Final Frontier, page 26
“Good game, Qeebix,” Farrell said as he stood up.
“Indeed.”
“You coming, Qeebix?” Ellen asked. “Or were you going to play one of the Nelfi next?”
“I am willing if they wish.” Qeebix held both compound eyes on her and the Nelfi, but without pupils, Ellen couldn’t be sure where the insect’s focus was.
But she was able to lock onto the Nelfi eyes and know that she had their attention. She waved her hand between the two of them and gestured to the board. “Either of you want to play?”
They looked at her, at the checkerboard, then at each other. After exchanging a few Nelfi words, one of them took Farrell’s place at the table. Qeebix started setting up the board, moving the pieces into place with his mandibles and two leg-hands. “Well, enjoy your game,” Ellen said. “I’ve got to get some sleep.”
“You go,” Qeebix said. “I stay with Nelfi.”
“I’ll have Juarez check on you in an hour. Do you mind, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll do that.”
Earth Calendar: 21 March 2131 A.D.
Ken poured himself a cup of water and sat down at the head of the conference table. He checked his chronometer—0645. Fifteen minutes before his scheduled meeting with Jenkins, Maxwell, Aguilar, and Neilsen. He had Gross send each of them a message requesting that they join him in the briefing room at 0700. And he had her stress the word request.
But, as he waited and the minutes crawled by, a part of him wondered if it would’ve been better to make it an order. His mind kept replaying the conversation he had with Jenkins the previous night. Of the four that had been at the Galadorian slave camp with him, at least one of them still outwardly harbored a grudge. Jenkins said he and Maxwell understood why Ken did what he did. But whether that’s what they really felt... Aguilar was the mystery. Maybe he was just being paranoid, but he kept hearing Josef’s voice tormenting him. “You weren’t ready for this. I told you, you weren’t ready.”
What would Hamilton have done, he wondered.
The door opened, and Jenkins entered. Maxwell, Aguilar, and Neilsen immediately followed him. Ken stood up and gestured to the chairs around the table. “Thank you for coming. Please have a seat.”
“I was considering not coming,” Neilsen said as she and Aguilar sat down to his right. The men sat down across from them. “The others felt I should hear you out.”
“I feel we need to talk about what happened at the Galadorian camp.”
“What’s there to talk about? They gave you the luxury suite. They gave us the menagerie. You told us all about it. Remember?”
“Now that we’ve been rescued, I wanted to clear the air of any hard feelings there may be.”
“You want us to tell you everything’s alright and act like nothin’ happened?”
“I know I can’t expect that.”
“Damn right!” Neilsen glanced around at the others. “Not from me!”
“What if we hadn’t been rescued?” Aguilar asked. Ken met her eyes—dark and serious eyes that seemed to drill right through him. “Would we still be sitting naked in those cages, bruised and lacerated, while you enjoyed your gilded cage?”
Ken had asked himself that more than once over the last few days, each time trying to give himself an honest answer. He wasn’t even sure how long he would have lasted with his own protest, rejecting the food, alcohol, and change of clothes. “I don’t know, honestly. Miichu, the Thorn Representative, hated what was being done to his own people, but he was severely limited in what he was able to do—especially with the Nelfi Representative taking full advantage of the luxury. Perhaps together, we would have thought of something.”
“Perhaps,” Maxwell said. “Perhaps not.”
“To be fair,” Jenkins said, addressing everyone around the table, “no one can be sure how they’d act in such a situation until they’re thrust into it.”
“But actions have consequences, whatever your intentions may’ve been,” Neilsen said. “I understand why you did what you did, but I won’t forgive you. I can’t.” With that, she stood and left without another glance back at him.
“Neither can I,” Aguilar said. “Not yet. They did something—something else—to her.”
“You mean besides stripping her, beating her, and forcing us to brawl in our birthday suits like mud wrestlers?” Maxwell asked.
