Episode 26: Thresh the Mountains
Moments after Derek's chair descended from the captain's cabin and clicked into place on the bridge, Nova burst in and beelined for her station.
Another round of enemy fire rocked the ship as Nova passed Sandor. She grabbed for the back of his chair, missed, and hit the deck. Sandor's hand shot out to help her up. She took it but favored her leg when she regained her feet, and she hid a wince.
"All hands to combat stations," Derek said over the ship-wide comm as damage alarms squealed.
When Nova reached radar, Saijo refused to relinquish her post. "You could be hurt."
"I'm fine, Miki," Nova said. "It's just a bruise. They need you on the second bridge." She crowded Saijo out of her chair, then tried to disguise a pained hiss as she leaned on the console instead of putting full weight on her leg. She half-turned, petitioning Derek to let her stay.
Had the situation been different, Derek would have ordered her to the medbay to rule out broken bones or other serious injury. He wanted to leave his station, take her to Dr. Sane personally, like he had after the incident in the brig with Deun. But no amount of wanting could change reality. He was the captain, and this entire crew was his responsibility, so, even though he had to grip the console to keep himself at his post, he did it. She had medical training. If she needed help, he'd have to trust she'd let him know.
"Go, Saijo."
"But—"
"Go." Derek pointed to the door.
Saijo gave Nova a long, hard look, steeled her jaw, and hurried off the bridge.
"Radar's showing three destroyers and six escort ships. All register as Gatlantean," Nova said. Pain still edged her words, but once seated and clipped into a crash harness, she made no other sign of injury. "Incoming fire."
Derek fastened his own restraints moments before the next wave hit. "Venture, evasive maneuvers. Bring us around their flank. Sandor, is the shield repaired?"
"Yes," Sandor replied.
"Bring it online."
The barrier shrouded the ship's hull. The only visible indication of its presence was a slight shimmer outside the front viewports, and when another round of enemy fire came at them, it shattered against the invisible energy wall.
"Main guns, fire at will," Derek said as they passed the frontmost destroyer and its two escorts.
They landed multiple shots, eliminated one escort, and sent the destroyer limping behind its sister ships to recover from a serious hit to its midsection.
Mark pushed the ship as fast as she would go at sublight and slowed only to target the second destroyer and set of escorts.
Derek brought up the radar screen just as Nova said, "The first ship we hit is coming toward us at ramming speed."
Venture jerked Argo to port and barely missed the speeding Gatlantean ship as it barreled past, nicking the stern and ripping a hole in the starboard hull.
Emergency bulkheads sealed off the breach, but the enemy ship was coming about for another run at them, so Derek would have to check for casualty notices later.
"Venture, dive. Now."
Mark sent Argo's bow down at a steep thirty degrees.
Derek was glad for his harness in the half second it took for the artificial gravity to adjust, otherwise he'd have been thrown across his station and into the back of Nova's chair.
A sharp yelp from Nova. She leaned over her console, one knee cradled, but she recovered before Venture brought them out of their dive.
Derek accessed the radar screen again. Because they'd evaded, the wounded ship chasing them had overshot and nearly clipped one of its allies. "Sandor, get me specs on those destroyers."
The XO rattled off size, top speed, and a few other details. "All three appear to have prime weapon capabilities."
So, why haven't they used them?
While their sister ship repositioned, the second destroyer maneuvered directly in front of them, and the third was coming around to starboard. Four of the six escorts circled behind them.
"They're surrounding us," Derek said. "Main guns, target the ship directly ahead of us."
A storm of cannon fire hit the Gatlantean ship and prompted several midsize explosions, sending the enemy listing to port, away from Argo. But the moment the destroyer's bulk eased out of the way, an escort plowed toward them and rammed into the shield protecting the con tower.
Everyone, Derek included, shielded their face against the blinding explosion.
"Shields are down to 60%," said Sandor. "Picking up a massive weapons charge from the ship directly to starboard."
"The third destroyer and remaining escorts are charging," Nova said.
"Venture."
"On it." Mark dodged the incoming ships and closed on the one preparing to fire.
"Last time we were up against a Gatlantean ship with this kind of firepower, we had help. This time, we're not likely to be so fortunate," Derek said.
"They're turning," Nova said. "Making another run at us."
