Post by Mizagium on Sept 2, 2009 17:52:20 GMT -5
This is a short story I actually finished. It is going to be a part of my senior project, so will someone PLEASE read it all the way?
Document attached.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Dié opened her eyes only to be met with a similar darkness. She refused to panic. No matter how much she wanted to, her training forbid her from panicking. Stay calm. All she had to do was open the hatch. Now, if she could only…find the…release… There! …Nothing. Stay calm, it’ll be fine. In the cramped space there was little room to maneuver, so it took her a considerable period of time to get into a position where she could push on the hatch. It held fast. No. Again and again she struggled in the darkness, until at last she broke down. Claustrophobia overtook her, and she panicked. She cried. She scratched at the door until her fingers bled. She yelled until her voice was hoarse, “Let me out!” But no one came to her rescue.
* * *
Captain Einjung Fraumann observed his crew boarding the Pferdbootfleugzeug with great zeal. He was anxious to sail again; being on land always made him jump and anxious. Perhaps it was the solidarity of land, or the stability – or even the finite distances – that dry land presented to him that unsettled him. Whatever the reason for his unease, it left him yearning to sail once more whenever he made port.
Then (as always) his thoughts turned to her. She was the only reason for his staying in port for more than one day. He loved her so much that he would give up sailing if she only asked him. But she would never ask that of him; she loved him too much.
When the last of his crew boarded, Einjung turned to have one last look at the Lighthouse (along with all of the memories he and she spent there) and was greeted by a familiar face. “Dasmädchen!” He embraced his love. “What are you doing here?”
“Surprised?” She knew he was, but waited from his nod. “I got a job working in the Lighthouse – upkeep, or something silly like that.”
“Why?” It must not have sounded how he thought it did, for his love adopted a hurt expression.
“To see you, my love. To see you as soon as you sail back this way. I – I thought…”
“Oh, no. Don’t cry. Of course I’m excited for you. I was just surprised is all.” He tried to mend her hurt feelings.
“Then – then you don’t mind if I get to see you first when you come ashore?” She looked deep into his eyes; hers twinkled like stars.
“Mind? Of course I don’t mind. I love it, just like I love you.” He smiled and kissed her.
When they pulled apart, she said, “Isn’t it time for you to set sail, my love?”
“Yes, I supposes it is,” he said sadly.
“Promise me that you’ll return!”
“It’s only a trading voyage. I won’t be gone long.”
“Promise!”
“All right, I promise.” He embraced her one last time before slowly boarding the vessel. The mooring lines were pulled in, the engine spurted to life, and the Pferdbootfleugzeug sailed away form the dock. Dasmädchen watched the vessel until it was a speck in the distance.
“I will wait you at the Lighthouse, Einjung. Always.”
* * *
Captain Alkron von Wilhelm opened one eyes as the stasis chamber’s systems shut off one at a time. Unable to blink the sleep away from his other eyes, he reached up to wipe it away. But his arm refused to move without sufficient coaxing. Eventually he succeeded. He wiped at both eyes a few more times before realizing that his blurry vision was due to the chamber door.
Beep. A green icon flashed on the inside of the dark door. Alkron squinted against the darkness until it became clear. OK TO EXIT STASIS. He fumbled for a moment until he found the release level and pulled it. The hatch popped up with a hiss and swung all the way clear with a good push.
The stasis chamber was a gray cylinder, roughly seven feet long – long enough to accommodate even the tallest crewmember. It sat propped up at a shallow angle to the wall, allowing Alkron to lie in a semi-comfortable position. Not that it mattered much, stasis was a form of deep sleep that slowed the functions of the body, allowing crews to survive long journeys on slower-than-light (STL) vessels. But Alkron’s vessel, the Star Strider, was equipped with a faster-than-light (FTL) warp-drive. Stasis pods were only used in the case of a medical emergency. In the entirety of the ship’s history, such an event had occurred exactly twice.
He pushed off with both hands and drifted away from the featureless pod, and had to quickly twist in the air to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. Another couple of seconds, and he found his balance in the free-fall environment. His muscles felt like gelatin, though not necessarily because of the zero gravity; stasis always had that effect on people, or so he had heard. Alas, his captain duties awaited, so recuperating would have to wait.
Fluorescent lights flickered to life down the empty corridors of the Star Strider, revealing a stark interior. Every wall was identical to the last: smooth, white, and devoid of any distinguishing characteristics. Only one who had spent years upon years inside the vessel would have any hope of successfully navigating the maze of blank halls without consulting a layout map. Captain Alkron von Wilhelm was just such a man. The Star Strider was his vessel, he knew her inside and out. She was his only home, his best friend, and his greatest love.
Finding his way through the hall from the stasis chamber to the bridge required barely a moment’s thought as his body slowly recovered from the effects of stasis. He drifted past the various stations of his crew, pushing aside loose debris that had floated away from their resting places (I will have to remind the crew about that) and settled into the captain’s chair. Spongy fabric molded around him when he pushed into the chair, preventing him from floating away without significant leverage. A shadow fell on Alkron, disrupting his peace.
“Ahoy, Captain, sir!” a young man drifted into view, saluting extravagantly and smiling brightly. Captain Wilhelm scowled as the communications officer floated upside-down toward the floor of the bridge.
“Jackson, you damn fool!” the captain exclaimed. “Right yourself and get to your station.!” He couldn’t hide the grin that Jackson brought to his face.
“Yes, sir!” Jackson pushed off with both hands, sending him in a high arc over Alkron and landing feet-first at the communications console. He began switching on various systems with flick of a switch or the press of a button. Alkron listened with great pleasure as the Star Strider whirred to life to join her captain. But it still felt like a ghost ship.
“Jackson?”
“Sir?”
“Where are Nolan and Zerric, and the others?”
Jackson thought for a moment before replying, “I would guess that they’re still coming out of stasis, sir. Not everyone is as spry as – ah! Speak of the devil!” Nolan drifted in through one of the doors.
“Nolan, have you seen any of the others?”
“No, I haven’t,” the weapons specialist snapped.
“Would you mid going to check on the them?” Alkron asked, though it was more of an order than a request.
“Yes, Captain.” Nolan twisted in the air and vanished.
“Jackson, how are things coming?” Alkron asked his communications tech. When he did not receive a reply, the captain asked, “How is my ship?” with a stern voice.
“Oh, uh, just fine, sir.” Jackson (like all crew members) knew how much the captain loved his ship. “She’s just running a bit sluggish today…sir.” He tried to hide the concern in his voice, but Alkron picked up on it anyway. The captain kept quiet, however. It never took this long for all the old girl to come back online. Although they had dome a full-systems shut down (or near enough) in the middle of a war zone littered with EMPs before, Alkron thought bitterly.
A minute or two later, Nolan came tumbling back into the bridge. He was sweating and on the verge of hyperventilating.
“Nolan! My God, what happened?” Alkron demanded.
“Zerric! It’s…Zerric! He’s dead!”
