Episode 8: Ask Thee a Sign
Derek paced his small quarters. The astro compass' light flooded his mind's eye. If he hadn't known the exact distance from bed to desk to closet to door, he'd have hit something. He softly muttered as he brushed past Starsha's plant for the twentieth time. "Three days we've been going this way. Three days… of nothing." He stopped at his desk. Just empty space. Not even a sign of the enemy.
In three steps he crossed the room and punched his thin mattress with all the frustration and anxiety of the past three days. "What are we doing out here?" he said to the plant, which rustled beside the door. "Why did I drag everyone into space just to chase ghosts?" He sighed and slumped onto the mattress. The dent he'd made poofed out the moment he sat.
The gray blanket lay crumpled to one side of his pillow, right where he'd left it hours ago when sleep refused to relieve him. He grabbed the blanket. Its plain material warmed his hands as the cool cabin air sent a shiver down his bare calves and forearms. He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. It scratched his neck and arms just enough to betray its cheapness. They spent so much rebuilding this ship they had to scrimp on something, I suppose. Guess now I remember why most people brought blankets from home. Wish I had too.
He closed his eyes and envisioned his little EDF-issued apartment, stuffed in the mid-levels of a newly built housing area above ground. His chair near the window always promised a good nap, or at least comfortable sleeplessness while he surfed the public broadcasts or found an entertaining net channel.
He hadn't been home in months, and now, just as he'd gotten back, something else dragged him away again. Guess it's good I never got a dog. Poor thing wouldn't recognize me. A chill swept over him and he pulled the blanket closer and folded legs and socked feet onto the bed. Who set the environmental controls for this block? He checked the settings on his comm. Normal. Am I getting sick? He tested his forehead. Because that's all I need right now. He went down the list of usual symptoms. No scratchy throat. No congestion or cough. No nausea—well, a little nausea, and a headache, but that was from stress. Not sick. Maybe we've got extra blankets in storage. I'll grab one tomorrow.
As he curled up in his bunk, the lights lowered. But even with the blanket wrapped tightly around him, Derek couldn't sleep. The cold persisted. He sat up again. "Is it too much to ask for a good night's rest on this trip?" he growled into the dim room.
The Iscandarian plant beside the door rustled again.
"Not you too," Derek muttered. "Didn't Starsha ever tell you it's rude to wake people up for no reason?"
A knock startled Derek. He shot out of bed and ran a hand through his tousled hair. "Come in." The lights rose. He kept the blanket on.
Dathan Feldmann, still in his pilot's uniform, entered. "Captain… Wildstar?" He noted the blanket and sock-feet. "Perhaps I should come back later." Dathan started to leave.
"No. No. It's fine." Derek rubbed the bridge of his nose as his headache throbbed again. "What brings you here so late?"
Dathan passed the Iscandarian plant without touching it. The door hissed shut. In the quiet, it sounded like a nest of angry bees. Feldmann stood near the bunk, opposite Derek's desk where a picture of Derek and Nova during the journey to Iscandar sat prominent. "I… I've been out here once—during the past year." Dathan crammed his hands into his pockets and shifted uncomfortably.
Derek took the desk chair and picked up a printed picture of him and Nova on the observation deck during their trip to Iscandar. "Good. We could use any information we can g—"
"You shouldn't go through here." Fear cut Dathan's words.
Derek set the picture down. "There's nothing on the survey maps Commander Singleton sent."
"You don't understand, Captain. We barely got out alive. We had no time to chart anything, but I remember the coordinates like they're my own name." Dathan took out his comm and showed Derek a half dozen images—some no more than terror-riddled blurs. "Before it caught us, we sent in a probe—just for a moment. This place—it's a death yard—filled with ships who got in… but couldn't get back out." Dathan shuddered and retreated toward the bunk again. "We lost the probe."
"Send me those pictures," Derek said.
"Done." Dathan shared the images with Derek.
The first picture, a deep, dark smear rubbed out a cluster of stars and blanketed most of the image in blackness. Derek pulled the blanket a little tighter. "Thank you. Please, give this and any other information you have to Sandor and Eager—and the radar team. I'm afraid the only one likely to be up at this hour is Sandor—down in his lab, so you'll have to send the information via comm."
"I'll notify the night crew on the bridge and give the officers the same information in the morning."
Derek nodded. "Thank you again. I'm glad you let me know."
Dathan approached the door but stopped just short of the Iscandari plant. "Captain?"
"Call me Derek. I can't get used to people calling me Captain when I'm off the bridge—or when I'm on it either. Captain Avatar will always be this ship's captain in my mind."
