. Plowing through a transparent ship, shooting the fission generator wand into a man, and locking eyes with a beautiful woman seemed much more like a hallucination than a remote viewing session.
He had even exchanged names with the woman. What kind of name was Perin?
He then began to research space sickness, only to discover he had none of the symptoms. Dementia was the only other explanation, and he considered it a last resort. In fact, he had pushed that explanation so far away he finally decided to forget about it.
Then two things happened.
First, the fission generator wand stopped functioning. And then it disappeared. Vanished. It was his responsibility to maintain the thing, so it was his fault it had gone missing.
When asked what to do about it, the only thing he could suggest was to reverse course and try to solve the mystery at the site of the wand’s last known coordinates.
The second thing that happened was the dream. The same one, again and again and again. He attributed the dream to either anxiety or fear. Anxiety over the upcoming re-insertion of a new wand if the old one was definitely missing, or fear that by returning to the same coordinates as his hallucination, it would cause another. Which made sense to him.
It had been rather shocking. After all, he had pushed the button that lanced a highly technical and dangerous device into another human being.
Jon yawned and eyed his cot warily. God, I am so tired. Perhaps he should request a sleep aid, although they left him groggy the next day. But at least he could sleep.
He glanced down at his fingers, still poised over the keyboard. Hadn’t even typed a word. “Damn,” he said, shaking his head. He shut down the equipment and shuffled over to the cot, not bothering to strip off his clothes. Lying prone, at least he would be more comfortable. Even if he didn’t sleep, his body could rest.
But he did sleep.
And he dreamed.
The man he shot and the beautiful woman—Perin—and another woman appeared out of nowhere and pulled him off his ship before he could even lock onto the power signature’s coordinates.
Jon woke, momentarily disoriented.
Someone was pounding on his door.
He sat bolt upright.
“Navigator! You awake?” a voice demanded.
“Yeah,” he said hoarsely.
“Say again, Navigator?”
Jon cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m awake,” he said more forcefully, more annoyed than usual about how they never used his name and never used the door chime. He glanced at the clock. 0600. He needed to be awake by now anyway.
“Admiral wants to see you in twenty.”
Jon heard the footsteps fade away without waiting for a reply. He finger-combed his short hair as he threw back the covers and headed to his WC. Twenty minutes wasn’t too bad. He even had time to shower and shave. Someone must be a good mood, he thought drily. The crew generally only gave him ten minutes.
The door panel to the admiral’s suite was open. Jon paused and knocked on the panel frame.
“Enter,” a deep voice called from the other room. “Close the door behind you and help yourself to some tea. I’ll be with you shortly.”
Jon entered the spacious room and sat on one of the twin sofas that faced each other, helping himself to a cup of tea from the silver tea service on the coffee table. Leaning back on the sofa, he crossed his leg, resting his ankle on the opposite knee while he sipped his tea and waited.
The room was very much like the admiral: well-appointed, clean, comfortable furniture, but nothing fussy and nothing out of place.
The admiral strode in, adjusting his uniform cuffs. He nodded at Jon. “I see you’ve made yourself at home. Good,” he said. He sat across from Jon and poured himself a cup of tea.
“I did, thank you,” said Jon.
The admiral took a sip and scrutinized Jon over his cup’s rim. “It’s the least I could do since I called you here so early. You look tired.”
“I am tired. Haven’t been sleeping well.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Son.”
Jon drained his cup and poured himself another. “It is what it is. Why am I here, sir?”
The admiral was silent for a brief moment. Then he quickly and efficiently placed his cup and saucer down on the table and clasped his hands together. “Do you know why I asked specifically for you to go with me on this mission?”
Jon snorted. “Hardly for a father/son bonding adventure, that much I know.”
For a brief moment, pain and something else...regret?...flashed across the admiral’s face. “I asked for you because, in the whole of my career, you’re the best damned navigator I’ve ever come across. And I wanted the best.”
Surprise rushed through Jon, and he nearly choked on his tea. “I see,” was all he could manage in response.
“So why is it that the best damned navigator in this whole fucking Navy cannot locate a damaged fission generator wand?”
