by G J Ogden
“I’m afraid we had to burn your clothing,” said a female voice with a measured, authoritative tone, like that of a professor. “Because of the radiation, you see.”
Hallam twisted to face the new arrival, slamming the door of the cupboard shut, as if trying to hide the fact that he had been snooping around inside.
“I apologize if I or my associate startled you,” the woman added casually. “To say that we don’t get many visitors here would be something of an understatement.”
Hallam could now see that this woman was different from the first, who had bolted at the sight of him. She was older, perhaps in her late fifties, Hallam guessed, and was dressed in a pair of dark, utilitarian pants with a matching jacket. To Hallam’s eyes, they looked vaguely military but bore no emblems or insignia. They also did not suit her, Hallam thought idly.
“I did find this in your jacket pocket, however,” the woman continued, holding up the small device that Hallam had removed from the armored tanker’s Shelby Drive system. “It is a very sophisticated piece of technology, and also what was responsible for your unfortunate accident.”
“Sabotage?” wondered Hallam, propping himself up against the cupboard for support. The surge of adrenaline was wearing off, and he was already feeling his strength ebb away. “Are you suggesting that Darkspace Renegades sabotaged the tanker while it was docked at the Centrum?”
The woman shook her head. “Not renegades,” she said, sounding entirely confident in her assertion. “Though who was responsible is a mystery I would very much like the answer to.”
Hallam laughed. “You and I both.” He then stepped away from the cupboard and stood beside his bed, grabbing the footboard to steady himself. His legs were weary, though he felt no pain.
“Where exactly am I?” Hallam asked, beginning with the most obvious question first. “The last thing I remember, I was sealed in the engineering section of my tanker, which was about to tear itself apart.”
“Yes, that’s where we found you, though to say we were surprised to discover you were still alive would be another understatement,” the woman answered. Hallam noted that she had conveniently avoided answering his question. “Your tanker drifted into the gravity well of this planet, and by another incredible freak of chance, it ended up in orbit around it.”
Suddenly, Hallam remembered about Dakota and panic set in again, wondering if she had made it out before he had been rescued.
“Wait, there was someone else with me,” Hallam said, his tone rising sharply. “She was the tanker’s pilot; her name is Dakota. Did you see her? Did she jettison safely? Is she here too?”
The woman thought for a moment, puckering her lips as she did so, before finally shaking her head gently. “There was no one else on-board when we got there,” she eventually answered, and the words felt to Hallam like a kick in the gut. “One of the disaster pods was missing, but I’m afraid we didn’t detect any distress signals.”
Hallam nodded, feeling the knot in his gut tighten. He knew it was possible the CSF escort had doubled-back and picked her up, but it was equally possible Dakota’s pod was still out there, lost in the void. He had a sudden urge to leave and go looking for her.
“I need to get out of here. Dak could still be out there,” Hallam said, taking an uneasy step toward the door before his legs buckled. He grasped the footboard of the bed just in time to prevent himself from falling flat on his face.
“I have people out looking already,” the woman said as she cautiously entered the room. However, instead of approaching Hallam directly, she circled around to the opposite side of the bed, leaving several meters between them. “You’re in no condition to conduct a rescue mission, as I’m sure you’re beginning to appreciate.”
Hallam watched the woman intently as she drew closer, still wary of his mysterious benefactor. She wore her years well, Hallam thought as the woman moved under the harsh strip lights of the ward, affording him a closer look at her face. There was a gravitas about her appearance, despite the casual manner in which she’d addressed him. Yet the worry lines on her kindly-looking face also hinted at a sense of loss.
