Chapter Eleven
The plasma bolt flattened itself against the force wall and dispersed. The ship bucked under a rippling wave of displaced energy. Thrown backwards, the chair smacked her squarely in the kidneys and slammed the breath from her body. Agonising pain spiralled from bruised muscles, leaving her grimacing. Barely had it begun to subside than Blake was giving another order.
"Deactivate!"
"Bank five is finished," Avon returned, his voice coming from somewhere below. She forced herself upright and there he was, down by the secondary console. He looked different, not with the worn pallor of illness, but back to his old self. So soon, she wondered? He must have reactivated the medical unit. He had had time to change too, although it had been a while since he had worn that tunic with the grey collar. "Drawing on six."
"Zen! Power reserves?"
"At the present level of discharge," the computer intoned, "reserves will be exhausted in two point three hours."
The words rolled around her and Jenna had the strongest urge to say something about someone moving in for the kill. A name floated through her mind – Travis – and with it, the utter conviction that he was out there, commanding the ships that were pummelling the Liberator in a controlled attack. The sense she had done this before was overwhelming. Then the moment was gone.
"Plasma bolt launched," Zen announced.
"Bearing directly," said Gan from behind her.
"Jenna, take command," Blake said. "Gan, Vila, you help her."
Beyond the forward seating, Blake gathered Cally and Avon in conference. She stared at them, the memory of seeing them in that place, in another time, with Blake in his green parka, plotting out tactics on the main screen, seared into her mind.
"Jenna, the plasma bolt!" urged Vila.
"Oh, yes. Activating." She hurried down to the forward console just in time before the charge impacted. Again the ship lurched and she struggled to keep her feet. "Deactivating."
Over on the other side of the flight deck, Blake would be pinpointing the pursuit ship that had done all the firing. Above Vila and Gan's volley of information, she could just about hear him telling Avon and Cally exactly that. What next? That they would be low on power and no longer a problem. And then Cally would tell him that they could ignore it.
"So we can ignore it," Cally said, right on cue.
A chill ran through her. It was impossible that she could know that. Impossible too for her to know that Blake's next words would be that he had identified Travis's ship and was advocating ramming it.
"Plasma bolt launched," stated Zen.
"Bearing directly," Gan called down her.
His warning went unheeded. She was trying to hear what Avon was about to say. If her memory was right, he was about to question Blake's strategy. She was not disappointed.
"Ram it?"
"The Liberator should be able to take the impact," Blake was telling him.
He looked unimpressed. "I admire your confidence."
So did she. Because something was telling her that, despite all that was familiar, something was very wrong. The bid to ram Travis's ship had never been put to the test, thanks to Sinofar's intervention. Exactly as before, three ships were bearing down upon them set against the black velvet of space in a place untouched by a single star.
"Jenna!" yelled Vila.
She activated the force wall with seconds to spare. The bolt struck, the power of its momentum knocking the ship several degrees from its trajectory. The lights flickered as the flight deck rose and fell with the violence of the impact. As they reeled backwards, Avon caught Blake and held him as a muttered discussion took place between them, ending in what sounded like agreement.
"Jenna, the force wall," said Blake, returning to the navigational console. "Deactivate. We can't afford the drain on the energy banks. Vila, Gan: we're going for a ram, take out the command ship."
Vila's eyes widened in alarm. It was left to Gan to state the obvious.
"A ram?!"
"I don't see there's any other hope for us," said Blake.
The urge to add her voice to his was irresistible. Still, as she stared at the empty canvas against which the scene was playing, she realised what was wrong.
"No stars," she whispered. "Where are they?"
Configurations varied in constellations numbered by the million, but they were the one constant in a changing universe. Except for one place in the galaxy where no stars ever shone. Where no one ever went. Where ships went missing and people lost their minds.
"Jenna, you'll have to fly us on manual," Blake was urging.
"No." She turned to him. "It won't work."
"We don't have time for this. Where would the Liberator best withstand the impact?"
She held her ground. "It won't work," she grated, "because this is not how it happened."
"Jenna!" Blake grabbed her by the arm. "What's the matter with you? This is the only way. Unless you have a better suggestion."
She shrugged him away. "I'm not doing this!"
"Plasma bolt launched," announced Zen.
"Bearing directly," Gan yelled.
"I'd do it myself if you aren't willing." Blake pushed her out of the way. "Right, as soon as this one hits, we move. Stand by."
