It was peculiar. A bright chamber. The entire station was so bright. Zemorians were known for having bright chambers, metallic walls. It all seemed so sterile.
Are you sure these people can help us?
The Zemorians were known for being helpful when it came to beems-related ailments, and Kaira was suffering from the mother of all ailments.
Landing had been expensive, even for the single shuttle. He wasn’t sure exactly how much more he could spare. He hoped the Zemorians wouldn’t charge excessively for Kaira, but they would obviously want something in return – perhaps service. He had been a good courier.
He arrived at the reception office in a few minutes. Slightly late for his appointment. The receptionist was a younger Zemorian, silhouetted by the bright blue UV lights the Zemorians had littered throughout the station. He heard it was what kept them nourished.
The station had a very organic design, even this room had the curves of a beems.
“Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asked, looking up from her papers.
No, I just came into this room for no apparent reason. Being a lesser Raumenoid slave from a backwater world we tend to make mistakes like that, “Yes.”
“Adder?”
“That’s me.”
“Right this way.” she beckoned for him to follow her.
He followed her down a hallway which turned abruptly to the right. There were several doors that probably led to rooms which probably had people being interviewed in them. Perhaps the doors had people working on other things. Office work – whatever Zemorians do in these offices and stations.
“Mr. Bawson? Mr. Adders’ finally arrived.”
Mr. Bawson was an older, pudgier man. “Ah Mr. Adders, nice to meet you. You’re an interesting fellow.”
“Interesting?”
“Aye. You don’t seem to show up on any records. Where are you from?”
“Flora. It’s a Coalition planet.”
“Condolences. I wasn’t aware it was habited.”
“Small tribes. The Coalition left us alone.”
“Well that checks out. Explains how you got your hands on a beems. I’d assume one would love to have a taste of that fine planet.”
“Indeed.”
“So what exactly is the issue? One doesn’t fly all the way to Zemoria for no reason.”
“No – they don’t. Kaira’s sick –“
“The beems?”
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
“What do you mean.”
“It’s a legit reason. The most logical one even. What’s wrong with her?”
“I don’t know, but koveran levels drop while toxicity levels rise.”
“Toxicity? Where?”
“The bemicytes.”
“Bloodstream?”
“The bemicytes aren’t doing their job, fouling up the blood.”
“Interesting. We can put the ship on the list, but with the recent war most of our drydocks are out of service. This and our sister drydock on the dark side are the only two in operation.”
“How long?”
“A few months.”
Bawson exhaled. “I don’t think she’s got a few months.”
“I see.”
Neither of them said anything for a while. Bawson impatiently waited for something to happen. For him to say he’ll make an exception, because the ship’s dying, because he has a heart and wouldn’t let that happen, being Zemorian and renowned for their caring ways.
Mr. Adders wrote something on his DP. “She’s the one hundred thirty first in line. Dunno how long it’ll take ya. Depends on how long the ships ahead of her take. A lot of them have ailments just as bad.”
“Shouldn’t there be some sort of priority system? Some sort of check-up, to ensure beems aren’t lost in the wait?”
“Aye, there is.”
“Well?”
“That’s what I have you down for.”
“Great.”
“It’s hard times for us all, sir. The war definitely took its toll.”
Bawson being Bawson, didn’t have the contacts needed to expedite Kaira’s check-up. He even risked going down to Zemoria, spending what little funds he had. He barely had enough to get back up after a week’s stay. Asking around if people would help him, trying not to sound too much like a beggar. Nobody cared. One person in particular even cussed him out, wondering why he was so worried about a single beems after all the species had cost them.
It doesn’t look like we’ll be getting help here.
It was worth a try. The transmission sounded dejected.
Do you have enough energy to keep moving?
I am not sure. Unlikely.
Kaira was only eight. It wasn’t fair that she had to suffer at such a young age. He had found her when he was young, rooted deep in Flora’s soil by a willow tree she had allowed to mature alongside her. He knew what the Coalition did whenever they saw a gravimetric spike, so he did his best to befriend her quietly.
You sound very calm about it.
I’ve had an enjoyable eight years. They were a gift, anyways. After you saved me from those Reavers.
Cruisers had come the day after he had finished digging the tunnel that allowed him access to her bridge. She let him in through the cargo bay. He had immediately begun telling her about the Reaver escorts that came with the Coalition transports, how they would immediately kill her with a bombardment of shells if she activated her lens. She had listened, and rewarded him with a neural link.