“You were quite a find,” the woman went on, as if she was describing discovering some loose change down the back of a sofa. Her tone was sociable and she did not appear threatening, which helped to ease Hallam’s anxiety, as well as his pulse. “Considering the level of Randenite radiation you were exposed to, I gave you a ninety-eight-percent chance of dying,” she continued, sitting down on the edge of the bed adjacent to Hallam’s. “However, I decided to treat you using a regenerative cell technology I developed, with some untested gene therapy and genetic engineering treatments thrown in for good measure,” she added, idly tucking in the corner of the bedsheet with slender, expressive fingers as she talked. “All of it was wildly experimental and extremely dangerous, of course, but since you were going to die anyway, I considered there was nothing to lose from making the attempt.”
The nonchalant way in which she had described using Hallam as a laboratory guinea pig almost caused him to laugh out loud.
“Well, whatever you did seems to have worked, so I guess I should be thanking you for saving my life,” Hallam said. “Although, if you don't mind, it would be nice to know who I’m thanking, and where the hell I am.”
The woman sighed, then clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, making a sort of tutting sound.
“Yes, well that is a little difficult to explain,” she said while looking at Hallam through the top of her laser-blue eyes. “You see, I also didn’t believe you’d survive the treatment, yet here you are, alive and well. And now I’m in a quandary as to what to do about it.”
There was something about the woman that Hallam found oddly familiar, but he couldn’t quite place why. It was like she was someone he’d once met at a party, years ago, but had never seen since. Yet, although she had been friendly and seemed non-threatening, Hallam was growing weary of being kept in the dark.
“Look, I’m grateful that you saved my life, but I think I’m owed some answers,” said Hallam, taking on a more assertive tone. He then gestured to the room they were in, “For starters, what is this place? It doesn’t look like a regular hospital. And why did that nurse or doctor or whoever she was freak out when she saw me?”
The woman studied Hallam for a moment, perhaps thrown by the sudden gear-switch in his attitude. She remained seated on the edge of the bed opposite but stopped toying with the bedsheet and rested her hands on the thighs of her military-style pants.
“I’ll answer your questions, but first, I’d like you to answer some of mine,” she said, also taking on a more assertive tone. Hallam was about to complain again, but the woman headed him off, “I’m sorry for being so evasive, and I promise all will become clear in time. I ask that you indulge me for a moment, if that is okay?”
Hallam moved around to face the woman, then also sat down on the edge of his bed. Partly, this was to appear less standoffish, but mostly, it was because his legs felt like dead weights.
“Okay, since I don’t know where I am and so can’t go anywhere anyway, I’ll indulge you. For now,” Hallam answered, aware that his bare, hairy knees were now sticking out beneath the hem of his gown. He felt suddenly exposed, which put him even more on edge.
“Why did you not file a complaint against your superior after you were dishonorably discharged from the CSF advanced training academy?”
Hallam shot upright, as if the bed had just jolted him in the backside with an electric shock. “What? How the hell do you know about that?” he answered, feeling attacked.
“I know all about you and your life, Mr. Hallam Knight,” the woman replied as casually as ever. “What I’m curious about is what you intend to do with the rest of it, now that you have been given a second chance?”
Hallam suddenly felt like he was about to throw up. “How do you know my name?” he demanded before rapidly backing away, knocking into the bed and causing it to screech agonizi
ngly across the cold metal floor. “I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but I want out, right now!”
“You’re free to go as soon as you’ve answered my questions,” said the woman, remaining calm with her hands still pressed neatly onto her thighs. “Your record shows that you were an excellent CSF candidate,” she went on. “Top of your class. An exceptional pilot, with keen instincts, and also a strong moral compass. You stuck up for your classmates, despite knowing what it would cost; that was noble.”
“For all the good it did me,” said Hallam with his back now pressed against the wall. “Where are you going with this? Why do you give a damn about my crappy life?”
The woman also stood up, but she didn’t advance toward Hallam, and he wasn’t sure what he’d have done if she had.
“The Consortium ruined your life, Mr. Knight, and you let them,” the woman said with a sudden frostiness that made it seem like a personal attack.
“I didn’t let them,” Hallam hit back, growing angry at being interrogated by this stranger. She may have saved his life, but that didn’t give her the right to attack his life choices. “What was I supposed to do?” he added, becoming defensive. “I’m just one man against the richest, most powerful organization in the galaxy. The Consortium is practically above the law; I’m just an ant they chose to step on.”
