Galaxy's End: Book One Page 24

  The problem was simple on the face. The crux of it, the important part, was that once the military had the technology, why would they release her, and the ship she commanded?

  As a thank-you? No, she didn’t believe that.

  The secret cargo the two ships were after might help—if she had any idea of what the gelled cargo was and why it was valuable enough to have two ships pursue hers through a series of interconnected wormholes.

  An idea took form. She could travel to the far end of the human sphere and investigate the race that had advanced technology and perhaps other useful items. As a trader, she already owned a “cover” story that might allow her to reach far beyond where a military ship would be allowed to travel.

  Bert pinged the speaker in the cabin. “Captain, Fang asked me to inform you that as we passed the last nexus, the two ships were getting closer.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Kat

  I left Chance sitting there in his jail cell of a cabin, a scowl on his face as if I’d done something distasteful to him. Captain Stone wanted to talk to him, and I didn’t imagine it was a friendly conversation.

  I went to see Bill. He was busy with what he called the impeller of a pump. Pieces of the unit were spread neatly on a table, probably in the inverse order that they’d go back together. Each would be needed for the reassembly and he would know where it was and what to install next.

  He almost ignored me. I had calmed down from the visit with Chance and looked at Bill’s fingers moving and manipulating parts as he fit a pair of odd units together. I couldn’t help but see how smart and handsome he looked as he worked. A smudge of dark grease made me want to clean it off while another part of me wanted it to remain so I could enjoy looking at him. The smudge was the only blemish on a perfect body.

  Bill said, “Be done with this in a tenth-of-time. Reassembling this part is tricky.”

  He said it as if he had put dozens of pumps together. He hadn’t. The scattering of parts before him might be the first in his life. However, with the confidence of a young man on a new project, his words were as soothing as a dip into a warm spring in winter. I was doing things to keep my head clear as I attempted to assimilate my position in the ship as he had. Everything was new to me.

  Even the idea of eating whenever I wanted was new and if I didn’t control that impulse, I’d be as big around as a barrel of rainwater at the corner of a building in the dry countryside of Roma.

  My restlessness was deeper than that. My empathy was the root of my problems, as always. I had to know more about it. There was no source of information I could trust. Except for Chance, there was nobody to ask. I didn’t trust him, but already he’d supplied enough hints for me to think about for days and days, and I assumed he would reveal more, willingly or unknowingly.

  His revelation that people could be made to do things both revolted and inspired me. It also upset my core beliefs. In his telling, I’d come to understand for the first time, why people were scared of empaths. It was not what we did, but what was possible.

  In the past, there were probably verified instances where it had happened. The subsequent rumors and stories were probably exaggerated—but maybe not. I shuddered to think what an empath without morals could do. The temperature in the engine room seemed to drop a few degrees with my thinking. For the first time, my powers scared me. Powers seemed the right word to describe them. They were powerful. More than I’d ever suspected.

  For me, they had meant a piece of fruit tossed my way, or a half-eaten sandwich left on an outside table by someone I’d convinced was full. It helped me get by. That was all.

  If I were taken prisoner and placed in a cell without water or food, or if Bill were with me and injured, what would I do to a guard to set us free and save our lives? What would I not do? The temperature dropped another few degrees, as I came to the realization there were no limits.

  Knowing what Chance had already told me changed my outlook on my life. It was no longer a game to convince a vendor to give us a misshapen apple. Intuitively, I started to understand that instead of gently nudging someone to sway their decision, I could stomp on them. Stomp!

  With the right sense of fear placed in their minds, people would act as they never would in normal circumstances. Not that most choices were that drastic. My mind went back to Chance again.

  If he wished to apply for the position of steward on this ship and there were ten applicants, he could use empathy to cast a positive opinion of himself to the hiring agent, and at the same time, discourage a competitor. He could provide hints that another candidate was dishonest, slovenly, or lazy, thus making sure Chance was hired.

  An applicant could do most of those same things without the power of empathy. A female might unloosen unbutton on her shirt for a male interviewer, smile at him, and run her fingers through her hair to improve her appearance. That was also mental manipulation that might influence the man to hire her instead of the other candidates.

  However, as I mentally critiqued the man known as Chance, my personal history came to light. How many times had I sat in a card game and mentally suggested that my opponent fold his hand because I looked confident, so must have a winner? How many times had I suggested a shopkeeper turn her head away to peer at something interesting while I secreted a warm pastry under my shirt?

  Once, a year ago, Bill and I were on a rough patch and hadn’t eaten in three or four days. A storm was predicted. We had our ragged tent, no food, no credits. We were hungry and the storm might last for days, a time where we wouldn’t eat.

  Bert was never helpful. His ethics were always of the highest order.

  We were on the prowl when a drunk stumbled in front of us. The inebriated being stood in front of a minor gambling house and Bill helped steady him while he removed a little of his cash from the drunkard’s pocket. It was enough for us to sit out the storm in a warm and inexpensive inn and eat a few cheap meals. We were thrilled for a time.