Jon set down his cup and sighed. “I haven’t a clue, Father, and am just as baffled as you. It simply vanished. Gone. The best I can do is take us back to where we fired the implant. If it’s there, it’s there. If not...” He lifted his hands and shrugged.
The admiral scowled. “Not what I wanted to hear.”
“Not what I wanted to tell you.” Jon watched his father’s scowl deepen. It was like looking at himself thirty years in the future. Why couldn’t he have taken after h
is mother or at least have something recognizable of her in him?
“Do you always need to be so sarcastic, Jon? It’s an expensive piece of equipment and extremely dangerous. We can’t afford to lose even one. And if it ever got into the wrong hands—”
“I know, I know,” Jon said, suddenly weary of the conversation. “I honestly don’t know what to tell you. As you said, I’m the best damned navigator, and I’ve never witnessed anything like this.” He fell silent for a moment. “Look, I’ve set the course for the last known coordinates. We should arrive some time tomorrow morning. And we won’t know what we’re going to find until we get there.”
His father set down his cup and stood.
Jon followed suit.
“I suppose time will tell,” the admiral said. “I really wanted this mission to go without a hitch,” he said shaking his head. “This was to be my grand opus, so to speak. My final legacy before I retire.”
“For the record, Father, I tried to tell you that the energy frequencies of this location felt off to me. They were too unstable for my liking. Couldn’t maintain a firm location. Coordinates shifting. I did advise searching for another source for the star gate.”
“I remember. But this sector, our outermost boundary, was the perfect place to assemble a fleet in the event one was necessary. From here we could use that particular star gate and go anywhere within our galaxy.” He paused. “I didn’t tell you, but I’ve been in planning sessions with HQ. They wanted to build a space station here, an entire floating city, and this star gate is critical. But now the wand is missing and the gate can’t be opened.”
Jon nodded, still mystified why this position, with its irregular energy source, would make the perfect spot. “Surely, you can find another position,” he said as he made his exit. “There’s a lot of empty space surrounding our galaxy.”
His father called him back.
“I apologize, Son, if I have been brusque. This situation is beyond frustrating. I am especially concerned about the fission generator wand going missing. Yet there is not another ship in sight, so where is it?” He fisted his hands. “I won’t rest until there is a positive resolution.”
Jon took a deep breath before he answered, squashing the ready retort. “I appreciate your apology, Father. This is beyond frustrating for all of us. Like I said, I’ve never experienced anything like it. The wand was working perfectly before that energy surge, and then it simply stopped working.” He paused. “And then it simply vanished. I’ve spent hours, on duty and off, trying to locate it.”
His father nodded. “Does this give you enough time to test and prepare a second wand? The star gate’s position is too critical to let it go.”
“The second wand is already online and tested.” He hesitated. “Although I would think you’d want to locate the first wand and ensure there won’t be a repeat performance.”
“We can search for it while we wait for the second to stabilize. The sooner a gate is created, the sooner we can complete this mission and go home.”
Jon watched his hands shake as they skimmed over the control panel, locking the settings in place.
He could no longer ignore the toll his lack of sleep was taking. He hoped to all the heavens that once they inserted this second wand, found the lost one, and went home, he’d resume a normal sleep pattern.
But for now, he did what he could, using sleep aids to quiet his mind and stimulants to wake him up. The prescribing ship’s medic told him he would report to the admiral that he had given Jon the drugs, which he had obviously done already, because Jon kept seeing his father glancing at him with an odd expression. Made him even more jumpy. He thought maybe the way his father looked at him had even more of an effect than the prescribed stimulants. He caught himself grinning and quickly suppressed it before anyone noticed. The crew already thought he was odd.
“Coordinates locked, Admiral,” he said.
“Start the countdown,” his father ordered.
“Setting for ten,” he said, “nine, eight, seven—” A shiver ran through him and he looked up from his reader.
He gasped.
The dream! It was happening!
It’s actually happening!
One minute they weren’t there. The next they were. Three of them. Right in front of him. Just like in the dream, and he knew what was coming next.
“Oh, fuck me!” he shouted. He flung out his hands to ward off the trio. “NO! Help! No! Don’t!” he pleaded.
