Episode 22: Bring Forth Their Witnesses

Trelaina scanned the list of new celestial observations and brought up a supernova caused by the Cometine fortress' passing. "They destroy without thought," she whispered to the image. "What can one ship from Origin do against something so bent on conquest and destruction?"

"They can persevere." Arach appeared beside her. "Shaddai asked them to take the first step in faith. They have obeyed. He will not fail to light their way." He laid a hand atop the unused communications equipment. "It is time to send them a message."

"They're still more than a week from Telezart. And the Cometines have blocked all communications outside their own."

"Shaddai asks nothing He will not empower." Warm light spread from the angel's hand over the old comm station.

"But… What should I tell them?"

"Shaddai will show you what you must say."

As Trelaina took the five steps to the comm station, she battled nerves. In the past two weeks, she'd spoken to more people than she had in a hundred years. Sending a simple message shouldn't prompt her heart to race or her stomach to vault into her throat.

When she sat at the comm station, the faint glow shrouding her hands amplified. She hadn't used this equipment in decades, but all she had to do was record something and send it. Just three short commands, and she'd be done.

There was only one matter of import to speak of—the Cometines. She had to let the Original ship know danger was hurtling toward them.

Before she lost her nerve, she started recording.

"I… am… Trelaina—Trelaina of Telezart."


Derek's next shift dragged. Even with the pain medication, his back still ached from his encounter with Deun in the brig, so he kept as much pressure as possible off his back.

He had to meet Nova at 1800, but one other matter vied for his attention—Venture's and Alori's behavior regarding Feldmann—Deun.

Each excruciating minute brought his inevitable meeting with Venture a little closer.

To keep from dwelling on it, Derek reviewed what everyone else was working on.

Engineering still had repairs to complete from the starfly incident and the near-miss with Desslok's fleet, so Orion was sending updates every hour.

Sandor, with help from Nova and Eager, was finishing the integration of the Iscandarian radar unit with the rest of the sensor network.

Mark kept the ship on course and at a steady half-sublight.

Dash oversaw the replacement of the missing main gun turret and the repair of several smaller emplacements.

Even Homer was busy digging through the trip's comm logs for anything they might have unknowingly picked up.

At shift-change, Mark took more time than usual to brief Alori before handing over the helm.

Derek hung back. He hadn't had a real conversation with Mark since that last-second boarding just before the Star Force left Earth. Doling out punishment couldn't count as conversation either, but at least they'd be face-to-face for a few minutes.

Before Mark could pass him, Derek stepped in front of the elevator just long enough to say, "Captain's cabin."

Venture's curt nod said he knew what was coming.

Derek took the captain's chair up, and it took less than two minutes before Mark arrived via the stairs.

He didn't want to hand out his best friend's sentence. But pretending nothing had happened was a worse option. A ship needed order, and subverting it, even in a situation like this, would only lead to trouble.

"I'll make this brief—for both our sakes," Derek said. "Lt. Alori told me everything—getting into the security feeds, using Sandor's lab to access restricted files, the camera in crew quarters. Those are serious conduct breeches. Before I assign punishment, is there anything you want to say?"

Mark set his jaw and shook his head.

"Beginning tomorrow, you and Alori will spend all free time helping Homer sort through comm logs until the job is done. You will report any anomalous findings to Sandor. Meal breaks will last half an hour, and you'll have eight hours bunk time. I expect you to remain in quarters that entire eight hours except in the event of emergency. Is that understood?"

"Yes… Captain."

"I'll brief Lt. Alori on this once his shift ends."

Mark kept his eyes on anything but Derek.

Captain Avatar's books and personal belongings had been moved out of the cabin not long after Argo returned to Earth, but Adam, the captain's son, had left a few things onboard in his father's memory. One memento was the plaque hung on the wall near the narrow bed. It read, "By faith, Abraham."

Derek had read it before, but it had never meant anything. This time, it did. "No, it isn't. Venture, there's something I need to tell you. That night—when Alori came to my quarters—I was stuck. Everything about this trip, and my life, jumbled together in my head, and I couldn't unravel it. Alori helped me sort it out."

"Is that why you've spent three hours in the past four days talking with Tim in his and my quarters?" Mark said. "I've seen you leaving. Every time I ask him what you talked about, he just holds up his Bible. He's been religious the entire time I've known him. It gets… stifling."

