The Court Martial – Chapter Two
Zeke gasped, his breath sucker-punched out of his body when Pete's presence was blocked from him, an impenetrable shroud falling between them. No other person Zeke had met could flow into his empathic consciousness with the same ease, and to have him snuffed out and be unable to find him stabbed the angel with rising fear.
In his place, a deep red spike throbbing with an unexplainable need to spread glowed from the blade that entered just to the right of Pete's naval, slanting slightly upward toward his heart. Zeke could sense it, like he could sense emotions—needs—as if something more existed on its surface. And almost as if the flesh, Pete's flesh, had already begun to retreat from its touch as it sent tendrils grasping, clawing, gnawing to claim more and more as it entered through the penetrating puncture.
Zeke knew Pete still lived. His body trembled in his arms even as he drooped against him, his mouth falling open as his head dropped back over the crook of his elbow. Tiny tremors arched along his muscles; small spasmodic jerks that carried through all his extremities, twitches along the contours of his brow, his jaw, his eyes, his lips. Staring at that stricken face which he had loved almost since the first moment he had seen him, Zeke's fear was obliterated by all-encompassing anger.
"NOOOO!" he screamed. "This is not happening!"
Driven by his own overpowering need, Zeke repositioned his arm more firmly around Pete's shoulders, slid his other beneath his knees and looked to the sky. He rose and leapt up with the determined push of his muscled legs and the powerful downward thrust of his variegated brown wings. Shocked, Eliana scrambled to her feet, arm outstretched, but Zeke had left the earth, whirlwinds of sand twisting into the air currents created by his lift. He was airborne in moments, his eyes turned directly toward Alba.
"Zeke! Wait…," Eliana started to call to him and realized he was already climbing steadily into the sky, his trajectory taking him and his precious passenger exactly where they needed to go. Where she needed to go. But could not.
"Josh!" she yelled as she ran back to the crater. The others stared and pointed, watching Zeke quickly transform to a dark smudge in the sky. The young man reacted slowly until she grabbed the rounded collar of his body armor and shook him. "Get on the radio. Call Alba. Have an emergency pod meet them at the entrance. Tell Levi to send at least two armed angels to meet them in flight. Zeke's wing isn't completely healed from the bullet wound he took in the skirmish with Urko and the Rephaim. He may need help to make it there safely. Now!" she shoved him toward the hovercraft. Toward Harriet. Eliana wanted to cry. Instead, her strong voice shouted, "Gabe. Misha. Neth. I need information. Pete said they were from Kirtland. Tell me what happened here!" The others propelled into motion searching for the answers they all needed.
With the shouts to one another ringing out as each member claimed responsibility for their area of focus, Eliana's eyes dropped to the lone rifle left in the dirt. Alan's rifle. She bent with deliberate concentration to retrieve it from the ground and brushed the sand from the stock before swinging it over her shoulder to join Pete's and her own. Her guts swirled from fear to anger to determination as she studied the trails in the sand, evidence of the events that transpired, maybe not the why, but the who, the what and the how.
Her dark brown eyes drifted to the pale blue sky, her chest tight, the memory fresh of Pete's mischievous grin lighting up his face as he teased her saying, "A mission ain't complete 'til we touch down back at base, Sir." She couldn't think about Pete right now or the way her heart skipped whenever he strolled into a room. Let the healers do their job. She would see him when they returned to Alba. He'd be sitting up in bed complaining about the taste of the protein shake they were making him drink.
Now, her focus had to be on her missing crew member. On Alan. His recovery was her responsibility and that began with unraveling this scene here and now. Pete was absolutely right about that—the mission wasn't complete until they reported back to base—each and every one of them.
xXxXxXx
The skip in Galen's step matched the one in his chest mirrored by the smile on his face. After seeing Pete and Alan, he had quickly concluded his business with Elias and Aadina. Elias, one of the first humans in the city Galen had come to know well, was a leading research scholar. He had helped Galen learn and continue to learn about Alba. Aadina, his friendly young human assistant, joined him in the important work of meeting with the Rephaim Elders to gather the stories of their history to add to the Alban records. Galen willingly facilitated these fascinating efforts.
