“I am really getting tired of hauling bodies around,” Slavko complained, as they lugged another load of dead Eleexx to the airlock. “Bad enough when we did it on Tyr, but at least they were human.”
“You’d rather leave them on board?” Remi retorted.
“Well… no, but…”
“But nothing,” he fired back. “The smell alone is a good enough reason to get them out of here, but once they rot? You want to catch some alien disease?”
The gunner shuddered and shook his head. “Forget I said anything,” he mumbled, as they reached the airlock. They secured the cart they were using to transport the corpses and then sealed the hatch, before evacuating the atmosphere as they opened the exterior door to space. Pressure differential flung the bodies out into the deep black while hard vacuum freeze-dried any remaining bodily fluids. Once they’d finished cycling the chamber, the smell was much improved.
“A couple more loads and we should be finished,” the captain said in approval, when his radio com suddenly chirped for attention. He tapped the “Accept” icon and said, “This is Hadad.”
“Cap’n, can you come to Engineering?” Mairead said on the other end. “We’ve got a problem.”
“On my way,” he told her, before giving Slavko a shrug. “Sorry, duty calls,” he told him, earning a melodramatic sigh in return as he headed aft.
Arriving in the engine room, he found Mairead and Samara squaring off against one another. “Tell this… thing to back the hell off,” she snarled. “I got this!”
With a groan, he turned to the Protean. “Samara, what’s the problem?” he asked her.
The Protean turned to face him, and he immediately realized why she’d summoned him. “There is no problem, Captain Hadad,” she replied, in that weird, stilted voice that wasn’t hers. “I was merely explaining to your technician that her efforts to bring this ship’s engines online would likely result in catastrophic failure.”
“Screw you!” she shouted, as Remi shook his head.
“All right, which Cognate are you?” he sighed.
“Artificer 1st Grade Mashad Dillosh,” the being inhabiting Samara’s body replied. “I have been assisting your technician’s efforts in readying the ship, but it has become clear she is out of her depth.”
“Listen, asshole, I’ve been fixing engines since before you were—” she fired back, only to be yanked aside as Remi stepped in between them.
“Before they were what?” he demanded. “I get you’re accustomed to being the queen of your domain, but Samara’s Cognates are experts in their fields, dating back to before Terrans even existed. Yes, they’re creepy and irritating,” he continued, shooting the Cognate a look, “but they’re also damn good at what they do, whether you want to admit it. So you mind telling me what this is really about?”
She glared at him before looking away. “I don’t like them,” she spat out. “I don’t like their attitude. I don’t like them butting in, and I especially don’t like being told I’m some damn idiot!” The Tinker was furious, struggling to maintain control, yet every muscle was trembling with rage. Samara’s puppeteer wisely remained silent.
“So what triggered this?” he pressed her, albeit in much calmer tones. If he could de-escalate this, then maybe they could get back on track.
“I was just bringing the engines online when this person,” she blustered, “stopped me. Said I was doing it wrong, or something. Let me tell you, I know my way around a damn engine room!”
“Right,” he said evenly, before turning to Samara. “Is that what happened?”
“Your technician had failed to properly realign the multiphasic particle accelerators, which, if activated, would have created an unstable energy-density field. This instability would have caused an immediate chain reaction, destroying this vessel, and all those on board,” the Cognate explained.
“You’re just making that up!” Mairead accused them.
“I assure you I am not,” they responded, unperturbed by her outburst.
With a sigh, Remi looked back at the Tinker. “Have you ever worked on an Eleexx ship before?” he asked her.
Her demeanor shifted as she suddenly became less combative. “Well… not exactly,” she admitted.
“And would it be safe to assume there are features aboard this ship you’re unfamiliar with?” he continued, phrasing the question as politely as he could. “They’re the most advanced race in the Perseus Arm, you know.”
“Look, I’ll figure it out, okay?” she snapped. “Just need to familiarize myself, that’s all.”
“I’m sure you will,” he said smoothly, “but we’re kind of pressed for time here. You’re the best Tinker I’ve ever worked with, and I selected you for my crew because you’re the best.” Mairead bowed her head, blushing at the compliment. “But you have to admit the Cognate… sorry, what was your name again?” he asked them.
