Episode 14: Neither Shall Gallant Ship Pass

Desslok sat alone in his quarters on a low couch and fingered the ruby ring tucked inside one hidden uniform pocket. With it was the message disk his mother left for him after her death years before. He took out both items. The message disk he set on a low, glass table. "Tell me again of the three Telzarti shards," he whispered.

From the disk sprang a life-sized image of the late Queen Talonka of Gamilon. She shared her son's reddish hair and green eyes. "As you know, Trelaina of Telezart is your great grandmother's sister. Though it has been decades since her birth, she remains young due to genetic engineering. Due to those manipulations, Trelaina manifested terrible power, the ability to channel and control dark matter. Her adoptive father fashioned three rings to help her focus—and to keep her from triggering worldwide disasters in a fit of fear or anger.

"He made the emerald shard of will and gave it to her first, that she might master its use before the others. This shard she wore when she triggered the cataclysm that destroyed Telezart's surface. Had she not had it on, likely the planet would have come apart. The other two shards, the sapphire shard of mind, and the ruby shard of emotion, were lost to the Cometine looters in the aftermath of Telezart's ruin. If Trelaina were ever to unite all three shards, legends say she could wield her power as a weapon so great, not even the Cometines could rival it. Is there another history you wish to hear, my son?"

"No." The likeness of his mother—so real, as if she stood before him—made him wish he could return to a time when he did not have to garner favors from men like Zordar. "No. That will be all for now…"

The hologram smiled. It was the same smile his mother had when she was alive. Perhaps, somehow, a small piece of her still watched over him.

He averted his eyes until she vanished back into the device, then he pocketed it.

The ruby ring slipped through his gloved fingers. It was too small to fit him—clearly made for someone with much slimmer digits. He considered removing a glove and sliding it onto the end of one little finger. What power could it offer him? Would it slave emotions to his will? Make him cold—unfeeling? Or would it trigger empathic abilities?

It wouldn't even be in his possession if not for a friend he'd met aboard Gatlantis during his recovery after… his ill-fated last battle with the Eratite ship. Slipped from Invidia's own chambers, the ruby ring had been a prized possession of the Cometine princess until six months ago it came into his keeping instead.

Every time he touched it, an urgency filled him—to go to the very place Invidia dreaded most. Telezart.

His comm, sitting beside him, blinked.

"Telezart is several days away, Sire," said Masterson.

Desslok palmed the ring. "Inform me when we're in orbit."

"Yes, Sire." Masterson's face vanished.

Desslok slipped the ring back into his pocket.

It wouldn't be long now.


Derek and Sandor scoured Mazer's former detention cell.

Sandor scanned every inch with a device he'd invented to detect traces of DNA while Derek wielded another that could track shoe prints even on bare deck plating.

"The only DNA I'm picking up is from people we already know were here yesterday—you, me, Clemens, Feldmann, and the pilot." Sandor swept the room a third time. "No one else has been here."

Derek showed Sandor the map of prints.

"That was Clemens," Sandor pointed to a purple trail of boot prints that tracked from the door and around the cell over and over. "You." Red prints stepped inside briefly. "Me." Blue tracks stopped in front of the prisoner's chair before heading back out.

"Feldmann's in green. He walked enough circles while he was in there. Mazer's orange prints—don't seem any different than they should be."

Sandor tapped his chin with one finger. "Table the equipment for one last sweep."

"But what're we using?"

"Our eyes."

Derek examined every crevice between deck plates, every corner seam, every inch of Mazer's empty chair. Still nothing.

"Whoever did this knows how to cover their tracks. They could have been aboard all along, and we would never have noticed."

The hair on Derek's arms prickled and scraped the insides of his long white and red uniform sleeves. "The spy could be anyone?"

"Well, it isn't you, and it isn't me," said Sandor as he locked the cell door and refreshed the red tamper-evident seal. A sign on the door warned passersby not to interact with the room. "Other than that… yes. It could be anyone."

"Even Nova?"

"This is an unknown enemy with unknown abilities. Shapeshifting isn't unheard of, and expert plastic surgery could replicate someone's face down to the most minor detail."

"So, how do I know you are who you claim to be?" Derek stopped mid-hall.