Arranging the recording of the Prophecies of Botis treasured by the gorillas would take more time. Though the Rephaim population knew the stories, only Grul, the Keeper of the Prophecies could speak the precise words. Those presentations were guarded within sacred rituals which incorporated cleansing rites that would not be omitted. That those rites included the use of mind-altering drugs presented a dilemma for which Galen had yet to negotiate a solution—if he even should.
Typically, Galen would sit with the group as the Albans recorded the sessions. He enjoyed hearing the histories as much as the librarians did. Once they overcame their initial reservations about the intentions of the Emim—the gorilla word for the humans of the underground city—who sat before them with their odd listening devices, the Elders agreed to speak of their past. They told their stories replete with detail and description. For their relatively short existence, only about 300 years once cast into the desert, the Rephaim had a rich and resilient history. Given the colorful stories and pride with which the Elders spoke, and the questions the telling evoked, a single session could last for hours. Today, Galen had other plans.
Since he had become the Alban liaison with the Rephaim, and Alan and Pete pursued their interests inside the city, the days of them being together every moment of every day had come to an end. Although Galen relished the relative safety their new lives afforded them, he did miss his friends. It had been over a week since they had spent any time together and he was looking forward to seeing them.
Galen had gone to straighten his tent asking Yura, one of the widowed females whose yurt was positioned near his, for some additional pillows and blankets to accommodate the three of them, four if Zeke joined them. He then headed toward the entrance to Alba. Given the conflicting diets of the meat-required meals of the Rephaim and his vegetarian needs, he was grateful for the servitors established for use by the Village. He wanted to get some of the playing cards to do the Ginny Rum game—or was it Gim Runny?—that Pete had taught him. In either case, he enjoyed the laughter they exchanged when they played. And he wanted to surprise them with some of their favorite dishes despite his threat of a plant-based meal. He chuckled to himself thinking of the basket of opers he would present to their moans before revealing the platter of meats they would enjoy. And coffee. He needed to remember to go back for coffee closer to the time.
As Galen neared the entrance, he heard loud voices shouting to clear the area. A few dozen gorillas milled in the covered plaza that attached directly to the Alban wall waiting for their turn at the servitors. All looked toward the nearby tunnel that led directly into the guarded entrance to Alba. Grunts and growls altered from curiosity to alarm. Three armed, muscled angels ran from the hatchway and leapt into the air taking flight as soon as they left the darkened tunnel. They were beating their wings furiously in the direction of Alan and Pete's sand crater mission.
Galen was quickly surrounded by frightened and worried gorillas. Though he had become more adept at understanding their heavy accents, the rapid questions thrown at him as several pulled at his robes made it difficult to decipher. Yet, he knew they asked the same thing he did: What is happening?
Doing his best to calm them, the chimpanzee disentangled himself from the circling crowd and side-stepped his way to the tunnel. The entrance was blocked by three individuals wearing security uniforms. He was about to inquire about the nature of the emergency when he spied a different team pushing one of the Medical Center mobile pods toward the opening. Seeing their approach, the guards extended their arms to block the doorway, firmly instructing all in the immediate area to step back.
"Miriam!" Galen called out, waving his arm over one of the humans when he recognized the blonde healer. "Miriam!" He was relieved when she glanced his way and gestured to the guard to allow him through. He took quick steps to stand beside her.
"Miriam, what is happening?"
"Hardly the time for idle curiosity," a snide voice proclaimed. On the other side of the pod, a chestnut-haired angel crossed his arms as he kept his attention on the tunnel entrance.
"Galen," Miriam gently touched his arm in greeting. "Raziel. A healer who recently transferred from research into the Medical Center," she tilted her head toward the rude angel. "I believe you know Tobias." The human who waited at the back of the pod nodded at him. "Raziel, this is Galen, the Rephaim liaison."
"Well, that's relevant," Raziel drawled. Miriam did a quick shake under a wrinkled nose when Galen looked back to her, his mouth agape.
"Levi sent word for us to meet the investigation team here," Miriam responded to Galen's initial question.
"Alan and Pete? Their trip to the sand crater?"
"Yes," she confirmed. "We were told to expect casualties." Miriam squeezed his arm.
