Episode 10: Familiar Spirits and Wizards

Masterson and David followed Desslok to the ship Zordar had commissioned. Its hull shone deep blue, like Desslok's former flagship, and the men who greeted them at the bottom of the boarding ramp—both newly arrived from the closest Gamilon colony—stared at the Leader in disbelief.

Masterson's steps rang on the boarding ramp.

"Leader Desslok," one of the Gamilon attendants said, "a Gatlantean contingent is here." He bowed and stepped aside as four sentries entered the dock, a young Gatlantean holding a single piece of luggage in tow. The lead guards parted to allow the young man to approach Desslok and his new ship. Even David stepped to one side.

Masterson didn't.

"Leader Desslok," said the Gatlantean with a bow. "I am Morta, Prince Zordar's aid. He's sent me to you as an adjunct—to serve as his representative should he need to communicate with you." Morta tried to brush past, but Masterson held his ground, keeping the Gatlantean a respectable distance from Desslok.

The Leader's glare kept Morta from trying to approach again. "I may be in his debt," Desslok growled, "but Zordar is not my master, and I do not need Zordar's sycophant on this ship. Go back to your lord." He pointed to the dock door.

"I cannot, Leader. It is my charge to go with you on the prince's behalf. He said you might be… resistant to my presence, but if you do not take me with you, Prince Zordar will revoke your… privileged standing with Gatlantis." Morta gestured to the new flagship as the sentries gathered closer, weapons ready.

Desslok's jaw stiffened, and fire lit his eyes, but he didn't resist Morta's show of force as Masterson expected. "Very well." Silent threat lingered in Desslok's tone, but the Gatlantean guards withdrew, mollified.

With one eye on Morta, Masterson stayed between the liaison and Desslok; David trailed Morta the rest of the way to the bridge.

He'll have to watch himself if he hopes to live through this expedition. Masterson noted Morta's straight posture and lack of awareness. He's never left Zordar's court. The young man's eyes fixed alternately on his footing and the Leader, seemingly unaware of how many eyes followed him as he handed his bag off to an attendant. Why did Zordar send him? Probably a spy—not that Desslok would say anything of import around him. If he wants to find out anything, he'll have to do some heavy snooping.

The entire bridge crew snapped to attention as Desslok, Masterson, David, and Morta arrived. All eyes fixed on the Leader, and every face filled with wonder.

I didn't believe it myself until I saw him. Masterson planted himself between Desslok and Morta again as the Gatlantean shuffled to get closer to the Leader. It isn't every day you get to see a man raised from the dead. A knot tangled his throat.

"Get the ship underway," Desslok said as he took the captain's chair.

Masterson stood to the Leader's right, but kept a few feet between him and Desslok, holding Morta farther back.

David posted himself near the back of the bridge.

The dock doors opened, and they left Gatlantis.


Mark tiptoed down one of the lower decks' halls. It was after 2 A.M., and everyone but the night shift was long asleep—except maybe Sandor. Lighting for nonessential areas was minimal, and Mark checked every alcove before he skirted past.

Ahead, Dathan Feldmann walked slowly, hands in his pockets. Mark and Timothy had followed him most of the last two days, as their shifts allowed. So far, Feldmann had been to the hangar, shooting range, mess hall, lav, pilot's lounge, and bridge. He'd talked with a few other pilots, including Conroy, as well as Wildstar and a few people in the mess hall, but other than that, he'd kept to himself.

He's got to go back to his quarters at some point to sleep. Mark sneaked into a dark maintenance closet as Feldmann stopped in front of the auxiliary engine room. What's he doing here? Nobody comes down here but Orion, Sandor, and the science team.

Feldmann stepped inside.

Can't go in after him without him knowing I'm there. Mark pulled out his comm and pulled up the security feed. Thank you, Royster.

Inside, Feldmann greeted Rowland, who, judging by the menus he picked through, was running diagnostics. "Quiet night," said Feldmann.