Alkron sat upright so quickly, he almost dislodged himself from his seat. “Dead? Dead! How!”
“I don’t… I think the stasis chamber failed somehow.” Nolan’s breathing slowed and he gathered himself. He was a soldier, and this what no way for a soldier to act.
“Did you check the others?” Alkron had now removed himself from his set and was floating with his weapons expert.
“N-No, sir,” the other muttered. “I – I just…”
Alkron clasped the other by both shoulders and shook him gently but sternly. “Nolan. Focus. Go check Frieden and Isaac. I will go look for Dié and Paul. Jackson, as soon as you can, establish contact with Scionis.”
“Aye, Captain.” Jackson’s earlier cheerfulness was gone, replaced with a focused, efficient crewmember. Alkron stared into Nolan’s eyes to make sure he understood his task. He was eventually given a short nod, which was enough to send the captain flying away, through the doorway, and down the hall.
They can’t be dead. We were only going to Scionis, how could they have died? Maybe the EMP minefield screwed up the stasis chambers’ electronics. Yeah, yeah that must be it. The stasis chambers malfunctioned, and they suffocated.
Even if that were true, Alkron would still feel like he failed them. He was their captain and he let them die.
He suddenly found himself floating through the doorway to Dié’s quarters. The stasis chamber lay ominously on the far side, leaning against the wall. Dark. Silent. Like a casket. Alkron drifted cautiously inside; the hatch possessed no window, a fact for which Alkron was not particularly thankful. Even preparing himself for the worst did not prepare him for the sight that awaited him on the other side of the hatch. As it swung up, a blast of fetid air besieged his nostrils. Struggling to keep from retching, it took a moment for him to recognize what he was seeing. Dié’s skeleton lay in the chamber, her Navy uniform turned yellow from age and rotten flesh. The arms were outstretched as though trying to force the hatch open. Alkron kicked away from the chamber reactively, spun in the air, and vomited. Globules of the yellow-green fluid rushed outward ward and bounded about the room.
Without thinking he took off for Paul’s quarters. There he was met with a similar, gruesome sight. He did not vomit a second time. How did this happen? Scionis is barely a week’s journey from Earth via warp-drive. Even if the stasis chambers failed and the suffocated, they should not have decomposed so rapidly.
“Captain,” Jackson’s voice came over the intercom. “You need to come to the bridge. There’s something you need to see.”
When Alkron arrived in the bridge, Nolan was already waiting there. The blank stare he received informed him that Frieden and Isaac had suffered a fate like that of Dié and Paul. Before faced his crew, he had put on his best “captain’s face”.
“Have you established contact with Scionis, Jackson?”
“No, sir.” Not the answer he wanted.
“Why not?”
“They’re not in range.”
“Not in range!” Alkron fumed. Then realization sank in. “Where the hell are we?”
Jackson opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. “Let me show you.” He pressed a button on his console. The large view screen blinked to life. Captain and crew all turned to look. A psychedelic collage of clouds tinted ever color of the rainbow dominated the screen.
“What exactly are we looking at, Jackson? Even as he asked, he knew exactly what it was.
“A nebula, sir. We are currently drifting through a nebula.”
“Which one?”
“Don’t know. Pattern doesn’t match any recorded nebulae, though it comes close. Its impossible to determine, since we don’t know where we are in relation to any other landmark.”
“How long have we been drifting?”
“Again, impossible to determine. Though, from what I’ve heard of our crewmates, a very long time.”
“How did this happen?” Alkron whispered.
“Our flight vector must have gotten screwed up when we passed through the EMP field.”
His words were lost on Alkron, however, as the aging starship captain stared out into the multi-colored haze. Its beauty belied its danger. Even if they were within range of an inhabited star system, the gas and plasma would have scrambled most, if not all, communications. He took a sharp breath as he realized just how stranded they really were.
“God help us,” he crossed himself.
* * *
The heavens shed heavy tears down upon the world as the Khaldean Navy laid siege to Earth. Great explosions shook the earth and rattled the bones of anyone unlucky enough to be caught outside. Some of those explosions were preceded by a flash of lightning, others accompanied by the flash of an EMP bomb detonating in high altitude. Still other explosions were followed by a great fireball as an Earth Navy warship plummeted to the ground.
It was a horrific, yet awesome scene. Great starships (obviously alien in design) descended through the atmosphere and brilliant beam weapons rained down upon the cities. But then – hope! Earth warships appeared on the horizon and fired their own weapons at the Khaldeans. The resulting light storm was enough to turn midnight into noon. A great holocaust ravaged the land as the two armies of angels clashed high above.
The hull of the Star Strider rattles so much that it might have been hailing, for the crew knew. Whenever an explosion shook the craft, the crew glanced skyward in a silent prayer Please, Lord, not me. Not tonight. There was no way of knowing how the battle was faring from the bridge – not with the external sensors shut off.
Everyone straightened up and hastily finished their prayer when the doors slid open and Captain Alkron von Wilhelm walked in. His Navy uniform was soaked, and his gray beard was dripping water all over the floor. He gave the crew an absent once-over, then faced Jackson Asten, who was typing furiously as his console.
“How are things coming, Jackson?” Alkron always referred to his crew by their first names rather than their surnames or ranks.
“Just fine, Captain. A few more systems and we’ll be ready.”
The captain sighed. “I’ve jot gotten back from observing the battle first-hand,” he said to the rest of his crew. “And its not looking good. Admiral Alexander has ordered all craft currently not participating in the battle to retreat and regroup at designated bases.”
“So we’re running away?” Nolan Lear jumped to his feet in protest. The big African-American stood at least six feet tall, so his presence was not something that could be ignored.
“No, Nolan. We’re making a tactical withdraw and regrouping to minimize losses.” Nolan would be hard pressed to argue with that logic. He sucked in some air and at back down, defeated, but not satisfied.
“How are we getting past the Khaldean fleet, Captain?” Dié Lorentz inquired politely. “They’ve brought in so many sips that they form a shield of sorts between our atmosphere and space.” Her Latino accent caused her words to come out very fast, so that anyone not familiar with her would have a difficult time of understanding.
“The Navy has put in place a strategy of retreating in waves – the first of which is already away. Navy ships were matched one-to-one with empty decoy vessels, so as to draw enemy attention and allow more occupied ships to get free.”
Alkron was waiting for a response from any of his crew when Jackson poked his head up and said, “Second wave is away, Captain. Seventy percent of occupied Navy vessels got free. Ninety percent of decoy ships survived,”
“Thank you Jackson.”
“The Khaldeans won’t be so easily fooled a third time,” Isaac Adamczyk observed. “By the time the next wave is launched, they will anticipate a similar tactic. I would expect upwards of fifty percent of Navy ships shot down, while not one decoy ship is touched.” The Star Strider’s tactical officer had a talent for seeing things in the worst possible light.
“I am well aware of that, Isaac,” Alkron replied. Isaac narrowed his eyes in thought.