The chimpanzee set his face resolutely. He crossed his arms and glared across at Raziel as he stated bluntly, "Then I am waiting with you."
xXxXxXx
Zeke concentrated on keeping the stroke of his wings steady as he began to flag under the heat and additional weight he carried. Pete's breathing seemed to have stabilized even as his grew more ragged. Worry knotted behind as eyes as Pete's presence remained invisible to him, not even the undefined, chaotic visions he typically received when focused on a compromised individual. The throbbing, crimson presence along the blade of the knife continued undiminished.
The angel attempted to adjust Pete's positioning in his arms as his fiancé's exterior arm dangled loosely, his neck arched over, his head lolling back. Zeke was concerned his airway was becoming constricted with Pete making no independent movements to adjust if his breathing was impacted. Zeke squinted toward Alba, but the glittering of the dome remained invisible. The desperate debate on landing to walk for a distance to rest his failing wing was mercifully ended when he glimpsed three shapes winging his way. He called out to them even as he pressed down with greater thrust to reach them.
"Levi sent us," the lead angel announced when the three met Zeke mid-air.
"Let me take him," stated a second. Zeke recognized him but, in the moment, he couldn't recall names. Their uniforms confirmed that they were all assigned to security.
"The blade is coated with something. Presumed toxic," Zeke was succinct as he allowed the angel to slide his arms across Pete's back and beneath his legs. "Assume the injury occurred about 30 minutes ago." The guard was able to reposition Pete's head more upright. He gave Zeke an acknowledging nod then swiveled smoothly to return toward the city.
"You need to fold up and let us take you," the first angel instructed.
"I can make it," Zeke started to argue.
"The pallor of your skin and that wilt in your wing says otherwise. I'd prefer not to catch you in free fall," he insisted.
With a resigned sigh, Zeke tucked his wings causing a momentary plunge as gravity yanked him toward the desert some 500 feet below. The strong arms of the angels grabbed him on either side immediately re-establishing control. They leaned horizontal to the ground to resume their journey. In his head, Zeke heard Malachi's incrimination at his need to be carted back home like so much dead weight, but the exhausted ache of the wing left no question that he would not have made it back on his own. As the angel carrying Pete got smaller as he hurried away from them, he was grateful to whoever had the foresight to call for help.
A crowd of Rephaim gathered at the head of the entrance tunnel as they touched down, but they quickly moved out of their way. Zeke ran into the cool shade of the opening. The medical team still had Pete at the entrance, the angel who had transported him standing nearby. A short angel, he thought his name was Rapheal or Ramiel or something, was rolling Pete from his side onto his back. Miriam was on the other side adjusting a mask over his face then pressed a microinjector against his neck. Tobias was jabbing at the pod panel as data was displayed. A painful squeeze at his arm caused Zeke to look down into Galen's fretful face. The empath threw up shields attempting to push back the flood of assorted emotions assaulting him. A blank spot echoed like an open chasm from the one person he desperately wanted to feel…something, anything.
"Stay with us, Zeke," Miriam instructed as she grabbed her side of the pod and began to push it down the tunnel. "We need to know what you know. Talk as we walk." Zeke grabbed Galen's arm and pulled him along. The chimpanzee followed gratefully.
Zeke kept his eyes on the steady rise and fall of Pete's chest on the run to the lift and ride down to the 45th floor. Despite the curdled fear in his guts, he spoke concisely and answered questions including his unusual awareness of the inanimate blade. As they swung the pod into one of the critical care suites of the Medical Center—the same one Pete occupied the first time he was brought into care in a pod—the angel healer rolled his shoulders before he wrapped one hand over the black hilt.
"Make contact," he told Zeke. "Tell me what you sense."
Zeke intertwined his fingers with Pete's and lay his other hand on the side of his head. "I am here, besheirt. Come back to me," he whispered. Raziel peered up, surprise in a single raised eyebrow before he returned his attention to the blade, his eyes glazed over.