When the corridor cleared, Sandor gripped one wrist, and with a single precise click detached his bionic hand. He handed Derek the appendage. "Proof enough for you?"

Derek nodded and returned Sandor's hand.

The trip to Sandor's lab seemed long, and when they reached the locked door, Sandor provided a retinal scan to give them access. "Someone used my lab to access personnel files a few days ago, so I had to add extra barriers to entry."

"Our spy?"

"Could have been. No fingerprints, and there were two footprint trails. If it was our spy, they're not working alone."

"Was it your team? Lots of crewmembers wear gloves." Derek raised one brown-clad hand.

"They say it wasn't them."

Sandor's wall of monitors flooded the dim room with light as calculations and analysis of gigaquads of videos, pictures, reports, and other data flashed across half the screens. The other half sat quietly, awaiting instructions.

Sandor logged in to the security video database and queried for the appropriate date.

"What do we have for footage of Mazer's cell last night?" Derek said. "Is there anything—"

"It's solid snow—the whole ship feed—for twenty minutes." Each available screen swam with energized black and white dots. "Whoever murdered that pilot could have come from anywhere onboard, killed Mazer, and left before reenabling the feed."

Derek wanted to curse, but a half second before he did, Nova's disapproving scowl came to mind. "No scene. No video. What's left?"

"The body," said Sandor. "I locked it in the morgue."

"Let's have a look." Derek headed for the lab door.

"Wildstar, have you ever examined a cadaver?"

"No…"

"Are you sure you want to? I can have IQ assist me and restrict his memory access."

"I'll do it," Derek said. "I'm acting captain. It's my job to keep my crew safe, and if that means examining a corpse, then that's what I'll do."

"Just… be prepared," Sandor cautioned.

"I'll be fine, Sandor."


Derek's gut lurched as Sandor transferred the body from its cold storage locker onto an autopsy table, and he almost returned his last meal when the harsh lights clicked on, revealing green, gray-tinted skin.

In the other room, Dr. Sane enjoyed a sake-induced nap, but Sandor locked the door, anyway.

"He struggled." Sandor pointed to severe bruising around the pilot's wrists and ankles. "The blaster bolt to the head took him quickly, but his struggling means he knew he was about to die."

"But that doesn't tell us anything." Derek focused on the table's pristine shine instead of Mazer's corpse. Does IQ-9 sanitize this table? Or does Dr. Sane do it himself? Every second, pressure built in his throat, and it was all he could do to hold back rising heat.

"It says he knew whoever killed him. It also says this wasn't an accident." Sandor examined the char mark between the man's closed eyes. "This burn around the char—the barrel was pressed to the skin."

"How do you wedge a gun barrel against someone when they won't sit still?" said Derek.

Sandor turned the man's neck and stretched two inches of gray skin to show Derek a needle mark. "You don't. I'm going to find out what his murderer gave him. Results will take at least two hours."

"Call me when you find something." Derek left the room faster than he intended and almost tripped over Mimi, Dr. Sane's cat, as she wove through his feet. "You're going to get stepped on one day." He bent to pet Mimi.

She rubbed her face on his gloved hand and offered a pleased chirp.

"If he ever offers you 'spring water'," he cocked a thumb at Sane, "don't take it."

Mimi chirped again and added a thick layer of tabby fur to both pant legs before she let Derek leave the med bay.

Though Derek's stomach had settled, his thoughts still raced and jumbled. He trekked to the hangar. Maybe I can sit in here for a while without anyone around…

The instant he opened the hangar door, three pilots almost sloshed him. Cleaning planes in low gravity often proved an adventure.

"Hey, Captain!" called Buddy from half-way up the Tiger bays. "Come to help us out?" She waved a soapy sponge, flinging water and bubbles everywhere. They floated around her in a cloud of sparkling mist before slowly drifting to the floor.

Derek waved back. "Just checking on things." He pasted on a fake smile and shut the door. Not the hangar.

He trudged to the mess hall and reached it just as a group of Sergeant Knox's marines scrambled to beat each other to the line. Knox and Nagakura were just leaving along with several crew members lucky enough to have time to grab a meal before lunch/dinner rush. Shift ended five minutes ago, and a swarm of other people crowded each mess hall entrance within moments.

