So this chapter has been driving me insane, and is the one responsible for that lengthy period of writer's block I experienced. I was trying to get a sense of urgency here, but ummm not sure I succeeded, even after multiple rewrites and hours of agonizing over the direction of the scenario involved. Bah. Can't say I didn't try.
Chapter 37. Hide and seek.
At last his destination was in sight. He had pushed his ship hard the last few days, knowing that time was running short and that the sooner he arrived the sooner he could get the message delivered. Make that both messages.
Something had told him that the little package wasn't merely some token gift for a loved one back home. Never in all the time he had been serving that base had he be given one of those. Security was so high that it just wasn't worth the risk; anyone monitoring his routes could trace such a personal item back to its origin if they really wanted to.
That's what made this delivery so special. So important. So much so that he knew he just had to find out what it was – just in case lives depended on it. And with the nature of the second message he had to pass on, he felt certain that now there were many more lives on the line out there. It was too much of a coincidence to not conclude the two were connected.
Metis had re-read the slip of paper inside the small, wrapped box over a dozen times.
Assistance required. Non-native ally. At same place they once were.
The recipients address, after 738, was just a jumble of letters and numbers. He recognised the code T4MM, he had seen that once before on a message he had relayed once, years ago, and so he assumed that part was referring to the recipient's planet: Mars. There was a T3 in the rest of the line, and he wondered if that was something to do one of the cities on the surface. He really didn't know. He had never been there himself.
"Captain, we're ready to dock."
His pilot alerted him just moments before the small screen in front of him flashed. A message was coming through from the outpost, and he chuckled softly at what must have been a flustered reaction to his ship's unexpected presence. He was nearly a month early after all.
"Bring her in carefully, don't want to panic these good people anymore than we have done" he told the pilot before rising from his cushioned seat. "I'll be in the docking bay."
Metis left the bridge with a small number of his crew, who despite being traders were no fools, and each discreetly carried a weapon. A lot could have changed since his last visit, which must have been nearly eighteen months ago now, and his impromptu appearance might have done more than just surprise his waiting hosts.
It was with great relief that he was not greeted by a fully-armed contingent of the outpost's security, and as the boarding ramp descended he took in the warm, if slightly bemused smiles on the waiting crew's faces.
"Ah, Captain Metis! Been a long time; a very long time by the looks of you."
At the head of the welcoming party was the leader of the outpost, and he clearly had no problem with the trading ship dropping by unannounced.
"Yes yes, just a pity my eyes haven't gone yet or else i'd be spared having to see you too."
The outpost commander chortled. "Great to see you haven't lost your sense of humour out there. Are you coming in or are you planning on making this a flying visit?"
Metis answered by stepping off his ship and onto the base's rocky floor. Even though space flight didn't tend to involve too many unstable motions, and thus it wasn't possible to feel any real difference between the ship and solid ground, somehow his legs still went a little wobbly when finding himself back on something with its own natural form of gravity.
"I swear this rock spins faster than anywhere else. Tell me again why I bother trading with you, this place always makes me wish I had a longer neck."
The commander tutted sympathetically at his visitor's apparently weak stomach. "You know I was kind of wondering that myself. Care to explain why you were in such a hurry to get back here?"
Metis had allowed himself to be guided into the main part of the station so that they could chat. Like in many of the places he traded with he passed a mixture of faces from a variety of species, several of which were Martian, which made sense as this base was one of the few left of the original outpost settlements deployed from Mars. All those mouse-like faces reminded him of home, though he noticed sadly that he never actually saw any of his own kind here.
His host too was Martian, but not a mouse. Metis didn't pay much attention to the politics of the red planet, but he felt without doubt that this had to be the only Sand Raider in the entire galaxy not working for the Plutarkian empire, or for himself. Well, not including the dog-like man's mate. Elysia was undeniably the boss of the couple, her temper renowned for being just as volatile as the region that she was named after.
The commander himself was no wimp, though, and at over eight foot tall it was difficult to see how anyone could best him. He had fought plenty of battles and sent many a soldier fleeing for his life. But when it came to his mate's sharp mouth...
"Lycus, forgive me. I don't have much time to explain." Metis and his host had reached the outpost's relaxation area, a large and comfortable room where the two of them had many times sat and reminisced. Now they were perched on their favourite sofa-like chair, refreshments in hand, their respective security staff attending to other matters so that they could talk freely.