"That's how it used to be when Nova brought up stuff like that." Derek faced the viewport that spanned the length of the cabin's front wall.

"Gotten used to it?" Mark stepped beside Derek. He crossed his arms and looked out at the endless stars.

"Something like that." Derek searched for the right words. "I… believe what Alori does—and Nova—and Sandor—and Homer, and Conroy, and a lot of others aboard ship."

"That's how you 'sorted it out'?" Mark looked him in the eye for the first time in weeks. "Two years ago, you would have laughed at the thought of saying what you just did."

"Two years ago, I was a hotheaded kid who had just lost his only brother. I wanted to deck my commanding officer and get him thrown out of the EDF for something he had no control over. I was ignorant, selfish, and angry. I can still be all those things, and I know I'm not the perfect captain either, but now I have something more to lean on than myself."

A long silence pushed between them.

"Will that be all… sir?" Mark said.

"Yes, Venture. You can go."

Mark left quickly.

Derek waited in the captain's cabin until 1700. One hour until he had to meet Nova at the target range.

He headed to the mess hall and found a place to eat alone, avoiding most conversation. He kept replaying his talk with Mark and wondering if he should have said something different.

By the time he returned his half-empty tray, it was 17:51.


Shiori took aim at the target down range. It whipped erratically enough to give a squirrel vertigo, but she fired ten quick shots.

In the next lane, Saito fired the same instant she did.

Accuracy and grouping scores flashed side by side.

Shiori leaned around the lane barrier and smirked. "Got you again."

"Best four out of seven?" Knox said with a wide grin.

"Nuh uh. Extra rounds aren't going to change anything. This is my win." She holstered her pistol and socked Saito's arm. "You're cleaning quarters by yourself for the next week."

Captain Wildstar passed them, heading for the end lanes.

"Wonder what he's doing here," Shiori craned to see which lane the captain chose.

"Practicing." Saito flipped Shiori's ponytail so it tickled her nose.

She scratched the itch before shooting him an insincere glare.

"What? Regs don't let me grow mine out." He indicated his close-cut hair.

Shiori batted his hand away when he tried to flip her hair again. "Would you quit that? There are other crew members in here—not to mention the captain."

"It's just first shift radar, plus that scrawny science kid who can barely see over the barrier, and the operations guy who runs KP."

"Wait. Lt. Forrester's here?" Shiori peered around Saito's bulk just as Captain Wildstar met Nova at the next-to-last lane. "They're talking," she whispered.

Saito started to turn around.

"No, don't look!" Shiori grabbed his arm.

"But how am I supposed to—"

"Shh!" Shiori tried to sort through the noise of the range, but the science corpsman wouldn't quit firing long enough for her to discern a single syllable from this far away. "Whatever they're talking about, it looks serious."

"Think it has to do with that Gamilon they locked up last night?" said Saito as he checked his comm and put his side-arm away. "Speaking of. I'm on brig duty until 0200."

They headed out of the target range and took the shortest route to the brig.

"My shift's tomorrow afternoon. You'd think a ship this famous would have more security. Their team's bare bones. Four guys."

"That Clemens fellow knows what he's doing," said Saito. "But Bukowski and Patel are greener than seasick chickens."

"What about that other one—the kid… Hoshina? He rotated out with Clemens for some of my team's sweeps during lockdown. Seemed to really care about the crew."

"He's good. Quiet though," Saito said as they passed two orange and white clad engineering crew. "Kid offered to go in first on all our crew quarters runs. Said it would help keep the panic down if another Star Force uniform was the one heading the actual cabin search. He was right. Never had any trouble with him on point."

"Guess this is your stop," Shiori said when they reached the brig.

"You're not going to jump at every shadow on your way back to quarters, right?"

Ever since the starflies, she'd been on edge. Being with someone else helped, but it didn't erase the feeling of dread piling in her gut while she walked from one place to another. Saito was still jumpy too, though he'd never admit it.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be fine."

Saito laid one hand on her back. "See you in a few hours."

She waited to leave until Patel came out of the brig.

At least she wouldn't have to walk back to quarters alone.

Half-way to her destination, she passed someone from the navigation group. The patch on his arm read M. Venture. When she greeted him, he muttered "Hey" and kept walking, headed somewhere astern. Troubled thoughts clouded his face.