"You can say that again," Rowland snorted. "Not an error code in sight. These things could at least give me something to do every so often. Sandor has us looking at this equipment twenty-four-seven now. It's like he expects something to go wrong."

"A wise man," said Feldmann. "After the dark matter incident, he'd be a fool not to."

"Oh, he's been like that ever since I met him on the trip to Iscandar," Rowland said. "Great officer, but a little too thorough sometimes, in my opinion."

"All of your officers excel in their fields." Feldmann sat in an unoccupied chair and braced an elbow so he could hold his chin in one hand. "Sandor, Wildstar, Eager, Orion, Venture, Dashell, Glitchman, even… what's the radar officer's name?"

"Nova?" Rowland smiled softly. "She got me out of a bad situation once. I'd probably be dead if it weren't for her."

"So, she's a friend of yours?"

"More of a really good acquaintance, but I suppose you could say that. Why? You want to ask her out or something?" Rowland laughed. "Everyone knows the captain's got a thing for her. I'd leave that alone if you want to stay on his good side."

"No, nothing like that. She looks… familiar."

"Well, if you've ever been to EDF HQ, you probably saw her. She was Commander Singleton's personal aide after we got back from Iscandar."

Feldmann shook his head. "It isn't that. Did she make the whole journey to Iscandar and back?"

"Yeah." The computer chimed to signal a completed test, and Rowland started another one.

"She never left the ship at all?"

"Oh, she left the ship." Rowland leaned on his console, arms folded. "She went on a few missions—the one with me, and several others. She even got kidnapped by Gamilons and ended up on Iscandar weeks before we got there. She told Sandor and some others about it. Whew! That would've been crazy—standing in front of the Gamilon Leader thinking he was going to kill you, then he just lets you go. What in the world? Right?"

Feldmann visibly stiffened at the mention of Leader Desslok, but Rowland had already turned his attention back to his diagnostics. "She… saw him?"

"Yeah, unbelievable, right?"

"And when she got to Iscandar, there was someone there?"

"Of course. How long were you on Luna II? Everyone knows Queen Starsha sent us the message that prompted the Argo's journey to Iscandar."

"Queen… Starsha?" Feldmann's eyes turned strange, and Mark's gut squirmed.

Tim's right. Something's off with this guy.

"You need some sleep, Feldmann, you're getting foggy. Yeah, Queen Starsha. That's who Nova stayed with while she was on Iscandar. Heh! Makes me wish they'd kidnapped me instead."

A beat of silence passed between the men before Feldmann stood. "You're right. Think I'll get some rest before shift." He covered a yawn and headed for the door.

Mark got out of the security feed. Two seconds later, Feldmann stepped into the hall. Mark followed him to his quarters. The whole way, Feldmann fiddled with the silver medical bracelet around his left wrist.


"Watch him carefully. If Morta does anything he shouldn't, shoot first," Masterson whispered to David as he left the bridge. He didn't want to go, but the events of the past several days had worn him down too far. I've got to sleep… even if it's only for a few hours.

He trudged to his quarters—too far from the bridge for his liking.

The bed promised rest, but he had one more thing to do before he slept.

Masterson started to call Starsha but thought better of it. Too risky. Instead, he typed a short message, "It's true. He's alive." His finger hovered over the send button. Will she get this? Will Invidia—or Zordar—know I've sent it? Morta's presence loomed in his awareness like a beast's shadow. I've got to tell her. He adjusted the message. Now, it contained only a single word, "Yes."

His tension eased. Even if they intercept this, they won't know what it means. He sent the message and went to bed.


Sabera entered Gairen's quarters.

The old man tapped his walking stick on the floor. "Prime Minister," he greeted. "Have you come to release me?"

"Release you?" Sabera snorted. "You're not imprisoned."

"Oh? Then why is there a guard at my door every moment? Why must I be escorted everywhere I go only to be hurried back here once I've finished whatever business needed tending to?"

Sabera took a step toward the priest but stayed out of his short reach. "You're an old man, Gairen. We wouldn't want you getting hurt. These precautions are for your own safety."