  It turned out the victim was a cop. His drunken act evaporated as his weapon appeared in his hand. He was going to arrest us. I was in a panic.

  Looking back, two things struck me as significant. First, we should have allowed him to arrest us and place us in a warm, dry cell where we were fed three times a day. That was far better than what we ended up facing, which was a storm of epic proportions and a howling wind that chilled us so much I now feared any upcoming storm. I thought we would starve to death.

  The second thing I remembered was reaching out to the officer with my mind. At the same time, I took the money from Bill’s limp fingers. With a flash of distraction for the officer to turn and look to where I’d made a pair of women who were strangers stop and scream at each other on the street a dozen steps away from us. As he looked at them, my fingers deftly replaced the cash.

  I muddled the cop’s memory of seeing it in Bill’s hand. Then, in desperation, I gave the policeman a mental image of the women coming to blows. He was confused.

  That was enough. I placed my hands on my hips and demanded indignantly, “Why are you stopping us when we were just trying to help you?”

  “I’m working undercover. You stole my money.”

  I held my empty hands up, palms facing him. “I don’t have your money, as you can see. Search me. And my friend.”

  Bill lifted his empty fingers and wiggled them as if that told the cop enough.

  “The money was right here.” The hand that had entered the pocket emerged with the money. His face contorted in confusion. His eyes shifted. I made a few small mental touches and he shouted in frustration and confusion, “Get out of here and if I see the two of you around here again, I’ll lock you up.”

  We got out of there.

  Unfortunately, the storm was already arriving, and we spent a miserable and hungry next couple of days. We should have gone to jail, I thought again, where it was warm and dry, and we’d have food. But that would have added to our juvenile rap sheets which were growing too long to ignore.
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  After gloating about our experience with Bert, he’d told us that the incident had been captured on three individual videos. They clearly showed our deception. If the cop ever looked at them, he’d be after us. He wouldn’t know what happened, but it was not a great leap to wonder if I was an empath.

  My actions had endangered all of us.

  Fortunately, Bert managed to wipe a few time-units from each cam. He’d saved us again. That seemed a more frequent occurrence in the last two years. Bert’s warnings were a regular topic of conversation.

  Bill finished his pump assembly and spun an internal unit with obvious satisfaction on his face. Me? I’d have asked if there was a spare unit in a storeroom. I said in my snarky voice, “Okay, it spins freely. What now?”

  He turned to me. “Nothing. It is doing what it is supposed to do. There’s a beauty in that.”

  I didn’t see beauty. Instead, I said, “Can you take a break? I want to talk.”

  “Go ahead,” McL, the old engineer’s voice interrupted from right behind me. “Hell, you’ve earned it. I didn’t think that the old pump would ever work again. Nice work.”

  We mutually headed for the dining room. Not for ice cream again, although it did sound good. The conversation was limited, the dining room empty except for a single steward who greeted us with a smile.

  He asked if we would be eating. I told him yes and pulled up a menu. Nearly all the items were unfamiliar.

  At my confusion, the steward said, “Is there a problem?”

  “What do humans eat for meals?” I asked bluntly.

  He scrolled the menu selection down until pausing at a page. He said, “Sorry, I assumed you were human.”

  It was beginning to turn into an awkward situation, and I didn’t wish to explain. I said, “What would be appropriate?”

  “Soup, followed by a layered sandwich?”

  “Two,” Bill said.

  It appeared the steward was about to ask what kind of soup and sandwich but held off as I gently suggested with my mind that he had all he needed from us. I had every confidence he would choose well. Besides, we had no idea of the options available.

  Bill said to him, “Bring two beverages, also.” He turned to me and said, “What is the topic?”

  I filled him in on the latest information and speculation on the pair of ships following us, where we were headed, and rambled on until the soup arrived, steaming hot. I avoided any mention of Chance because I wanted more privacy and time to think about what he’d told me and what I’d surmised.

  The soup was a sickly green. Despite that, it smelled good and I tentatively tasted a spoonful. I liked it and Bill followed suit after carefully watching me and waiting for my response. He was always the more careful of the pair of us. I was the risk-taker, he the follower.

  He said confidentially, “The people here on the ship eat when they get hungry and sleep in warm beds when tired. Every day. Can you imagine if we can be like them and work on a ship?”

  Bill had placed his finger on the precise thought that had been niggling at the back of my mind. He often did that. Only a few days ago, we had attended the gladiator match at the coliseum. The days before that, we had fought for scraps of food, wore rags, and understood our future lay in a workcamp where we’d be beaten if we didn’t perform to expectations. Perhaps we’d dig in the ground for minerals, or work on a farm that grew food. Whatever, it didn’t matter. We would eat a minimal amount, but probably more than when we were free. Freedom sometimes means you have the freedom to starve. They would provide a place to sleep and we’d die young. Not an opinion. A fact. It had happened to all our friends and acquaintances who were a year or two older than us. We simply accepted our fate.

  We had no other choice.

  The conversations always got around to food, as they had since we were children. I scooped up more soup and waited for Bill to talk. He was acting reserved and hesitant. Something serious was on his mind.