You saved me too, Kaira. Had we not left together…
Flora was destroyed a few months later. Nobody was sure what had caused it.
I’ll figure out what’s wrong with you. We’ll fix you.
Where else can we go? I’m not sure if I can make another jump, my koveran levels are far too low. I will fall asleep here soon.
No don’t. Bawson replied quickly, afraid of having that last conversation.
I’ll have to, to keep my koveran levels stable. Although I’m not sure if it will be enough. I’ll miss you.
I’ll be here when you wake. Bawson said optimistically.
Bawson suddenly realized that he couldn’t afford to go planet-side anyways. If Kaira died, it wouldn’t be long until he followed suit.
It would be fitting. He had gotten so much from so little. Most of it was luck. He didn’t deserve any of this. It would be fitting that it be taken away.
He wanted to tell Kaira something, see how she was doing, but her status beeps had changed to indicate her hibernating state. She had drifted off into sleep to conserve energy, floating listlessly in their reserved orbit around the planet, the drydock a taunting object skulking in their frame of reference.
The chambers were a dim amber now that she was sleeping. He walked down the corridor. They had only needed one, the bridge was his room, the corridor leading to the cargo bays. Cargo had been their life. It gave him an idea.
He flooded the cargo holds with a thick vapour he realized could be concocted by some glandular modifications along Kaira’s internal scrubbers. The vapour was comprised of absorbent ionized particles, which would make scans of the cargo section difficult.
He went up to the bridge and activated the transceiver, switching to Zemoria’s freight channel.
“This is heavy one niner. It seems I’ve got some engine troubles. Wouldn’t mind a quick repair – got perishables aboard.”
There was a pause as the traffic controller was undoubtedly trying to confirm the ship’s transponder with those on the Zemorian databanks.
“You’ve got a heavy transponder yet you don’t show up in any of the transport schedules for today.”
“Well I assure you I should be. It was a last second order by Mr… I’m not even sure who it was, but I’ve got turian steaks onboard.”
“Interesting, we do have a few order of turian steaks that haven’t been filled yet.”
Another pause.
“We seem to be having difficulties confirming your freight, heavy one-niner.”
“Aye it’s the preservatives – keeps the steak fresh. Special request.”
“We can’t allow any ships into drydock without their cargo getting checked out first. Standard procedure.”
“Fine, but if Mr. Dorias goes looking for someone to blame when you miss a steak order, I sure wouldn’t wanna be you.”
“Right, like I haven’t heard that one before.” the traffic controller cut the link.
It had been worth a try. He checked up on Kaira’s status. Her koveran levels were low but holding. Would they really let a beems die up here in Zemorian orbit? He hadn’t seen any derelict beems on their jump-in, but then again derelict ships wouldn’t give off an energy signature.
He went into one of the rooms that branched off from the corridor. There were a few sealed boxes here. Not steaks, just things that nobody had claimed or bothered to unload. Maybe there would be something in there that could help him. A gem of some sort, a magical pearl that would take away his worries. He was about to commence the arduous task of bypassing the security lock on one of the crates when he heard the chirp that preceded a hail.
“Fine. A ship’s on its way to you. You’re cleared for an inspection. But I swear if I find out you aren’t carrying turian steaks.”
“Thanks.” Bawson replied, elated. He wondered if this inspection was as good as the medical inspection he was a hundred and thirtieth in line for.
The upper cargo bays had not been flooded, and were generally used as landing decks anyways. Bawson opened the port hangar doors manually, watching the Zemorian shuttle glide in and land. He caught a glimpse of the three gravimetric prongs that extended out to the aft of the ship, their tips nearly coming into contact. It wasn’t hard to see how pale the hull was.
The shuttle crew had two armed guards, the rest inspectors. One of them came up to him.
“Guessing the cargo’s on the lower decks?” he asked.
“Sure. So what kind of an inspection is it? What if this beems is dying?”
“Well if you’re really carrying freight, we can bump you up on the check-up list, though even then it’s a gamble.”
“I see. What do you do to people who aren’t carrying freight?”
“Occasionally we have loafers abusing the system to try and get ahead on the list. The mines on Ilo I and II do them some good.”
“I see.”