"They want us distracted—unable to run," Derek said. "Dash, take out as many as possible. Venture, run them into each other, if you can."
"Everybody, hang on," Mark said before sending the ship into a controlled dip and swerve that made their Gatlantean pursuers turn circles.
Two escorts misjudged the last turn and slammed into one of their own destroyers, obliterating themselves and taking out the capitol ship's engine. Dash's team finished them off.
"Shield down to 18%," Sandor said. "We can take a couple more hits, but that's it."
"Incoming escort," Nova said. "They're targeting the bridge again."
"Take it down, Dash," Derek ordered.
"We're doing our best. Got one main turret out and several secondaries limping."
Mark anticipated Derek's order and rolled a few degrees to starboard, so the oncoming ship scraped past the con tower. It took out one communications array.
"Massive energy charge from the intact destroyer," said Sandor. "They're preparing to fire."
"Venture, get us out of their line of fire." Derek gripped his console until every finger joint ached. This ambush wasn't coincidence. There had to be a reason the Gatlanteans had chosen to show up now.
Mark righted the ship and swung her further starboard at full sublight.
"How long, Sandor?" Derek said.
"Five seconds."
Even from the captain's chair, the beads of sweat trailing Mark's face were clearly visible. It would be close. Too close. But they should make it.
At the two-second mark, Argo's engines sputtered and quit.
Derek would have raised Orion, but they were out of time.
A raging storm of crimson and orange flared at the mouth of the enemy ship, vanished, and reappeared near the Argo. It barreled into the stern, burned through the remaining shield, and left a ragged gash in its wake.
Argo spun out of control as hull breech alarms wailed in the moments before the emergency seals clamped into place.
Derek's crash harness held him in place as the ship tumbled out of control.
"No response from the helm," Mark called from his station. "There's power available, but it's like the system can't access it."
Derek fumbled for his comm. It slipped out of his hand, but he grabbed it before it flew out of reach. "Orion!"
"She's still going, Captain, but it's like she's been taken over." Orion's voice held notes of concern.
Derek's stomach plummeted. "Can you fix it?"
"Not without a little time."
God, help me. It was the first prayer Derek had consciously sent, and he meant it. To Orion he said, "Do what you can. I'll let you know if we find out anything here."
"Radar's still up. Looks like the Iscandarian unit has an emergency power source," Nova said. "That destroyer that just fired on us is repositioning."
"Probably going to hit us again," Sandor said. "Sensors aren't responding."
"I can't even slow down," said Mark as he pulled the steering yoke back until the tendons in his neck strained with effort. "If we hit something at this speed, we're done for."
"This is worse than that dark matter sea," Eager quipped as he ran to help Venture pull.
Dark matter sea. Derek paused, comm shoved halfway into his pocket. "Sandor. After we found Olympia, how did you fix the engine?"
"I had Royster, Rowland, and Feldmann help me run simulations until… Feldmann—Deun. He had access to the engine." Sandor started to unfasten his harness.
"No. Stay there. You think he could be responsible for this?" Derek said.
"It's possible. But it could easily be mechanical failure."
Derek opened a line to Deun's brig cell as he tried to ignore the whirling stars outside the front viewports. "What did you do to our engine?"
A bitter laugh chased momentary silence before Deun responded. "I just added something to make this trip more interesting. You must have encountered the Gatlanteans again."
With far more control than he felt, Derek said, "Tell me what you did, and I won't surrender you to Desslok the moment we come in contact with him again, because something tells me he likes you even less than we do." The last few words resonated with barely contained anger.
"No need to be so upset, Wildstar."
To hear Deun's voice was like taking a hot poker to the gut. He still sounded like Feldmann, and every time he spoke, Derek recalled moments he'd fought alongside the man, trusted him with vital information, or just spent time talking with him. But now, instead of the stoic pilot, this man had become unpredictable, wild, and terrifyingly calculating. Being in the same room with him was like witnessing a more unhinged version of Desslok.
Deun continued. "It's only a sleeper virus. That idiot pilot we picked up mentioned it, so I had to make sure he didn't reveal too much." It was the first time he'd admitted to murdering Mazer.