This trip was wearing on all of them. Some more than others. No one knew where they were going, when they'd get there, or what would happen when they returned to Earth. At least the ship's mutiny status had been revoked.

She quietly turned around to follow Venture—make sure he was all right. She didn't want to seem intrusive, so she kept twenty meters between them until he stopped outside a door labeled "Holography and Simulation."

This was where the starflies had first attacked her and Saito. She still vividly recalled finding him unconscious on the floor, and the thought of going back inside made her nauseous.

Venture's expression was even heavier as he stepped through the door.

Shiori focused on measured breaths as she pushed through lingering fear and stepped inside. "Venture, right?" she said just before he entered a holography room.

He erased the deep frown, furrowed brows, and slouched shoulders. "Didn't I pass you in the hall a while ago? I thought you were headed the other way."

"Seemed like something was bothering you." She planted one sole against the wall and leaned back, hands in her pockets. "Tough trip? Has been for me."

Venture's posture gradually sagged. "Do you have family back on Earth?"

She touched the concealed wedding ring still hanging on its chain around her neck. "No. But my niece used to live Earthside until she was stationed aboard the Khanyu a few months ago. I worried about her every day."

"My parents and little brother live in Tokyo. He just turned nine. I'm sorry. You don't want to hear any of this."

"You go right ahead. I don't mind," Shiori said.

Venture studied her face for signs of insincerity before continuing. "I've already missed two years—and that's not even counting my time at the Academy. I've been gone almost half of my brother's life." Venture shook his head. "I didn't even want to come on this trip."

"So, why did you?"

Venture's frustration waned. "My brother made me promise to leave if Earth needed help again."

"So, you joined the crew, but now you think Captain Wildstar made the wrong call?"

"Yes. And no." Venture looked ready to kick something. "So we've come across a few hostiles. All the evidence we have of their presence on Earth is one blurry image and Wildstar's testimony. I've read it. It's questionable at best. Once, I'd have said he had better instincts than all of EDF command."

"Something change that opinion?"

Venture started pacing. "He's not the guy he used to be. Today, I found out he did something I never thought he'd do. What does that mean for this mission? He used to be my best friend. I don't know if that's true anymore."

The rhythmic clap of Venture's steps filled the tiny room. The two doors for the simulation suites sat at the other end of the short entryway, and the two holography rooms stood less than two meters to Shiori's right.

She understood turmoil like this too well. "A few years ago… during the bombings… I had to tell my husband we couldn't have kids. I was stationed Earthside at the time, and the radiation… It was too much. After I told him, I was sure he'd never love me the same way again. But when I gave him the news, you know what he did? He wrapped me in the biggest bear hug of my life and told me it wasn't about what I could give him. It was about us being there for each other. The captain's your friend. No change, big or small, will break that connection."

Venture stopped pacing and faced her. "You're part of Knox's squad. Why did you follow me here?"

"Sarge says we never leave a man behind." She extended a hand.

Venture took it. "I'm Mark."

"Shiori. I hope you can work everything out."

"Me too. And thanks."

"No problem."


When Derek reached Nova's lane, she had just finished inputting target parameters. He was grateful she'd chosen the two lanes farthest from the entrance.

"It's 18:05. I was starting to get concerned," Nova said. "You sure you're ready?" She pointed to his holstered side-arm.

"You realize that's not why we're here." Derek stood beside the barrier between his lane and hers.

"Give me a little credit. Of course, I know." Her voice was low. "But won't it look strange if we're here and don't shoot anything?"

"Point taken." He set up his targets and took aim.

Both of them fired ten shots, and within seconds, their scores displayed.

"You are good," Nova said around the divider.

"You should have seen Feld—Deun." Even saying the name made his stomach knot. The man could have killed him in an instant, and Derek would never have suspected. "He and I went through a couple of those situational awareness programs, where you have half a second to evaluate potential threats. He hit every enemy target. Never once misfired." His back seemed to ache a little more, even though he'd taken his pain medication as prescribed. "If things were different… we could have been friends."

They each took two more ten-shot rounds before Nova holstered her side-arm and said, "You mentioned that Gatlantean pilot. What did he say that was so important you couldn't risk those two on the observation deck hearing?" She left her lane and crowded into Derek's, leaving scarcely a foot between them.