He positioned four maintenance drones on top of their shuttle. They were interesting things, loaded with anything a beems would need for repairs. It was a pity they couldn’t figure out what was wrong with the bemicytes in Kaira’s bloodstream.
“Star! Let’s go.” the lead inspector said, beckoning to the inspectors. They began to disembark from the shuttle.
He had one of the drones open a maintenance port that led to the shuttle’s power core. The rest of the drones began dispensing a conductive fluid over the ramp floor.
He wasn’t sure if there was even a need for the fluid, the current from the shuttle might be enough, but he wanted to wait until the guards were on that liquid before he shorted the drones, in case the shock wasn’t big enough to knock them out. The suits they were wearing were probably somewhat shock proof as well.
Once the inspectors had gotten all of their equipment, the guards tapped a button on the shuttle’s side panel that raised the ramp, they hadn’t gotten back onto the ramp at all. There was some conductive liquid on the floor, too, but nowhere near where the guards were standing.
“You should come with us.” said the lead inspector. The guards and all the others were with them now, making their way out of the cargo bay. He could de-activate the electrostatic membrane that kept the bay pressurized when the doors had opened for the shuttle, but that was too big a risk. He had the drones line the doors with conductive liquids after they left, making their way down slanted corridor.
“So you went for the incline over the elevator, huh?” the inspector commented as they took the bens in the corridor that slowly led them down each tier.
“Elevators are a pain to get installed. Kaira just doesn’t have the spare parts for it.”
“Not a producer, eh?”
“Definitely not. We gotta make do with what we got. The shuttle I got in the other bay took nearly a year to build.”
“A year for a single shuttle, huh? Sounds like she’s an under-producer. Though judging by her hull I’d say you had her a while now. When beems get older their production abilities tend to dodder a bit.”
“Hmm.” Bawson replied, trying to sound engrossed. He didn’t say anything about her actual age. The maintenance drones had finished making the entrance to the landing bay a shock trap.
They were nearing the doors of the cargo bay now. Bawson had to unlock it manually, a safety feature in when Kaira was unconscious. Maybe he should have set the trap in here? How would they react after they saw the empty bay?
“What’s wrong?” the inspector asked. Bawson had been somewhat talkative up until this point.
He sighed, discarding all the possible excuses to not opening this door that he had come up with in his head, and opened the door.
The inspector didn’t seem that surprised when he saw the empty bay. Nobody was. It was Bawson who was thrown aback somewhat by their composed reaction, as if they’d seen it a hundred times before.
“Ah, you’re one of those.” said the inspector.
“Yeah.” Bawson sighed. “This ship isn’t as old as you think it is. She’s only eight years.”
“Sounds like filter fever then.” said another inspector.
“Might be, but even with templates for the filter, this ship wouldn’t be able to produce enough in time.” said the main inspector – the one Bawson had been talking to on the trip to the cargo bay.
“We’ll be back in a bit. Zemoria should have anti-biotics, and if that fails, artificial filters, that we can use.
“Thanks. Thanks a lot. I don’t have a lot of money…”
“Eh we’ll talk about payment later.
“Alright. Thanks. Thank you so much.” He almost wanted to wake Kaira about the good news, but he remembered the inspectors comment about not having enough time. He wanted to make sure she had as much as possible.
“I like the trap you set up.” said the main inspector as he looked at the frame of the landing bay hatch. The drones didn’t do a very good job of making the sticky conductive material disappear into the wall.
Bawson didn’t say anything, smiling meekly. He waved them off as they left.
Now all he could do was sit down in the lounge and wait.
It was smaller than most ship lounges, and only ever really used by him. He did occasionally take women here, they considered the view romantic. There was a large window that girdled the lounge, with a partial view of Kaira’s starboard skid. The skid was retracted right now, making it barely visible unless he stood up and walked right up to the window.
The repair team arrived later the next day. They didn’t ask any questions as they applied the anti-biotics and monitored Kaira’s response. Finally, they prepped her for installation of the filters, “What a way to wait until the last second.” said the repair captain. “Hopefully we’ll be able to get the filters in in time.”
“Sorry, we had difficulties getting here.” Bawson replied, not sure what the repair team had been told.
“I can imagine, surprised the beems can still fly with all that poison in ‘er blood.”
Bawson scratched the back of his head, nodding.
“Installation’ll be a day or so. Are there any chambers free where the repair team can set up?”