“That still doesn’t explain how we’re getting away,” Dié reminded the captain.
“Doesn’t it? Haven’t any of you bothered to ask Jackson what he’s been doing for the last half-hour?” Alkron looked from face to face. “He’s been shutting down all of the old girl’s systems. Well, most of them.”
“We’re going to pretend like we’re a decoy ship,” Isaac sat up in his chair.
“Yes, Isaac. As you said, they will be expecting a similar tactic to the last one. They don’t give our imaginations much credit, do they?”
“But won’t they be able to detect if there are people on board?” Zerric Frost asked.
“Yes. That is why we will be spending the entire journey in stasis.” The room went deathly quiet. An explosion somewhere off sounded a dull thud on the hull of the ship. Everyone noticed the heavy rains again for the first time since Alkron arrived.
“Stasis…” Paul bit his lip and looked at Dié. She looked ready to cry. A few years back, Dié had received a grievous wound to her chest, and she was loosing a great amount of blood. The only way she would survive was if they put her in stasis and transported her to a medical facility. After fully recovering, she vowed to never use the stasis chamber again. “Where are… To where are we traveling in stasis, Captain?” Paul asked more for Dié than anything else.
“The military base on Scionis. Barely a week’s journey.” Paul put his arm on Dié’s shoulder to reassure her. Traveling in stasis was like sleeping: you weren’t aware of time passing, but you felt the effects of it afterward. Some people could handle it. Others were like Dié.
“All unnecessary systems shut off, Captain,” Jackson said as the lights began to dim. “Flight computer is linked to the warp-drive and is in full control of the ship once I press the button. Evac ETA – seven minutes.”
“To your stasis chambers then,” Jackson pressed the button. Alkron thought he heard Dié whimper.
“Aye, Captain,” came the quiet response from the crew.
* * *
Tucked away from prying eyes, in a small room on the upper levels of the Lighthouse, the two lovers pent their last few hours together, wrapped in each other’s arms.
“I wish you didn’t have to go,” Dasmädchen mourned.
“I wish the same, love,” Einjung replied.
“That’s not true. You love sailing. You wish every moment that you are aground that you could be sailing.”
“That is true,” he consented. “But I do wish that I didn’t have to leave you behind.” He shifted his head so that their eyes could meet. He meant it.
“No. It is better this way.” Einjung’s eyebrows went up. “Your constantly being away makes the moments we do spend together all that more special.” She punctuated her sentence with a light kiss on her lover’s lips. He pulled her closer to him, and she snuggled in. A horn sounded somewhere in the distance.
“It is time for me to leave now,” Einjung whispered. With a kiss that tasted on finality, he disentangled himself from Dasmädchen. He dressed quickly and departed, checking himself each and every time he wanted to look back. It would be too painful. Footsteps echoed in the hall for a long time before they died away.
With a great sigh Dasmädchen, too, rose from the bed, dressed and exited the room. She, too, did not look back. The halls of the Lighthouse seemed exceptionally empty this day. Shadows cast by the meager light let in by small windows stalked her like wraiths out to steal her soul. She wandered aimlessly; at some point she lost her way. Searching, with no great hurry, for the way back, she bumped into one of the custodial staff – quite possibly the only custodial staff.
“Sorry, sir,” she apologized quickly.
“Oh, that’s all right, Miss,” he dismissed amicably It would take more than the likes of you to knock me over.” He smiled a toothy smile. Dasmädchen returned the smile and apologized once more before continuing on her way. Whichever way that was. Not five paces down, an idea struck her.
“Excuse me, sir?”
“Something else, Miss?”
“I was wondering if I might be able to work here?”
“In the Lighthouse?” The custodian scratched his head. “Well, we have been a little short-handed as of late.” Probably longer than that, she thought, but kept quiet. “But it don’t pay too well.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she insisted. “Do I have a job?”
“If you’re that sure about working here… I can’t see why not?”
Dasmädchen nearly screamed in elation but kept her head. Instead she nodded respectfully as the custodian. Then she ran off (suddenly remembering the way) to tell Einjung.
He will be so surprised.
* * *
“Who’s there?” Nolan demanded, spinning plasma rifle around. The motion carried with it his entire body in a snappy three-sixty. From behind his suit’s visor, Nolan’s eyes frantically scanned the interior for the source of the voice he had heard.
“No one’s there, Nolan,” Jackson assured him. “Just us.” He tightened the grip on his own rifle.
“I know someone’s here! I heard ‘em!” Nolan insisted over his shoulder. He continued to scan the darkness. What little he starlight that did reach this place was filtered through numerous tiny windows. Sporadic strips of faint light were the only relief provided throughout the crushing darkness.
“You’ve been saying that since we first set foot in the place - “
“Which I was against.”
“ - and neither of us,” he indicated Alkron and himself, “ever heard or saw anything.”
“Well I did.”
Jackson, defeated, looked to his captain for assistance. Alkron shrugged and shook his head. Jackson sighed. “Maybe it was the wind?” Alkron shot him a look, but it went unnoticed thanks to the polarized visors.
“What?” Nolan demanded and turned around slowly. “The hell did you say? The wind? In case you didn’t notice, shit-for-brains, there’s no air in here or out there!” He advanced on Jackson quickly; reaching proximity that required him to look almost straight down at the communications officer.
“It was just a joke,” Jackson tried to laugh it off.
“Oh, its real funny, Jack-ass-son.”
“Clever. I haven’t heard that one before.” Jackson would not be intimidated by the giant weapons expert. Alkron moved to break them up.
“You’re about to hear a whole lot more once I shove my foot – “
“Enough!” Alkron pushed both of them away from one another. Even Nolan, which was no small feat. “Both of you shut the hell up. Nolan, there’s no one here but us.” Nolan made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. Alkron pretended he didn’t hear. “And Jackson,” he pointed a finger in his face but was unable to come up with a reason to scold him. “Let’s go.” He stormed away. Jackson followed. Nolan stayed more than a few steps behind.
Cautious, measured steps led the three travelers deeper into the structure. Ornate carvings adorned the interior walls. Artwork, Alkron decided. Every six yards or so, a small glass orb protruded from the wall. It did not take a genius to guess what they were: lights. Though gas- or electric-powered was anyone’s guess, as they appeared not to have been used in many, many years. Rectangular doors led to other rooms, but after finding the first set unyielding to their attempts to force it open, Alkron decided against attempting to open any more.
Time was impossible to determine in this veritable purgatory. There was no passing of the sun or moon by which to gain at least an approximate measure. Unless one kept a level head, such an environment could be potentially maddening. That was just what was happening to Nolan, Alkron feared. His sanity was slipping – had been since he found Zerric dead in his stasis chamber. And then I decided we would explore this place. Nolan had protested quite loudly.
Jackson had a more stable personality than Nolan (Isaac, Alkron recalled, was the most stable of any of his crew) but was slipping. Unlike Nolan, Jackson became serious and defensive when he was nervous; he withdrew into himself, which was, while unhealthy, a lot more preferable to Nolan’s outbursts.