“Sometime after you left us,” she gestured to Ken, “they came and took her away. It must have been an hour, maybe two, before they brought her back, jittery and in tears. She still refuses to talk about what they did—but I have a feeling.”
Ken sighed and shook his head. If it was what he thought, what he suspected the others were thinking, he could certainly better appreciate Neilsen’s hostility. “Thank you. You may go.” Then, they were gone, and Ken was once again alone with his thoughts. He wasn’t exactly sure what he had expected from the meeting. He certainly didn’t feel any differently about what had transpired back on Syrcar.
Earth Calendar: 30 March 2131 A.D.
Ken watched as Misra removed the bandage from his right shoulder. The skin underneath was as red as a sunburn, and it certainly felt like one at the moment. “Now and again, there’s a tingling and burning sensation,” Ken said. “But mostly it’s just sore.”
“That’s normal with laser wounds,” Misra said. “But, if the sensations continue after two weeks, come back and see me. In the meantime, continue applying the apixelzone cream I gave you. Here. You can apply some now if you want.” She indicated the jar of ointment she had placed on the bed beside him. With his opposite middle and index fingers, Ken collected some of the stuff and gently rubbed it over the burn.
Misra left him and turned her attention to Anderson and Qeebix, waiting patiently near the door. “How are you feeling, Qeebix?” Misra asked after exchanging greetings with the lieutenant.
“Anxious to fly again,” Qeebix said.
“I don’t blame you. Let’s see if that’s possible.” Misra sat on a stool while Qeebix rested calmly on a bed, allowing the doctor to peel the bandage off his back. Ken finished rubbing the ointment over his wound.
“Well, my calcium carbonate solution seems to have worked, I’m pleased to say. The wound has healed as far as I can tell, but there is definite scarring in the thoratic tergum. I’ve been researching arthropod anatomy since you brought Qeebix in last.”
Ken replaced the lid on the ointment jar and pushed himself off the bed. He straightened his vest and slipped on his uniform shirt.
“I want to see scar,” Qeebix said.
Misra stood up and went to the bed’s monitor. After making a few adjustments, she took a wand from a nearby socket and pointed it at the insect’s back. Misra directed Qeebix’s attention to the monitor and turned on the device.
With his shirt buttoned, Ken picked up his jacket, slipping it on as he moved to join them. An image of the insect’s back appeared on the monitor, a noticeable ridge in the back of his thorax between the veiny, transparent wings. “I kind of like it,” Anderson said. “Nicely distinctive. I don’t know what passes for beauty with you Upnux, but it’s not like you have to worry about attracting females.”
“For same reason, you need not identify me from other Upnux.”
“There doesn’t seem to be any bleeding,” Misra said. “How does it feel when you move your wings?”
Qeebix slowly extended his wings and slowly flexed them up and down and back and forth in rowing motions. “Discomfort. Not a lot.” He beat his wings faster, fanning the air around him, until he lifted himself off the bed. He hovered six centimeters over the bed for a minute before settling back down.
Misra reexamined Qeebix’s scar and retrained the camera on it. “It looks like it’s holding. I would like to check it again in another two weeks. In the meantime, exercise your wings in short bursts, and do come back sooner if the discomfort continues or intensifies.” Misra turned off the camera and returned the wand to its port at the head of the bed.
“Understand. Thank you.”
“I should be getting to engineering,” Anderson said. “Were you still going to assist Maxwell in the forward missile bay?”
“Correct.”
“I’ll show you the way,” Ken said and indicated his good shoulder. “Just remember to perch on this shoulder when you want to rest your wings.”
“Agree.”
“I’ll see you later, then,” Anderson said.
Ken fastened his jacket and started for the door. Qeebix worked his wings, lifting himself from the bed, and followed. The forward missile bay was on the same deck as the infirmary, so it should’ve been a more-or-less straight line forward. However, damaged sections forced them to make a few detours. Qeebix, apparently delighting in his restored flight, flew ahead and circled back to him, his wings humming a deep pitch. He repeated the maneuver a few times for twenty meters or so.