“Yeah, though they are mostly for extra cargo space. I’ll have the drones bring in a spare bed or anything else you –“
“Don’t worry about it – we’ll take care of that. We’re used to spending the night in cargo compartments.” he said with a grin.
Right, they were cargo ship repairmen. Bawson returned the grin, retiring to the bed he had in his bridge. He watched their progress through the night from the camera feed of a drone that was relayed through the viewscreen. While koveran levels were dangerously low, the capacitor was surprisingly healthy. The viewscreen was brighter than ever. He finally dozed off early in the morning, waking a few hours later to the calls of the repair captain. The man was by the entrance to the bridge. Bawson looked over at the viewscreen, the repair team were still working, albeit a smaller group than had started.
“We’ve managed the install four filters. We can’t risk installing any more without the drydock. We’ll have to reserve you some drydock time.”
“I see.” Bawson said. “Does the main inspector know about this?”
“Who? The guys who checked your ship? No, they just call us in. We do the rest.”
“I see.”
“Did he tell you guys anything in particular?” Bawson asked.
The repairman looked at him with a slightly confused expression. “Just the usual. Is there anything we should know.”
“Just that she’s young, for a beems. People often mistake her for being much older than she is.”
“An easy error to do on a ship that’s suffering from filter fever.” the repair captain handed Bawson a datapad with a schematic of Kaira, “We’ve finished installing filters in some of the key junctions. It should be enough for Kaira to start regaining her energy, so long as the main capacitor isn’t being worked.” Bawson typed in a sequence that deposited the usual tip into the repair team’s account.
“Can I wake her?” Bawson asked hopefully.
The repair captain shook his head, “I’d recommend against it, the main capacitor wouldn’t be able to maintain her vitals, not until the koveran inductors work again. Perhaps once the toxicity levels lower. Your best bet is to wait for her to wake on her own. If –“ The repair captain stopped talking, tugging at his lapel slightly. The Zemorian seemed honestly sympathetic, his face betraying the worry.
“If what?” Bawson asked.
“The drydocks been backed up for quite a while.”
“Well you said I have time, right? Now that koveran levels are stable.”
“Yes, so long as you stay here. How much food does your ship have?”
“A couple of months worth.”
“Hmm. Do you have spare cargo space?”
“Yeah…”
“Excellent, we’ll send over some food. Let the deliveryman know where they should dump the consumables. Good luck on the wait.”
“Right, thanks.”
“No problem. Hope she gets better.”
The food arrived a few days later. Bawson had them store it in one of the ancillary chambers, away from the main bays, in case they were told that he was supposed to be carrying turian steak in them.
“Here’s the manifest.” the deliveryman said, showing him the datapad. Bawson transferred the tip through it. “Thanks. Hope she gets better soon.”
“Thanks.”
With the delivery team gone, there was nothing left to wait for except the proverbial drydock.
Bawson remembered the first time he had set foot on this lounge, still a child, gawking at the magnificent view: The lush green grass, the rolling hills, the singing birds. Flora had been a beautiful planet, a great place to grow up in.
Kaira had been a dream come true. It was common law that the finder of a beems is the first to try at ownership, and with the ship so grateful for the information about the reavers, being gifted a neural interface hadn’t been difficult at all.
The hardest thing had been letting go of his family. He offered a seat aboard Kaira, but they had grown up on Flora, and felt that they would be in the way. He said goodbye to his brothers, sisters, mother and father, and set out for the stars as soon as possible. The Coalition killed those that concealed the location of a beems.
She had been so deeply inclined to serve. Happy to fly wherever he pleased. Every action she took that aided in an objective Bawson set out for her, be it finding food, or getting to a star system, was met with a fulfilling sense of satisfaction upon completion. They basked in that comfortable sensation whenever they finished one of their tasks. Bawson noticed that the more difficult the task, the more pleasurable the sensation. In a way it was that sensation that drove him to doing courier missions. Being an FTL craft, it was a beems’ most suitable profession, and allowed them the option for a luxurious lifestyle were they ever to retire. Not that he ever would. So long as Kaira enjoyed the tasks, he would too.
They had been able to do five to ten courier missions a day, the amount dependent on how close the destination was to a node-point. She was able to hit speeds of up to four hundred times the speed of light after arriving at the nearest node-point, which was usually in the same system as the delivery item.
