by Angie Arland
A calmness overcame Tayla as she absorbed maps of star systems, knowledge of a multitude of races, sciences, genetics...all expanding her limited knowledge, yet miraculously translated and filtered to accommodate her humanity. The dinnarei were peaceful, until terudithans came to their quadrant in Centaurus-B and ripped their four worlds apart. Four lush forest planets filled with abundant lifeforms, from microscopic to mammoth size, each unique to the Quadrant, became horrific scenes of multiple planetary-wide massacres in graphic detail. The dinnarei’s message was clear: warn Earth!
Terudithans are coming for your planet!
Two
“Mister Finnegan, tell me you’ve fixed the damn engine!” Captain Aiden Lomax snapped over the holo-comm. His fuse was short, and the ration packs were drying up like a camel’s armpit on a hot day.
“Hounding me every two minutes is not helping. You realize that?” Mister Finnegan grumbled over the comms-link.
“We’re all counting on you to get the ship running. No pressure intended.” Aiden wondered if the antiquated engine would start again. It was one of the last ships in the fleet with an ion engine, but the aerodeck mechanics assured him it was ‘of optimal efficiency’ before their departure. Once they made it back—no, if they made it back—he’d ream the aerodeck crew for this, make no mistake.
“I can’t fix the engine because I haven’t found the fault!” Mister Finnegan’s anger clearly came over the comms.
Aiden surveyed an asteroid field through the armory viewport. The nearest star, a white dwarf, silhouetted the larger chunks of rock, outlining their cratered edges. He’d never tire of the view, the incredible beauty of stars, a million precious gems sparkling in a jewelry box lined with black silk.
The TC-32 was an old scout ship with a patched hull and pilfered components from an AT shuttle. She’d had her share of hard knocks since the day she launched but he wouldn’t trade her in for any other scout ship in the fleet. But now he wasn’t so sure.
He tapped his fingers on the shelf waiting for the power cell to recharge. He knew he’d have to tell his crew the news from Fleet Command at some stage, but he couldn’t bring himself to—not yet, anyway. It wasn’t like they were going someplace in a hurry.
“Perhaps you need a hand? A second set of eyes might—”
“You know how to fix the engine now, do you?”
The old man was testing his limits. Aiden ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t like your tone, I am your superior and—”
“I don’t need your bloody help. I can do it myself...sir.” Mister Finnegan then deactivated his comms-link, the distinct click evident.
Dammit! Aiden tried to reconnect on his wrist holo, then shook his head. Only one crew member could help. “Ryder?” he hailed.
“Yes, sir?” Comms Officer Olivia Ryder responded over the holo-comm from the Command Hub.
“Reactivate Mister Finnegan’s comms, would you?” Finnegan may be as old as the scout ship and way overdue for retirement, so Aiden had given the man a long leash, perhaps a little too long.
“One sec, sir,” Ryder said.
Three damned months they’d been scouting supplies for the fleet, and all they had to show were five crates of mineral specimens and a handful of secondhand parts from a Dinnarei outpost on Dazan’aki. Their last three missions saw the cargo bay filled to the brim with supplies, yet the further they penetrated the Varus-III Quadrant, the more limited the resources.
The charging station light turned green. Aiden grabbed a plasma pistol from the armory shelf, guided the charged power cell into the battery chamber, locked the safety mechanism, and thrust the weapon into his hip holster.
He turned to find the ship’s dog, a golden retriever named Spero, sitting and watching him. “Hey, girl.” Aiden lowered his hand, and she came over panting and let him scratch the top of her furry head.
“Comms established, sir,” Ryder reported.
Aiden grinned. This would piss Finnegan off, which was the whole point. “Okay, old man. Tell me once we can fire up the engine.” The rest of the crew showed him respect—at least to his face.
Mister Finnegan ignored him.
“Turn your comms off again, and I’ll throw you in the airlock for the rest of the journey.” He wouldn’t do any such thing, but Finnegan didn’t have to know that.
“You wouldn’t dare, sonny. I’m the only engineer in the fleet willing to work on this piece-of-shit engine.”
