Final Frontier, page 8
“Zargon?” Stoner echoed.
“Probably the second ship we encountered,” Ken said.
Eventually, the civil war ended, but the mechanoids remained—including the Zirquin, who continued operating under their programming. For centuries we fought the Zirquin with the aid of the Zargon. We tried to shut them down, but they resisted, even bypassing their own shutdown commands. We destroyed their Command World, but, unknown to us at the time, they had established an alternate. My mission was to link with the Zirquin network and determine the location of the current Command World.
“That’s the crucial information you need to get to Epitara?” Hamilton asked.
Correct.
“What was in the transmission you sent last...earlier?” Ken asked.
The cloud hesitated for a moment before answering. A warning. While locating the Zirquin Command World, I also discovered that a fleet was enroute to attack Epitara.
Ken crossed his arms and shook his head while the captain facepalmed. Around the room, the others exchanged looks and shuffled in their seats as they contemplated Govkor’s implication. “What you mean is,” Yanova said, “we may be heading toward confrontation with more superior enemy ships.”
Mandrel, sitting beside Ken, broke out laughing. The laugh ended in a brief fit of coughing. “I don’t believe it,” he said when the coughing subsided. “I’m nearly killed as this alien delivers us from danger, only to find that we’re flying into a situation where we may all die anyway.”
That is why I must try to modify your warp engines. The sooner we get to Epitara, the greater the chances we have of arriving before the Zirquin.
“I rather not let that cloud near my engines.”
“No surprise,” Krishnik said.
“We should return to that anomaly and attempt to get back to where we are supposed to be,” Sakaguchi said.
You are unlikely to find that fold vortex again before the Zirquin find you or you deplete your resources.
“Why is that?” Casey asked.
As I have mentioned at the outset, an ancient experiment destabilized that particular corridor. That experiment had unanchored that corridor’s vortex in this galaxy. Even should you manage to find it again, the chances are slim that you would return to the time period you had left.
“Provided you are telling truth,” Yanova said. “It would appear our chances are just as slim if we continue to this Epitara.”
On the contrary, if you continue toward Epitara, your chances of returning to your time and place are greater.
“Assuming we survive the Zirquin,” Josef said.
“What do you mean, Govkor?” Hamilton asked.
A fold corridor opens near Epitara that leads to a fold hub in the fifth dimension in which the Sagans dwell. Multiple vortices, each leading to a different destination. Perhaps one is the place and time which you left.
“Perhaps? How many vortices are there?” Josef asked.
Fifty.
“How will we know which is the one we want?” Ken asked.
The Sagans may guide you.
“May? What are these Sagans?” Sakaguchi asked.
The Sagans are the creators—the ones who caused life to develop throughout the Universe.
Ken cocked his eyebrows and looked to Hamilton, who mirrored his surprised expression. Stoner rolled her eyes, and Josef smirked.
“Are we seriously going to believe this alien?” Yanova demanded.
For what felt like several minutes, Hamilton just sat, an elbow on the table, propping up his head, rubbing his chin. “We really don’t have much choice,” he finally said. He summarized their options to those gathered around the briefing room.
They had two, each with their own set of possibilities. They could return to the anomaly, if Govkor would even let them. De Seleaux should be able to return to the position they first found themselves. Although, if this end of the corridor jumped like Govkor said it did, then the anomaly wouldn’t be there. They would have to search for it—in uncharted space with the constant threat of attack by a race of robots programmed to destroy just about anything they encounter.
Or they could take Govkor’s advice and proceed to Epitara, where those same robots are also headed and are likely to arrive before they do. But there was also, according to Govkor, a stable vortex that could potentially lead them back to Sol System, 2105. Ken back to his wife and sons. Back to his father’s shadow.
“Both options present the same chances of success and failure,” Hamilton said in conclusion.
“Epitara might be slightly better,” Ken said.
“So do I.”
“If you believe these Sagans are gods,” Stoner said.