Unexpectedly, the woman smiled. “So what if you could step on the Consortium for a change? Would you?”
Hallam snorted. “An eye for an eye?”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s not who I am,” Hallam answered, growing in confidence. “I don’t want payback; I never did. I wanted justice, for me and for the other people that asshole Dexter Stone abused, either mentally or physically. The Consortium shouldn’t have been allowed to do what they did, and I’m sure they’ve done the same or worse to hundreds or thousands of others. But I’m also not stupid enough to think I can do anything about it.”
“It is not stupid to believe that you can make a difference, Mr. Knight,” the woman answered with composed conviction. “And it is also not foolish to want to either.”
Hallam stepped away from the wall and walked up to the woman. His shock at her knowing his name and his life story had worn off, and now he’d had enough of being torn into by someone he didn’t even know.
“I’ve answered your questions,” Hallam said, standing tall, despite his legs and back burning from the effort. “Now it’s time you answered some of mine, starting with who you are.”
The woman folded her arms and idly fidgeted with the collar of her jacket as she pondered whether or not to answer the question. For something as straightforward as giving her name, Hallam wondered why it was taking her so long to decide. Then he got his answer, and it nearly knocked him off his feet.
“My name is Doctor Shelby Rand.”
12
The revelation that his rescuer was Dr. Shelby Rand had knocked the wind from Hallam’s sails, like a swift punch to the groin. However, as soon as the scientist had said it, Hallam knew she was telling the truth. It didn’t matter that the enigmatic genius had been dead for ten years; she was still the most famous woman in the galaxy. Her hairstyle had changed, and she was obviously a decade older than in the last photo she had posed for, but Hallam could clearly see it was her, right down to the small beauty mark on the left side of her mouth. It was so obvious that he kicked himself for not having seen it sooner. Though, in fairness, Hallam had to remind himself that dead people usually remain dead, rather than turning up on some mystery planet, deep in the Darkspace.
The shock announcement had also proved to be enough of an ice breaker for them to move their discussion beyond the small hospital ward where Hallam had woken up. Dr. Rand had provided Hallam with some clothes – the same style of jacket and trousers that she was wearing – and led him to a small canteen area. Hallam could see that there were dirty mugs and plates on the dozen or so tables inside, and guessed that the room had been purposely cleared of other people before their arrival. Hallam got the distinct feeling that their location was just as much of a secret as Shelby Rand’s existence.
“I have about a million questions,” Hallam began as Dr. Rand brought a glass of water to the table, then sat down opposite.
“I don’t doubt it,” said Dr. Rand while crossing her legs and resting her hands on her thigh. “Maybe it’s just better if I give you the condensed version, though, for the sake of time, and our sanity.”
Hudson snorted, surprised at her directness, but then shrugged and sat back in the chair. “Okay, I’ll hear what you have to say,” he said, picking up the glass of water and raising it to his lips. “But I’ll still have some questions.”
“You’re in a Darkspace Renegade hideout,” Dr. Rand began, and Hallam spat out the water that he’d just poured into his mouth, spraying the table with a fine mist. Dr. Rand scowled at the mess and grabbed a napkin to mop it up. “To be more precise, you are on an installation built on the surface of a moon, orbiting a rogue planet. We have several such installations; I just so happened to be visiting this one, when your tanker was captured by the planet’s gravity well.”
“A Darkspace Renegade hideout?” Hallam repeated, but the words sounded no less insane coming out of his mouth than they had from Dr. Rand’s. “But they’re terrorists and killers! Why the hell have you brought me here?”
Shelby finished mopping up Hallam’s spittle and tossed the napkin into the center of the table. “The Darkspace Renegades aren’t what you believe them to be, Mr. Knight,” she went on, returning to her previous, cross-legged position. “We’re not fanatics, trying to curtail humanity’s reach into the stars for purely dogmatic reasons. There is far more at stake here than you know.”