Derek wanted to tie Deun to a chair and hold his astro-automatic to the man's forehead. Maybe drug him too, so he couldn't fight. Let him feel the terror of facing death, just like Mazer had. But something Alori had said to Derek not two days ago pulled hatred-filled thoughts to a halt. Vengeance belongs to God.
Another round of enemy fire sent Argo tumbling a different direction and prompted new damage alarms. Fires on three middle decks, another hull breech near the second bridge.
"How do we stop that virus?" Derek said.
Deun whistled a haunting tune that made Derek's skin itch. His reply was a sing-song taunt. "Never gonna find. The answer in time." He repeated the grating ditty until Derek cut the call and raised Orion again.
"It's a virus."
"Virus? Captain, I can fix a flywheel, recalibrate the core, repair power conduits, but viruses… That's beyond me."
"I'll check the engine from here." Sandor's hands flew over his console. "I need two minutes."
"Nova, what're they doing out there?" Derek kept the call to Orion open.
"Still trying to line up for another shot. Good news is, they're having to move every few seconds because we can't control the ship." Pain still tinged her voice, and when she stopped talking, her jaw clamped tight. Seconds later, she said, "Incoming fire from one of the damaged destroyers." Just before impact, Nova braced her injured leg, and when the ship jostled from a hit and several near misses, she didn't yelp, even when her knee knocked into her duty station.
"Another round incoming," Nova said. This time, her tone betrayed her injury, and quick breaths and a clandestine hiss punctuated her words. It was too late to send her to the medbay, and getting someone up here would be just as dangerous.
"Engine systems are sectioned off. Running a purge now. Might not eradicate the virus, but at least we'll be able to identify it—keep it from popping up anywhere else. Assuming it's something we can detect." Sandor waited for his station readout to announce the purge completed. "Got it. It's not affecting power generation, only power distribution. Everything's only getting a trickle of energy—just enough to be technically on, but not enough to allow most systems to function." He tapped in a command. "And we're locked out of the core."
"Got that, Orion?" Derek said into his comm.
"Aye, sir. We'll take the core offline manually. Transfer everything to the auxiliary engine. She won't go as fast as she would have, but she'll get the job done."
And we won't be able to use the Wave Gun. Derek checked damage logs. At least they hadn't lost any more turrets. "Sandor will keep working on it from up here. Bridge, out."
Within a minute, all power except the independently operated radar unit flickered off for a half second before auxiliary power sources came online.
"Helm's back," Venture announced.
"Sensors up," said Sandor. "That destroyer's finally got a lock on us. Their power's spiking."
"Venture, get us out of here."
Even from this distance, there was such a bright flare from the Gatlantean ship's prime weapon that Derek shielded his eyes from the blooming spot of light.
Mark sent the ship into an unannounced dive and got out of the way just before the Firestorm burst burned through their previous position.
"Dash, weapons systems?" Derek said.
"Almost there." Dash opened a readout listing all of Argo's armaments. "Torpedo and missile launching capabilities are live. Secondary guns are a go, but main guns aren't responding."
"Enemy escort coming in for another run," Nova said.
Argo rocked with the impact.
"Get us closer to that planet," Derek said. "If there's a moon, take us behind it. There's a chance it'll confuse their sensors."
Mark protested. "But we're still twelve hours away—"
"Sandor, can we make a short warp?" Derek said.
"It's risky. The auxiliary engine wasn't built for this. But thanks to the modifications we made during the upgrade, we can achieve warp, but for no more than two seconds."
"That'll be more than enough," Derek said. "Nova, start—"
Nova sagged forward in her chair. The harness kept her head from hitting the console, but limp arms hung to either side of her chair. A patch of red bloomed over her injured leg.
Sandor unclipped his harness, grabbed the emergency kit fastened to the back of his chair, and was at Nova's side in five seconds. He braced one bionic leg against Nova's station and the other wrapped around the base of her chair, securing him in place. "Her leg's broken. It might have been minor a while ago, but all this jostling—the additional hits she took to it—the bone's come through the skin now. She probably passed out from pain. I can stop the bleeding, but she needs to get to Sane."
Nausea and guilt crashed over Derek. He should have gone with his instincts—let Saijo take radar. But he'd let his judgment be clouded. This was his fault. But there was no time for blame now. "Venture, get that warp calculated. Now!"