"Somehow I didn't think you would. You nearly broke down my door with the speed you arrived. Something wrong, old friend?"
The trade-ship captain sighed and handed over the papers he had tucked into his pocket. "I'm afraid so" he said, rubbing his clawed hand through his bi-tonal fur. "I'm not normally one to get involved in all this... war stuff... like to keep my head down, and still attached to my shoulders if at all possible. But this was a little hard to ignore."
Lycus studied the smaller parchment first, and it's address label. "Do you need to know what it means? It's encoded of course."
"No, no... well maybe. I know its heading for Mars, that's all though. I was given it by one of my traders... and then two weeks later I got the other one."
The second parchment made the dog's eyes widen.
"So it's true..." he muttered, "there is resistance presence in the Piscean sector." He breathed out slowly, taking on board the SOS one exhalation at a time. He wasn't sure what surprised him most, that the rumours were true or that his best trade partner had managed to keep it from him for so long.
"Think it's a coincidence, commander? That they should want one message delivered and so soon after find themselves in trouble?"
The Martian shrugged. "I couldn't tell you, I don't know what the message itself means. But you are right though, it's for someone on Mars, and i'm fairly sure part of the code is a relay."
"A relay? Can you tell where to?"
"I might be losing it, it's been a while... but if I was to bet I would say it's heading to Earth."
Metis had heard of Earth, vaguely. He hadn't known that Mars had made contact with it. From what he had been told, the neighbouring planet in that system was not at the ideal stage for extra-terrestrial relations. Which pretty much made them a fairly wide target should any Plutarkians decide to take notice.
The sand raider cleared his throat, and stood. "Well old man, I think we better get going. That message isn't going to send itself, and I doubt our friends in the resistance are going to have the luxury of waiting for us two to finish catching up."
"Everyone quiet. Firio, hold our position. This is going to be close."
Frost hissed softly as the deep breath he had taken was slowly released between clenched teeth. With one eye half on the pod's scanner he peered towards the huddled members of his crew, each with the same anxious tension drawn on their assorted faces, and inwardly hoped they couldn't see just how troubled he himself felt.
The escape pod had been steered behind the small asteroid, the one that had co-orbited the nearby moon with the one their base had stood on. Once there they had taken advantage of its shielding properties and decided, for the time being, that hiding was a far better option than trying to run. There was only a limited reserve of fuel to propel the tiny craft, perhaps enough to reach the moon, but probably not much further. The pod simply wasn't designed to out-run a chasing ship, nor was it equipped to fight back should it be fired upon. It was merely a capsule, meant only to help its passengers cling onto life for long enough to be rescued, and if that rescue did not appear in time its purpose was something entirely the opposite. As with the base, capture of either its personnel or data was not an option. Once the air supply was depleted the auto-destruct would kick in, ensuring that nothing was left to compromise the safety of anyone that remained of the resistance.
And after three days hovering on the brink of discovery, the time left until that awful finality was rapidly running out.
Time wasn't the only thing in short supply. There was limited space on board the pod, and aside from the control panel up front, and the main bay which was part of the same area, there was a small bathroom located to the rear, plus an access hatch to the engine compartment. The walls consisted of storage lockers, which contained the ration packs, bedding, and minimal medical supplies, but little else, and the benches ringing the bay doubled as beds, also with storage beneath. Each of these containers held a space suit, one each for all the eight passengers aboard, just in case they crash landed on somewhere minus its own atmosphere (which was just about every hunk of rock drifting through this particular part of Plutarkian space).
Needless to say the stress levels amongst the crew were very high, and it was something short of a miracle that these tensions had not erupted into full scale mutiny. Somehow everyone was holding it together, and as yet not one had questioned the reason behind their rushed departure from the base. Frost assumed that they all thought the Plutarkians had found them by themselves, and doubted any here suspected the real cause of their discovery.
After a few minutes of excruciating silence the yellow-furred alien gave a wave, which was followed by a collective exhalation by all. That last pass was too close for comfort. It was to be expected that the Plutarkians wouldn't just leave without searching for them, but it was also inevitable that at some point they would notice the tiny escape pod lurking quietly in the shadow of the remaining asteroid. Each time they detected that Plutarkian vessel doing another sweep, they merely ducked deeper down into a crater and hoped the rock's unique electromagnetic emissions would hide them from the fish's scanners.