Finally, as Qeebix seemed to be making for his right shoulder, Ken braced himself. “Remember the shoulder,” he said quietly. But Qeebix flew over the shoulder, fanning Ken’s hair and briefly cooling the burn, coming around to alight on the left. Ken sighed in silent gratitude. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked aloud.
“Yes. What is your position on current dilemma?”
Qeebix no doubt referred to the choice that was before them: continue jumping through time, or join the Ulysses in their journey back to Earth. It was about all that was on the crew’s minds as of late—aside from their duties, he hoped.
“I’m inclined to attempt the journey back to Earth from here—and then I start thinking about my sons growing up without me, my grieving wife when I failed to return, and that, in your future, we never made it back. I don’t suppose you could give me any hints.”
“I not familiar with your journey.”
Not that he expected Qeebix to divulge information that could drastically alter the timeline. But then, from the point of view of the Ulysses crew, he would be doing that if they managed to return to Earth closer to 2105. Back to Claudia, Edward, and David. Although, he would have to answer for the casualties they had suffered—including the deaths of the observers. He must remember to ask Captain Rogers about the aftermath of their disappearance.
*
Tasha lay face-up on her bunk and contemplated the ring on her finger—the sapphire stone, the swans—and the man who gave it to her. The man she kept seeing in a recurring dream—with graying hair, another woman joining his side—an older version of herself—and their two children (who looked identical to her younger siblings). It was, perhaps, the life she could have had if they hadn’t been lost in time. Maybe it was a life she could reclaim if they managed to return to their proper time and place. Any hope of that would be lost if they simply gave up and attempted to make their way back to Earth from their current position.
“What do you two think about our ‘acting’ CO?” Neilsen asked. She sat at the table, a datapad in hand. Anderson sat across from her with her own pad. Zamora was on a duty shift.
“McClance? I think he’s doing an admirable job under the circumstances,” Anderson said.
“Well, neither of you were in that perverted zoo. You know, some say he only got his position because of what his father did during the war. That he wasn’t really qualified to be here on Earth’s first starship. Much less the ship’s XO.”
“Who would be?” Anderson asked.
“Lieutenant Commander Stoner would be next-in-command.”
Tasha shot her a glare. “Oh, aye. Our chances of getting’ home are much improved were she in command.”
“At least we’d all be safer.”
The door chime sounded.
“How do you figure?” Tasha asked. “It was Stoner’s deciding vote that got us lost in time in the first place. McClance and I both agreed that it was a bad idea investigating that sector. The sector the Peridjinn had warned us about, where they lost twelve ships prior to us.” The door chimed again.
“Come in!” Neilsen yelled. The door obediently opened to reveal Maxwell with Qeebix perched on his right shoulder. “Oh, your bug’s here.”
“Evening, ladies. Just bringing Qeebix home.”
“Hello, Qeebix,” Anderson said.
“Greetings.” The insect’s wings blurred and hummed. Qeebix floated from the man’s shoulder halfway across the room to alight upon Anderson’s shoulder.
“Was he helpful?”
“Definitely. He managed to clear the obstruction in the missile tube.”
“Maxwell, what do you think about McClance?” Neilsen asked.
“In what way?”
“Do you think he’s fit to command?”
“Probably as much as anyone can rightly expect. You still blaming him for what happened on that planet?”
“That’s one example of a situation I believe he should’ve handled better.”
“Aguilar told us they did something to you—and I can guess what. I sympathize. But, looking back, I don’t see how anything could’ve been done differently with better results.”
“I hope you’re not trying to incite a mutiny,” Anderson said.
“I’m within my rights if the CO’s unfit to lead.”
“You would need more than your opinion to be legal. You would need the backing the chief medical officer, supported by substantial evidence.”
“I’ll get it. You just wait.”
II
Earth Calendar: 1 May 2131 A.D.
KEN ENTERED his office and switched on the intercom. “Bridge: communications.”
“Gross here, Commander.”