"Safety." Gairen chuckled. "I have never been safe aboard Gatlantis. We both know that. This has nothing to do with my safety and everything to do with your fear."

Sabera bristled. "I fear nothing—no one!"

"You fear failure."

Sabera grabbed Gairen's throat. His stick clattered to the floor.

"Do you—understand now—how the doom is upon us—how your son's—death was in vain?" he choked. "We will not—be spared by—the blood of innocents, no matter how high born."

"Do not speak of Mil so flippantly, old man," Sabera hissed. "My child's death meant something—even if you don't think so." She spat in his blind eyes.

"Heilel sees farther than you, Prime Minister. He—"

Sabera threw the priest to the floor. "Don't speak to me of sight!" She kicked him in the ribs.

"The Diviner's ship approaches," Gairen raised both hands, as if he saw the ship coming toward him.

Sabera jerked his arms down.

Gairen grunted but didn't cry out.

She struck him again, and a welt rose on his cheek. He raised a hand to shield his face from her boot, but she easily sidestepped his defense and kicked him again, this time in the back.

The sentry ran in. "Prime Minister? High Priest? Is everything all right?"

"He tried to attack me." Sabera pointed to the downed priest. "He's lost his mind."

Gairen didn't try to counter her.

"Make sure he doesn't leave his quarters unless I or Prince Zordar summon him."

"Yes, Prime Minister." The sentry bowed.

Sabera left Gairen's quarters and found a quiet corner to send a message. Anger over Gairen's words still burned, but she put it away as she sent a short note. What's going on?

The reply came quickly. Princess Invidia is planning something.

What?

Something to do with the Gamilon.

Contact me when you know more. Sabera put away her communicator.


"Something's definitely wrong," Mark whispered to Timothy as they sat on a narrow bench near one wall in the common area. Other crewmen and women talked, played games, or strolled through on their way elsewhere. "He kept asking Rowland questions about Nova."

"Maybe he was just curious," Timothy offered.

"It was more than that. He seemed… nervous about her—like she knew something he didn't want anyone to find out." Mark rubbed his left wrist. "And that med bracelet. What's on it? He doesn't have any medical conditions. I've asked around—even wrung a little information out of Penny down in the med bay. He doesn't have seizures, or a sleep disorder. His eyesight's fine, and he doesn't seem to have any lasting effects from the planet bombs—at least, not that anyone has a record of."

"Hmm," Tim folded his hands and leaned forward. "This is all kinds of strange, Marcus. Where is he now?"

"Could be in his quarters, but he's more likely at the shooting range—or the hangar. Even when he's not on duty, he's poking around someplace. He's already been to the engine room, third bridge, med bay, auxiliary engine room, Captain Avatar's old cabin above the bridge, and a few more places he shouldn't be." Mark listed Feldmann's offenses on six fingers.

"What about Captain Wildstar?" said Tim. "Have you mentioned anything to him?"

Mark shook his head. "He and Feldmann hit it off. I can't say anything to him, he'll just ask Feldmann. That's the last thing we need is him knowing we're watching him."

Timothy went rigid. "He's over there," he whispered with a cautious glance toward the opposite side of the common area. "He's watchin' everyone—no—not everyone… just Officer Forrester. She's over there with that lady Marine."

"When did he come in?" Mark whispered back. "I never saw him."

"Don't know. For someone so big, he's quiet as a cat." Timothy kept glancing toward Feldmann but tried not to look like it.

"Sandor's lab," Mark said. "We can run a search on him from there without raising too many flags in the system. Sandor runs searches on personnel all the time—something about trying to boost efficiency during emergencies, or something just as brain-numbing." He got up slowly, careful not to draw Feldmann's attention. "Let's get out of here before he notices us."


Invidia sat beside her father on the couch in his dimly lit quarters. They both sipped glasses of rich, dark wine. "How does letting Desslok go benefit our plans to take Origin? We should have kept him here. He might not rule an empire anymore, but we could have used him as a bargaining chip."