Not the mess hall.

His next stop was the engine room.

Orion called instructions to one group of younger engineers while another veteran, Yamazaki—picked up at Luna II with Conroy's Tigers—helped a second group repair several damaged fire-suppression units.

"Hey, Captain Wildstar." Orion wiped grease from his hands with a well-used rag. "We've almost got all the bugs worked outta the system from Sandor and Feldmann's quick fix. Shouldn't be a problem if we run into another puddle a dark matter." The kind old man's eyes squeezed shut as he smiled. "Now, what can I do for ya?"

"Just… checking in. Glad things are going well down here." He backed toward the door. "Keep up the good work."

He could go down to the third bridge—or the auxiliary engine room. Nevermind… Hands in his pockets, he went to his empty quarters and settled into the plain desk chair.

Comfortable was not the right word to describe this chair, but if he sat on his bunk, he couldn't sit up straight without bumping his head on the vacant bed above.

The silence was so loud it whined in both ears until a soft knock interrupted.

He wanted to tell whoever it was to go away. "Come in." He straightened in the chair, trying to look more a captain and less an inadequate fool. "Nova? What're you—"

"I was at the mess hall and saw you wandering. Is everything all right?" Nova brushed the Iscandarian plant by the door as she stepped inside. The plant rustled, but quietly, as if glad for her presence.

The door hissed shut.

He ached to tell her everything, but Sandor's warning stuck in his mind. Are you really Nova?

Sincere, concerned brown eyes studied him. Blonde hair fell past her shoulders. Is it a little longer than usual? The diamond she wore at her collar throughout the Iscandar trip was still secured in its rightful place, and the jacket and skirt covering her gold and black uniform's protective skinsuit seemed just the way she always wore them. The astro-automatic hung at her hip. The tip of its holster tucked into a reinforced pocket designed to keep the weapon stable should she need to grab it mid-run.

"It's… complicated." He edged closer to the lip of the chair, hand clandestinely inching toward his gun. Just in case..

Nova laughed quietly and leaned against a bunk post, hands in pockets. "Isn't it always?"

"I—I want to tell you what's going on, but as your captain, I can't…"

Nova nodded. "I understand. Now, you know how Captain Avatar felt sometimes."

Derek's shoulders sagged with invisible weight. He leaned forward and held his face in his hands, rubbing tired eyes. "I don't think I can do this."

Nova knelt in front of him and took his hands. She bowed her head, and though she didn't do it aloud, Derek knew she was praying—for him. Even though he wasn't sure it helped, he found a little comfort in it.


Mark finished telling Timothy how Desslok boarded the Argo, how Nova was shot in the crossfire and almost died, and how the Argo reflected Desslok's prime weapon blast back at him.

Timothy made another round of the small room, eyebrows pinched, teeth gnawing his lower lip. "But, if Desslok's dead, how is he aboard the Argo? And speaking a language we can understand? None of this makes sense."

"We have to keep him away from Wildstar," said Mark. "And Nova—and everyone! If he could infiltrate the ship this easily, who knows what he has planned?"

"Telling Captain Wildstar's still my vote. What makes ya think he wouldn't believe his best friend?" Tim nudged the closet door open with one booted toe and peered into the dark space as if checking for an intruder.

"You've seen Derek and 'Feldmann'—they talk like old friends. I had a hard time deciding to come on this mission, and ever since I swam aboard seconds before Argo left the dock, Derek hasn't said much to me."

"Maybe, he's just thinkin'. Being captain's a lotta responsibility."

"No, something else is going on. He's been strange ever since we got back from cargo escort duty—since the first time he saw this new mystery enemy. He's not telling me something."

"Seems ta me he's been struggling to find his place, Marcus—something we all go through at one time or another. You can see it in his eyes most a the time. He's hearin' the call. Just hasn't decided if he wants to answer."

Mark shook his head. "You know I don't put any stock in that."

"Course, I know. Doesn't make it any less so." Tim tugged on his boots and zipped up his newly issued green and white Star Force uniform jacket. "Cap'n's putting me on a duty shift—to help you and Vasquez. Now, one of us will always be off-shift and awake."