The big man he had stabbed with the fission generator wand calmly grasped his arm and tugged. The atmosphere shimmied and shimmered around him. Pain wracked him as his surroundings began to fade.
The last thing he heard was his father calling his name. The fear in his father’s voice matched his own.
Chapter 18
Kidnapped
Pain.
An ocean of pain and nausea.
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even breathe.
I’m dying! Jon thought, and he didn’t want to die. He wanted very much to live.
So very much.
Soft hands gently probed his face. So light they felt like butterfly wings.
“What’s wrong with him?” a voice asked. Female.
“I need to stabilize him,” a deep masculine voice replied.
Another hand touched his shoulder. This one heavy, strong, and warm energy flooded through him, dispelling the pain.
He gasped, drawing in great gulps of air. Sweet powers that be. Sweet, sweet powers that be.
He was alive.
“How are you feeling now?” the deep masculine voice asked.
Jon opened his eyes slowly. He was lying on his back with a familiar man and two women bending over him.
He gathered his scattered thoughts, eyes on the man, trying to place him. Then memories surfaced. This giant was the man from his dream. The man he had shot with the wand. The man who had just materialized out of thin air and grabbed him.
Galvanized by fear, Jon struggled to sit. The big man helped him. His eyes darted around the chamber, trying to understand. He had been lying on a pallet of some sort. The room had the definite look of a medical facility. He swallowed, felt disoriented. “Where am I? What happened?”
“You are on board our ship, the Valiant,” the big man said quietly. “We have questions we are unable to answer, so we brought you here to answer them for us.”
“You are quite safe,” one of the women said. She was petite, attractive, with a mass of auburn coils snaking around her. “We’ll put you back as soon as we have our answers,” she said, dark blue eyes wide with sincerity.
“Jon.”
His head whipped around.
It was her.
The blond angel.
“Perin?”
She smiled.
Her eyes. Something was wrong with them. What is going on?
He closed his eyes, shaking his head. Too much. It was too much. The dreams. The reality. Both blending together. Merging. Nothing seemed real.
His breath came faster. “I don’t get it,” he gasped. “I don’t...I can’t...what’s happening?” He buried his face in his hands, wishing it would all disappear, wishing he could wake up.
Perin reached out and drew him to her. “Hush now,” she whispered and stroked his back. “Slow down your breathing. It’s okay, Jon. We won’t hurt you. Just breathe. That’s it. That’s good.” She was smaller than he was, but he felt safe in her arms. He allowed her to soothe him, resting his forehead against her shoulder. She smelled good. In fact, he could stay there forever. Safe. Relaxed.
“I need to sleep,” he said.
“Then sleep. I’ll stay with you.”
She helped him get settled on the pallet. When he noticed the others had left the room, he studied Perin leaning over him. “Your eyes.”
She smoothed back his hair. Her hand was cool.
“I am blind in this world.”
“But—”
“I am not
blind in yours. Hush, now, Jon. Sleep. When you’re rested, we will talk. All is well.”
For some inexplicable reason, he believed her and closed his eyes.
She stroked his head, her hand soothing and rhythmic. He didn’t think he could remain awake even if he tried.
“Poor guy,” Wren said as she and Eloch exited the med lab. “I think we came on a little too strong.”
Eloch nodded and grinned. “In his shoes, I would certainly have found it unnerving.”
“Perin’s got him, though. There’s some sort of connection there.”
“Definitely.” He reached for her hand. “How are you after two crossings?”
“Better than the first. One, I knew what to expect, and two, the burning pain was less this time.”
“Good. I’m working on stabilization, helping your body adjust more rapidly.”
“One thing I noticed both times is how hungry I get. Ravenous.”
“Is that why we’re racing toward to the galley?”
“Yep.”
“I forgot to mention,” he said as they hurried along, “I created the universal translator I was talking about, the one for the whole ship. As long as we’re on board, we can all understand Jon and he can understand us.”
“Clever.” She frowned, then laughed. “Of course you did. I just realized Perin and Jon were communicating just fine. The gift Spur gave me...well, I’ve learned to take it for granted that not everyone can communicate without a translator in their hand.”
“And now they can.”
When they reached the galley, Wren went in search of food while Eloch pinged the Bridge to update the others and hear their report.