Despite having to do everything himself, Mark worked quickly. "Ready, Wildstar. Fifteen seconds to warp."
With the ship's power distribution somewhat restored, the ship-wide comms worked again. "All hands, prepare for warp in twelve seconds."
Sandor stabilized Nova's leg and guarded it from any further damage while he hung on to the base of the chair with both legs.
Reality blurred for less than one second, and Argo reappeared just outside the orbit of a world with jade-green cloud cover.
Derek brought up sensors and radar side by side at his station. Radar was clear, but sensors showed the enemy ship had sent another Firestorm burst just after Argo warped. A half second more, and they'd have been blown apart. Mark's efficiency had saved them.
Sensors picked up movement from the Gatlanteans.
"They're heading our way," Derek said. "No moons or satellites. We'll have to get to the other side of the planet. Venture—"
"Wildstar," Sandor cut in. "Look." Both hands still kept Nova's leg from sustaining further damage, but he indicated the front viewport with a tip of his head.
The ethereal image of a woman clad in blue hung in space. She kneeled, hands clasped in prayer, face raised. The image lasted only a moment.
"Homer, what're you staring at?" Dash said. "It's just a planet."
"Y-you didn't see her?" Homer said.
"See who?" Dash replied.
Homer turned in his seat. "Wildstar, that's the woman from the vision. I'm sure of it."
Sandor confirmed. "It's her." He studied Derek's face. "You saw her this time too."
Derek nodded, but before he could speculate what the image meant, sensors picked up more incoming. "Two more destroyers have joined the one that just fired on us, and all three are headed this way. Venture, put that planet between us and them." He checked the atmospheric composition and looked for any terrain that might hide them from the enemy's sensors, but the cloud cover proved difficult to penetrate. "As soon as we're above the coordinates I sent to your station, take us into the atmosphere." If they were having trouble getting a reading, hopefully the Gatlanteans would too. Although the enemy's capabilities had proven superior thus far, there was always a chance this environment could offer a more level playing field.
While Mark steered Argo around the planet, Derek notified Sane and his team that they needed someone on the bridge for a broken leg. By the time Penny Acre and Brennan Hanson from the nursing staff arrived, Lt. Erin Watts was on the bridge and ready to assume Nova's post at radar.
As Acre and Hanson ferried Nova off the bridge, Derek couldn't look away. She hadn't woken in the minutes it had taken for the team to arrive, get her leg stabilized properly, and make sure she would be all right to move. She wasn't ashen like the day she'd been shot near the end of the Iscandar trip, but she was paler than she should have been. He'd have been angry with her disregard for safety if he weren't so concerned. They would have a conversation about this later.
A notice pinged on Derek's console. Something in the engine room had kicked on. The readout was in Iscandarian, and he'd never seen it before. Magen Maoz. Derek tapped the notice. One corner of his console screen displayed the Argo, and specks of red sparkled across the outer hull in unpredictable patterns, but they weren't taking damage, and there was no emergency code. Whatever it was, it could wait until they were safely away from the Gatlanteans.
Watts took radar, and Sandor reclaimed his post just as they broke through the top layer of cloud cover on the other side of the planet.
"Twenty-seven Gatlantean life signs near a large mountain. They've got excavation equipment and at least three tank battalions," Sandor said. "Sensor range is severely limited by an abundance of aggressive dark matter laced through the atmosphere."
"What would cause that?" Derek said.
Sandor shook his head. "I'd have to take a closer look. The atmosphere's breathable, but anyone who went outside would need shielding from those particles."
"Incoming surface fire," Watts said. "Contact in ten."
Mark evaded the wave.
"Get us around the other side of that mountain," Derek said. "Sandor, Watts, status on those three destroyers."
"Contact is spotty," Sandor said. "Can't get a clear reading."
"They're… not pursuing past the atmosphere," Watts said.
Something wasn't right. "Status on those tanks and the excavation team."
"Rallying," Watts said. "They're heading our way."
"Tigers are prepped and ready if you want 'em," said Dash.
"Keep them on standby. Watts, update."
"Still no pursuit from the destroyers."
"Venture, set us down behind that mountain. Sandor, you said anyone going outside would need shielding. People get hit by dark matter every day without problems. Why's this different?"