"What about when he's asleep?" said Mark.

"Our friend doesn't seem much of a sleeper so far—what with him traipsing around the ship at all hours. We'll just have to stick to a sleep schedule and keep eyes on him."

"He hasn't found the camera yet," said Mark. "Maybe, he won't."

"Or he already knows about it," said Tim. "He hasn't done his transformation trick again."

"If he knows about the camera, then he knows someone's on to him. We'll have to be careful. Stay out of sight as much as possible."

"My shift starts in twenty," said Tim. "Gotta grab a bite before I head to the bridge."

"I'll keep an eye on… our friend… until you get back."


Shiori walked beside Knox down one of the Argo's viewport-lined side corridors. Each window bled into the next and spanned the bulkhead from Shiori's waist to the ceiling. "What do you think of this 'vision' business?" She rolled up both green uniform sleeves and loosened her collar. The ship seemed warmer than usual.

"Can't say I subscribe to it, but this lot seems to think they really saw something. And Commander Singleton himself has given this trip his blessing. We get free meals and decent bunks, so who am I to complain?"

Shiori's high ponytail swayed as she elbowed Knox. "You're bored, and you know it."

Knox laughed heartily and clapped her on the back, careful to steer clear of her almost healed bruise. "You know me too well."

Shiori smiled. "That's why I married you, ya big oaf." She stood on tiptoe and pecked his cheek.

Outside, red pinpricks of light sailed past the viewports.

The pair stopped.

"What're those?" Shiori pointed. "They almost look like fireflies—like back on Earth, before the bombings."

"They're awfully big to be fireflies." Knox tapped the viewport right where one light speck landed. The thing startled and flitted off to another spot. "They're alive. But in space?"

"That science officer—the guy without eyebrows—is probably already studying them," said Shiori. "I think he'd make the whole ship a floating lab if he had the chance."

Knox snorted. "Odder n' a duck in sandals. Can't fault his work though. Anyone who can get a ship out of as many scrapes as this one's been in has my respect."

"Wanna run a combat sim with me?" Shiori said.

"You're on."


Sandor handed Royster and Rowland cylindrical containers. "Get out there and get me samples of those lights. I want to know what we're flying through." He pointed to the lab door.

"B-but—" Royster protested.

Rowland shoved him into the hall. "We'll be back, chief."

Sandor sat in front of the screen dedicated to running Mazer's tests. No results yet. Why is this taking so long? He checked the program for bugs, but it was working perfectly. Something's still not right.

He flipped through surveillance footage to pass the time. With Mazer's capture and subsequent murder, he hadn't had a chance to investigate the matter of his violated lab. Whoever had gotten in might not have erased evidence of their entry.

Sandor queried for the night before he realized the lab had been broken into—three days ago.

They did a phenomenal job hiding their presence, but they forgot to close everything before they left. The program—one Sandor hadn't been in since before they returned from Iscandar—was still open the morning after their intrusion.

He skirted through video of Rowland and Royster checking their assigned data sets. Several other science team members went in and out at odd hours, but at 1 A.M., he found his answer.

Venture and Alori? He squinted at the screen. That can't be right. He switched the video to a holographic interface and zoomed in on the perpetrators. Why were you two digging in personnel files?

Quick as his bionic fingers could type, he backtracked to the file the two had opened.

Feldmann, Dathan H.


While Tim took his first shift at the helm, Mark tailed Feldmann to the hangar, careful to keep out of sight.

All the other pilots were gone. First-shifters went to dinner; second was in flight sims, and third was either asleep or with Buddy at her weekly karaoke session in her quarters.

Mark stayed in the hall and tapped into the security video link via comm as Feldmann entered the deserted hangar and sealed himself in the control booth before he lowered the bay door a few inches.

Atmosphere seeped into space.

In alarm, Mark almost pulled the nearest emergency lever, but when Feldmann shut the door, Mark was more puzzled than concerned. Maybe he doesn't know what he's doing.

Feldmann sat in the control booth, legs crossed, eyes on the empty hangar.

Little red lights—hundreds of them—coalesced and floated around the hangar in a gradually concentrating swarm.