  I sensed and anticipated where he was going. He wanted to be on a ship—with or without me. We had never been apart. Yet, he was contemplating us separating for the first time. He would work for McL, who had undoubtedly offered him a job. Well, the idea was about to be broached.

  He finally said as a way of breaking the ice, “What if we have to return to Roma and our old lives?”

  “Not going to happen,” I said bluntly.

  “Why not?”

  That was a good question. I set the spoon down and sipped the tan-colored beverage to cover for my hesitation while thinking of a satisfactory answer that didn’t come. A sandwich rested on a plate, waiting for me to take a bite. I said, “We’ve tasted the good life. I’ll die before returning to Roma and resuming our old lives. Listen, you and I have skills and we’re smart. You have already managed to impress McL and I’ll bet he would either hire you to work in his engine room or give you a recommendation that will get you hired on another ship.”

  Yes, I’d decided to get it all out in the open for him. He was like a brother that was being held back by a sister. I would not let that happen. I’d kick and scream and scheme to go where he did—but if it came to him having a better life and me staying behind, there was no question of what I’d do.

  He nodded. Finally, he said, “Maybe you could get a job as a steward or something?”

  My scowl made him chuckle. The idea of me standing aside and rushing to help people order their meals with a pleasant smile on my face was more distasteful than going back to Roma. I answered, “There are other jobs. But you realize Captain Stone wants both of us to work on her ship, right?”

  He said, “A ship we have yet to see. And we are heading directly into a hostile military camp that is supposed to be secret. We might get blown up, thrown into prison, or sent to a work crew that was building ships.”

  Bert pinged softly. “Do I have a say in this?”

  Bill, who had always been closer to Bert in many ways, said, “Of course. But you have to promise that whatever happens to us, you’ll do what’s best for yourself.”

  Bert pinged again. “Thank you. However, unlike you, I have the utmost confidence in Captain Stone. I have the same in Fang. Both are survivors and fighters. I have seen their preparations and listened to their plans and I approve of them. Assuming this ship is not destroyed within the first few heartbeats of emerging into normal space, I’d calculate extremely high odds of our continued good luck.”

  “Thanks,” I grunted when Bill didn’t respond.

  Bert continued, “As for your doubt about the ship she owns, I have researched it and verified its existence, past business dealings, and the backgrounds of each of the crew. It is all as she has indicated. Actually, it is far better than she has led us to believe.”

  There had never been any doubt for me.

  Bill finished his sandwich, eating as if it had no taste. He was still worried.

  Bert pinged again. “Your conversation with Chance was illuminating yet contained little documented information. Your assessment?”

  He was addressing me, but Bill was sitting at the table and I still didn’t want to spill out items only half-known or suspected. No sense in getting Bill worried over what was probably nothing. Bert’s words had been well chosen and vague, which led me to believe he felt much the same. I said, “I learned a few things but need time to think them through.”

  “I don’t like him,” Bill stated.

  “You don’t know him,” I defended reflexively because I didn’t either. That defense of the man bothered me instantly. Where had it come from? Why? Just because he was also an empath? Maybe.

  I chewed my sandwich as if it was as tasteless as Bill’s. A creamy yellow concoction was between two slices of bread that hadn’t been burned and tossed into a waste can. The center was not stale. All that, and I barely tasted or appreciated it.

  Chance was heavy on my mind. Not because of what he’d said, I realized. It was what was not said. A thin sheen of sweat formed on my forehead and I hesitated
to wipe it off because Bill would notice. However, my interaction with Chance was not at an end.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Captain Stone

  Captain Stone returned to the bridge at Fang’s request. The ships following them were edging closer at each nexus. The instantaneous blips on the screen were analyzed and distances estimated before entering the next portion of the wormhole. However, while her ship had only that instant of time, the pair behind either had the same amount of time to determine which way they would turn at each intersection—or they were able to track them in the wormhole. That was supposed to be impossible.

  So was calculating the twists and turns Fang had piloted so they could follow. She hurried down the short passage and entered the bridge as if she were a storm pounding a seacoast.

  “Update me,” she demanded of Fang as she found her command seat and her fingers flew over the various inputs for the screens lining the front wall. The images of several screens flickered and changed. Numbers scrolled down the side of one monitor while other information was displayed in graphic formats.

  Fang misted himself as if his skin had suddenly become dry. His voice snapped in response, “Captain, at the last confluence, we entered the wormhole leading to the Bradly Concord military base and there are no other outlets but the end. The nexus point is listed on the star charts as empty space, with no nearby planetary bodies, habs, or stars. Those ships behind us have consulted their navigation computers and know that.”

  “So, they believe there is nowhere for us to escape to. We cannot turn around inside a wormhole. It’s a dead-end ahead. The best we can do is exit the wormhole and attempt to reenter before they can stop us. They are closing the distance so they do not have to chase us very far and can blockade our reentry.”

  “That is my conclusion, Captain. They will be right on our tail when we emerge. One ship will remain to plug the wormhole entry and the other can chase us down, which should not take long.”