“I can still hear you!” Nolan’s voice shattered the mystic quiet. Speak of the devil. “Who is it? Zerric? Isaac?” Alkron turned to see Nolan waving his rifle wildly at the darkness. Jackson was staring at him with, what Alkron assumed was disbelief. “Isaac, you – I knew it was you haunting me. Bastard! Can’t even die without making me look like a fool one last time can you?”
Then, of all things, he started shooting. Randomly. Desperately. Short bursts of plasma illuminated the dark hall before they melted a circular section of the wall two inches in diameter.
“Nolan!” The crazed gunman kept on shooting. Alkron spun him around, nearly knocking him over. “What the hell are you doing?”
Can’t you hear them? The whispers out there?” His voice quivered. He as crying, Alkron realized with astonishment. “There are voices in the darkness. Calling me. Teasing me.” He grabbed the captain by his shoulders and pulled him close enough to where he could almost see the others face despite the visors. “Don’t tell me you can’t hear them!”
“Nolan,” Jackson pleaded. He let the rifle drop down in one hand and brought the other up in a subduing gesture.
“You stay away from me!” Nolan snarled. Jackson flinched, and returned his hand to the rifle.
“Nolan,” Alkron soothed. “We’re going back to the ship.” He slid the rifle out of Nolan’s hands slowly. “Then we’re going to get you help, okay?” But where would they get the kind of help he needed?
“There’s no help for me.” Nolan was bawling inside his helmet now.
“No one can make the voices. No one can make it stop.” Now he was holding a pistol. Where did he get that? Alkron swore. “But I know how to make them stop.” He raised the pistol to his head.
“Nolan…”
“You crazy fool,” Jackson shouted. “Killing yourself won’t fix anything!”
“I’m not crazy!” He disengaged the safety.
“Nolan.” Alkron watched helplessly as the man prepared to take his own life.
“I’m not crazy.”
“Nolan!”
“I’M NOT CRAZY!” He pulled the trigger. His helmet caved inward at the point of impact; the visor cracked. The bullet broke the skull and pushed through his brain. Nolan’s last moment was a loud bang, a sharp pain, and sudden darkness. Blood and brains mixed with hard plastic erupted out the other side of his head. He stood a moment longer; the gun arm dropped limply and the gun dropped from his fingers. The big man swayed and toppled.
Alkron and Jackson stood stunned beyond all belief. Then the communications officer uttered a gargling sound and dropped to his knees. He doubled over as his suit began leaking a sickly green liquid. The helmet filters struggled to cope with the amount of vomit.
Alkron turned at a clicking sound. Jackson had removed his puke-covered pressure helmet. He looked up sadly, and said, “This place ain’t exactly a beacon of hope is it, sir?” Then his eyes widened at the horror what he’d just done; they bulged. His face turned red. He gasped for air. Then all the blood in his face exploded out into the vacuum.
* * *
This place never seems to stay clean for very long, Dasmädchen thought as she slapped the mop down on the tiled floor of the Lighthouse. Not that the mop was a particularly useful tool for cleaning. At best it just moved the dirt and grime around; it’s all still there, just in a different order.
Though she had once thought it impossible, the halls of the Lighthouse seemed even more desolate lately. One thing was that, since she had begun working as a custodian of the Lighthouse, she had not seen the old janitor who had given her the position in the first place. But then that was the one and only time he had appeared to her. The Lighthouse was quite a large and imposing structure. Nevertheless, she went about her duties with a staunch determination. As determined as she was, exactly how far along she was, she did not know. She had decided to start from the bottom and work up. The spiral layout of the interior was no help.
She was just as unsure about how long she had been working – and waiting – in the Lighthouse as she was about how far she had come. Sleep brought thoughts of Einjung, so she seldom slept. As a consequence, the passage of time was difficult to gauge. Such as it was, not knowing kept her from missing Einjung…too much.
It was on this day – when her boredom had reached its epitome – that the dull rumble of a ship’s engine floated up the twisting interior of the Lighthouse and pounded against her eardrums. The sound was low and barely perceptible, but was like the clash of hail on a thousand tin roofs to Dasmädchen. All of her muscles froze and her thoughts ceased to wander and snapped to attention, latching onto the first break in the stillness in a long (was it really?) time. The mop fell from her hands and hit the floor with a clatter and snapped her out of her reverie. The small window showed an undesirable view of the base of the Lighthouse, but a view nonetheless. Down some distance, at the edge of the spit of land upon which the Lighthouse stood, a small craft sputtered up to the dock.
Her heart pounded in elation as a figure stepped tentatively onto land. Just like Einjung. Even though the figure was too small to be seen in any great detail from this distance, Dasmädchen knew in her heart – nay, her soul – that it was Einjung. And I’m supposed to be the first one he sees coming ashore! Without a second thought, she sprinted down the spiral path of the Lighthouse interior. She arrived at the base just as the door swung open.
She stopped and smoothed her hair and put on her best smile.
* * *
Multicolored wisps of gas and gust and plasma swept past the derelict Star Strider, caressing its hull. They teased and beckoned it forward; pushed along by leftover thrust from the warp drive, and faint traces of gravitational fluxes, the starship had no choice but to obey. Behind the vessel trailed an impossibly long tunnel through the nebula where it was pushed aside by the massive construct. Perhaps if the ship could have been turned around, it might have followed the path home.
Alas, the Star Strider had no means by which to turn itself around. It had only survived this long solely because of the crew’s decision to shut off all but the most vital systems. Now that the crew was awake (well, what remained of the crew) the stasis chambers were shut off, as well as the AI. Even so, there was not enough fuel left to ignite the fusion thrusters, since most of it had been burned off by the warp drive. So, it drifted with no direction, and no ability to alter its course.
Captain Alkron slammed shut the airlock door for the fifth, and last time. On the other side Isaac’s body was sucked out into the void to rejoin his former crewmates in death, as in life. No tears came this time, only a soft prayer. He lingered though, both hands on the airlock door, as if contemplating opening the door again. But then he shook his head and shuffled off.
His soul was heavy with the weight of five lives whose deaths he thought were his responsibility. I’ve failed them. They died because I made a mistake. Somewhere. It’s my fault. As he prepared the bodies of his crew for jettisoning (a the outer-space version of burial-at-sea that hadn’t been performed since the invention of the stasis chamber) Jackson had tried his hardest to ease his captain’s guilt. While he thanked him for the concern, it did little in the way of actually absolving.
The void of space also tugged on the captain. Any positive thoughts seemed to be sucked away the instant they formed. Perhaps they were chasing after the corpses of his crew, since his the time he spent with his them was the happiest he could remember. He wanted to remember those times, so that maybe it might keep the crew alive – in memory at least. But no, whenever he found a happy memory, thoughts of their deaths pushed forward, and forced the happiness out.