"I understand wanting to live up to someone else's idea of who you should be. My… father always expected certain things of me—things I could never accomplish the way he wanted me to. Even the woman I wanted to marry wouldn't have me because I wasn't who she wanted me to be." Dathan extended an index finger toward the plant but didn't touch it. The leaves rustled. "Don't let anyone make you into someone you're not."
"I'll remember that."
As Dathan left, Derek picked up the image of himself and Nova again. I can't be like you, Nova. I can't. You'll have to have enough faith for the both of us.
Two hours later Derek woke to an alarm. He discovered he'd fallen asleep slumped in the desk chair, but the ache in his back and neck faded as urgency pressed. In half a minute he threw on his uniform and rushed out of his quarters. Five minutes later, he stumbled onto the bridge. The night crew still manned their posts. The only officer present other than Derek was Sandor who leaned over the science tech's shoulder and pointed at the duty station's screen.
"Report." Derek slipped into the captain's chair.
"We're caught in a subspace eddy," said Sandor.
"Vasquez, pull us out," Derek directed the on-shift navigator.
"Trying, Sir, but the pull—she's too strong for our little miss here. It's sucking us in like a moth in a vacuum!" Vasquez grunted as he pulled on the control yoke, but the Argo only sank further into the eddy.
"Engine room, we need more power," Derek said over the comm.
"She's givin' all she's got," said Orion—already down in the engine room helping the night shift finish some upgrades.
The ship strained so hard Derek thought every deck plate would separate. Until a low creak jerked the ship to port.
"It's another one!" Sandor shoved the science tech out of his seat. "A second eddy!"
"We're spinning, Captain," said Vasquez. "I can't even keep her straight now."
Mark, followed closely by Dathan, burst onto the bridge and rushed to help Vasquez. Mark took one side of the yoke while Vasquez took the other, but no matter how they strained and pulled, the Argo kept sinking further into the grasp of the twin eddies.
After fifteen minutes of struggle, the engines, tired of fighting, died.
They drifted fast, almost like a toy boat dropped into white water.
Derek's stomach leapt as they spun and fishtailed, spun again, and stopped, as though they'd reached a quiet pool at the end of a long river. "Damage report?"
"Engine output's minimal," Orion reported from engineering. "But she's recovering slowly. Should have full power back in a few hours.
"Sandor?"
"Minimal damage reports—mostly improperly anchored equipment. A few scrapes and bruises, and one possible concussion, but nothing too serious."
Nova came to replace Erin Watts at the radar station, but Watts stayed to help. "There's debris all over the radar," said Nova. "From the composition…" she switched to the Iscandari enhancement, "they're ship hulls—two are… Gamilon… and several have a Gatlantean tag—like the ones we met at Shambleau last year. One, the radar's spitting gibberish about, and the other is… It's from Earth!" She checked the registry. "It's a science ship—Olympia."
"Feldmann." Derek turned to the pilot who still stood near the back of the bridge, frozen in place. Dathan's eyes fixed on the main viewscreen.
"Captain?" Dathan's attention snapped to Derek.
"You said you'd been out here. What do you know about the Olympia?"
Dathan's eyes roamed back to the viewscreen, an endless sea of black, dotted with pieces of wreckage. "It… fell into the eddy… into the place I told you about. It… never came out. That's the reason we were out here. My ship, Alexandria, came to rescue them, but when our engines sputtered and the current almost swallowed us too, we… we… gave up."
Fear ate Derek's gut, and he reviewed the information Dathan gave the bridge crew a few hours ago. But these aren't the coordinates he logged. We're at least five light years from there. "How many in Olympia's crew?"
"Thirty-seven," said Dathan, head low. "We marked them all lost twelve months ago… It's been… almost eighteen months since we tried to rescue them… But this place—it—it shouldn't be here. It should be much further away." Dathan muttered something like a curse, but Derek couldn't decipher it. "It must have drifted. How did it move so quickly?"
Derek beckoned Dathan to the captain's post. Feldmann came, but stopped two feet away. Derek motioned him closer.
"You didn't mention another ship last night," Derek whispered when Dathan was finally near enough.
"I… didn't think it relevant. We sent the probe in to find out if they were… still alive."
"And?"
"Not a trace. The probe couldn't get any readings. The only data we have are those pictures I gave you. Surely you can't think anyone's alive out there."
Nova shifted the viewscreen to show the Olympia.
Dathan's eyes darted to the radar station. He took a step back. "I'd heard tales of this ship's… unique systems, but I had no idea it possessed alien enhancements to the radar." He indicated the Iscandarian add-on. "Does that tell you if there's anyone over there?"