Willing. He had never said that. Someone else had spoken those words and she had agreed, despite all her reservations because it was the right thing to do and because her conscience would never rest if they left Cally behind.
"Activate!" Blake was staring at her, eyes blazing. "Jenna, activate now!"
"No," she said. "I am not willing."
Avon raced towards her, too late. The plasma bolt found its mark and ripped through the outer hull. The explosion rent the air with fire that rose from every damaged console. A rising sea of red, yellow and orange licked the stately verticals of the flight deck and blurred their lines in the heat haze.
Beside her on the floor, Avon was not moving, his clothes shredded and what remained of his face blackened. Tendrils of smoke had replaced the others at their stations. As the flames rose, glistening shards of glass cascaded from above. The uppermost console tipped, metal screaming as it buckled in on itself. When it collapsed, it crashed down into the others. Lights failed, giving way to the dancing shapes of the unfettered inferno. Flames taunted her, roasting her from every direction, creeping closer until they caught at her parka and the smell of her own burning flesh carried on the thick acrid smoke.
"Deactivate!" Blake ordered.
"Bank five is finished," Avon returned, his voice coming from somewhere below. "Drawing on six."
Jenna hurt but not how she was expecting. Her last sight had been of the skin on her hands burning to the colour of deep space, in a place where no star ever shone. Where ships were taken by an alien civilisation and their crews twisted into computer creations because they had said they were willing to accept what the Thirteen offered.
"Zen! Power reserves?"
"At the present level of discharge," the computer intoned, "reserves will be exhausted in two point three hours."
The others moved around her like people caught in a dream. Like any dream, none of this was real. Not Zen's announcement or the plasma bolt running towards them or Gan's words or Blake telling her to take command. She stepped down from her station and headed for the stairs.
"Jenna, the plasma bolt!" Vila yelled.
"No," she said. "I'm not willing."
And the world exploded into a million stars around her.
"Deactivate!" Blake was ordering.
"Bank five is finished," Avon returned, his voice coming from somewhere below. "Drawing on six."
It was hard to breathe. The chair had smacked her in the back, leaving her grimacing in pain. She focused on the sensation and felt her mind clear.
"Zen! Power reserves?"
"At the present level of discharge," the computer intoned, "reserves will be exhausted in two point three hours."
It was the same every time. Somewhere the Thirteen were watching, mining her memories. It would play over and over until they got what they wanted, a demonstration of her skill to use and develop so that the 'child' they would create would be greater than those that had gone before. No, she resolved, it was not going to happen. She was unwilling and she had an ally.
"Plasma bolt launched," Zen announced.
"Bearing directly," said Gan from behind her.
"Jenna, take command," Blake said.
That's exactly what I'm going to do, she thought. "Zen," she called out loud. "I know you can hear me. I know what they did to you and your crew. They will do the same to us. Help me."
She held her breath waiting for the response. The lights chased across the giant screen and finally Zen spoke.
"Confirmed."
The scene stuttered to a halt. Blake froze mid-step. The flight deck felt like it was retreating from her, leaving her stranded in an empty centre. Images flattened and lost tangibility until they revolved around her in a never-ending circle, a perpetual rolling viscast of memories that blurred into a kaleidoscope of colours. Muddied faces merged into scrambled places until all become one that faded under the glow of the chamber and she was left alone.
A square room with illumination bleeding through the walls, there was no way out. The glare made the edges indistinct so where the wall ended and the ceiling began she could not tell. She glanced down at her wrists; the teleport bracelets were still there. It had been the memories they were after, actions and reactions and the ability to adapt to any situation, not inferior technology.
What now? Would the watchers take revenge? Or would she be rejected because she was unwilling?
Not waiting to find out, she crawled warily to the nearest wall. The intense light was blinding, but gave off no heat. Shielding her eyes, she searched for something, a crevice, a seal, anything that would betray a clue about how she had arrived there. No door, no odours, nothing to excite the senses at all, just that surrounding glow in a prison that was a perfect cube. She tried not to let it unsettle her. If there was a way out, it was just a matter of keeping her mind clear until she found it.