That’s because no one else could put up with you, Aiden thought. Something he nearly bit his tongue from saying aloud.
Mister Finnegan was right, though. He was the last pilot/engineer that knew an ion engine from the inside out. And the old bastard knew they knew that. Apart from rookie co-pilot, Reece, Aiden and his contingent had been together on scout ship TC-32 the past six cycles.
Mister Finnegan was crankier than usual because he was tired as hell, yet they all were, especially since the Terudithan cruiser had changed course to their sector of space three days ago.
Aiden pushed the spent power cell into the charging station. The light flickered red. There was no way of solving the engine problem at hand and using thrusters alone wouldn’t get them even a fraction of the way home. They were too far out at this stage of the game, yet he had to wonder, would Fleet Command leave them stranded for eternity in remote space? He shook his head. It wouldn’t surprise him, not one iota, and it wouldn’t be the first time a ship and crew had been abandoned.
“Sir, I think you’d better get up here!” Signals Operator James Harper’s panicked voice burst over the comms. Harper had a habit of panicking, which made the rest of the crew either laugh or cry and sometimes both.
“On my way.” Aiden left the confines of the armory. The dog clipped ahead of him and peered back, tongue hanging out. He closed the hatch behind them.
Spero kept pace with him, jumping over the blast barriers at each section, albeit the hound did so slower than she used to. The retriever was nearing retirement age and would soon spend the rest of her days being pampered at the K9 Service center on the Ancora. Aiden’s heart jolted at the thought. Everything he ever loved seemed to vanish from his life. But he wouldn’t visit the past...or the future, not right now.
Aiden pushed the thoughts away as he rushed through the corridor to the Command Hub. He lifted Spero over the last blast door. “Report?”
SigsOp Harper swiveled around in his seat as Aiden entered the hub. “Sir, the cruiser is on direct intercept bearing two-seven-zero mark one-nine.”
Aiden grimaced. He sat in the Command chair, and Spero settled down to lay panting at his feet. “How long ‘til they’re within weapons range?”
Harper accessed the Signals HUD on his console. His fingers flew over the hovering blue symbols. “Range fifty-three ems, give or take.”
“We need options,” he said to the crew. He rose from his chair and walked across the hub to Weapons Officer Noah Karson. “Karson, could we do any damage with the plasma cannons?” Aiden was grasping at straws. He knew every ship in the fleet had come off second-best during rare encounters with armored Terudithan cruisers.
“Negative, sir.” Weps Karson said as he accessed the Tactical HUD and flicked through their limited arsenal. He looked at Aiden. “We could take the ship into the asteroid field, hide out for a bit. It should mask some of the thermal radiation.” Karson rubbed his eyes and re-focused on the tactical console.
SigsOp Harper, on the opposite side of the hub, snorted. “How’s that going to help? The squid’ll still pick up our heat signature and blast the shit out of us.” He screwed up his nose at Karson.
Weps Karson’s eyes widened. “Thanks, Harper. You gave me an idea.”
Aiden waited while Karson flicked through the bank of files on the main database. The list flew by in a blur, yet Karson knew what he was looking for. “We are not dying today,” the Weps said. “Sir, there’s a report in the database. I just need another moment to find it.”
“What fictitious nonsense this time?” SigsOp Harper muttered beneath his breath, yet purposely loud enough for everyone to hear.
Aiden gave the SigsOp a sharp look then averted his eyes back to Karson’s console.
“Bingo!” the Weps said with a grin.
The entire command crew turned to look. All except Harper.
“All right, sir, there’s an alternative, but it comes with its own set of risks. It’s also hypothetical and never tested outside the Virtual Repository.” Karson said all this while scanning over the report on his console.
SigsOp Harper, lip curled in disgust, spun around in his chair. “That asinine cloaking shield, you’ve been going on about? You’re delusional! Where’s Doctor McNeill? You need a brain scan.”
Karson was often the first to suggest unconventional ideas, while the more conservative Harper preferred to hover in the background waiting to shit on them. Karson ignored the SigsOp, directing his gaze to Aiden. “Sir, if we power down all systems and drop the temperature of the ship to match the background radiation, it is theoretically possible.”