“Captain,” Jackson acknowledged when he entered appeared in the bridge. The communications officer then turned back to his console and simply stared. What was there to do? He was basically wasting space (and oxygen) at this point, since there was no one out there to communicate with. Nolan was staring at the view screen, out into the nebula, and gave only a curt nod. Alkron nodded at both of them, then floated over to his chair and let the molding foam suck him in.
“Still nothing?” he asked.
“Still nothing,” Jackson replied.
“Location?”
“Unknown. There are no satellites with which to link up and determine our position. We’re flying – if you call what we’re doing flying – blind.”
“How’s the ship?”
Jackson hesitated. “Fusion fuel at less than ten percent. Hull has suffered extensive degradation due to out prolonged exposure to the vacuum environment, but we’ll run out of air before it becomes a problem.” He wished he hadn’t made that last comment; it felt more like a prediction than an exaggeration.
“How is the life-support?”
“Well, if we don’t run out of food in the next week, me might suffocate. Oxygen is at sixty-seven percent. I think there’s a leak somewhere. I’ve closed off all of the outer wings. We’re left with the command cluster near the center, including the bridge.
“So, what exactly is still running?”
“Hmm… Life support, lights, pressurized combat suits, the fusion engine (though there very little fuel left to do anything drastic), and weapons.” Nolan twisted his head slightly, but otherwise remained impassive.
“So we’re… stranded then.”
“Aye, sir. Stranded.” A heavy silence descended on the three.
“It’s really big, isn’t it?” Nolan asked suddenly. Both of the others looked his way. “I mean, we fly around it all the time, but it’s always near other places. Places with people, I mean. Now, when we’re out here all alone, it seems, I don’t know, bigger, I guess.” He turned back to look at his fellow shipmates. “You know?”
Alkron nodded. “Yeah, I know. It does seem bigger now, especially now that five of our – my – crew are dead.” And just like that, he was back to grieving. “I feel very alone.”
Jackson thought a moment, and then nodded, too. A light flashed on his console. For a moment he stared at it, then, once it fully registered in his mind, he pressed the button below it. A radar screen blinked to life on a blank monitor. He was not prepared for what he saw.
“C-Captain,” he choked out.
“Yes, Jackson?”
“I… We’re picking up a signal.” Jackson felt both Alkron and Nolan stare at him.
“What kind of signal?”
“Well it’s…like an emergency signal, but different. It is not asking for help, rather it is almost signaling to stranded vessels. That’s what I can make of it, anyway.”
Alkron was bout to say something when Nolan called him. “Captain! There’s… something out there.” He placed a finger on the view screen, indicating a dark shape materializing in the nebula. “And I think we’re being pulled towards it. Jackson, what’s the read on its gravitonic signature?”
“Um… sixty to seventy percent standard. Jesus, that can’t be right. It’s too small an object to produce a gravity field that strong.” He looked over at another monitor. “And it’s not spherical. I think that gravity is artificial.”
“Do we have enough fuel to break away from its pull?” Alkron rested his head on folded hands.
“Yes, sir, only, there’s nowhere to go if we boost away from this…” - Jackson was unable to find an appropriate description - “…thing”
Then let’s let it pull us. Relax, boys.” The Star Strider drifted closer and closer to the stellar object. As it did so, a clearer view of the structure (as it turned out to be) was achieved. It was big. Artificial. Imposing.
“Is that…?” A brilliant light shined in through the view screen, blinding the crew. In a few seconds the light sensors adjusted the sensitivity, but by then the light had moved on. “It can’t be…”
“Jackson, do you have any idea what in the hell this thing is?” Alkron demanded. He noticed he was whispering, as if he thought someone was eavesdropping.
“Sir, I… I think it’s a… lighthouse.”
All at once the nebula parted, giving them an unobstructed view of the structure. It was grand, and eerie, and wonderful. The beacon of light spun around again. It was indeed a lighthouse.
* * *
Alkron paused at the top of the spiral incline. This was it; he’d made it to the top. Tears sprang to his eyes as thoughts of Jackson and Nolan: dead, both of them. My fault. All of his crew weight heavy on his soul; their deaths he took responsibility for. Another might say he was being to hard on himself, and even have tried to console him and relive some of his guilt. But there was no one else. Only him.
The powerful beam of light swung overhead once, twice. On the third pass he looked through it. The structure above him was revealed as just a ceiling with some arches that reached down to his level. Between here and there was a great space of nothing. The beacon dominated the center of the room, propped several feet above his head and the light itself standing at least thirty feet high. For just a moment he admired the structure for what it was, a marvel of engineering. For something this grand to be floating in space was… a waste, to say the least.
Structure on any human-settled planet (or Khaldean, he guessed) possessed no structure that could match the beauty of this lighthouse. There was something about lighthouses that always had occupied a special place in his heart ever since he was a child.
He recalled from when he was a child, perhaps eleven or twelve, a time when he rowed out to the lighthouse near his seaside home on Oaies. Night was forcing Twilight’s beauty away, and the beacon flared to life. Not a few minutes later did a ship appear out of the gloom and follow the light to a berth safely. What if, he had wondered, that light had come on just a few minutes later? Or not at all? The ship might have crashed on the rocks, or missed the shore entirely and headed back out to sea. There the crew might have gotten lost and run out of food or water. But they found their guiding light, and returned to land.
There used to be a legend associated with that lighthouse: that a woman had died in there waiting for her lover, who was a sailor, to return. Alkron had always found that a ridiculous story, even for an urban legend. Why would she wait there, instead of waiting at home, or going to get food?
Alkron shook his head, suddenly faced with the reality of the Lighthouse. What strange memories are conjured as my journey nears its final destination. He sighed and sat by one of the floor to ceiling windows through which the beacon projected its light. The whole of the nebula spread out before him, a psychedelic euphoria breaking up the monotonous dark of space. Somewhere out there was home, Oaies, Earth, Scionis, Raskokov, Feldvre, and every other settled planet. If only he knew where he was.
“Who’s there?” Alkron jumped to his feet and sun around. Someone just spoke. No one was there. An image of Nolan standing there with the gun to his head, bleeding, flashed in his mind. He drew his pistol, ejected the ammunition, and threw it with all his might. It skidded on the nice tile, leaving a scratch on its otherwise perfect floor, and slid down the spiral incline. Panting, he leaned against the window. He was going crazy. But at least I’m still sane enough to know it.
He sank to the floor, exhausted. He just needed to rest… he shut his eyes gently, intending only to sleep for fifteen minutes or so. Later, he awoke gently, suggesting that it had been longer than that, but without any real method of timing. Alkron got his feet, feeling better than ever.
Someone else was there now, someone unfamiliar. He was unsure if it was even human (or any other alien race encountered), but waved hello anyway.
“Where is Einjung?” she asked.
* * *
STAR STRIDER FLIGHT VECTOR
ANGLE: 30.07 DEGREES NNW
DISTANCE: 8.01 LIGHT YEARS
Alkron von Wilhelm was the last of the Star Strider’s crew to close his stasis chamber hatch. The calm darkness washed over him, and his last thought before succumbing was a prayer that, of they were shot down, it would be quick.