Prices reflected this, however, and their most memorable – and profitable – deliveries were usually the ones that took up the entire day, even set of days. Deliveries of food to remote facilities were a popular one. As well as deliveries of fuel and other supplies. Nothing was restricted except for weaponry and certain biological agents that could harm the beems. Fuel was really the most dangerous thing they ever carried, and that couldn’t ever really react, even outside of their containers.
Two months into the wait for drydock time, the main inspector he had spoken to contacted him. Bawson was hoping this was the time.
“Aren’t you getting lonely out there?” he asked.
“I don’t mind the quiet.”
“Yeah, they all say that – until the interface is offline. How are you holding up?”
“Good, we’re both fine.”
“Great, would you mind coming down some time? I’d like to talk about some things before your appointment.”
“Yes that’d be great. Where and when?”
“The Black Nova at 1200 hours tomorrow?”
“Sounds like a plan… I can’t really afford clearance though.”
“Didn’t you know? The crew of ships in the repair queue get unlimited clearance. Don’t even have to pay for parking.”
“Oh… didn’t know that.” He doubted he would have left Kaira either way. Even now he felt trepidation at the thought of leaving her unattended. At her current state, the neural link wasn’t strong enough for him to feel her status when he went planet-side. But who would want a dying beems anyways?
He took Kaira’s shuttle down and parked it at the Black Nova lot at eleven forty-seven hours. He was early, so he decided to explore the block a little. Had this visit been during better circumstances, he was sure him and Kaira would be staring in awe at the massive skyscrapers up above. There was a cloud of traffic above them and on the roads as well. In one courier mission Bawson had been able to use a GT-9000 cruisecar to deliver the parcel to the client in time. They were a thrill to drive and to fly, able to reach speeds five times greater than his shuttle in atmospheric conditions. He saw one pull up, with the inspector disembarking – must have been a company car.
“You’re early! I like that.” exclaimed the inspector.
They had reservations. They sat down by a table at the window.
The inspector’s last name was Asar. Mr. Asar talked with Bawson for hours about the drydock appointment. “It’ll be within a week, and it’s imperative that they do not see the cargo hold.”
“Right. So they won’t know that it’s empty.”
“No, and they will check, unless you cite Clause 187.”
This would be when the neural interface sifts through Kaira’s database and returns with information on Clause 187. “What is that?”
“If the client of the cargo declares it to be private property, it is free from uninformed inspection.”
“I see.”
“Uninformed, they will attempt to contact the client. I have a contact number set up that you will give them should that time come.”
“Good… but won’t they inspect the cargo then?”
“No, my guy will cite Clause 194 – right to private property, and submit the documents pertaining to it. It should all check out. So remember: Nobody opens those bay doors.”
“What about sensors?” Bawson asked.
“They won’t ping the ship, not in her current state.”
“This sounds iffy.”
“It is. But it’s the best shot you got.”
“How close was I to losing her?”
“Very. We still might. If anything goes wrong, contact me.” Asar said, uploading a contact number into Bawson’s datapal.
“Thanks again, for all your help.” Bawson said.
“No worries.” But there was a grin on Asar’s countenance that hinted towards a semblance of greed.
Today was operation day. Bawson watched the tugships around Kaira, gently manoeuvring her into position by the drydock. Bawson heard a clank throughout the ship as the drydock arms grabbed onto the four hundred meter long beems. It wouldn’t be long now. The outcome was just over the bend, be it good or bad. All he could do now was monitor the repair teams and guard the cargo bays which are supposed to have the steaks.
The inspector arrived a day after the repair team. It was an older man, much taller than Asar. “Greetings, Captain.” said the inspector.
Bawson returned the greeting, citing clause 187.
“Oh that silly thing. Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t apply in times of war. Most people don’t know that.”
Shit.
Bawson followed the inspector down the declining corridor that led to the port cargo hold.
“So turian steaks, eh? I’ve got a fancy for those myself. A delicacy along these parts. Wonder who ordered it.”
Bawson scrambled the drones near the port cargo bay, ordering them to get ready with an overload.
“Hmm,” the inspector said with a groan, walking into the cargo bay. “Where are –“ the doors shut behind him, and Bawson could hear his screams over the one intact drone as three overloaded their cores, grounding out into the inspector. It was a price to pay. A single drone took months to replace.
Bawson checked the body, making sure there was a pulse. He was overcome with panic when he realized there wasn’t. He had never shocked a Zemorian before, they must have been different. This couldn’t be. He felt horrible, but was forced to search the body thoroughly, scanning it as well for any sort of transponder. There was nothing. This meant nobody knew yet.