"These dark matter particles are a different type than most." Sandor sent a data set to Derek's station. "Scientists once thought this kind of particle didn't exist, and it doesn't—at least, not on Earth—but here it does. These particles can burn through human skin. It was theorized getting hit would look like an unexplained gunshot wound."
"Can you put something together?"
Sandor opened schematics on his console, tapped the screen a half dozen times, and nodded. "Yes. The main engine already has this capability. It's been protecting us since we hit atmosphere. I'll need time for the printer to synthesize a portable version and for me to test it."
Derek checked the Iscandarian readout that had popped up minutes ago. Tiny red specks still dotted Argo, appearing, and vanishing like dust. This had to be what Sandor was talking about. He just hoped Deun's sabotage wouldn't interfere with its functioning.
While Sandor surrendered his station and left to finish work on the portable dark matter shields, Mark found the best landing spot available and set down.
Derek notified Knox and his Marines to be ready the moment Sandor's tests concluded.
"Watts, status on those destroyers," Derek said.
"They've backed off—out of firing range. Five thousand megameters, and still moving away. Tank battalions are closing, but they're moving slowly. It's like they're afraid of disturbing something."
Derek checked damage reports. In addition to everything he'd already reviewed, one of the life support modules was heavily damaged, but they could get by well enough on the remaining nine. The more concerning problems were the numerous hull breeches and other severe damage taken from that glancing Firestorm hit. Even more serious was the two-dozen injured crew who now joined Nova in the med bay. But worst of all were the two casualties they'd sustained so far.
Sandor stepped onto the bridge holding round silver patches. "I've got sixteen printed. The next set will take fifteen more minutes." He handed Derek one. "Put it on the back of your neck. It's least likely to get damaged there."
"You're assuming I'm leaving the ship." Derek slapped the patch on as instructed.
Sandor kept his voice low. "Argo's in no condition to go back into battle right now. The Tigers may or may not function in this atmosphere. The only option left is to meet those battalions on foot." He handed Derek the other fifteen patches.
Knox and every single Marine had responded to Derek's message. They were ready to go. All he had to do was give the word.
"Sandor, you have the bridge." Derek stepped into the elevator. He could have taken the stairs, but too many thoughts already crowded his head. The last thing he needed was to fall down a flight of stairs because he couldn't think straight.
In the few seconds it took to reach the deck below, Derek prayed. I don't know what's going on. I don't know how we're going to get out of this. I don't even know if we'll make it off this planet. He braced a shoulder against the cold wall. But from what I've heard, You do know. Help us find the truth in all this.
As soon as the elevator door opened, Derek sprinted for the hangar where Knox and the rest of his Space Marines waited.
Masterson sat in his cell. Outside, brig personnel still chattered about their arrival aboard Gatlantis. He'd had no opportunity to check his stolen comm, but there'd been one shift change since arrival. Unlike the other two shifts, the group on duty now paid him little mind.
Two women passed his door.
"I hate it here," said one. "You can't even go outside without wanting to throw up. That smell. It's like stardust, garbage, and butchered fish." She held her nose for effect. "How do they stand it?"
The other grimaced and waved a hand as if to banish a cloud of stink. "It's the dock workers. Half of them keep stardust in their pockets. The other half are already dusted by the time they get to shift. All of them look like they live inside recyclers."
Masterson pretended not to hear them. These two were always picking at someone or something they didn't like. It was a slightly cruel but not altogether unfair assessment of this part of Gatlantis. Even from his brief time aboard the worldship, many Gatlanteans did seem to favor recreational stardust use, and some used it far more often than was safe. The population was growing, and portions of the lower-class segment lived in squalor—thus the odor surrounding some of the docks. Neither Zordar nor the upper-class seemed concerned.
Across the hall, Morta lay on his bunk, sedated. Earlier, he'd thrown a few too many choice words and tried to snag a weapon from a passing guard, thus earning himself another long nap.
An alarm screeched through the brig making Masterson's ears ring. Morta didn't budge from his bunk.
"All personnel, report to designated decontamination centers. All personnel, report to designated decontamination centers."
It was the hazardous substance leak alert. But they weren't supposed to be transporting anything hazardous.