“Gross, have Ensign Neilsen report to my office.” A month ago, word had reached him through Doctor Misra that Neilsen was questioning his fitness for leadership—even petitioning the doctor to run a full examination on him, with an emphasis on his mental faculties. Out of sympathy for what Neilsen and the others had endured on Syrcar, Ken obliged. Now, Misra was ready with the results.
“Aye. Oh, by the way, we received a message from the Ulysses this morning.”
Ken perked up with a glimmer of hope. Was Edward finally returning his messages? “Route it down here, Lieutenant.” Ken settled in behind the desk and activated the terminal, switching to the communications function to find the Ulysses message awaiting him. He opened it...
...And sighed as his hope was shot down.
It was Captain Rogers rather than his son. He seemed to be sitting in an office identical to his own. “Lieutenant Commander McClance, for the last month we have been orbiting a planet called Oria. Details are attached to this message.”
The door chime interrupted. “Enter.”
Misra entered, a datapad in hand, and Ken indicated the chair opposite from him. Misra sat down. All the while, an oblivious Rogers continued in the recorded message. “To summarize, the planet is practically identical to Earth, except the sentient inhabitants—Humans, believe it or not—have been enjoying over nine hundred years of peace. Or so they say. The majority of my crew seems to have accepted it, but I remain suspicious. Even so, we have decided to hold position here in case you decide to join us. Whichever way you decide, I am expecting your reply. Rogers out.”
“What was he talking about?” Misra asked.
Ken brought up the attached data. Spatial coordinates, cartography of the system, geographical data of the planet, a sampling of the lifeforms living upon it. Ken wondered if the captain had confused the files and sent him a profile of Earth instead. Perhaps something that was meant to be shared with alien first contacts they made. “Identical to Earth, Rogers said,” Ken said, partly to remind himself. “The planet the Ulysses discovered.”
The door chimed again, and again Ken called out, “Enter.”
Neilsen entered and stood at attention. Ken stood and circled the desk. He hardened his eyes while also reminding himself to keep calm. “Ensign Neilsen, I understand you have been questioning my fitness to command. Is this true?”
“It’s true,” Neilsen said, her voice firm, eyes glaring.
“You even tried to get Doctor Misra to back your claim. Is that correct?”
“It is.”
“Doctor Misra has completed her evaluation. Would you like to hear her conclusion?”
Neilsen nodded. Ken turned to the doctor, who consulted her datapad. “Based on the results of my tests, I judge that there is nothing, physical or mental, that would cause Lieutenant Commander McClance to be unfit to assume command of the E.A.S. Frontier in place of Captain Bryan Hamilton, fulfilling his duty as executive officer.”
“That leaves lack of command experience,” Neilsen said.
“Thank you, Doctor Misra. You’re excused.” Misra nodded and stood up. Ken held his eyes on Neilsen, who remained at attention, until the doctor left the office. Then, he continued, “I’m sorry for what happened to you back on Syrcar.”
“You don’t know what happened.”
“No, I don’t, but I have an idea. Look, I did not create the situation, but everyone aboard must deal with it as best as they can.”
“Everyone still alive.”
Ken sighed and nodded. “I regret the casualties we’ve sustained. Maybe if Captain Hamilton were still alive and in command, we wouldn’t have lost so many people. Or maybe things would have turned out just the same. No one can be sure. Not even you.” He paused, giving Neilsen a moment to mull over what he had said. It was exactly what Ken had been telling himself for the last month-and-a-half. “We’re short-handed, so I need every able body at their post doing their job. Understood?”
“Understood.” Neilsen held glaring eyes on the commander a little longer.
Ken met her with a warning gaze. “Dismissed.”
*
“This is Oria,” Ken said. He stood beside the viewscreen in the briefing room, a remote in hand. An image of a blue planet with white, swirling clouds and a gray, crater-pitted moon in orbit occupied the screen. Continents that looked identical to Eurasia and Africa were clearly visible. It was one of several images that Captain Rogers had included in the attached file.