He kept his voice low. "Before he was murdered, Mazer said something about a person called Darkone."

"Strange name."

"Might be a title, or a codename. Whatever it is, Mazer insisted Darkone was onboard Argo and that the Silver Queen knew them. Sandor's theory is that this Silver Queen is the Gatlantean leader, but we can't confirm that."

"Deun was working for the Gatlanteans?" Nova said. "Well, with everything Silesia told me, I wouldn't be surprised."

"It would explain the motive behind the murder—and how terrified Mazer was of Deun. When we couldn't get him to respond, Deun tried. He only said one thing, and Mazer immediately started talking."

Nova closed the gap between them to a few inches. Her crossed forearms almost brushed Derek's chest. Laser fire from the other end of the range almost drowned her next words. "Something doesn't make sense to me. How would the Gatlanteans recruit Deun when he's been on Earth or at Luna II since we got back from Iscandar? The first indication we had of them being anywhere near Earth was that run-in you had on Yunagi."

"They could have been lurking for years without us knowing. We were pretty intent on stopping the planet-bombs. If they were around, it would have been easy to duck patrols and sensors. It's also possible they can communicate over much longer distances than us."

Nova snagged a lock of hair and twisted it around her finger. "True. But if so, why pay attention to a nearly dead world?"

"With some time, Mazer might have told us," Derek said. "But that's not an option now."

Nova twisted another lock of hair around the first until her entire finger was trapped. "Mazer's plane. Do we still have it?"

"Think so." He took out his comm. "I'll ask Conroy."

The answer came back within half a minute.

"Yeah. It's still in the hangar, in the quarantine bay." Derek put his weapon away. "You up for a little fact-finding?"


Masterson sat on his cell's narrow bunk. Morta was in the cell opposite him, and all he'd done over the past day was complain. After twelve hours of Morta's constant cursing, griping, and insulting every guard that came within earshot, Masterson was ready to set off a concussion grenade in his own cell just to not have to listen to the Cometine for a while.

At least the food was decent, the water freely available upon request, and the refresher area was behind a screen at the back of the cell—though everything was regularly searched every two hours.

At shift-change, a fresh crew of men and women took over brig duty. One new arrival made the mistake of passing too close to the Cometine's cell. Morta's bony arm snaked through the bars and grabbed the guard's uniform sleeve. He slammed the guard into the bars and wrangled him toward the lock, trying to use the man's handprint to retract the door.

Before Morta succeeded, another guard cracked his hand with a gun barrel.

Morta squealed and let go, but he threw a punch between the bars and into the second man's unguarded face. With a string of oaths in his own language, Morta spat on both guards.

The first man—the one Morta had slammed into the door—marched to the wall-mounted lock panel and opened the cell. He snarled a slur and grabbed Morta's limp hand. His fingers dug into the bruising skin as he twisted until the Cometine yowled. "Do that again, and I'll be informing Leader Desslok of your accidental death."

"You wouldn't dare kill an emissary of Prince Zordar," hissed Morta.

The guard shoved the barrel of his side-arm into Morta's gut. "Please, test my resolve."

Morta seemed to acquiesce, and the man let him go, but the instant the pressure on his hand was off, Morta lunged for the unsecured weapon.

The second guard, who'd had his comm out, recording the incident, reacted too slowly to stop Morta from barreling into the first, but he caught the Cometine's white cape and yanked, dropping his comm in the process.

Though the fabric ripped and Morta spun off-course, he adjusted and sprang for his target again.

The rest of the brig crew descended on the young Cometine, and within seconds, multiple weapons were trained on him. One woman shot a fist-sized stun mesh, and it clung to Morta's chest long enough to make Masterson grimace.

The guard's lost comm still lay on the floor. If it were one of the larger, old-style models, it might have already been noticed and reclaimed, but the thin metal sheet almost blended in with the floor plating.

The crowd of guards secured Morta in his cell and put restraints on his wrists and ankles. Among the sea of footsteps, the clack of skidding metal-on-metal went unnoticed to all but Masterson as the lost comm skittered toward his door.

To keep from drawing attention, he moved slowly as he left his bunk and walked to the front of the cell.