He had to hide the body. He would have to take it to Tier Zero. It was the ship processing plant, where everything the ship or captain needed was manufactured. Nobody but the captain was ever allowed access to Tier Zero. It was a vital area, as vital as the Neural Plexus. The body would remain hidden there, even from scans. He had the drones watch the main corridors as he carried the body down there through the cargo bay maintenance hatch.
Five days in and the repairs were almost complete, it looked like Kaira might survive. Looking out from the lounge he could see the plethora of devices attached to her, supplying her sustenance needed for the arduous operation. A security team was waiting at the docking bay today. They had given him a day’s warning, three days after the inspector had been killed.
It was a man in a standard navy blue Zemorian suit flanked by two armed security officers. They escorted Mr. Bawson to an interview room aboard the drydock. They didn’t seem very happy.
“May I ask what the problem is?” Bawson asked.
“One of our inspectors hasn’t reported back after boarding your ship. Do you remember meeting the inspector?”
“Yes, we spoke for a short amount of time and went our separate ways.”
“You’re going to have to tell me everything you and the inspector did. From the meeting at the docking bay to your goodbyes.”
“Of course.”
Bawson fabricated an entire story. He told the police inspector that he had escorted the man down to the cargo bay, where they had checked the turian steaks. The beems inspector then dismissed him and that was the last they saw of each other.
“Interesting, we’d like to see the cargo bay.”
“I can’t, clause 187. Only the inspector was allowed access.”
“Right. Was the cargo bay where you left him?”
“No, not at all, I walked him up to the bridge corridor before saying my goodbyes.”
“Can we see the bridge area please?”
“Of course.” What a bullet dodged there. Bawson hoped his sweating wasn’t too noticeable. The police inspector spent a few minutes looking over the bridge. “Do you have any physical interfaces?”
“No, all neural.”
“That works even with the ship unconscious.”
“Yes, so long as I’m in range.”
“Do you have any security logs?”
“Not really. Nothing solid. Unfortunately Kaira can’t record and store the visual feed from every single drone. Not in her current state. To be honest I don’t think we’ve ever set up a database for that reason alone.” It was true. He had never considered a record center. It wasn’t even that bad an idea.
“Do you know which drones were with the inspector?”
“No, you think a drone killed him?”
“It’s a possibility. Are there any drones unaccounted for?”
“No.”
“How many do you have?”
“Three hundred and eighty seven.”
“I see.”
“It takes Kaira some time to produce new ones. I know the standard compliments are usually significantly higher, but I believe anything above three hundred starts getting redundant, even on a jump-heavy ship like this one.”
“I’m not here to judge your captaining, Mr. Bawson. There have, however, been instances of drones killing inspectors due to certain defence protocols.” the police inspector explained.
Bawson didn’t have to feign surprise. Even with all the knowledge about how passive beems were, they would still defend themselves if they felt in danger. Hell, since the war, there have even been reports of beems accepting modifications that allowed them to fire real weapons.
“Do you know anything about this?”
“I have heard of such instances, yes.”
“Were you monitoring all of your drones during the inspector’s disappearance?”
“I wasn’t monitoring the drones at all. They were running oblongata, automated.”
“I see. After your ship’s recovery you may be asked to remain in orbit until this matter is resolved.”
Bawson nodded compliantly. After this ship’s recovery he’s jumping the hell out of here and taking a vacation.
“Thank you for your time.” the inspector said, taking his leave.
“Anytime.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Repairs were nearing completion now. The last filter had been installed. Two of the filters had to be installed externally, the wounds had to be sown and covered with a massive adhesive plaster as they healed over. Four shipworths of blood had been transfused for the operation by compatible donors. The repair captain told him that a good portion of the Zemorian logistics chain had donated. He wondered how many beems had died having been denied repairs because they were bringing nothing of value. It was hard to hate, though, knowing that his ship would be alright now. He felt selfish and guilty.
It was a few hours later that they decided it was time to wake Kaira. A stimulant was passed through the umbilicals, waking Kaira with a start. She immediately extended a distortion field out away from the drydock, gravimetric lenses in the drydock assuaged the manoeuvre. The clamps held fast. Bawson followed protocol and tried to transmit as soothing thoughts as possible: Walks on the beach, quiet nights, fine drinks… You did it! Kaira reviewed his memories of the past few days. You killed somebody.