Cautiously, she extended one hand towards the brilliant surface. The closer she got, the more her fingers bent away from it, as if recoiling of their own volition. She forced them to stretch out, pausing a fraction before she made contact and then forced her hand forward. The light yielded, moving softly around her fingers, eddying in their wake. Haloes of ever-growing rings formed in the places where her hand had been as she drew back, inspecting her skin for damage. Finding nothing, she pressed forward again, pushing her arm into the light followed by her shoulder and then finally, after a moment of pause, her head.
She found herself looking into the memories of the trapped. The stellar flash of neutron blasters against the empty sky, the whisper of words into the ears of a lover, the crunch of iced leaves in winter woods, the lazy spiral of birds riding air currents, a mother smiling at the child she raised into the air against the blue of the heavens, the lap of salted oceans against bare feet. Boxes within boxes, each with their fading inhabitants, prisoners in the present, reliving the past in their minds, watching and being watched.
Prying into the innermost depths of their souls felt like a violation. Willing or not, their lives had been laid open to scrutiny and research as if they were nothing more than laboratory specimens. Somewhere amongst them was what was left of the lost pilot known as Zendron.
But it was not for him that Jenna was searching. A glimpse of a familiar corridor flashed below with a lone figure lit by the sterile glow of the Liberator's overhead lighting. Jenna watched as she paused, watching the man at work in the teleport area. From above, Avon appeared as a single dark spot, moving fluidly between the consoles and smothering out the winking electronics as he bent over to delve into the ship's innermost workings. Cally stopped beside him. Words passed.
Jenna thought back. She would be asking him about the forward detectors. When he left, she would sabotage them. Her hand would burn and she would not feel it because she was under the control of the creature at the heart of the web. The Thirteen were investigating her telepathic abilities by making her relive a time when she had been compromised.
She knew she had to get to her. Straight down seemed the fastest way. Jenna swung her legs around until they dangled into the abyss. Then she dropped.
Cally made no reaction at the sudden presence of the intruder in her midst. With Avon gone, she was unrolling a tool pouch and selecting the instrument she needed to inflict maximum damage on the detector links.
"Cally," Jenna called. The reality that Cally's mind inhabited did not reject her. In this time, her past self was on the flight deck telling Blake about a malfunction in the PN overrides.
Cally still did not respond. She thrust the tool into the heart of the computer and sparks flew. When she withdrew her hand, the skin was red and inflamed. Any minute now, Blake and Avon would be heading in this direction.
"Cally!" Jenna yelled.
Finally she turned. A weapon was in her hand.
"I should regret the necessity to kill you," she stated.
There it was again, that feeling that someone else was looking back at her from eyes with pupils that had exploded to fill the iris.
"This isn't how it happened!" Jenna responded. "You know it. Fight it!"
Cally advanced. "Move back to the flight deck."
Jenna turned slowly to allow Cally to draw within reach. With a swift movement, she smacked the weapon from her hand. Cally fell backwards onto the floor, the gun spinning away from her grasp. As she scrabbled to regain it, Jenna grabbed her, slapped her around the cheek and, with her hands either side of her face, forced her to look at her.
"Cally, come out of it!" she shouted. "You are not willing! Listen to me! Remember who did this to you!"
She was still struggling. Jenna tightened her grip. The sound of running footsteps was growing closer.
"It's over," she reiterated.
Cally blinked and the blank look in her eye was replaced by new awareness. Thank you, her voice echoed in Jenna's mind. And then confusion contorted her features. "This isn't how it happened," she said. "We were on the flight deck."
As before, the world started to retreat. The approaching figures of Blake and Avon flattened against the wall and became part of the swirling whole.
"We have to get out of here," said Jenna, pressing the spare teleport bracelet into Cally's hands. "Put that on. Let's go."
Cally hesitated as she closed the bracelet around her wrist. "Leave?" She sounded dubious. "Do I want to leave?"
The walls started to close in again. The spiral of colours coalesced and began to take shape.
"We can't stay," Jenna insisted.
"I was happy here." Tears dribbled down Cally's cheeks. "I'm home, Jenna. Don't you see? I'm back on Auron."
The walls advanced, threatening to swallow them up. Jenna took her by the shoulders and shook her.
"It's an illusion."
"No," Cally cried. "This is real. Let me go home."
The burning glow of the walls lit her face and washed out her features. If Cally was willing to remain, Jenna knew she would be trapped here with her.
"Liberator, now!" she shouted into her bracelet.
She wrapped her arms around Cally and held her tightly as she cried and a comforting white light embraced them and kept the falling walls at bay.