“Govkor and I also have an agreement. He would return us to normal space long enough to get Mandrel out of the warp reactor—”
“Which I am grateful for,” Mandrel acknowledged and coughed.
“—and help determine our location. In turn, I would let him take us to Epitara and—given it would take us ten days to get there normally and our need to get there before the Zirquin—let him modify our engines to get us there quicker. Mandrel, Krishnik, you will assist him.”
Mandrel let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. What the hell. If we’re to blow up, might as well get it over with. Come on, cloud, but just follow. I don’t want you in my brain.”
“I agree,” Krishnik said as the chief engineer stood.
As you wish. The cloud floated out from behind the captain, following Mandrel and Krishnik out the door.
“Everyone dismissed,” Hamilton said.
*
Ken sat at his post, monitoring his console. The familiar vibrations from the warp engines beneath his feet; the streaks of warp space on the viewscreen. He reviewed the damage caused by the Zirquin. Most was to the outer hull. Repairs were proceeding to what could be accessed from the interior.
Nearly two hours had passed since the briefing—since Govkor went with Mandrel and Krishnik to modify the engines. Try to, at least. So far, there was no indication that Govkor succeeded. Maybe he—it?—had deemed their warp drive too primitive to modify. Sharesk stood behind the captain, waiting with them. The Federation representatives were absent at the moment—at least one of them, usually Yanova, came up every now and then to check on their progress, lingered for ten minutes or so, then left. Casey was conspicuously absent, probably watching—and recording—the efforts in the engine room.
Ken’s thoughts drifted to what could be waiting for them when they emerged from warp space. Either the last remnants of the Darkkon Imperium, likely on the alert and greeting them with readied weapons, or a Zirquin fleet that could begin firing as soon as they arrive. In the latter case, they would need to make a mad dash for the vortex Govkor told them about—and hope to get there before they’re destroyed. Would the Zirquin follow them through the vortex?
A momentary increase in the vibrations of the deckplates interrupted Ken’s deliberations. He looked up and around the command deck. He wasn’t the only one who noticed.
“Our speed just increased,” Josef reported.
“Confirmed,” de Seleaux said. “Revised ETA: five days, six hours.”
“It seems Govkor was able to modify your warp drive,” Sharesk said.
“Let’s hope it makes a difference,” Hamilton said.
*
Hobart coughed and looked back at the main console to see the reactor and warp engine indicators change. The output of the nacelles increased, pushing them faster, while the power they drew from their batteries decreased—slightly but noticeably. If he had any doubt about the readings, the definite change in vibrations was proof enough. They were picking up considerable speed.
“I don’t believe it,” Anderson said, monitoring the indicators on the board behind him.
“Please tell me you’re seeing the same readings,” he said to Krishnik, who stood beside him.
“I do.” Hobart noticed a ring of surprise in Krishnik’s tone. “I do not know how it is possible.”
Hobart cocked his eyebrows at Krishnik. The alien held his attention on the console and the reactor column beyond the viewport. “I’m not sure if I should be comforted or nervous.”
“What’s happening?” Casey asked, watching from near the door to the corridor.
Lieutenant Commander Mandrel, you may open the hatch, came a disembodied voice. It still sounded like the captain’s, but it definitely did not come in over the intercom. I am finished.
Hobart returned his attention to the console before him. He entered his authorization code to override his own safeguards and opened the hatch to the inner chamber—just an inch. The gray cloud that was the Darkkon seeped out. As soon as Govkor was clear, Hobart re-sealed the hatch, all the while trying to suppress a cough.
“You sure you are feeling all right?” Krishnik asked while Govkor floated toward the airlock. “You been doing that since we left the briefing room. With greater frequency, it seems.”
“I’m fine. Just some itchiness in my throat.”
“How did you do that?” Anderson asked as she helped Govkor through the airlock.
It was a simple adjustment.
“Simple? It took you two hours.”
Simple as soon as I familiarized myself with your primitive faster-than-light drive.