I’m sorry. I had no choice.
I see. she said, watching the conversation with Mr. Asar. What are you going to do?
We’re going to get out of here. Can you jump?
Not until the umbilicals are detached.
The police inspector will be back soon, we have to leave as soon as –
I know, but we can’t, they can track me.
It’s a risk we have to take.
It’s not even a risk. We cannot leave unless they let us. This is common knowledge amongst beems. Their naval craft can follow me through an interstice. I cannot outrun them. They can cruise at 500c.
Shit.
Indeed.
I’ll figure something out.
The police inspector declared his arrival as the repair team disembarked. The clamps were still in place. There were three Zemorian naval ships within interception range. If those ships are clear, we jump.
Even with the inspector and his guards aboard?
Yes.
Ok.
The inspector, the two guards, and Mr. Bawson sat down in the lounge.
Kaira orbited around the planet meekly, following the vectors transmitted to her by the drydock. There was always a naval ship within range, and they didn’t seem to move from their points in geosynchronous orbit around the planet.
She passed within a kilometre of one. It was a two hundred meter long cruiser, following the Zemorian standard blue hull pattern and tapered triangular design.
She was close enough to focus on the light blue beem veins that were patterned across the hull, insulated enough to give the craft enough power to outrun her, and sensitive enough to give it the ability to track her.
If… when… I jump: Won’t the inspector become hostile?
You will have to incapacitate them.
But you are instigating, breaking the law.
What?
You committed murder!
They’ll arrest me!
You know what will happen if I assist you in your criminal actions.
I’m not a criminal! I had no choice! I was protecting you – your passivity doesn’t apply to self defence.
But I wouldn’t have traded my life for the life of another. That isn’t our choice to make.
Who’s is it? Your God? The Builders? The Black Nova?
I risk going rogue if I become involved further.
I’ve yet to see any evidence of your God. The Builders are an ancient myth that apparently killed rogue beems, and the Black Nova, your SAVIOR, the messiah, ends up –
I know. These are dark times. And my ailment: there were several others beems by that remaining drydock. And the damage to the planet. I wasn’t sure if you noticed the gravimetric fissures. Hundreds of billions have already died. Kaira was swiftly passing Bawson in the depressive mood.
“It seems that during war-time the clause you mentioned is void. We’d like to inspect the cargo hold now. See what we can find.”
“Of course.” Bawson replied.
The inspector beckoned for one officer to stay with Bawson in the lounge, “I will go down there with officer Bailey. Rorsh will monitor you here, ask some more questions.”
“Alright.” Billions may have died, Kaira. But we’re still alive. We overcame this ‘filter fever’, we can overcome anything that comes our way.
The ship seemed to sigh. I can vent the cargo hold, and I might be able to use my distortion field to incapacitate the officer watching you, but I don’t know if I can outrun the naval cruiser if it is monitoring the situation.
Low-contrast feeds watched the two men make their way down to the cargo bay. Kaira opened the bay doors for them. They took a few steps in, surveying the empty bay. The inspector tapped his comms. chip. The drone amplified its audio receptors. “Apprehend him.”
There was a burst of sound as all the drones in the cargo hold were pummelled with escaping air, attaching themselves to their area with their powerful suction systems. The two men were ripped from the bay and thrown against the opening bay doors as they were shot out into space. Run.
Bawson sprinted for the exit. The officer reached for his weapon, but was suddenly thrown against the lounge window with such force that he shattered, along with the window. The gravimetric distortion pulled what was left of the guard and bulkhead out into space with such force that Kaira cried out from the exertion and structural damage, barely activating the emergency electrostatic membrane in time. A moment longer and Bawson would have been out the window too.
Sensors washed over Kaira as the resident cruiser activated its weapons and engines, moving to intercept the ship. Jumping would be fruitless, the Zemorian ship was too close. Kaira dove for the atmosphere.
What are you doing Kaira. You can’t fly through atmospheres.
The Black Nova could. Other beems have.
The gravity field is too unpredictable. You won’t be able to counteract its effect on your weight.
They were already being pulled in, the atmosphere was heating up her ablative hull. The heat dissipated along her beem veins, barely noticeable to the nebula-bound creature. The Zemorian ship followed them from above. It would not fire, not down at the planet. Kaira plummeted closer and closer to the ground below, drastically increasing her speed. Her distortion field was distorted, but was creating enough of a forward pull to accelerate her past the horizon. They began to gain altitude.