"I sensed a red presence along the blade, although it's different now," Zeke opened himself to a read. The black shade blocking Burke stood like a sentinel keeping them apart. The blade almost demanded his attention. "Before, it marked the edge of the blade, but it had a need to…spread. Almost like vines growing out—not a mass, but a multitude of single strands. Now, it's as if there is a small space, millimeters, almost insignificant, between where the red begins and the surface of the blade. The red itself is thicker. Wider, deeper than it was. I know Pete is there, but I can't find him," the angel choked out the last few words. He looked at the other angel, unashamed of the tears that had sprung to his eyes as he stroked Pete's forehead, his fingers drifting into his hair. A soothing hand rubbed the small of his back. He assumed it was Galen, but he didn't have the strength to look.
Raziel released the blade and signaled for Zeke to do the same.
"Zeke," a soft voice spoke, and gentle hands pulled him away. "Stop the read." It was Miriam. The angel felt his knees falter as his adrenaline-fueled journey left nothing behind. He heard Galen chirp and a dragging sound before a hand pushed him into a chair next to the pod. The chimp left his hand on Zeke's shoulder.
"Zeke," Miriam was speaking again. "This is Raziel. I didn't know if you had met."
Raziel. Zeke remembered. "Yes. Been awhile though. You and Jed completed your medical training together. You were in a study group?"
The brown head nodded; his dark wings rustled. "That is correct. May Jedediah's memory be for a blessing, Ezekial," Raziel offered an Alban consolation.
"This is Pete Burke," Miriam continued. "Zeke's betrothed."
"So I heard." Raziel crossed his arms as he stared at the hilt of the black blade once more. "You might recall that my innate skill is rather uncommon. I am unable to manipulate what I sense but I can see…connections, for lack of a more concise description. Sometimes to a cellular, even molecular level. Organic, inert, inanimate. The manner in which things are joined, touch, link. The blade which has impaled your boyfriend is exactly what it appears to be. A simple, thin blade manufactured using compounded materials with a slightly porous surface allowing it to retain an exterior substance which has now been absorbed away from the surface into the surrounding tissue."
Galen cleared his throat and asked, "What does that mean?"
"In its most simple terms," Raziel eyed the chimpanzee without expression, "he has been poisoned. I should be more generic and say he has been exposed to an as yet unidentified toxin. I think we can safely extrapolate that the substance must be animate at some level otherwise Ezekial would not sense its presence. Viral, bacterial, or perhaps amoebic? We need not speculate yet. Currently, our priority is stabilization followed by additional analysis.
"Until I can make physical contact with the skin above the area where the connections are made, I cannot read the debilitating compound. I hesitate to recommend the surgical removal of the blade until more tests and diagnostics are completed giving us a clear understanding of what we are facing. At the moment, we have a closed system. Once exposed to external influences or disrupted by the removal of the delivery system, the knife," Raziel glanced at Galen, "the toxin's influence could accelerate. It is fortuitous that Ezekial can give a reading on its progress. As I said, it does strongly suggest an organic base given his skill set."
Zeke blinked slowly, the words racing around him. "You want to leave the knife in?" he asked, incredulous. He gripped Pete's hand as his eyes darted between the black intrusion jutting from his belly and his face that continued to twitch beneath the oxygen mask.
"Temporarily," Miriam gave a meaningful look at the healer across from her before focusing totally on Zeke. "First, we need to get Pete fully stabilized. His vitals remain irregular. Additional testing will be initiated immediately. The blade itself does not appear to be causing any further damage although we will complete MRI and tomography scans to determine exactly where it rests. But we must understand the toxin as quickly as possible to introduce an antidote."
Raziel ignored them as he grabbed a laser cutter from a tray and meticulously began to cut away the armored sleeve on Pete's arm. He motioned for Tobias to prepare an IV ring for insertion.
Zeke's link bracelet pinged once, and moments later, it alerted again.
Miriam took Zeke by the elbow to lift him from the chair. "You can report to Levi and Malachi by link," she advised knowingly. "I need to examine you in the next treatment room. Galen will sit with Pete until you get back."
"I'm fine…," Zeke started to protest but was silenced by an inflexible glare from Miriam. Zeke's shoulders and wings slumped, and he allowed her to walk him away. He went docilely enough but stopped when the room door slid open.