All it would take was for one of them to actually take a good look out of the window and the game would be up. Frost was relying on them not being that sensible.
"How many times is that now? Ten? Fifteen?"
Firio turned to the rat that was addressing him, having already – carefully – manoeuvred the pod out of the crater once more. This was necessary because the asteroid's interference also prevented their own distress beacon from being detected, and though they were dangerously exposed when they did this, it was a risk they simply had no choice but to take.
"Twelve. From what I can tell they have a fixed search pattern, which seems to bring them past us roughly four times a day. Hopefully that's the last one for a few hours, assuming they ever actually sleep."
He lowered his somewhat cynical stare to the crew, searching for an answer that would probably never come. Upon seeing their querying yet gloomy gazes he softened, and lamented that none of their green-scaled crew were with them so that he could ask about the circadian rhythms of their species. Unfortunately all the Plutarkian members of their group had either transported to the trade point or escaped on one of the other two pods. Aside from poor Holo, he thought sadly. That young fish had so much potential.
"Well I hope you're right, Firio, I really do." Frost dropped his voice, "because I don't think we can keep this up for much longer."
"Agreed" said Firio, who managed to hold back the obvious question 'but what else can we do?'
"Is the signal definitely broadcasting?" the rat asked suddenly, his exasperation evident. "Surely someone would have picked it up by now, the encryption was designed to only block Plutarkians, but there's got to be someone else out there besides them."
Frost stood and paced the tiny space behind the control panel. It was all he could do to stop himself just exploding in frustration, losing it and causing a panic, or else crumbling down into despair. He knew he had to be strong, like had had done when his mate had fallen apart at the base, and like he had done when she had been captured and no one else believed she could be saved. He had to be as strong now, if not stronger, because it wasn't just his and her lives at risk now – it was everyone's. Everyone on this pod, on the other pods, on their ships out there in Plutarkian space; everyone between here and home, all those many miles away. Everyone was depending on him.
It was a huge burden, and one he desperately wished he didn't have to carry on his own.
Firio confirmed that their distress beacon was active, and in light of the near predictability of the searching ship's fly-bys he decided it was an appropriate time for a nap. Whilst he put his head down on a vacant bench, Frost took his place at the helm.
For a long time the rat just sat there. He had re-familiarised himself with the various buttons and levers before him – in particular the one that made the pod descend – and taken his time to go through the procedure in his mind. Drop 150 feet, stabilisers on, reduce power output. Then wait, hold breath, and hope above all that no one sneezes. Not that such a noise would literally be 'heard' by a passing ship, for there is no sound in the vacuum of space, but the detection systems on board those vessels of such an advanced species were equipped to pick up on minute changes in electrical impulses. Frost had no idea just how well the asteroid's field could hide them, and he didn't fancy putting it to the test just yet.
From the corner of his vision he saw movement, and jumped a little. It was only his mate, stirring fretfully in her sleep. Kalis hadn't woken once since drifting off, though every time she did move or make a sound his heart would find its way to his mouth. It pained him to have to keep her blindfolded, but again it just wasn't worth it to find out if her mind was her own once more. One look out of the viewing portal would give away their position instantly.
I'm so sorry Kalis, he thought, his stomach twisting. If only we could have stopped this sooner.
But what was done was done, and it did not escape him that there was more to this whole sorry mess than he would like to think. Somewhere out there was someone else as desperate as they were, perhaps so much so that they would sacrifice the safety of the hidden base to gain the freedom that they needed.
He didn't know Charley in the same way his sleeping mate did. Yet though he still was wary about the motivations of the other woman, he had experienced firsthand the kind of situation that would push someone to think or behave in a selfish manner. He couldn't blame the human for trying to get their help despite the repercussions.
However it had come about was not the issue now, and Frost resolved to keep his mind focused on what really mattered. Getting his crew to safety, and getting their precious intel into the hands of the people who needed it to survive. His people. And anyone who lived in fear of the Plutarkian infection.
His musings had left him tired, and with his eyes falling once more on the stilled form of his mate he was filled with yearning. He was fed up with the war, with hiding, and with not being able to go home. It was his duties to that faraway place that kept him here and, regrettably, also kept him apart from her.