Another one. Bawson gasped, gripping the lounge table. The wind was ripping across the electrostatic field, causing a hurricane of turbulence in the lounge. She extended the electrostatic field outwards, using it as a makeshift wing to aid her in her streamlining.
They both knew the other naval ship would fire the moment they passed it. Kaira triggered her beem sequence. I will attempt to preserve this velocity on the beem-out and outrun it on the other side.
Quickly, we’re going to hit it.
The beem veins lit up a bright blue as the ship was engulfed in koveran energy. It fired an interstice directly ahead, disappearing within a kilometre’s impact of the naval craft. They didn’t have time to get their bearings, continuing their acceleration as they exited beemspace. The distortion field was stretched to its maximum. They were accelerating at over fifty gees, with a phenomenal but very isolated forty-five gee counterforce keeping Bawson intact. The rest of the ship was falling apart around him. Bulkheads were getting ripped from their foundations. The outer hull was shearing from the gravimetric stress. Unprotected portions of the inner hull were being exposed to the rigors of space, blood was saturating the area around them, ripping against the skids as they were flung from the ship in a wake-like pattern.
Warnings flashed across Bawson’s neural vision. He forced an emergency shut-down, de-activating the gravimetric lens while preserving the electrostatic deflector field. They would keep this velocity indefinitely. Hopefully the electrostatic field would repel any rogue materials.
That hurt. Kaira gasped, dying of desanguination.
Bawson scrambled drones to the open wounds, barely able to stand himself. The lounge had come down around him. The gash in the window had spread past the bulkhead, now a massive hole in the side of the ship, one of many.
Kaira was going into shock, systems were failing. Bawson barely managed to seal the lounge and escape into the corridor before the electrostatic shield failed. It was now a race between a kinetic impact and exsanguination.
Life support failed, the air in the corridor was all he had left, the mechanical emergency airlocks holding what remained of his precious life.
The route to the starboard landing bay still has air. The shuttle is still intact. It’s a miracle. And you wondered where my God was.
I’m not abandoning you.
You didn’t. You were there to the end. I am already dead.
Where will I go? What’s our velocity? No, I won’t accept it. You can’t die. You are the only good left in my life.
Kaira was no longer responding. Status beeps were flatlining, the indicators were shorting out, fading away as the neural link lost its connection to the host.
No no no! Bawson cried, watching his life come down around him. His instinct took over. He ran for the landing bay. The emergency airlocks towards it had not opened, the major hangar doors seemed to be holding, not having triggered any pressure warnings in that direction. He tried to summon a status report on Kaira’s systems as he boarded the shuttle, but the link was completely severed. He was now alone.
The shuttle powered up with the same vigour it had powered up with a hundred times before. The destruction around him seemed a distant memory here. He waited in silence as the landing bay ruptured. The shuttle automatically raised its electrostatic shield, getting sucked out into space.
Bawson watched his beautiful ship tear itself apart in a sanguine streak of koverans and gravimetric ripples. The shuttle barely escaped the shockwave.
Kaira had thrown them to relativistic speeds. The Zemorians would not be able to find him. Now he merely had to alter his trajectory slightly, find the nearest star system – hope it had a planet. He was ready to die here. His life had fallen apart before him, disappeared into the ether. He slammed the consoles in his grief, kicked the chairs and bulkheads. Tears rained down on the soft floor as he collapsed in the corner by the culinary unit.
He wouldn’t leave that corner for eight years. He stayed there, even after the shuttle had set down on a planet in the first six months. They had traveled four light-years in those six months. Kaira would have been gone for that many years. The shuttle set up its own hydroponics system, sustaining Bawson with its two small drones.
He had regressed into a catatonic state, unable to face anything for another seven and a half years. It was then that an interesting thing happened.
There was a knock on his door. He lifted his frail frame, reaching for the door and willing it to open. Beyond it was a lush green forest. His father was there, and his mother. Baby Kaira was under that same willow tree, the only tree it had spared during her maturation. He walked along the grass, looked out at the rolling hills and all its beauty. His brothers and sisters welcomed him with open arms, grateful that he had finally come home.
“The garden hasn’t been the same without you.” said his father.
He embraced them.