The AI took control of the flight computer, now synched up with thousands of other starships, and mulled over the plethora of calculations it had to process in order to maintain the correct flight path. It ran unhindered by the rest of the ship’s systems, and so computed much faster than normal. Idle thought routines communicated with one another from ship to ship across the fleet, learning where each was heading, battle records, or places visited. One ship, the Bane of Asimov, boasted a record 76 confirmed Khaldean ship destroyed.
Document attached.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Dié opened her eyes only to be met with a similar darkness. She refused to panic. No matter how much she wanted to, her training forbid her from panicking. Stay calm. All she had to do was open the hatch. Now, if she could only…find the…release… There! …Nothing. Stay calm, it’ll be fine. In the cramped space there was little room to maneuver, so it took her a considerable period of time to get into a position where she could push on the hatch. It held fast. No. Again and again she struggled in the darkness, until at last she broke down. Claustrophobia overtook her, and she panicked. She cried. She scratched at the door until her fingers bled. She yelled until her voice was hoarse, “Let me out!” But no one came to her rescue.
* * *
Captain Einjung Fraumann observed his crew boarding the Pferdbootfleugzeug with great zeal. He was anxious to sail again; being on land always made him jump and anxious. Perhaps it was the solidarity of land, or the stability – or even the finite distances – that dry land presented to him that unsettled him. Whatever the reason for his unease, it left him yearning to sail once more whenever he made port.
Then (as always) his thoughts turned to her. She was the only reason for his staying in port for more than one day. He loved her so much that he would give up sailing if she only asked him. But she would never ask that of him; she loved him too much.
When the last of his crew boarded, Einjung turned to have one last look at the Lighthouse (along with all of the memories he and she spent there) and was greeted by a familiar face. “Dasmädchen!” He embraced his love. “What are you doing here?”
“Surprised?” She knew he was, but waited from his nod. “I got a job working in the Lighthouse – upkeep, or something silly like that.”
“Why?” It must not have sounded how he thought it did, for his love adopted a hurt expression.
“To see you, my love. To see you as soon as you sail back this way. I – I thought…”
“Oh, no. Don’t cry. Of course I’m excited for you. I was just surprised is all.” He tried to mend her hurt feelings.
“Then – then you don’t mind if I get to see you first when you come ashore?” She looked deep into his eyes; hers twinkled like stars.
“Mind? Of course I don’t mind. I love it, just like I love you.” He smiled and kissed her.
When they pulled apart, she said, “Isn’t it time for you to set sail, my love?”
“Yes, I supposes it is,” he said sadly.
“Promise me that you’ll return!”
“It’s only a trading voyage. I won’t be gone long.”
“Promise!”
“All right, I promise.” He embraced her one last time before slowly boarding the vessel. The mooring lines were pulled in, the engine spurted to life, and the Pferdbootfleugzeug sailed away form the dock. Dasmädchen watched the vessel until it was a speck in the distance.
“I will wait you at the Lighthouse, Einjung. Always.”
* * *
Captain Alkron von Wilhelm opened one eyes as the stasis chamber’s systems shut off one at a time. Unable to blink the sleep away from his other eyes, he reached up to wipe it away. But his arm refused to move without sufficient coaxing. Eventually he succeeded. He wiped at both eyes a few more times before realizing that his blurry vision was due to the chamber door.
Beep. A green icon flashed on the inside of the dark door. Alkron squinted against the darkness until it became clear. OK TO EXIT STASIS. He fumbled for a moment until he found the release level and pulled it. The hatch popped up with a hiss and swung all the way clear with a good push.
The stasis chamber was a gray cylinder, roughly seven feet long – long enough to accommodate even the tallest crewmember. It sat propped up at a shallow angle to the wall, allowing Alkron to lie in a semi-comfortable position. Not that it mattered much, stasis was a form of deep sleep that slowed the functions of the body, allowing crews to survive long journeys on slower-than-light (STL) vessels. But Alkron’s vessel, the Star Strider, was equipped with a faster-than-light (FTL) warp-drive. Stasis pods were only used in the case of a medical emergency. In the entirety of the ship’s history, such an event had occurred exactly twice.
He pushed off with both hands and drifted away from the featureless pod, and had to quickly twist in the air to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. Another couple of seconds, and he found his balance in the free-fall environment. His muscles felt like gelatin, though not necessarily because of the zero gravity; stasis always had that effect on people, or so he had heard. Alas, his captain duties awaited, so recuperating would have to wait.
Fluorescent lights flickered to life down the empty corridors of the Star Strider, revealing a stark interior. Every wall was identical to the last: smooth, white, and devoid of any distinguishing characteristics. Only one who had spent years upon years inside the vessel would have any hope of successfully navigating the maze of blank halls without consulting a layout map. Captain Alkron von Wilhelm was just such a man. The Star Strider was his vessel, he knew her inside and out. She was his only home, his best friend, and his greatest love.
Finding his way through the hall from the stasis chamber to the bridge required barely a moment’s thought as his body slowly recovered from the effects of stasis. He drifted past the various stations of his crew, pushing aside loose debris that had floated away from their resting places (I will have to remind the crew about that) and settled into the captain’s chair. Spongy fabric molded around him when he pushed into the chair, preventing him from floating away without significant leverage. A shadow fell on Alkron, disrupting his peace.
“Ahoy, Captain, sir!” a young man drifted into view, saluting extravagantly and smiling brightly. Captain Wilhelm scowled as the communications officer floated upside-down toward the floor of the bridge.
“Jackson, you damn fool!” the captain exclaimed. “Right yourself and get to your station.!” He couldn’t hide the grin that Jackson brought to his face.
“Yes, sir!” Jackson pushed off with both hands, sending him in a high arc over Alkron and landing feet-first at the communications console. He began switching on various systems with flick of a switch or the press of a button. Alkron listened with great pleasure as the Star Strider whirred to life to join her captain. But it still felt like a ghost ship.
“Jackson?”
“Sir?”
“Where are Nolan and Zerric, and the others?”
Jackson thought for a moment before replying, “I would guess that they’re still coming out of stasis, sir. Not everyone is as spry as – ah! Speak of the devil!” Nolan drifted in through one of the doors.
“Nolan, have you seen any of the others?”
“No, I haven’t,” the weapons specialist snapped.
“Would you mid going to check on the them?” Alkron asked, though it was more of an order than a request.
“Yes, Captain.” Nolan twisted in the air and vanished.
“Jackson, how are things coming?” Alkron asked his communications tech. When he did not receive a reply, the captain asked, “How is my ship?” with a stern voice.
“Oh, uh, just fine, sir.” Jackson (like all crew members) knew how much the captain loved his ship. “She’s just running a bit sluggish today…sir.” He tried to hide the concern in his voice, but Alkron picked up on it anyway. The captain kept quiet, however. It never took this long for all the old girl to come back online. Although they had dome a full-systems shut down (or near enough) in the middle of a war zone littered with EMPs before, Alkron thought bitterly.