Brig personnel filed out. The two women from before complained the entire way to the door, and the rest of the shift seemed more anxious than annoyed. Containment technology wasn't often compromised, and likely most of these people had never experienced a ship-wide decontamination routine. A few people started scratching exposed wrists, necks, and faces.
As a resident of the brig, Masterson's decontamination would be done after the crew and essential ship areas were marked clean. That would mean he'd have to hide his stolen comm elsewhere for the duration of the decon process.
While Masterson searched his cell for a suitable hiding place, David and another man slipped into the brig. David had on his standard uniform, and the second man wore gray and green maintenance garb. He had to be the sanitation worker David had mentioned before.
"We're getting you out of here." David waved a master key over the cell lock, and the door clanged open. "Hurry." He motioned Masterson out and locked the cell immediately. "They'll think you're in the refresh area—at least for a while. Might not even notice you're gone until they do the next cell search. That gives us however long decon takes, plus an hour."
"You planned this," Masterson said as he, David, and the other man hurried out of the brig.
The sanitation tech grinned. "Somebody should really check those alarms more regularly. Never know when one might malfunction."
They bypassed the decon areas, and David headed for the hangar.
Dread fell over Masterson, and he stopped mid-corridor. "Where's Leader Desslok?"
"Left the ship hours ago," David said. "Hasn't come back yet."
"Where was he headed?"
"Something about an audience with Prince Zordar."
"He went alone?" Masterson said.
David nodded.
Masterson turned around and headed for the boarding ramp at a run.
David sprinted to catch up, and the sanitation tech followed. "Where are you going? We've got to get you out of here, or they'll throw you back in the brig."
"Something's not right," Masterson said as he turned a corner. "I'm going to find Desslok."
"Pardon my frankness, Sir, but are you insane?" said David's co-conspirator.
Had the situation been different, Masterson would have laughed. "Maybe. But I promised someone important I would look out for him, and I don't intend to shirk that responsibility any more often than necessary." It had been twenty years since he'd vowed to Desslok's mother—Queen Talonka—that he would keep watch over Desslok, and still that promise rang clear in his mind every day.
They stopped outside the airlock leading to the exit.
David turned to his co-worker. "Thanks, Zeresh." He extended a hand and forearm. "You've done us all a great service today."
Zeresh grasped the offered forearm. "Glad to know you, sir, Prime Minister." He nodded to David, then Masterson. "It was nice to work across from someone who didn't make my job harder. And, Prime Minister, I'm more than thankful for all you've done for the ones still on Gamilon. Got a message from my family just yesterday that they've been moved to Iscandar safe and sound. Thank you. Now go. And be well." He overrode the lockdown on the airlock and exterior door, allowing David and Masterson to leave.
Once off the ship, they vacated the dock and slipped into the constant flow of people passing through Gatlantis' congested mid-levels.
Masterson frequently consulted the map on his comm, looking for some place to get information about Desslok's whereabouts.
They passed Cometines of all classes. Nobles preceded servants—or slaves—while average citizens carried packages, headed to appointments, or hurried to work. A herd of shabbily dressed children, all under the age of seven, scurried past. No one paid them any mind, except the nobles, who glared and made disapproving huffs.
An hour later, Masterson and David found an information nexus. One of the few aboard Gatlantis. Since the network consisted of individuals' personal implanted devices, they had little use for the nexuses, but there were enough foreigners aboard on a consistent basis to warrant their sparse presence.
Once within range, Masterson connected his comm to the nexus. Last time he'd been on board, he'd received an automatic data transfer, which included a map, locations of all nexuses, and the dock number for his ship, though the transfer hadn't come through until several hours after coming aboard.
Masterson checked to see when Hadar—the ship he'd arrived on—had left.
She was still in port.
He sent the acting captain a message, asking why they hadn't left for Gamilon yet. In case the officer noticed the discrepancy, he made a note that he was borrowing a comm because his had been… misplaced.
When no reply came through after several minutes, Masterson searched for Desslok's whereabouts. The only thing he found was the location of four audience chambers scattered around Zordar's throne room. Most only accommodated fifty to sixty individuals, and at least one could house even fewer than that—much smaller than Masterson anticipated. Zordar impressed him as a patron of the grandiose who would likely prefer to meet people in his throne room than a humble audience chamber.