"Nasca's scouts found a ship heading toward Telezart. The images we received from them before they were destroyed are of the same ship Desslok encountered two years ago. Gairen is still speaking prophecies of doom according to Sabera, and he mentioned the ship again. Better to let Desslok go and take care of this ship now. Sabera and Desslok will be pacified, and Gairen might be more at ease."

"But will Desslok come back once he's destroyed that ship, Father? What's to keep him from leaving the moment he's had his vengeance?"

"Morta is with him. He'll tell me if Desslok tries to leave without consulting us."

Invidia was skeptical.

"I know you were the one who sent for Talon, Invidia."

She almost choked on her wine.

"You thought I wouldn't find out?" Zordar laughed. "I'm not angry. I find Talon amusing. Perhaps he will serve as a means of leverage against Desslok should he get… out of line."

"I'm glad you approve, Father." Invidia set down her empty glass and didn't pour another.


"Have you tried another spelling?" Mark said to Timothy as they submitted yet another version of Feldmann's name to Sandor's computer. "Maybe he only used one 'n.'"

"It's not that, Marcus," said Tim. "I've gone through everything I can think of. All I'm getting are a few mentions of him being on the team at Luna II, and a few other things—pilot's license, driver's license, a degree from a no-name university. There's nothin' here."

"Let's check his quarters." Mark got up.

"His quarters? No, Marcus, it's not right to invade a man's privacy like that. Not ta mention, he'll know."

"He won't find out," said Mark, hiding the nervous tremble in his voice. "Besides, this could be important."

Timothy looked torn. "It just doesn't feel right. Mama taught me better. Breaking into someone's private space… It's wrong."

"Apologize later," Mark said.

"I'm sorry, Marcus, but I can't go with you."

"I'll tell you what I find." Mark checked the time. "Feldmann just went on rotation. He won't be in his room. He's got no bunk mate, so no one'll walk in on me."

Tim shifted uncomfortably. "I guess I can't talk ya out of it…"

"It'll be all right. Just… keep an eye on him for an hour or so for me. Let me know if he heads back to his quarters before I'm out." Mark corralled his courage before it could desert him. What am I doing, breaking into somebody's room? But I've got to. In all the years I knew him, Tim was never wrong about people.

Tim nodded slowly. "All right… but I still don't like it."


Shiori batted the ball hard. It hit the wall, bounced, and curved hard to the right, just out of Nova's reach.

Nova swung her racket and missed. "You're good."

"All that time running around with the rest of the platoon, I guess." Shiori adjusted her sweaty headband. "You're not bad yourself."

The women toweled sweat from faces and arms.

"Wish I could do another round, but Sarge wanted everyone to meet up in half an hour," Shiori said.

"No problem. Tomorrow, maybe? Assuming we don't get sucked into another death trap or shot down by some mystery ship."

"Sure." Shiori grabbed her workout bag and left.

On her way back to her room, someone came around the corner. Isn't that Venture? The navigator? What's he doing here? I thought his room was in another section. He didn't seem to see her as he held his comm over the entry pad for a room down the hall. The door opened, and he stepped in. Maybe I got the rooms mixed up…

She reached her shared quarters and went in.

Knox greeted her with a kiss and produced an old deck of cards. "Game?"

"What do I get if I win?"

Knox kissed her again.

"I'm in, you big doof. But I'm dealing." She swiped the cards from his hand.


Mark searched Feldmann's room carefully. It looked like any other room aboard ship: a set of two bunks, a desk, a closet, a sink, and a small mirror. He started with the desk. Nothing on or in it. Talk about minimalistic. Does the guy do anything besides work, eat, and sleep?

The closet proved empty of anything except clothes—though, besides his pilot's uniforms, Feldmann only seemed to own two colors, gray and black.

Mark moved on to the bed. He untucked the sheet, checked the thin mattress, the pillow, the sparse personal objects on the shelf set into the wall.

Nothing.

He carefully replaced every piece of bedding exactly as it was.