Frost took one last quick look at the pod's own scanners, and seeing nothing amiss quietly left the control panel desk to sit with Kalis. He gathered her gently into his arms, tucking her slender body against his, and wrapping his long tail around hers and their legs until all their limbs were intertwined. His breathing slowed. The exhaustion from being on a knife-edge for so long was creeping up on him, and the warmth and texture of her soft-coated skin against his was soothing. He relaxed.
"Commander?"
A pair of dark eyes were in front of his nose, and he startled. One of the crew was shaking him, and he knew from their embarrassed look that he had fallen asleep.
"Huh? Oh right...thanks..." Frost struggled to sit up, and the officer who had woken him took his place back on his own bench. Clearly they had spotted the commander's drooping lids and took it upon themselves to keep watch for a while whilst he got some rest. Noting the time on the small clock on the control panel Frost could see he had been out for several hours.
"Dammit!" he swore, wondering what would have happened if the searching fish-led vessel had happened to take another look at that moment. It was just lucky that it hadn't, or else they would really be in trouble. Better not let that happen again you stupid rat, he berated himself internally.
After another hour Firio resumed his own watch, and almost like clockwork the Plutarkians did their routine sweep behind the asteroid. From their hiding place in the crater they waited, hoping that the ship would move away so that they could resume their SOS in safety. Eventually it did, but there was still no sign that anyone had received their message. There was also no sign of either of the other two pods, and it was with deepening regret that Frost concluded they had either been captured, or destroyed. More likely the latter, so long as they continued to follow protocol.
The rat rubbed his temple. He hated to think such awful things, but that was the reality he was stuck with. It was a brutal world they lived in, and sometimes difficult choices had to be made in order for some to survive. They had decided to be the ones to make that decision, knowing full well just how far the line of duty extended in their particular case.
He felt sick. He wasn't sure if it was his disgust at their predicament or something he ate, but he definitely felt queasy.
"Sir, it's going to be at least another six hours until the next pass. You should get some rest; you look terrible."
The yellow-furred alien touched his shoulder, breaking him out of his troubled reverie. His orange eyes betrayed the concern the rest of his face was graciously trying to hide, and seeing this Frost nodded. "If you don't mind keeping watch, then I guess you're right. Try to keep the noise down, and no parties alright?"
Firio smirked. As if, he thought; the after effects of the last one was still evident in the sunrise yellow glow from his pelt.
The alien turned back to the control panel once Frost had settled. Like the rat he too ran through the procedure for a quick descent into the crater, though it was hardly necessary as he had done it so many times now he could practically do it in his sleep.
Sleep. Oh how he needed some of that right now; the proper kind, not just the occasional light nap.
He turned around on his chair and observed how the entire crew were at rest except him. Peace at last? It was very quiet on the pod, and he remarked to himself the obvious lack of snoring coming from the main bay. He knew that some species were actually unable to snore, his own included, and yet others apparently were incredibly gifted at loud nocturnal rumblings. Plutarkians being number one on that list. It made him chuckle. One day he had caught Holo napping in the canteen, not that it was difficult because he could be heard halfway down the corridor. The mortified young fish had suffered over a month of teasing after that.
The memory amused him for a while, but soon Firio's attention turned back to his duties, and as he watched the clock's hours slowly pass he felt the tension in him rise once more. It seemed that a couple of the crew were following the same rhythm because they woke just in time for the next descent into the crater, and once the danger had passed settled back down on their bench-like beds. Frost hadn't stirred this time, and Firio decided to leave him be for now.
After a few more hours of working in silence, the yellow-furred alien began to feel a little drowsy himself. He sat there and debated waking someone up to cover his watch, but everyone looked so calm it seemed a shame to end it.
Damn. Looks like another triple shift for me then.
It irked him somewhat that the rest of the pod's inhabitants seemed to do nothing but nap, in between the brief bouts of nervous excitement as their enemy drew close. Although even that fervour seemed to be declining over time, despite the increasing danger they were in, and he almost wondered if they would reach a point where they might just sleep through it all, blissfully unaware, until their end was reached.