Mark hurriedly sealed the hangar door manually to keep the strange lights confined.

He shot Derek a message. Something's onboard! A swarm of red lights. I sealed the hangar to keep them from getting into the rest of the ship.

On my way, Derek replied almost instantly. Anyone inside?

Feldmann. But he's locked in the control booth.

Sent Sandor a message to get there, ASAP.

On the security feed, the swarm attacked the hangar door.

Two crimson specks forced through a growing crack.

The things darted toward Mark, but he swatted them away.

More red dots leaked into the ship.


"Got 'em." Rowland handed Sandor both sample containers as Royster shivered behind him.

"They look so angry," Royster whimpered. "Reminds me of my Aunt Matilda."

"Quit it, Royster," Rowland gave the much shorter man a light knock on the shoulder. "They just look like space bugs to me—a little like fireflies. They're actually kinda pretty."

Sandor vacuumed the oxygen out of a sterile, transparent dome and released the organisms into it to observe them for a while.

Rowland stood opposite Sandor, eyes glued to the dome.

Mark and Tim's dive into Feldmann's personnel file concerned him. Why sneak into the lab to open something like that? What are you two up to? They could be imposters—doubles planted to infiltrate the crew. Maybe Feldmann was getting close to finding out, and they wanted to stop him.

Two of the space creatures attached to the domed ceiling, but most of them swarmed the metal base.

Sandor's comm buzzed.

Wildstar. Hangar. Now.

Sandor called Derek. "Wildstar, what's going on?"

"Venture says those lights outside are getting in. They've already gotten through the outer hull and into the hangar!"

"Uh… Sandor?" Rowland stepped away from the sterile half-bubble as a single red speck flew out of a crack in the observation dome's base, and air seeped into the vacuum.

"Metal-eating bacteria," Sandor said. "Get everyone away from the hangar and its surrounding corridors. I'm going to seal them off. If these things overrun the ship, we're all dead."


Mark swatted the glowing dots—now coming at him in threes and fours.

He ran a few steps, swatted, ran, swatted again until he was two-thirds of the way down the hall, not even in sight of the hangar door anymore.

As more and more of the glowing things came at him, he sprinted for the safety of an uninfested section of the ship.

An alarm klaxon rang, and bulkhead dividers sank from the ceiling at every junction leading to the hangar. A crimson cast bathed everything as the ship went on alert.

Mark dove under a barrier just before it clamped shut.

Something burned into the skin at the base of his neck.

Even in the red emergency lighting, Mark clearly saw a mass of blue-skinned Gamilons swarming toward him, weapons raised, aimed right at him.

One rushed him, grabbed his throat.

Before Mark could react, he was on the floor, blacking out from the alien's choke hold.


Derek called Feldmann. "Where are you? Venture said you were in the hanger."

A moment of silence.

"Feldmann?"

"I'm all right. I'm in the control booth. When those things ate through the bay door, I locked myself in. I was about to let you know when you called."

Derek sprinted down the hall toward the hangar. "We'll find a way to get you out."

"I'm all right. Looks like they're more interested in getting into the rest of the ship than attacking me."

"Don't leave the control booth. And stay out of sight."

"Will do."

Derek hung up, rounded a corner, and tumbled over an unconscious Mark. He shook his friend by the shoulders. "Venture! Wake up!"

No answer.

Something pinched the base of Derek's neck.

Heat filled the corridor, and he whirled to see a giant, fiery planet bomb bearing down on him from the other end of the hall.

Before he could get out of the way, it hit.

Derek toppled to the deck, unconscious.


Episode 14 Notes:

Editing pass complete, 8/18/2022

The title for Episode 14 was taken from Isaiah 33:20-22.

Look upon Zion, the city of our solemnities: thine eyes shall see Jerusalem a quiet habitation, a tabernacle that shall not be taken down; not one of the stakes thereof shall ever be removed, neither shall any of the cords thereof be broken.

But there the glorious Lord will be unto us a place of broad rivers and streams; wherein shall go no galley with oars, neither shall gallant ship pass thereby.

For the Lord is our judge, the Lord is our lawgiver, the Lord is our king; he will save us.