Done, he used his comm to check for unusual readings or unfamiliar signals. He scanned everything, even Feldmann's spare shoes.

Still nothing.

With a frustrated grunt, he dragged the desk chair to the door and managed to keep his hands steady as he mounted a tiny camera just above the door frame, out of sight, but able to get a look at most of the room, including the bunks.

He replaced the chair and sneaked out to show Tim the pictures. Maybe he'll see something I missed.


After three hours' sleep, Masterson resumed his place on the bridge, squarely between Morta and Desslok.

David sat at a nearby station, eyes frequently on the Gatlantean, hand near his weapon.

The ship dropped out of warp, and another of Nasca's scout ships hailed them. "We've been expecting you," said the captain. "Our sister ship didn't make it out of Sargasso. We're transferring all the data we received from them before they were destroyed."

Desslok nodded to the captain and ended the call.

"Sire, we should stay out of this," Masterson whispered as the information flickered in front of Desslok in a wall of holographic text, images, and video. "This is Zordar's fight, not ours. We shouldn't stir up more trouble than—"

"I didn't allow you here to question me, Talan," Desslok snapped. "Be silent or leave."

Masterson stepped back. He couldn't stand by and let Desslok make the same mistake twice. He'd expected harsh words, but they still stung.

He can't let this go—not until he's satisfied Gamilon is avenged. Masterson envisioned Gamilon as he'd left it—still in ruins but struggling to bring back a tiny sliver of order. Wolf, Dietz, Elisa and little Delina, his own father… all of them were waiting for him to come back. What would they do if they found out he'd had the opportunity to bring Desslok home and hadn't done everything possible to make it happen? Adonai… please, don't let this get all of us killed… Gamilon won't survive if we don't return.


Mark shared his pictures with Tim.

"You took all of these?" Tim studied each one. "I don't see anything out of the ordinary, Marcus. It's just a room. Feldmann doesn't own a lot, but none of us do. I still don't feel right about this. We should have found another way to investigate him."

"There wasn't one." Mark opened his video feed. "And the pictures aren't all." He held up his comm.

"You didn't…" Tim looked sick. "You've got to take it down, Marcus. You can't leave a camera in his room. How would you like someone lookin' over your shoulder every second? Where'd you even get something like that?"

"Sandor's stash." Mark nodded to a drawer of mixed gadgets. Even as he feigned bravery, his heart pounded. He's right. But I can't take it back now. Maybe we won't find anything. Feldmann could just be strange. But what about him watching Nova—asking questions about her? No. Something's wrong.

Feldmann walked into his room.

Mark and Tim froze, eyes on the feed.

Feldmann locked his door, stood near the desk, and fiddled with his medical bracelet. The instant he took it off, his appearance flickered and vanished. In place of the pilot they'd come to recognize stood someone else.

Mark swallowed hard. "That looks like… No. it can't be. He's dead."

"It looks like who?" said Tim.

"Like…. Desslok… of Gamilon!"


Episode 10 Note:

Editing pass complete, 8/18/2022

The title for this chapter was taken from Isaiah 19:1-3:

The burden of Egypt. Behold, the Lord rideth upon a swift cloud, and shall come into Egypt: and the idols of Egypt shall be moved at his presence, and the heart of Egypt shall melt in the midst of it.

And I will set the Egyptians against the Egyptians: and they shall fight every one against his brother, and every one against his neighbour; city against city, and kingdom against kingdom.

And the spirit of Egypt shall fail in the midst thereof; and I will destroy the counsel thereof: and they shall seek to the idols, and to the charmers, and to them that have familiar spirits, and to the wizards

Author's Note:

And another fun new thread for this TCE rework. Finally got some time to just sit down and work out this chapter.

Novel work is going well. I've got some more line editing to do and more query letters to send off to agents, but it's going well so far. Hopefully I'll have a literary agent before the year is out.

Next time, we jump back to Seeker's Prayer, chapter nine, "No Time Like the Present."

Until then, happy reading and writing,

*dtill359