Aiden recalled a report he’d skimmed a few cycles ago. “Is this regarding Blackbody Radiation?”
Karson’s brow raised in surprise. “Yes, Doctor Garcia’s research. You know it?”
Aiden nodded. “In part. I recall Garcia’s team carried out prelim testing in the V-Rep with promising results. It’s never been field tested as far as I’m aware.”
“If we do this, we need to land fast,” Karson replied. Despite their situation, he remained calm—just what a good Weapons Officer did. “Mimicking Blackbody Radiation will render us undetectable to radar.” He gave Harper a smug look.
Harper’s face crumpled into a worried frown. “And what happens to us? We turn into space-sicles? You’re talking about the temperature outside, inside!”
“Our EVA suits will keep us alive, you brainless twit—all due respect, sir,” he added looking at Aiden. “At least long enough until the squid bastards tire of looking and leave us alone.”
“Brainless?!” Harper looked indignant.
Communications Officer Ryder turned from scowling at the pair and looked at Aiden with a raised brow. She expected him to say something. As usual, she was right.
“That’s enough, you two,” Aiden cut them off. “I know everyone is tired, and we haven’t slept in days, but, Harper, there’s no need for you to dump on Karson’s ideas right now, or anyone’s for that matter. I asked for options, so keep your mouth closed unless you have something beneficial to say.”
Harper began to speak.
“That’s an order, Harper,” Aiden added.
The SigsOp shut his mouth. His face turned red, and he spun in his chair to face the Signals HUD.
Aiden and Comms Officer Ryder exchanged glances, and she gave him an approving nod. Aiden couldn’t help smirking. Admittedly, Karson’s and Harper’s bickering was sometimes entertaining, even laughable, when they didn’t have an enemy cruiser bearing down on them.
He gestured at Spero. “To your bed, girl.” The dog bolted to her crate and settled in, while Aiden returned to the command chair.
“Mister Finnegan! Did you hear Weps Karson’s idea?” Aiden wasn’t sure if the old man had deactivated his comms again.
“Every damn detail! Look, even if I can fix the engine before the little gray bastards are on us, there’s no bloody way we can outrun a cruiser of that magnitude. It’s just not possible. Sure, we have maneuvering capability and fancy new plasma cannons but nowhere near enough speed. They’ll catch us in no time and, like Harper said, blast us all to hell.”
Aiden weighed their options and came to a quick conclusion. He had to put his crew first, keep them safe to fight another day. He didn’t always feel that way, especially during their first cycle together. Yet, even with their constant bickering and backstabbing, he felt a fondness for them, including Finnegan, which was hard to admit.
“Thank you, Mister Finnegan. Let’s prep the ship for...well, Blackbody Radiation Mode.” He gave Karson a nod.
The Weps nodded back. “Aye, sir.”
Against all odds they had become family, a close-knit bunch that didn’t fit into the square-box of the fleet’s strict, orderly system. They all had one thing in common—every crewmember had lost someone to the terudithans.
The crew wasn’t aware, as far as he could tell—not that they’d admit it to his face—it was the seventh anniversary since his wife and son went missing, presumed dead. They never recovered the AT shuttle. Some days he wanted to blast himself out the airlock to ease the pain, to end the suffering. But not today. Not yet.
Aiden pushed the intrusive thoughts to the deep recesses, knowing they’d surface later as they always did. He must remain patient until the day they find the Terudithan home world.
Then, it was game over.
Three
Golden light filtered through Tayla’s closed eyelids as she stirred from glorious slumber. A sigh ushered from her lips. The entire crash and alien craziness had been a nightmare, albeit a realistic one.
Eyes closed, she stretched and yawned, not wanting the peace to end. The pain she endured in the dream was horrific to say the least; she never wanted to experience that ever again.
Something poked her cheek.
Startled, Tayla opened her eyes to an over-bright room and the inquisitive gaze of a child, around nine or ten. His long sandy hair fell below his shoulders, and he studied her with innocent cornflower-blue eyes. With a cheeky grin, he lifted his hand and poked her cheek again.
