Terminus (Fringe Worlds #1) (2 page)

However, it was quickly discovered that the odds of a mishap decreased astronomically as the distance between the start point and final destination of a journey diminished: the shorter the distance, the safer the trip. Thus, jump points – specified distances that a ship could safely travel in hyperspace – were established.

A person of slightly above-average intelligence was capable of calculating one-point hyperspace jumps. Someone with extensive training and perhaps experience as a ship engineer or navigator could calculate a two-point jump (that is, a distance that encompassed two jump points). Computers and navigation systems could calculate three- and four-point jumps. Anything greater than a four-point jump was considered foolhardy and dangerous, as the numbers, formulas, and algorithms became too difficult and complex at that stage for even the most advanced AIs to produce trustworthy coordinates. In essence, because the danger and distance increased exponentially with each jump point, trips involving huge distances typically had to be broken up into multiple jumps.

Maker was ruminating on these facts when he realized that Dr. Chantrey was posing a question to him.

“What kind of mission could you have that far out?” she asked.

There was a short moment of silence as Maker looked towards General Kroner, who said, “The doctor and Mr. Browing received limited clearance about an hour ago. You can give them an overview of your mission, but try to avoid specific details.”

Having been given the go-ahead by the general, Maker said, “We were escorting some scientists to inspect a recently-discovered cache of military weapons.”

A slight look of bewilderment crossed Browing’s face. “Escort duty? For an inspection? That hardly seems like something you’d need a team of Marines for.”

Maker shrugged. “I didn’t make the orders; I just followed them.”

“Still, it had to be pretty boring for a guy used to action,” Browing insisted.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Maker replied. “In fact, the mission had far more pros than cons. I even got to see one of the lead scientists dismantle a nova bomb.”

Dr. Chantrey’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “Where exactly did this occur?”

Before Maker could respond, Kroner barked, “That’s classified – beyond the clearance you were given.”

That answer seemed to mollify – if not fully satisfy – Dr. Chantrey, and brought the subject of the prior mission to a close. However, the interchange that had just occurred was an indication that perhaps not all of Maker’s visitors were aware of everything about him, which was information that might prove valuable later.

“Please, go on, Gant,” the general said, bringing Maker back on point with respect to his narrative.

Maker nodded. “As I mentioned, we were on the return leg of our mission. We had come out of hyperspace a short time earlier, and had spent about an hour getting our bearings.”

None of Maker’s guest commented, but his prior statement was something that they all understood. Traveling via hyperspace jumps was a lot like trying to walk along a straight line for ten miles while blindfolded: if you tried to go the entire distance unable to see anything, you were likely to find yourself way off the mark at the end of your journey (with little or no idea of where you were). It would be helpful if, every so often, you could uncover your eyes and take a look around in order to get oriented. That, in essence, is what dropping out of hyperspace allowed for; it was an opportunity to recalibrate your position and plot the next jump.

“We were probably a minute away from going back into hyperspace when we picked up a distress signal – one that our instruments identified as human in origin,” Maker said. “I was in charge, so it was my decision whether to ignore it or investigate.”

“I thought you Marines were taught to respond to distress calls,” Browing said. “Not brush them aside like bothersome houseflies.”

“My mission parameters gave me discretion,” Maker replied, “and I would have been well within the confines of my mandate if I’d turned a deaf ear to that beacon.”

“But you didn’t, did you?” Dr. Chantrey noted, her eyes narrowing as she studied Maker. “You made the call to respond. Why?”

Maker gave her an appraising stare. “Ma’am, there are worlds within the Mezzo that you wouldn’t want to be stuck on. The indigenous wildlife, carnivorous flora and fauna, unstable weather conditions…that and more make a lot of planets within the
civilized
regions of human space somewhat inhospitable. But that’s nothing compared to what’s in the Beyond. Believe me, that’s the last place you want to be stranded, and I’m speaking from experience.”

Maker’s eyes involuntarily darted to Erlen, then back again. Dr. Chantrey noted it, recalling that the man’s psych profile revealed an unhealthy and illogical emotional attachment to the beast. According to the stories she’d heard, he had illegally smuggled it aboard a ship and back to his home base several years prior to departing the service. From the records she’d come across, the animal had never passed the necessary health and regulatory inspections – no one even knew exactly what it was or how to classify it – but Maker had somehow been allowed to keep it.

“As far as the distress signal goes,” Maker continued, “we were their last and only hope. That far into the Beyond, there was no other help coming. It was us or nothing. So I made the decision to investigate.”

“And what did you find?” Browing asked.

Maker frowned slightly before responding, not caring for the interruption – especially when they already knew what had happened. “We followed the signal for a few hours, which is when we came across a large ship. It appeared derelict, adrift. The outer hull bore signs of significant damage – including a couple of crater-sized holes – and there was a lot of debris floating around it.

“We tried hailing them but didn’t get a response. Given the condition of the ship, however, it wouldn’t have surprised anyone if their comm system was down, or if they were directing all power and other resources towards sending the distress signal. We also weren’t picking up any life signs, but the readings weren’t conclusive. Someone could have sealed themselves into a chamber or bulkhead that our scanners couldn’t penetrate. Bearing all that in mind, I decided to take a contingent of Marines with me, via shuttle, to investigate.

“As it happened, the bay doors were open on the derelict, so we were able to land the shuttle inside. There were seven of us, fully decked out in our Class A uniforms.”