"No, wait. Galen, Miriam. I forgot to tell you. The attack came from the androids at Kirtland. I'm sorry. They took Alan."
xXxXxXx
Virdon stood in front of the helm on the bridge of the Hyperion. Seated at the controls, Burke eyed him, his head at a half-tilt.
"Al, is this some kind of weird joke?" Pete asked.
"You heard me, Major. I gave you an order," the colonel spoke firmly.
Burke straightened in the pilot's seat, protectively placing his hands on the flight controls. "All due respect, sir," he stared at Virdon, his eyes flashing with that all too familiar defiance causing Virdon to stiffen, "the FTL drive is engaged and operating within expected parameters. Our arrival at Alpha Centauri is on schedule. I can't just 'turn around' and respectfully, sir, I need an explanation of why we would abort."
"The only thing required of you, Major Burke, is for once in your life to do as you are told and turn this damn ship around!" Virdon's voice followed a rising crescendo.
Alan jerked awake as the last words echoed in his mind. The smell reached him first. The stale odor of a place long abandoned by the living. The bright overhead light, the uncomfortable thin padding beneath him, the three non-descript gray walls around him, the fourth a clear barrier with a single access drawer made him think he was still trapped in a dream until the voice spoke.
"I would say, 'Welcome back' Colonel, although I think we both know neither of us feel that way."
Virdon spun to lower his feet to the floor as he dropped his head into his hands, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms.
"Tech Sergeant Hudson," Alan stated the android's name as he lifted his eyes up. The airman sat at a computer console placed on a desk that made up the only furnishings in the main room surrounded by three cells. The heavy door behind him was closed. As was his last experience, Alan sat in the center holding area. He took odd comfort in seeing the other two remained empty. However, he left the crater and came to be back at Kirtland, he appeared to be alone. The icy blue eyes of the android followed him as Alan rose and moved to stand in front of the barrier. Unsurprisingly, Alan made mental notes that his link bracelet, body armor and weapons had been removed. He crossed his arms as he met Hudson's unwavering gaze. Relief flooded him when the touch confirmed his forearms were bare of a commcon device.
"What am I doing here, Hudson?" Alan settled on the most immediate of the multitude of questions that swirled through his head.
"The acting Chief has been alerted that you are awake. He will be here shortly," Hudson crossed his own arms as he leaned back in the swivel chair.
They didn't have to stare at one another long before the heavy door swung outward, and three soldiers entered. Hudson came to attention immediately, causing the chair to roll a few inches away as he stood. The red-haired android wearing the insignia of Command Chief Master Sergeant walked straight to Virdon, his green eyes as impassive as stone. Only the transparent barrier separated him from bumping against Virdon's chest.
"Command Chief Master Sergeant Williams, acting temporary C.O. of Kirtland Base," he announced himself. "Lieutenant Colonel Alan J. Virdon, by the powers granted me under the Uniform Code of Military Justice, you are hereby advised that you have been detained pending a general court-martial to be conducted under the Manual for Courts-Martial for charges including Harboring or Protecting the Enemy, Misbehavior Before the Enemy, Espionage, and Desertion."
Virdon locked his knees and facial expression in place although he felt the ground tumbling in waves beneath his feet as Williams clipped off the charges. The next words reached him as if he stood in a wind tunnel.
"As accorded under Article 31 of the UCMJ, you have the right to remain silent, you have the right to have an attorney, and you have the right to stop answering questions at any time. Lieutenant Colonel Alan J. Virdon, you are hereby temporarily relieved of duty pending the conclusion of your hearing to be conducted by a courts-martial panel of twelve members as required due to the level of offenses with which you have been charged.
"Sir, do you understand the charges being brought against you and your rights as the accused?"
Alan paused as words locked in his throat, spinning chaotically. He finally cleared it and responded, "I understand."
Williams gave a curt nod then continued. "Due to the limited accessibility allowed into the base, an on-site attorney will be assigned unless you prefer to represent yourself."
If Virdon hadn't felt so shell-shocked, he might have laughed at the absurdity of that statement given the condition of the world outside the base. "Provide an attorney, although I reserve the right to select another or chose to represent myself once we have conferred."