It was an odd and unsettling idea. Something about it all was bothering him too. To keep himself occupied, and awake, Firio decided it would be prudent do run a few diagnostics just to be safe. Half an hour later the results showed nothing untoward with the pod's systems. He had even checked the air supplies, which were now just under fifty percent, and the atmospheric monitors in the cabin did not register any alarms. Most of the species on board were quite tolerant of high levels of carbon dioxide, and at least one of them was immune to the effects of several other poisonous gases as well.
Nonetheless Firio checked everything twice, if anything because his gut was prodding at him to do so, and also because it was an effective boredom filler. That accomplished he settled back down to his watch, still feeling decidedly sleepy, and still with that nagging feeling in the back of his mind.
He checked the clock again. Four hours until the next pass. Don't those fish ever give up?
It was a waiting game that he knew they were unlikely to win.
Frost's words from the day before came into his mind. Surely someone out there had got their distress call? Maybe the rat was right, maybe their signal wasn't broadcasting. Maybe there was a computer glitch, a technical error, or something.
Maybe he had better check it out, just in case. It would pass some time and put his mind at ease, he decided, as he began a further round of diagnostics. Once again they came back showing nothing wrong with the pod.
Yet another hour ticked by, and still the crew slept on. Firio was used to keeping himself company – he wasn't the most sociably of aliens – but the lack of any movement was really starting to get to him. It wasn't that he resented his duties, in fact he took pride in his work no matter how tedious, but that needling feeling that something wasn't quite right was simply making everything more difficult today.
Damn it. He needed to know, and there was only one way to find out.
Cursing repeatedly to himself, Firio stalked over to where the his two superior officers were embraced in sleep, and rummaged around their clothing for a while. It took him a few minutes of searching, but eventually he found the data chip buried inside the thick sole of the rat's right boot. He chewed his cheeks. No normal person would have slept through such a thorough inspection of pockets.
The data chip of the base's entire intel and operational files was soon open on the control panel's computer. There was so much information here he could have spent hours just sifting through one folder, but with some kind of intuition at play Firio honed his search to just one file. Probably the most obscure of them all, and yet undoubtedly the most important. One paragraph in particular stood out amongst the rest:
The unique properties of the double-lunar orbiting asteroids in the Piscean sector make them an ideal location for siting covert operational bases, and outposts of high strategic importance. In nearly all cases the two bodies will complement each other's individual electromagnetic signatures, the exact nature of which are not yet recognized. What is known, from limited research, is that the smaller of the two normally emits a form of radiation that conceals matter on the surface of the other, larger asteroid. The harmful effects of this radiation are cancelled out by the emissions from the larger, thus enabling it to support infrastructure containing living organisms with minimal risk.
Advisory notes. Outposts and bases should only be located on the larger asteroid of a pair. Radiation levels should be routinely monitored. Orphaned bodies are not recommended. Further research needed.
Looking around the small bay it was obvious to him now. He had to raise the pod further. He had to hope that salvation was close, because there was less than three hours before the next fly-by, and the more distance he put between them and the asteroid the more exposed they were to discovery. But he had to chance it.
Carefully Firio had the pod rise beyond the rim of the crater. Slowly he brought it up and further away from the electromagnetic field. Before they had been on the border of where the interference would block their own signal, but now they were well and truly clear. But not far enough to escape the danger the rock itself posed; to do that he would have to go much further away, and that wasn't really an option either. Firio really hated lose-lose situations.
So far so good though, he thought, for the pod's scanners detected no other ships nearby. He had time to think. Perhaps they could make a run for it, if only he knew the course of the fish's search pattern. Perhaps he could somehow follow them as they went by, hiding in their wake; he had heard of that being done before, somewhere. It was something he felt sure Frost would approve of, and maybe even the General. He hoped so, anyway, because it didn't look like they were going to wake up any time soon, not if he didn't put some distance between them and that asteroid.
Firio turned back to the control panel, having spent a few minutes gazing out of the portal window to get his bearings. It felt like some kind of sick joke that what had for so long helped them remain concealed now only served to expose them.
And that awful eventuality was determined to hasten its appearance. A small amber-coloured LED lit up on the desk, and a soft beep sounded. Firio's face fell. Below that light were two words embossed on the panel: Proximity alert.
Their sensors had detected something. It had only been a matter of time before the pod was raised well clear of the interference, and that's exactly what they had been waiting for. And that one tiny noise was the only warning that the ship hovering right overhead now had them clearly in its sights.