Hobart fumed. Primitive! You want to see primitive? He shook his head, biting his lip against a sharp reply. Instead, he turned to the readings on his console. “I’m sure. Well, according to this, we’ve doubled our speed. We should reach this Epitara of yours in a little over five days...instead of ten.” His chest suddenly felt tight. He drew breath and cringed at the burning in his lungs. He fought to hide it, but his eyes clenched as he leaned in against the console.
“What’s the matter?” Casey asked.
“You better get to the medical bay,” Krishnik said.
Hobart shook his head and drew a deep breath, steeling himself against the pain. “No, I’m fine.”
“Your posture suggest otherwise.”
“What do you know about Human posture?”
“I agree with Krishnik,” Anderson said. “You may be suffering some effects of being stuck in the reactor.”
He strained to speak as normally as possible. “I was wearing a radiation suit. Besides, Doctor Misra already cleared me. I’m fine.” Hobart focused on his console, aware of Anderson’s gaze on his back.
“If you insist,” Krishnik said.
*
Tasha laid back on the padded bench, a towel between her and the cushion. Shades covered her eyes against the sun lamps mounted on the walls around the room. The lamps mimicked the summer sun as felt in the temperate zone on Earth. The warm pseudo-sunlight caressed her bare skin, though she barely felt it. Her mind was back on Earth; on a patio looking out over River Tay and the frost-covered Moncreiffe Island, leaning against Carl.
Her attention had been on the gold ring, which Carl had just slipped onto her finger, topped with a sapphire stone and a swan molded into the metal to either side of it. She looked up at Carl’s gentle face, light-blonde hair, and eyes that matched Tay’s waters during a rare cloudless day in Scotland. “I’m leaving Earth in a few days aboard the Frontier,” she had told him. “I won’t be back for two months.”
“I know,” he said. “We’ll do it when you get back. It’ll be a ‘welcome home’ present.”
Tasha smiled. “It’d certainly be something to come home to. I look forward to it.”
Carl’s face remained in her mind. Much further away than she had expected to be—across space and time. His words echoed over and over in her mind. “We’ll do it when you get back.”
If I get back. If these Sagans help us through to the right vortex. But why wouldn’t they if they were the creators like Govkor said they were? If one of them really was the God?
“Tasha!” Someone slapped her shoulder, jolting her back to the present—relative present. She turned to her right to see a naked Victoria Stoner rolling onto her belly. “Didn’t you hear the alarm? It’s time for our backsides.”
Tasha rolled onto her belly.
“Did you hear a word I said?” Victoria folded her arms in front of her, keeping her head raised.
“I’m sorry,” she said, copying the other’s posture. “My mind was back on Earth—three million light-years away, a million years in the future. What were you saying?”
“I was asking your thoughts on these Sagans Govkor told us about.”
“Oh.” Tasha looked down, gazing through the towel beneath her. Aye, the Sagans. Creators. Gods. Though religious institutions have, for the most part, been dissolved and stripped of their wealth, she had been raised to believe in the existence of a God—an intelligent being that had created the Earth and the Universe. Two days ago—ship time—she would have accepted it. But now that they were actually heading into an encounter with such beings. And that they could guide them back to the Earth they knew—guide her back to Carl.
“Well?”
“I-I suppose they could be the creators. I do believe in God, but...”
“God-like beings, maybe. Maybe these Sagans influenced the religions on Earth, setting Humans against each other.”
“Why would they do that?”
Stoner shrugged. “For amusement? Who knows? But they’ll likely leave it to us to figure out which vortex out of fifty leads us back to the Earth, 2105. Fifty vortices that could throw us randomly anywhere across ninety-five billion light-years and across eons of time.”
Once again, the memory of Carl filled Tasha’s mind. His gentle caress, the tender kiss they shared just before she had departed for Eternity’s Edge. She dropped her head to her folded arms, face-down, letting out a tremendous, bemoaning sigh. She felt an ache in her chest.