Unlike Gamilon-designed detention areas, this brig was well-lit—more for the sake of those watching the prisoners than for the prisoners themselves—but it gave Masterson opportunity to gauge how far away the stray comm was.

It lay just out of reach, but close enough that he could use something in the cell to pull it closer. As long as no one saw him.

Once Morta had been put back into his cell, the guards dispersed.

Masterson waited for the man who'd lost his comm to search for it, but he was busy congratulating his fellow brig supervisor on a good shot.

All eyes were off Masterson, but any of the six guards—or Morta—might notice him any second.

He sat in the cell's front corner, as near the loose comm as possible. Without a sound, he slipped off one boot and extended it into the hall.

Each instant he went unnoticed, he sent up another prayer.

Masterson gripped the comm with his boot toe and flicked it closer. He pulled back inside just as one of the guards barked, "Hey! You miscreants think just because there's enough room to reach through the bars that we won't care if you try. Either of you do it again, and I'll put up the stun fields!"

Instantly, six pairs of eyes were on Masterson. Disbelief overtook them all.

The man who'd spoken approached. His shoes straddled the comm, now two hand breadths from the door. "Prime Minister Talan? I apologize. I didn't know you were here. Please, pardon my rudeness."

Masterson pulled his boot on and stood. He wrestled the urge to look at the floor. "No apology necessary. I understand the need to keep order—especially in here." His hand itched to grab the comm.

"Nonetheless, it was not my place to speak to you as I did. You've done so much for my family back on Gamilon. Almost everyone here has friends or relatives you've helped relocate to Iscandar." The man bowed his head. "For all their sakes, I thank you."

The man's boot shifted, nudging the stray comm a few inches toward the aisle.

"What good is power if you cannot use it for the good of others?" Masterson said.

"Wise words, Prime Minister. But though I am indebted to you, our orders are clear. We must ensure all detainees remain here for the duration of our return to Gatlantis."

"And I would not ask you to go against those orders." If he could retrieve that lost comm, he'd have a means of communication with David—and Starsha—and he could discretely monitor any situations that might rise during their trip back to the comet fortress. "Please, don't let me keep you from your duties."

With another bow, the man bid Masterson farewell and returned to his post at the end of the aisle.

The rest of the men and women on watch dispersed and took up positions at staggered intervals on both sides of the aisle.

During the shuffle, Masterson snagged the comm and slipped it into a pocket. His heart hammered for a solid minute afterward until he was sure no one had seen. He'd have to find a better hiding place for it since his cell search was scheduled in an hour, and that search included at least a pat-down for him.

He retreated to the screened-off corner and sent two brief messages before turning the comm off and stashing it inside one sock. The metal corners pinched his sole, but a little discomfort was worth hiding a prize this valuable.

Only ten days until they reached Gatlantis. He had to keep the comm until then.


Derek found Conroy in the hangar. "You're sure it's still in here?"

"No one's touched it since I… helped bring it onboard." Conroy led Derek and Nova to a door labeled "Quarantine: Do Not Enter Without Authorization."

"What about the starflies? Did they get in?" Derek said.

"Not sure." Conroy stepped back to let Derek put in the security code. "Be careful in there."

"We'll be okay," Derek said.

"Let me know if you need anything while you're in there. Oh, and Wildstar…" Conroy extended a hand. "Glad you decided to join the family. It's good to have you."

Derek shook his friend's hand. "Thanks."

The quarantine bay could have held up to five fighters. Mazer's plane sat alone near the back of the bay. It appeared untouched, even by starflies.

Derek linked his comm with the plane's computer. "Let's see if this tells us anything." Foreign characters and symbols filled his comm screen. "I can't read any of this, and there are maps and star charts of places I've never seen. Doesn't look like there are any of Earth though."

"That's good. Right?" Nova said as she circled the plane to get a reading on any substances that might be stuck to its hull.

"Yes, but it's also a problem. I'll have Sandor look through this—see if he can get that translation software to sort it out." He logged into the ship's secure server and transferred everything on the Gatlantean plane's computer.

"Derek, did anyone look this plane over when it first arrived?"

"Sandor might have, but Dr. Sane cleared the pilot medically within about twenty minutes, so we starting questioning him not long afterward."