“Stop that!” Tayla warned.
“Oh good, you’re awake.” His face turned serious as he tilted his head to the side. “Are you human?”
“What?” She tried to push herself up, but her arms gave way and she dropped back to the bed. Her surroundings were unfamiliar, the lights too bright, and an unpleasant antiseptic smell lingered in the air. “Where am I? A hospital? Where are your parents?” A million questions ran through her mind along with flashes of images she’d rather forget.
“Are you human?” the boy asked again, brows raised.
“No,” she said. “I’m pretending to be human. I’m really a mermaid. Now will you leave me alone?” Tayla took a breath and pushed herself up with shaky arms to rest on her elbows. Aqua patches of dried paint—at least it seemed like paint—stiffened the fabric of her t-shirt across the front. She couldn’t remember how it got there.
The room was devoid of furniture apart from the metal slab beneath her. Why had she thought it was a comfortable bed? Tayla decided she must really be out of it.
Why aren’t I wearing a hospital gown? A shudder ran down her spine. Oh my god, unless I’m in a morgue!
“My dad said mermaids aren’t real. You don’t look like a mermaid.”
“W-where are we?” Tayla shifted her weight onto one arm and stretched out her hand to touch the boy’s shoulder. She needed to make sure he was real and not a figment of her imagination. The boy stepped back and frowned, clutching his shoulder as though she had burned it with her fingertips.
She looked around the room. The walls weren’t padded at least, so it wasn’t a mental ward. At least she hoped not.
“I’m human.” The boy stated it proudly and puffed out his chest. He seemed like an inquisitive boy, and probably knew everyone on the ward, including their names and illnesses.
“Okay, look, kid...have you, uh, seen my sister? Is she here in the hospital? Her name is Claire.”
“Claire...” He said it as though a foreign word on his tongue.
“Yes, my sister. She’s taller than me, has long dark hair, brown eyes...she’s wearing a purple shirt and jeans.”
How can I remember what Claire was wearing but not how I got here? Wherever here is!
The boy pointed at the opposite wall.
“She’s in the next room? Is she alright?” Tayla wanted to vault through the wall to Claire, but she couldn’t move. The weakness pulled her down, as if h
er muscles were weak as a newborn foal.
The boy’s hair fell across his face as he nodded before dropping his arm. “Is she human?” he asked, tilting his head to the side, waiting for her reply.
Tayla let out a frustrated chuckle and relaxed her shoulders. Claire was safe. That was all that mattered. She decided to wait until a nurse came to check her vitals, then she would ask to see her sister. “Do you ask everyone if they’re human?” she asked, trying her best not to smirk.
He compared himself to Tayla, as he studied parts of her body, then his, before running his fingers over the features of his face. “No. Just the ones that look sort of like me.” His gaze lingered on her breasts, and she tried to shrink into the metal slab. “But parts of us are different,” he said.
Tayla pushed up into a sitting position. She held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Tayla and, yes, I’m human.” She smiled and felt a little strength return.
“Hi, I’m Sam, and I’m human.” He broke into a toothy grin. His top two teeth were missing, and tiny freckles peppered his face. He wore a blue tailored shirt, matching trousers and, as Tayla noticed, bare feet. Unusual for a hospital, but a lot was unusual so far.
Tayla swung her legs over the side of the slab and gripped the edge for support. She looked down at the boy. He fidgeted with his hair, twirling it around his fingers and jiggled from side to side. “Are you a patient here or visiting someone in the hospital?”
“Patient?” Sam frowned before stepping closer. “My dad said we’re going on vacation,” his eyes widened, “to the beach.”
Maybe he didn’t want to talk about his illness. Tayla understood that, hospitals weren’t the nicest of places to stay or visit, as she knew all too well. “You’ll love the beach, but maybe not so much this time of year.” Tayla shivered with cold, thinking about the storm outside. It had probably passed by now because she couldn’t hear any thunder or rain.
Suddenly feeling impatient, she glanced around and inspected the room some more. It was plain and featureless. She looked at the boy. “Uh, where’s the door?”