“What’s the matter?”
Without answering, Tasha sat up, wrapped the towel around her, and stood to rush out to the dressing room. She ignored the sudden blast of cool air that hit her upon emerging from the sunroom and charged toward her stall. There on the small shelf was the ring Carl had given her. She picked it up and sat down on a nearby bench. She cupped the ring between her hands and bowed her head.
She held still for a moment, praying, before slipping the ring onto her finger and, after pausing for another moment, started putting her clothes on. By the time she had her uniform trousers and shirt on, Victoria stepped out of the sunroom, towel wrapped around her. “I didn’t offend your archaic beliefs, did I?”
Tasha turned, shooting her a glare, and, without a word, proceeded out to the main lounge—and paused at the door.
Half-dozen crewmembers gathered around the doorway to the gym on the opposite side of the lounge. A crewman pushed through the crowd and rushed toward the nearest com-panel.
“What’s the matter with him?” another man asked, this one with dark hair and a green cardie. Tasha recognized him as Casey’s assistant.
“What’s happened?” Tasha asked, running to join the group. As she drew closer, through the crowd she recognized Lieutenant Commander Mandrel on the floor next to one of the treadmills, gasping with arms crossed over his chest.
“Medical emergency, crew lounge!” the first crewman yelled into the intercom.
“It’s Mandrel,” a blond-haired crewwoman said. “He’s just exercising and collapsed. Looks like he’s having trouble breathin’.”
“Painful...to breathe,” Mandrel said between breaths, eyes clenching.
“The medics should be here in a moment,” said the crewman rejoining them from the intercom.
The medics did indeed arrive minutes later, rolling in a gurney, just as Stoner entered from the dressing room. Tasha and the others gathered around the gym doorway stepped aside to allow the medics access.
“What happened?” Stoner asked, now standing behind Tasha.
She relayed the incident while watching the medics put a respirator over Mandrel’s nose and mouth. They helped him onto the gurney and rolled him out through the lounge.
Ship Calendar: 12 March 2105 A.D.
“I am afraid he’s dying,” Misra said. She sat at her desk while Bryan and McClance stood across from her. “His alveolar sacs are deteriorating. About a quarter of them are affected so far, but the condition is spreading fast.”
“Didn’t you examine him after we got him out?” Bryan asked.
“I did.” Misra shook her head, releasing a heavy sigh. “He was fine at the time. But since then... It seems to be a form of radiation. It probably got into his system when he was trapped in the warp reactor. Not a lot, which is why I didn’t see any signs of it yesterday, but enough to work its way into the lungs and affect some of the alveolar sacs. I am examining him every hour. It is definitely spreading.”
“I don’t understand how that could’ve happened,” McClance said. “He was wearing a radiation suit.”
“We better have Anderson and Krishnik go over the suit he was wearing,” Bryan said. “Check it for flaws. And check the others as well.” McClance nodded his agreement while Bryan turned back to the doctor. “How is he now?”
“I gave him a sedative to help ease the pain,” Misra said, “but he’s still experiencing discomfort. I am also keeping a respirator on him. But... I don’t know what else I can do for him. No one has ever been affected by this kind of radiation before.”
“Maybe the Peridjinn would know something,” McClance said. “I’ll ask Krishnik.”
It was Bryan’s turn to nod in agreement as McClance turned to leave. Back to the doctor, “I’d like to see him.”
“I put him in the isolation ward.” Misra led Bryan through the main ward and into a room that was mostly behind bulkheads and observation windows. They looked through one window to see the room’s sole occupant—Hobart Mandrel, with a mask over his nose and mouth that was hooked up to a machine. A nearby monitor displayed his vitals while another focused on his lungs. On the image of his lungs, red dots clustered around the ends of the bronchi. So far, the red seemed to be more concentrated toward the top of the lungs. “The red represents the deteriorating alveoli,” Misra explained. “The capillaries are exposed, causing his bronchi to fill up with blood.”