“Mashad Dillosh,” they answered.
“... that Mashad here has experience you don’t,” he finished. “So maybe you could pick up a few pointers and work together without it turning into a cage match?” Remi asked hopefully.
She folded her arms across her chest, still on edge. “I suppose,” she said grudgingly.
“And you,” he continued, turning back to the Cognate, “maybe you could cut her some slack, and try being a little less condescending when you’re explaining concepts she hasn’t run across before.”
The Cognate started to respond and then froze, cocking their head as if listening to something only they could hear. “The host has offered some suggestions on how best to accomplish that,” they explained. “I will endeavor to create less friction as we continue readying this vessel for departure.”
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“I think we’d all appreciate that,” Remi said gratefully, though he was struggling with the notion of Samara playing peacemaker. “Maybe you could both start by addressing each other by name. Mashad… Mairead. Mairead… Mashad,” he said by introduction. “We all good? Great. Call me if there are any more problems,” he told them, before hurrying back out of the compartment. The pair were still glaring at one another as he left, but at least they weren’t coming to blows.
Heading towards the bridge, he found Isi bringing in a load of supplies from Gyrfalcon. “Gonna need another day at least to get everything moved over,” the purser told him, “unless you want to eat bug food.”
“Pass, thanks,” the captain grimaced. “Anything I need to worry about?”
Isi ran his hand across his scalp for a moment, running through some mental checklist, then shook his head. “Naw, I’m good,” he shrugged. “Though I gotta admit, switching ships all the time is getting a little old.”
“This’ll be the last time, I swear,” Remi promised. “Well, unless there’s a sweet Precursor ride waiting for us on Terra Nova,” he quickly amended. Rolling his eyes, Isi went back to work, hauling the handcart towards the storage compartments, while the captain continued his journey forward.
Arriving at the bridge, he found Xuilan mopping a puddle of foul-smelling green liquid. “Don’t even ask me about the controls,” she warned him. “I’m not touching them until this compartment is clean.”
“We’re kind of in a hurry,” he reminded her.
She stopped mopping, fixing him instead with a pointed glare. “I am not sitting in a chair covered in bug guts, and I’m not digging into the navigation system when the bridge still smells like the Venus Pleasure Palace after payday. I’ll get to it when this place is clean, and not a moment before.” Her gaze grew even more intense, if such a thing were possible. “That’s not a problem, is it?” she asked pointedly.
Remi sighed, bowing to the inevitable. “Of course not,” he told her, “but I wasn’t kidding when I said we’re under a time crunch here.”
Xuilan tossed him a rag and some cleaning solution. “If we’re in that big of a hurry, you can start with the consoles,” she sniffed, before going back to her mopping, cleaning the deck in long, broad strokes.
The captain took a moment to decide if he had anything more pressing on his agenda and if he could convince Xuilan of that fact. Sadly, nothing came to mind. He could make something up, of course, but then she knew him better than the rest of the crew did. It was doubtful he’d fool her for long. Stifling a groan, he started spraying down the helm, wiping off the green blood and viscera while wrinkling his nose in disgust. Given his pilot’s current mood, it seemed the simplest choice. Working quickly and efficiently, he cleared off the worst of it, though some panels were still streaked with scrapings of Eleexxi genetic material. He turned to Xuilan, already preparing his spiel of how he’d cleaned the worst of it, but now he really had to dash… only to get a death glare as she looked pointedly at the still-soiled console.
Hanging his head in defeat, Remi went back for a second pass, and then a third, before trying his luck once more. Squinting hard at the controls, Xuilan finally gave him a grunt of acceptance, though it was obvious by her standards he’d only managed the bare minimum. Recognizing it to be the best response he was likely to get, he quickly took his leave, promising to check back in with her later.
Much later.
Rather than pitching in elsewhere with the crew, he headed back to Gyrfalcon instead. With all the plans they’d made for Terra Nova, the one issue they hadn’t resolved was what to do with the old Jötunn-class frigate. Simply abandoning her, even if they left a beacon marking her position, just felt plain wrong, while the thought of scuttling her made him physically ill, despite him ordering Tyr’s ruination. The old battleship had been a thing of myth and legend, but Gyrfalcon was their home. He could tell how well-tuned the engines were just by the vibration of her deck plates, and there wasn’t a nook, cranny, or bulkhead he couldn’t reproduce from memory. The thought of losing her felt as if he were contemplating the amputation of a limb… without anesthesia.