A minute or two later, Nolan came tumbling back into the bridge. He was sweating and on the verge of hyperventilating.
“Nolan! My God, what happened?” Alkron demanded.
“Zerric! It’s…Zerric! He’s dead!”
Alkron sat upright so quickly, he almost dislodged himself from his seat. “Dead? Dead! How!”
“I don’t… I think the stasis chamber failed somehow.” Nolan’s breathing slowed and he gathered himself. He was a soldier, and this what no way for a soldier to act.
“Did you check the others?” Alkron had now removed himself from his set and was floating with his weapons expert.
“N-No, sir,” the other muttered. “I – I just…”
Alkron clasped the other by both shoulders and shook him gently but sternly. “Nolan. Focus. Go check Frieden and Isaac. I will go look for Dié and Paul. Jackson, as soon as you can, establish contact with Scionis.”
“Aye, Captain.” Jackson’s earlier cheerfulness was gone, replaced with a focused, efficient crewmember. Alkron stared into Nolan’s eyes to make sure he understood his task. He was eventually given a short nod, which was enough to send the captain flying away, through the doorway, and down the hall.
They can’t be dead. We were only going to Scionis, how could they have died? Maybe the EMP minefield screwed up the stasis chambers’ electronics. Yeah, yeah that must be it. The stasis chambers malfunctioned, and they suffocated.
Even if that were true, Alkron would still feel like he failed them. He was their captain and he let them die.
He suddenly found himself floating through the doorway to Dié’s quarters. The stasis chamber lay ominously on the far side, leaning against the wall. Dark. Silent. Like a casket. Alkron drifted cautiously inside; the hatch possessed no window, a fact for which Alkron was not particularly thankful. Even preparing himself for the worst did not prepare him for the sight that awaited him on the other side of the hatch. As it swung up, a blast of fetid air besieged his nostrils. Struggling to keep from retching, it took a moment for him to recognize what he was seeing. Dié’s skeleton lay in the chamber, her Navy uniform turned yellow from age and rotten flesh. The arms were outstretched as though trying to force the hatch open. Alkron kicked away from the chamber reactively, spun in the air, and vomited. Globules of the yellow-green fluid rushed outward ward and bounded about the room.
Without thinking he took off for Paul’s quarters. There he was met with a similar, gruesome sight. He did not vomit a second time. How did this happen? Scionis is barely a week’s journey from Earth via warp-drive. Even if the stasis chambers failed and the suffocated, they should not have decomposed so rapidly.
“Captain,” Jackson’s voice came over the intercom. “You need to come to the bridge. There’s something you need to see.”
When Alkron arrived in the bridge, Nolan was already waiting there. The blank stare he received informed him that Frieden and Isaac had suffered a fate like that of Dié and Paul. Before faced his crew, he had put on his best “captain’s face”.
“Have you established contact with Scionis, Jackson?”
“No, sir.” Not the answer he wanted.
“Why not?”
“They’re not in range.”
“Not in range!” Alkron fumed. Then realization sank in. “Where the hell are we?”
Jackson opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. “Let me show you.” He pressed a button on his console. The large view screen blinked to life. Captain and crew all turned to look. A psychedelic collage of clouds tinted ever color of the rainbow dominated the screen.
“What exactly are we looking at, Jackson? Even as he asked, he knew exactly what it was.
“A nebula, sir. We are currently drifting through a nebula.”
“Which one?”
“Don’t know. Pattern doesn’t match any recorded nebulae, though it comes close. Its impossible to determine, since we don’t know where we are in relation to any other landmark.”
“How long have we been drifting?”
“Again, impossible to determine. Though, from what I’ve heard of our crewmates, a very long time.”
“How did this happen?” Alkron whispered.
“Our flight vector must have gotten screwed up when we passed through the EMP field.”
His words were lost on Alkron, however, as the aging starship captain stared out into the multi-colored haze. Its beauty belied its danger. Even if they were within range of an inhabited star system, the gas and plasma would have scrambled most, if not all, communications. He took a sharp breath as he realized just how stranded they really were.
“God help us,” he crossed himself.
* * *
The heavens shed heavy tears down upon the world as the Khaldean Navy laid siege to Earth. Great explosions shook the earth and rattled the bones of anyone unlucky enough to be caught outside. Some of those explosions were preceded by a flash of lightning, others accompanied by the flash of an EMP bomb detonating in high altitude. Still other explosions were followed by a great fireball as an Earth Navy warship plummeted to the ground.
It was a horrific, yet awesome scene. Great starships (obviously alien in design) descended through the atmosphere and brilliant beam weapons rained down upon the cities. But then – hope! Earth warships appeared on the horizon and fired their own weapons at the Khaldeans. The resulting light storm was enough to turn midnight into noon. A great holocaust ravaged the land as the two armies of angels clashed high above.
The hull of the Star Strider rattles so much that it might have been hailing, for the crew knew. Whenever an explosion shook the craft, the crew glanced skyward in a silent prayer Please, Lord, not me. Not tonight. There was no way of knowing how the battle was faring from the bridge – not with the external sensors shut off.
Everyone straightened up and hastily finished their prayer when the doors slid open and Captain Alkron von Wilhelm walked in. His Navy uniform was soaked, and his gray beard was dripping water all over the floor. He gave the crew an absent once-over, then faced Jackson Asten, who was typing furiously as his console.
“How are things coming, Jackson?” Alkron always referred to his crew by their first names rather than their surnames or ranks.
“Just fine, Captain. A few more systems and we’ll be ready.”
The captain sighed. “I’ve jot gotten back from observing the battle first-hand,” he said to the rest of his crew. “And its not looking good. Admiral Alexander has ordered all craft currently not participating in the battle to retreat and regroup at designated bases.”
“So we’re running away?” Nolan Lear jumped to his feet in protest. The big African-American stood at least six feet tall, so his presence was not something that could be ignored.
“No, Nolan. We’re making a tactical withdraw and regrouping to minimize losses.” Nolan would be hard pressed to argue with that logic. He sucked in some air and at back down, defeated, but not satisfied.
“How are we getting past the Khaldean fleet, Captain?” Dié Lorentz inquired politely. “They’ve brought in so many sips that they form a shield of sorts between our atmosphere and space.” Her Latino accent caused her words to come out very fast, so that anyone not familiar with her would have a difficult time of understanding.
“The Navy has put in place a strategy of retreating in waves – the first of which is already away. Navy ships were matched one-to-one with empty decoy vessels, so as to draw enemy attention and allow more occupied ships to get free.”
Alkron was waiting for a response from any of his crew when Jackson poked his head up and said, “Second wave is away, Captain. Seventy percent of occupied Navy vessels got free. Ninety percent of decoy ships survived,”
“Thank you Jackson.”