“Wait, you’re their leader?” Hallam said, suddenly understanding why no one had heard anything from the genius scientist for the last ten years. “The cyberattack on the Randenite refineries, and the attacks on the tankers; that was all down to you?”
Dr. Rand nodded calmly. “Yes, all of it.”
“But why?” Hallam said, feeling like he’d just stepped through a dimensional gateway into a messed-up parallel universe. “You invented Randenite and the Shelby Drive; they’re even named after you! The discovery of the bridges and all of these new worlds; it’s all because of you. Why the hell would you try to tear it all down?”
Dr. Rand sat forward, leaning in toward Hallam with her hands pressed onto the table. “Because unless I stop all travel along the bridges, there won’t be any bridge worlds left to travel to,” she said with a sudden intensity. “And there won’t be an Earth. At least, no Earth as it is now.”
Dr. Rand’s eyes remained locked on to Hallam’s, and suddenly, she looked like a different person. The casually aloof stranger who had greeted him in the hospital ward had been replaced with a woman who looked hungry for a fight. The military-style clothes she was wearing now seemed to suit her a whole lot better, Hallam realized. However, it wasn’t just the change in her posture and tone that had got Hallam’s attention; her words had rattled him too.
“Okay, Dr. Rand, I'm all ears,” said Hallam, sitting more upright. “Let’s hear it.”
Dr. Rand also sat back, but her posture remained rigid and there was still fire behind her eyes. “Thirty-six years ago, I commanded a mission to Mars,” she began, adding with a subtle eyebrow raise, “You’ve probably heard about it.”
“Yeah, at school,” Hallam replied. “Everyone knows what you did, Doc. You’re just about the most famous person in history.”
Dr. Rand managed a weak smile, but then her expression shifted again, and Hallam recognized the same look of loss he’d spotted when they first met. “The truth is that very few people actually know what I did, Mr. Knight,” she said ominously. “The broad strokes of the public story are correct, but the devil – quite literally in this case – is in the details.”
Now it was Hallam that leaned in, arms rested on the table. His penchant for gos
sip was overriding any lingering fears; he felt like Arthur Dent, waiting to learn the answer to the ultimate question.
“We found an alien probe on Mars,” Dr. Rand continued, and Hallam felt a shiver run down his spine. “It had crashed, presumably as a result of malfunction, but it was intact. I was still at base camp at the time it was found, working on some core samples. That is the only reason I’m still alive, and the rest of my team are dead.”
Hallam frowned, but then the pieces suddenly clicked into place. “The alien probe was the source of your inventions?” he said. “It’s how you learned about bridge travel and how you discovered Randenite?”
Dr. Rand nodded. “Unfortunately, by the time we detected the radiation leaking from the probe’s drive core and placed it in shielded storage, it was already too late for my crew,” she went on, her eyes dropping to the table. “I didn’t realize how severe their exposure was at the time.”
Hallam rubbed his stubbled chin and shook his head gently in disbelief at what he was hearing. “So the interstellar bridges, Randenite and the Shelby Drive technology were all derived from this broken alien probe?” he asked.
Again, Dr. Rand nodded. “It was all kept strictly confidential, of course,” she continued. “Damien Doyle didn’t want anyone to know what we had, and he made sure that only I worked on the project to minimize the chance of anyone stealing the secrets I’d discovered.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t consider it yourself,” said Hallam, managing a thin smile of his own. “That information ended up being worth trillions.”
“All in, it is more likely to be in the quadrillion range,” Dr. Rand corrected him. “However, I didn’t care about money then, and I still don’t,” the scientist continued, sounding a little insulted by the insinuation. “I just cared about the work. It was everything to me; everything I’d ever dreamed of. It was like an addiction.” Then her eyes fell low again. “Which is why I didn’t stop, even when I began to suspect the damage my discoveries were causing.”