"So, no one did a thorough sweep." Nova rounded the nose of the plane and met Derek outside the cockpit. "Look at this." She pointed to the results of her scan. Beside it was another report—this one, compiled from the data gathered on the Iscandar trip. "This plane's been to a few familiar places." She indicated a set of numbers near the bottom of the plane scan. They matched a number set on the Iscandar report. "This plane was at our encounter with Shambleau. Its still got residue on it from those fabricated clouds we went through."

"That's good to know, but how does it help us?"

"I'm not done." Nova pointed to another result from the scan, this one higher up the list. "That's the same contaminant we found in Gamilon's atmosphere." She tapped the topmost number. "And this is the trace element we found on and directly around Iscandar."

"How is that strange, considering Gamilon and Iscandar's proximity? If the Gatlanteans were at Shambleau, they might have passed Gamilon and Iscandar on the way."

Nova shook her head. "If that were the case, the reading from Shambleau would be more pronounced, and the Gamilon-Iscandar results would rank much lower. This plane was near Gamilon and Iscandar a number of times."

"You think the Gatlanteans might have contacted Starsha?" Even based on what little he knew of the Gatlanteans, he hated to broach this possibility.

"No. She'd have told us."

This wouldn't be the first time Starsha had kept something from them. "Are you completely sure of that?"

"You're not?"

He checked the status of his transfer to the server. "She did neglect to mention a few things before we left for Iscandar."

Nova pocketed her comm. "How can you hold the past over someone who's proven time and again she's committed to fighting for us? People make mistakes. It's how they correct them that matters."

She was right. To judge based solely on the imperfections of others was hypocritical at best. "Sorry… Old habits."

"Giving others the benefit of the doubt is hard, and I'm often guilty of judging too quickly too. It's gotten me into more than a few trouble spots." Nova's boots touched down on the walkway leading back to the door. "If there's one thing I know about Starsha, it's that she would never knowingly put us in danger. Not after seeing what we had to go through because she didn't tell us about Gamilon."

"Maybe she didn't know any Gatlanteans were near her planet."

"Possible," Nova said. "Or this pilot might have been part of a larger fleet—an attack force sent to Iscandar."

"But they found out Starsha was the only one still alive," Derek added.

"So, they left, but stationed a capitol ship to keep watch, and this plane was part of that group."

Derek landed softly next to Nova. "All of this is conjecture unless we can ask Starsha, and Bahn's not going to be able to contact her for at least two days. I'm not even sure I trust him to send this message. Not until we've found out the truth about Deun's claims regarding Jeshurunians on Earth."

"Then I guess we wait until the translator's worked through the data you just sent it," Nova said with a sigh. "I hope we're jumping at shadows, Derek—and that yours and Sandor's theory about that comet being a Gatlantean base is wrong." She looked more tired than he felt. "If that vision hadn't pushed us into this…"

Derek gripped her shoulders reassuringly. "Hey. What happened to Nova Forrester, staunch believer in doing the right thing? We're out here for a reason. That vision might have contributed to it, but it wasn't the only reason we left. And we've saved so many people already—the Marines, the Brumis scientists, Lt. Alori. They'd all be dead if we hadn't acted when we did."

"You really don't blame me—or any of the rest of the crew—for us being out here?" Nova said.

The past two years, it had been her encouraging him. Now it was his turn. "I've been too busy blaming myself to pass it off to anyone else." He braved a smile. "We're the Star Force. We stick together—no matter where that takes us." He held up one hand, open palm toward the door.

She clasped it. "We sail on?"

"Always."


Just after sunset, Starsha sank into a chair in her suite.

Another group of refugees from Gamilon had arrived mid-afternoon, including several families with small children, two pregnant women—one in irrecoverable condition—and at least a dozen physically impaired older adults. With Elisa's help, she'd distributed everyone, beginning with those in the worst condition. The terminal woman—Safala—had her own room and two medic droids in constant attendance along with the caregiver who'd accompanied her to Iscandar.

Starsha had offered to house some of the newcomers in her own suite, but they'd refused.

Since the first wave of refugees arrived, a few men and women had set to repairing many of the androids Starsha had been unable to fix. Now, they had a group of twenty food preppers and janitors, ten medical droids, and five heavy lifters capable of moving the recycler units and helping to clear Mothertown of overgrowth.

Today, four families had moved into restored houses. Tomorrow, with the added help, they'd be able to finish six more.