But by the same token, they couldn’t bring her along, either. For their plan to work they had to be believed as an Eleexxi crew, and there was no reason a Troika ship would drag a Terran vessel to the one place in the Perseus Arm where they specifically forbade humans. They wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near Terra Nova, which meant leaving Gyrfalcon behind.
He hadn’t realized until that moment just how deeply it would slice.
Remi wandered the corridors, laying hands on a strut or rivet as he passed, wanting to remember it all. Whatever happened, there was a good chance they’d never see the old girl again, and he wanted her to know they’d never forget her. Despite what the other races might believe, Terrans knew their ships were so much more than mere hulls of steel. They lived and breathed along with their crews, watching over them as they traveled amongst the stars.
And when the worst happened… they died with them as well.
Protecting their ship was deeply ingrained in post-Diaspora Terran culture, for obvious reasons, but its roots went much further back, to a time when ancient humans braved the waters of old Earth in fragile shells made of wood. A time when their ancestors believed the gods controlled the universe, and one did everything they could to avoid drawing their ire. They would make offerings and sing their praises, build temples in their name, and, with their ships, consecrated them with what they hoped was their god’s blessing. Superstitions and legends abounded, from the Sirens to Davy Jones to the luck of the albatross, but no tradition was held more deeply than the knowledge that their ship was, in a genuine sense, alive. Not in the same way as humans, of course, but no one born to the ships doubted even for a moment there was a guiding spirit living within the decks and engines. A spirit that loved them, and loved by them in return.
He pressed his forehead to the bulkhead, his eyes closed as he murmured a silent invocation, praying for Gyrfalcon’s absolution. If any being recognized just how much this mission meant, not just for the crew, but for all Terrans, it would be her. She had gazed upon Earth itself, what the Yīqún had left of it, felt the nuclear fire of Sol against her hull, swept past the majestic worlds of Jupiter and Saturn. Gyr knew better than most what mankind had lost, what they had sacrificed, and how great was their need.
Remi hoped she could forgive them for this ultimate betrayal… and understand.
The sound of the intercom interrupted his reverie as he punched the nearby terminal. “This is Hadad.”
To his surprise, it was Samara who responded. “Just wanted to give you an update,” she informed him. “We’ve got the engines and power system up and running, and everything’s green across the board.”
“That’s good news,” he answered, “though I’m a little surprised to be hearing this from you, instead of Mairead.”
“Yeah, she’s still in a mood,” the Protean sighed. “Mashad’s a decent guy, once you get to know him, but he can be a little… stiff sometimes.”
“And by ‘stiff’, you mean condescending and brusque?” he ventured.
“Not intentionally,” she rushed to explain, “but he and the others have been locked away in that box for an awfully long time. I’m afraid it hasn’t helped their people skills any. I remember an argument I had once with Erhair Dresh…”
“As fascinating as I’m sure that story is, we’re still on the clock,” he reminded her. “Any thoughts on how we sneak past the Troika blockade?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” she assured him… as her features dissolved into something both horrifyingly alien and all too familiar. In a heartbeat, the face of Eleexxi scientist Doctor Qyrizaa Axchxairx stared back at him. “Think they’ll believe me now?” she prodded.
Remi could only stare in astonishment. It took him several moments to gather his wits. “Not if you address them in Terran,” he pointed out.
“Which is why you’ll need to steer us towards either a Tu’udh’hizh’ak or Aggaaddub vessel,” she explained. “With either of those races, I can use a voder, and no one will be the wiser. Besides, considering my… history… with their species, I’m certain I can make it stand up.”
He considered her plan for a moment before finally conceding her point. “That should work,” he agreed, “but what if we can’t avoid the Eleexx? What then?”
“Then the plan is blown, and we’re fucked,” she said candidly, before sharing an evil grin. “But since when have we ever let that stop us?”
He shook his head in admiration. “I’ll tell you this, Samara… you’re my kind of crazy,” he chuckled.