If only he could find the general who'd accompanied Invidia when she'd met him and David upon their first arrival aboard Gatlantis. What had been his name? If only he had his own comm, he might be able to find a recording of the conversation. With the absence of reliable infonet storage, he hadn't backed up anything recently, so the loss of his comm meant the loss of all personal records since he'd left Gamilon.
Dyre! That was the man's name.
It seemed he was one of Zordar's seven military leaders, and information as to his location was not readily available. But there was an option to leave a message, so Masterson sent General Dyre a brief request for information on Desslok.
"We'll find him," David said just after Masterson finished.
"I pray Adonai you are right, my friend."
The surrounding crowd thinned, and they found an out-of-the-way beverage nook staffed by a half-dozen multi-ethnic adults. The menu automatically loaded on Masterson's comm, but it took several seconds to translate into something he could read. When his order arrived, he thanked the orange-skinned young woman who'd delivered it.
Masterson and David chose a narrow, rectangular table far enough away from the employees and other patrons to avoid being overheard. Instead of individual chairs, seating consisted of one long, shaped metal piece that spanned the entire semi-circular eating area. A second seating wall wove around the central tables, creating a barrier between the two sections. Higher-ranked individuals sat in the central section while everyone else occupied the outer ring of tables.
Masterson had checked the ingredients before making the purchase, but he tested a sip before deeming it safe. David did the same. His drink was warm and soothing, but even it couldn't quell looming anxiety over not knowing what had happened to Desslok.
When he had two sips left, General Dyre's reply arrived.
Leader Desslok has been detained on charges of assault against Princess Invidia. He awaits sentencing in one of our detention facilities.
Masterson's stomach dropped into his boots. Assault? That couldn't be the whole story.
He typed a response. As his second-in-command, I need to speak with him. It was a risk. If they let him talk with Desslok, the Leader would know Masterson wasn't in the brig any longer, and any who'd aided in his escape would face punishment. But he'd deal with the consequences later—take the blame himself if necessary.
I'm afraid that isn't possible. Princess Invidia was quite clear, he is to see no one before his sentencing in three days. In the meantime, you are invited to a gala tonight, to be held in honor of our impending annexation of Origin. The location will be delivered to you shortly. Enjoy your evening.
At least Dyre didn't seem to know what had transpired aboard ship with him, Desslok, and Morta.
Masterson showed David his discourse with Dyre.
David finished his drink. "You don't believe that's the whole truth either. So, what's the plan?"
Masterson hid the lower half of his face behind his cup. Gatlantis' security was thorough, and he didn't want to end up in another cell so soon after leaving one. "We're getting Desslok out. To do that, we need the exact location of his holding cell, and we can't get that unless we make some inquiries."
"I take it we're accepting that party invitation."
"Yes. But we'll need to be doubly careful tonight. No one can know what happened aboard the flagship, and they can't find out why we're asking questions. I suspect Invidia's behind the Leader's disappearance. Assault charges?" Masterson considered the last conversation he'd witnessed between Desslok and Invidia. "Those might be true, but there's something bigger in play."
David set his empty cup on the table and triggered the recycle function. The cup dissolved into the flat, silver surface, leaving no trace it had ever been there. "Just tell me what you want me to do."
Masterson made those last two sips of his drink last for another two hours as he and David formulated their every move for the next six hours.
Author's Note:
As some of you know, I also write original fiction under the name D. T. Powell. Recently, I've adjusted my writing process to include more time with my fanfic work, so, hopefully updates will be coming a little more regularly now. Thank you all for your wonderful support. Every review, comment, fave, follow, FB interaction, etc. means so much. I'm looking forward to writing even more for you all in the coming months.
Happy reading and writing,
dtill359
Episode 26 Notes:
The title for this episode was taken from Is. 41:13-16:
For I the Lord thy God will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, Fear not; I will help thee.
Fear not, thou worm Jacob, and ye men of Israel; I will help thee, saith the Lord, and thy redeemer, the Holy One of Israel.
Behold, I will make thee a new sharp threshing instrument having teeth: thou shalt thresh the mountains, and beat them small, and shalt make the hills as chaff.
Thou shalt fan them, and the wind shall carry them away, and the whirlwind shall scatter them: and thou shalt rejoice in the Lord, and shalt glory in the Holy One of Israel.