"No," Sandor answered for Derek. "We still have limitations, and the radar doesn't seem to be able to cut through whatever interference is stifling this place. We have no idea if anyone's alive anywhere inside here."
"But you pulled up registry—" Dathan began.
"Registry information and detecting life signs are two different things." Sandor didn't look up from his station.
"Get aboard that ship, Sandor. Take—"
"Take me," said Dathan.
Everyone, including Derek, stared at Dathan.
"All right…" said Derek. "Sandor? Is that all right with you?"
"Fine. You can come along." Sandor surrendered the station to the night tech again.
"Thank you," said Dathan. "Alexandria is the same class as Olympia. I can get around her without trouble. And, if anyone survived against these odds, I want to be among the first to help them escape this nightmare."
Derek nodded. "Bring back anything useful."
Sandor outfitted and crewed the Seagull with two science team members. He docked the scout ship at Olympia's boarding airlock. Once inside, a green light blinked on Sandor's in-helmet HUD. "Air's breathable," he said as he removed his helmet and took a deep breath. Little stale, but not awful. He left the helmet off.
The two science team members removed their helmets too. Feldmann left his on.
They searched every hall and room, starting with the stern and working toward the bow. Twenty minutes into their search, they reached the crew quarters. The rearmost room was empty, though its occupant's belongings still stuffed a small footlocker, and a few things littered the floor. The second and third rooms were the same.
Near the front of the crew quarters, Sandor stopped. Singing? Did someone leave their computer on all these months? He approached a room numbered ten. A rich, low bass reached through the door.
"Deep river,
My home is over Jordan.
Deep river, Lord.
I want to cross over into campground."
I haven't heard that in… a long time. Sandor leaned a little closer to the closed door. Without warning, it opened, and Sandor almost stumbled into the room.
A young man, skin the color of deep walnut, sat cross-legged, an old book laid open across one leg. The heading at the top of the page read, Isaiah 7. Eyes shut, head bowed, the young man's only reaction to Sandor's single, heavy footfall was, "Lord, I know I'm hearin' things again. This place does a number on my wits."
He still wore his uniform. On the shoulder patch, his name shone in white thread, T. Alori. Green markings indicated his specialty—navigation—or maybe stellar cartography. His Lieutenant's rank rested just below his name patch.
What might he be now if he hadn't been waylaid here? And how is he still alive when we've found no one else aboard?
Lt. Alori wore his dark, kinky hair close-shaven. He'd maintained it in the months since Olympia's disappearance. Though a bit bony—probably due to ration conservation—he wasn't malnourished or otherwise unhealthy looking.
A small box, half-filled with emergency rations, sat open at the end of his neat bunk. The blanket, spread over his mattress, wore no wrinkles, and a smooth, cased pillow rested at a perfect twenty-degree angle. An open food wrapper lay discarded next to the oblivious Lieutenant as he kept humming his song.
"Your wits are intact," said Sandor as he took another step into the room but motioned for everyone else to hang back. He's not much older than Wildstar.
Alori's eyes flew open. "Mercy!" He sprang to his feet, careful to keep the Bible from hitting the floor. He quickly laid it on the bunk and raised both hands, ready to defend himself, but the instant he noticed the insignia on Sandor's EVA suit, he relaxed. "I thought you'd never come." He wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow. "A welcome face, my friend. Welcome, indeed!" He extended a hand to Sandor who took it and gave the long-lost officer a firm shake.
"I assure you, we arrived by accident," Sandor said when Alori released his hand.
Alori shook his head. "No accidents in this world, my brotha." He grinned so wide he almost forced his eyes closed. "What ship's broken through death and saved me?"
"The Argo," Sandor said.
"Argo?" Alori looked surprised. "The one and same that took the quest last year?"
"It's been a lot longer than that," said Sandor.
"Course, course." Alori nodded. "Stuck way too long. Let's get out of here." He gathered his Bible and a few other possessions into a small bag and then started to walk past Sandor. When he spied Dathan, he stopped, but he made no comment before passing both other science team members.
"Tim!" Mark rushed forward when Alori disembarked in the Seagull's tiny side hangar aboard Argo. Artificial gravity was on to keep the small crowd from clogging every corner of the room.
"Marcus Venture," Timothy clapped Mark's shoulder. "Never thought I'd see you again—never thought I'd seen much of anyone again—least, not this side a the river. How's that little brother a yours?"