“Did you think you were heading into danger?” Dr. Chantrey asked. Her question meant that she obviously knew something about military engagement. Marines typically only wore their Class As – the full, head-to-toe metallic body armor – when they were expecting trouble.

Maker threw up his hands in agitation. “We were boarding a derelict ship stranded in the Beyond. We didn’t know what to expect, but we were going to be prepared.”

“So what happened next?” Browing asked.

Maker took a deep breath; this was the part of the story he hated. “I led my men through the ship, tracking the source of the distress signal. With the artificial gravity off and all kinds of rubbish floating around, it was slow going, but we made decent progress thanks to our magnetic boots. We also had mag wands that fired magnetic lines, which we used to pull ourselves through certain areas. We’d been at it for about ten minutes when we found ourselves about to enter the sick bay.”

“Sick bay?” Dr. Chantrey asked quizzically. “Wouldn’t you normally expect the distress signal to originate from the bridge?”

“Not necessarily,” Kroner interjected. “In some of the more advanced vessels, the sick bay can actually serve as a separate, self-contained habitat – say, in the case of quarantine. As such, it would have its own individual distress beacon.”

As Dr. Chantrey seemed to absorb this, Maker continued his narrative. “We found the airlock between sick bay and the rest of the ship sealed. Moreover, it seemed to be running on some sort of reserve power unit, which meant–”

“That somebody might be alive in there,” Browing said, cutting him off.

“Yes,” Maker agreed. “I’d left two Marines with the shuttle and I left two on the ship side of the airlock as guards. The rest of us went in. When we entered…”

And Maker closed his eyes for a second at the memory. “Inside, the gravity, pressure, and atmosphere all read as normal. But it was immediately evident that something nasty had happened in there. Every available bed had a body on it. Not just on it, though, but strapped down. Immobilized. And they were all open.”

Browing frowned. “What do you mean, ‘open’?”

“I mean every one of them had been dissected, splayed open like frogs in biology class,” Maker almost shouted. “It was as if someone had taken them apart like cuckoo clocks to see what made them tick. There was even a head in a jar!”

Aside from the general, his guests seemed uncomfortable with Maker’s description of events. After a moment, Dr. Chantrey seemed to find her resolve.

“Please go on,” she said.

Maker’s brow creased as a stern look came across his face. “We made a quick search for survivors. Big surprise – there weren’t any. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something we were missing. That’s when I noticed it.”

There was a short silence, and then Browing impatiently blurted, “Noticed what?”

“The head,” Maker said. “It was looking at me. Its eyes were following me.”

“The head?” Browing repeated, somewhat confused. “You mean the head that you said was in a jar?”

“Yeah,” Maker said, “but I should probably explain. It wasn’t a head sitting in an empty jar; it was immersed in some kind of clear, viscous fluid. It appeared to be female, although it was completely bald, and there were electrodes attached at its temples and at various places on its scalp.

“Initially I had assumed it was just a remnant – a body part left over from the mad dissection I mentioned before. But once I saw the eyes tracking me, I noticed that the mouth was also moving.”

“Wait,” Browing said incredulously. “Are you saying that a decapitated head was talking to you?”

“No,” Maker admitted. “But it was trying to.”

“And what makes you say that?” Dr. Chantrey asked.

Maker shrugged. “When I first saw the lips moving, I didn’t pay much attention. I just chalked it up to the electrodes maybe sending a current through the skull and making the facial nerves react – the way a jolt of electricity can make a dead body move. But when I leaned in close and paid attention, I could make out what it was trying to tell me.”

“Which was…?” Dr. Chantrey inquired.

“Two words,” Maker replied. “‘Run. Trap.’”

“What did you do then?” Browing asked.

“I was taken aback,” Maker admitted, “to say the least. I immediately gave the Marines with me the hand signals indicating that enemy combatants were near. I then got on the comm and told the two I’d left outside the airlock that there was nothing to see in the sick bay – no survivors. I instructed them – along with the Marines in the sick bay with me – to head back to the shuttle, Tango Bravo, and that I would follow.”

Browing frowned. “Tango Bravo?”

“It’s code,” the general said. “It basically means that the enemy is close, so be ready to engage.”

“Exactly,” Maker said with a nod. “So everyone else took off, while I tried to find some way to take the head with us.”

“Take it with you?” Browing muttered. “Why?”

“Because it was alive in some way, so it didn’t seem right to just leave it there,” Maker said. “Plus, it might be able to tell us what had happened on the ship. Finally, if what it had said was true, it had just helped us.”

“And was it true?” Dr. Chantrey asked.

“Yes,” Maker said. “After a few moments, I figured out that the electrodes attached to the head were connected to some sort of power pack that was magnetically bolted to the floor. In short, it didn’t appear to be portable, but I spent some time screwing with the sick bay’s controls just in case there was something I could do. Then I headed off after the others. Either I was moving fast or they were moving slow, because I caught up to them pretty quickly. We’d covered maybe half the distance back to the shuttle when it happened.”

“The attack,” Browing said matter-of-factly.

Maker nodded in response, noting that Browing’s statement removed any doubt that his guests had read his file. “We had come to the end of a narrow passageway that led to a large, open area – some kind of cargo space – with a number of catwalks along the walls. That’s where they were hiding.”