"Granted. As the most senior officer currently on base, you have the option to be transferred to secured private quarters although you will be under armed guard at all times. For your safety and that of the guards, hand restraints will be required during all transfers."
"I will exercise that option," Alan heard the flat tone of his voice despite the screams sounding in his ears. Williams keyed the drawer embedded in the barrier swinging it open to allow an open rectangle.
"Extend your hands through the opening, Colonel."
Feeling like he was sinking in sand, Alan moved as if another had taken over his body. The command chief removed black, squared handcuffs with a stiff central bar from a rear pocket snapping one on each of Virdon's wrists. The cuffs were made of material unfamiliar to him, but the functionality appeared to be virtually unchanged from centuries ago.
"Please take three steps back, sir."
The cot bumped against the back of his legs as Virdon complied. His eyes followed the barrier wall as it slid partially open allowing him egress. The two airmen behind Williams removed handguns holstered at their belts although pointed them downward.
"Please step out and follow me, sir," Williams resumed his monotone instructions. Alan sucked in a deep breath and took a step in what felt like lead boots. He glanced at Hudson who watched him with an inscrutable look. Williams exited into the hall through the open doorway keeping Alan at least two arms lengths behind. Virdon's armed guards followed silently at their rear, their guns now lifted at a low ready position.
Williams led him through hallways that Virdon recalled taking when Schwartz, the Chief Master Sergeant who had transferred command to him during his last visit, had given him the base commander quarters, but they turned off into a different walkway before they reached the commander's suite. They arrived at an open doorway that Williams and Virdon entered although the guards did not. A quick glance revealed a sparsely furnished sitting area and an open door into a second room, a bed visible inside.
"You have access to food and basic necessities through the CSD, commissary service device," Williams waved at the wall toward a mechanism that appeared similar to the servitors of Alba. "Be advised that some requests have been disabled, including sharp objects, so I would advise that you request all food items to be served chopped. You will have limited access to base computers to aid in preparation for your defense," he gestured to a computer terminal with keyboard and monitor on a desk, more bulky than the portable tablets he used in Alba. "Electronic transmissions are enabled to allow you to contact me and your attorney. I have arranged the initial consultation with your assigned attorney at Zero Eight Hundred.
"Be further advised that your guards will not respond to inquiries, although you may make requests through the access portal." As he talked, Williams swung the thick door partially closed and unlatched a small, swinging metal door that was covered on the exterior side by a clear barrier similar to that in the cells. "Your electronic requests will likely be more expedient. The guards do have full communication support but will not leave their posts under any circumstances until relieved. Neither will they enter these quarters without my specific order. Any attempts of escape will incur additional charges. Your restraints will be removed and applied through the portal. I have nothing further," Williams announced and exited the room. He pulled the heavy metal door closed with an ominous clang followed by the unmistakable click of a lock being engaged. The clear barrier to the access portal opened.
"Present your hands, Colonel."
Virdon's body continued to move as if it belonged to another man while he watched from within an hourglass, shifting sluggishly through a different time. He slid his hands through the rectangular slit and felt the handcuffs unlocked and removed. As the barrier started to close, Alan finally shook out of the of sand draining on top of his head and thrust his hand out to stop it.
"Chief, wait!" Virdon called.
"Yes, sir." The sound of boots clipping against the floor echoed as Williams returned to his prison door.
"I was not traveling alone when I was taken. I would like a status report on the individuals who were with me."
Williams paused, considering the request before he replied. "For your protection, and that of my men, you and the others were stunned. They were left unharmed at the scene. They should have awakened with minimal side-effects. It was our intention to bring in Major Burke, as well. But there was an unfortunate incident." Williams' voice remained dry.
Virdon dragged a desiccated tongue across his lips. "An unfortunate incident?"
The android's words maintained the same disinterested tone as if he were reading stock numbers from the base supply storage closet. "Major Burke was not within the stun blast perimeter when executed. He resisted arrest, sustained injury, and is presumed dead. Will that be all, sir?"
Alan couldn't answer. Couldn't arrange his thoughts in any coherent order. Couldn't assign meaning to any more words.
He stood unmoving, deep in the confines of the ancient base where he was the only thing that breathed, letting the sand suffocate him.