"Jordy's great. I'm sure your mom and little sister will be thrilled to get the news. How are you? I mean, you're alive! How'd you survive?" Mark ushered Timothy through the gathered crowd. "Everyone else on the Olympia is…"
Timothy's face fell. "The Lord gave me grace, Marcus. Everyone else—something took em—while they slept. Some died in a collision with another ship, but the rest—they either fell sick or went mad. And I couldn't help them all. Tried my best, but I'm no medic." His face was grim. "Shawna was the last to go… she tossed and turned, begged to die. Kept screamin' and screamin'." Timothy covered his ears. "Horrible, Marcus—worse than the ones who died in the bombings."
"You did everything you could," said Mark as he managed to squeeze past the last few people near the hangar door. "No one can ask any more than that. I'm sure Argo will pull Olympia's records and computer data."
"So, you've found a way outta here?" Timothy brightened.
"No… afraid not."
"I see…" Timothy elbowed Mark and tried to smile again. "I thought better of you, Marcus. Gettin' into a place ya can't get out of. Mama taught me better, but I got stuck here, anyway. Couldn't pull the engines outta their slump. Everything works, she just won't go. Engineer couldn't figure it out. Died in engineering…"
With a subtle nod to Sandor, Mark led Timothy from the hangar to his own quarters. "You can sleep in here if you want. Mine's the lower bunk, but I'll sleep up top if you don't want to climb. Used to room with the comm officer, but he said I snore too much, so he picked another bunkmate."
"Sleep?" Timothy snorted. "I've slept enough. Take me to the bridge. Maybe I can help with whatever escape efforts your captain has brewing."
Mark nodded and took his old classmate to the bridge.
The moment Timothy saw Nova he grinned. "Hello there, little sister." He nodded.
Mark knit puzzled brows, but Timothy waved him off as Nova returned his smile.
"Wildstar," Mark brought Timothy to the captain's station, "this is Lieutenant Alori—chief navigator of the Olympia... and the only survivor."
Derek shook Timothy's hand. "Good to have you aboard."
"Good to be here, Captain. Good to be anywhere."
"We're pulling all available information about this place from Olympia's computer, but nothing's coming up as a potential escape route. I'm sorry, but we may be stuck in here a bit longer."
Dathan stepped onto the bridge but hovered near Dash's station, just out of Timothy's line of sight.
"If you'll allow it, Captain, I'd like to help however I can," said Timothy.
"Stay as long as you like." Derek gestured to Mark's station. "See what you can do for Venture and Eager."
Timothy nodded and followed Mark to the navigator's station.
Hours crawled by with no results. Midnight passed and almost everyone began to droop, but Mark and Timothy still talked quietly at the navigator's station.
"Ah, so that's why ya'll are out here, is it? What kind of enemy does that—just chops off all the power to a whole planet?" Timothy, who was borrowing Derek's station chair, leaned forward, hands clasped and shook his head. "Lord, get these good people outta here. They've got lotsa work to do."
Mark didn't comment on Timothy's sudden shift, but when the bridge brightened, he swung his chair around and froze. The astro-compass, once dull and silent, glowed again, just as it had a few days ago. It pulsed like a smoldering ember just blown to life.
A new heading.
All eyes shot to the compass, and Dash and Homer stood up from their chairs. Dathan, still perched near Dash, looked petrified.
"Venture, take that course," said Derek.
Mark silently nodded and laid in the heading, too shocked to offer even a relieved sigh.
Timothy nodded and whispered, "Thank you, Lord."
Argo turned to port and edged through the void, past Olympia and the wrecked hulk of several much older ships, some much bigger than the Argo. Tiny fighters and gigantic freighters towered in the blackness like monsters lurking the ocean depths, not quite sure if they wanted to move or remain asleep in their comfortable dens.
As they drifted further along the line laid out by the compass, Mark pushed the Argo passed a small ship that looked something like a cross between a beached whale and a knot of angry porcupines. Its bulk jutted with spikes and spires, looking altogether unlikable.
Just as they pulled even with the ugly hulk, Nova said, "It's moving! Captain! That ship's moving!"
"Mark, get us out of here as fast as you can!"
"I'm trying, Wildstar!" Mark pushed the ship as hard as he could, but the Argo remained stubbornly, unnervingly, at one-eighth impulse.
Episode 8 Notes:
Editing pass complete, 8/17/2022
The title for Episode 8 was taken from Isaiah 7:10-11
"Moreover the LORD spake again unto Ahaz, saying, Ask thee a sign of the LORD thy God; ask it either in the depth, or in the height above."
Author's Note:
Finally! After a month or so of an unexpected health problem, I've finally got some of my energy back. Hope everyone enjoys the post.
Next time, we'll get to see either a new piece post for a contest, or we'll be able to finally finish Tales up with a Shiori Nagakura tale—"Project."
Until then,
Happy reading and writing,
dtill359