As the weariness of the long day settled over Starsha, she wondered about Masterson. He hadn't sent her anything since letting her know Desslok was alive. Yahweh, bring them home.

A frantic knock at the door pulled Starsha back on her feet. "Elisa? Irii?"

"We need help." Elisa held her daughter tightly as the toddler wailed. Fear etched the woman's face. Irii looked no better. "Safala's life signs are too poor. The med droids have to take her baby, or neither of them will survive. Please, hurry." She beckoned Starsha to follow.

"I know very little about practicing medicine. I can't do anything for Safala or her child."

"But you have to, Queen Starsha." Irii took her hand. "The machines stopped working."

Delina's shrill crying filled the hall as the little group hurried toward the room set aside for Safala and her caregiver.

"They're offline?" Starsha hadn't touched the medical equipment since she'd helped Adam and Alex almost two years ago.

"Not offline," Elisa said. "Unable to continue without oversight. As it is, Safala won't survive this. I tried to tell the droids to continue, but they wouldn't accept my order. Something about Interface authorization. We don't have much time."

"Medical droids can't autonomously perform any operation that guarantees the death of someone under their care. Only two physicians at any facility had the authority to authorize such measures." She'd learned that from reading manuals years ago when she'd tried to fix a few of the palace's mechanical staff. "But it might accept my credentials since I'm a member of the royal family."

Starsha, Elisa, and Irii ran into Safala's room.

A sterile force field separated Safala and her white-clad caregiver from everything else. Two medical droids hovered over Safala. They'd already put every life-support machine on its most aggressive setting, but the woman's blue skin had faded to an ashy gray. The only reason she was still breathing was because science made her.

"Do it!" Starsha said. "Save the child."

Two painful seconds passed.

"Authorization not recognized."

"I am Queen Starsha II of Iscandar, and I'm telling you to do this." If not for the force field, she'd have grabbed the nearest android and shaken it. "If you do nothing, an innocent will die!"

"Authorization not recognized."

"There's a man on the next floor down who used to be a field medic," said Elisa as she tried to soothe Delina's screaming.

"Get him up here now."

Elisa handed Delina to Irii. The little girl looked unsure about taking the toddler, but she bravely accepted the temporary responsibility and took Delina to a chair near the door where she tried to comfort the little girl.

Starsha fumbled through three drawers until she found a face covering and surgical gloves.

Elisa and a man who looked old enough to be Starsha's grandfather arrived an instant before the life-support machines started to shrill, and Delina's wailing swelled to outpace the horrible sound of impending death.

Starsha shoved the face covering and gloves at the former medic, but his hands shook so badly he could barely hold them, much less put them on.

"These hands can't save that poor child, but this old voice can walk someone else through it," said the man.

Starsha set the mask in place and let the gloves form to her hands. She tapped the force field twice to sanitize her and her clothes on the way through. A single step, and she was beside Safala. "Get out of here!" she shooed the idle androids away.

At least they'd prepared the needed instruments.

Safala's caregiver had donned a mask and gloves, but nothing could cover the defeat in her eyes.

Starsha reached across the bed and grabbed the caregiver's covered hand. "We are not going to deny this woman a mother's last wish. He's going to tell me what to do," she indicated the old man outside the clean field, "but I can't do it by myself. Will you help me?"

The caregiver blinked back tears and nodded.

Delina's crying still filled the room, but the old man shouted over it.

Starsha prepared as well as she knew how, taking frequent correction with each move, but a storm of questions hit simultaneously. What if she cut too deep? Not deep enough? What if there were other complications? What if the child died anyway? What if Safala could be saved?

Life sign indicators kept dropping.

No time for doubts.

The caregiver's steady hands gave her enough courage not to throw up as she made the first incision.


Episode 22 Notes:

Editing pass, 8/25/22

The title for this episode was taken from Isaiah 43:8-11:

Bring forth the blind people that have eyes, and the deaf that have ears.

Let all the nations be gathered together, and let the people be assembled: who among them can declare this, and shew us former things? let them bring forth their witnesses, that they may be justified: or let them hear, and say, It is truth.

Ye are my witnesses, saith the Lord, and my servant whom I have chosen: that ye may know and believe me, and understand that I am he: before me there was no God formed, neither shall there be after me.

I, even I, am the Lord; and beside me there is no saviour.