“The Khaldeans won’t be so easily fooled a third time,” Isaac Adamczyk observed. “By the time the next wave is launched, they will anticipate a similar tactic. I would expect upwards of fifty percent of Navy ships shot down, while not one decoy ship is touched.” The Star Strider’s tactical officer had a talent for seeing things in the worst possible light.
“I am well aware of that, Isaac,” Alkron replied. Isaac narrowed his eyes in thought.
“That still doesn’t explain how we’re getting away,” Dié reminded the captain.
“Doesn’t it? Haven’t any of you bothered to ask Jackson what he’s been doing for the last half-hour?” Alkron looked from face to face. “He’s been shutting down all of the old girl’s systems. Well, most of them.”
“We’re going to pretend like we’re a decoy ship,” Isaac sat up in his chair.
“Yes, Isaac. As you said, they will be expecting a similar tactic to the last one. They don’t give our imaginations much credit, do they?”
“But won’t they be able to detect if there are people on board?” Zerric Frost asked.
“Yes. That is why we will be spending the entire journey in stasis.” The room went deathly quiet. An explosion somewhere off sounded a dull thud on the hull of the ship. Everyone noticed the heavy rains again for the first time since Alkron arrived.
“Stasis…” Paul bit his lip and looked at Dié. She looked ready to cry. A few years back, Dié had received a grievous wound to her chest, and she was loosing a great amount of blood. The only way she would survive was if they put her in stasis and transported her to a medical facility. After fully recovering, she vowed to never use the stasis chamber again. “Where are… To where are we traveling in stasis, Captain?” Paul asked more for Dié than anything else.
“The military base on Scionis. Barely a week’s journey.” Paul put his arm on Dié’s shoulder to reassure her. Traveling in stasis was like sleeping: you weren’t aware of time passing, but you felt the effects of it afterward. Some people could handle it. Others were like Dié.
“All unnecessary systems shut off, Captain,” Jackson said as the lights began to dim. “Flight computer is linked to the warp-drive and is in full control of the ship once I press the button. Evac ETA – seven minutes.”
“To your stasis chambers then,” Jackson pressed the button. Alkron thought he heard Dié whimper.
“Aye, Captain,” came the quiet response from the crew.
* * *
Tucked away from prying eyes, in a small room on the upper levels of the Lighthouse, the two lovers pent their last few hours together, wrapped in each other’s arms.
“I wish you didn’t have to go,” Dasmädchen mourned.
“I wish the same, love,” Einjung replied.
“That’s not true. You love sailing. You wish every moment that you are aground that you could be sailing.”
“That is true,” he consented. “But I do wish that I didn’t have to leave you behind.” He shifted his head so that their eyes could meet. He meant it.
“No. It is better this way.” Einjung’s eyebrows went up. “Your constantly being away makes the moments we do spend together all that more special.” She punctuated her sentence with a light kiss on her lover’s lips. He pulled her closer to him, and she snuggled in. A horn sounded somewhere in the distance.
“It is time for me to leave now,” Einjung whispered. With a kiss that tasted on finality, he disentangled himself from Dasmädchen. He dressed quickly and departed, checking himself each and every time he wanted to look back. It would be too painful. Footsteps echoed in the hall for a long time before they died away.
With a great sigh Dasmädchen, too, rose from the bed, dressed and exited the room. She, too, did not look back. The halls of the Lighthouse seemed exceptionally empty this day. Shadows cast by the meager light let in by small windows stalked her like wraiths out to steal her soul. She wandered aimlessly; at some point she lost her way. Searching, with no great hurry, for the way back, she bumped into one of the custodial staff – quite possibly the only custodial staff.
“Sorry, sir,” she apologized quickly.
“Oh, that’s all right, Miss,” he dismissed amicably It would take more than the likes of you to knock me over.” He smiled a toothy smile. Dasmädchen returned the smile and apologized once more before continuing on her way. Whichever way that was. Not five paces down, an idea struck her.
“Excuse me, sir?”
“Something else, Miss?”
“I was wondering if I might be able to work here?”
“In the Lighthouse?” The custodian scratched his head. “Well, we have been a little short-handed as of late.” Probably longer than that, she thought, but kept quiet. “But it don’t pay too well.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she insisted. “Do I have a job?”
“If you’re that sure about working here… I can’t see why not?”
Dasmädchen nearly screamed in elation but kept her head. Instead she nodded respectfully as the custodian. Then she ran off (suddenly remembering the way) to tell Einjung.
He will be so surprised.
* * *
“Who’s there?” Nolan demanded, spinning plasma rifle around. The motion carried with it his entire body in a snappy three-sixty. From behind his suit’s visor, Nolan’s eyes frantically scanned the interior for the source of the voice he had heard.
“No one’s there, Nolan,” Jackson assured him. “Just us.” He tightened the grip on his own rifle.
“I know someone’s here! I heard ‘em!” Nolan insisted over his shoulder. He continued to scan the darkness. What little he starlight that did reach this place was filtered through numerous tiny windows. Sporadic strips of faint light were the only relief provided throughout the crushing darkness.
“You’ve been saying that since we first set foot in the place - “
“Which I was against.”
“ - and neither of us,” he indicated Alkron and himself, “ever heard or saw anything.”
“Well I did.”
Jackson, defeated, looked to his captain for assistance. Alkron shrugged and shook his head. Jackson sighed. “Maybe it was the wind?” Alkron shot him a look, but it went unnoticed thanks to the polarized visors.
“What?” Nolan demanded and turned around slowly. “The hell did you say? The wind? In case you didn’t notice, shit-for-brains, there’s no air in here or out there!” He advanced on Jackson quickly; reaching proximity that required him to look almost straight down at the communications officer.
“It was just a joke,” Jackson tried to laugh it off.
“Oh, its real funny, Jack-ass-son.”
“Clever. I haven’t heard that one before.” Jackson would not be intimidated by the giant weapons expert. Alkron moved to break them up.
“You’re about to hear a whole lot more once I shove my foot – “
“Enough!” Alkron pushed both of them away from one another. Even Nolan, which was no small feat. “Both of you shut the hell up. Nolan, there’s no one here but us.” Nolan made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. Alkron pretended he didn’t hear. “And Jackson,” he pointed a finger in his face but was unable to come up with a reason to scold him. “Let’s go.” He stormed away. Jackson followed. Nolan stayed more than a few steps behind.
Cautious, measured steps led the three travelers deeper into the structure. Ornate carvings adorned the interior walls. Artwork, Alkron decided. Every six yards or so, a small glass orb protruded from the wall. It did not take a genius to guess what they were: lights. Though gas- or electric-powered was anyone’s guess, as they appeared not to have been used in many, many years. Rectangular doors led to other rooms, but after finding the first set unyielding to their attempts to force it open, Alkron decided against attempting to open any more.
Time was impossible to determine in this veritable purgatory. There was no passing of the sun or moon by which to gain at least an approximate measure. Unless one kept a level head, such an environment could be potentially maddening. That was just what was happening to Nolan, Alkron feared. His sanity was slipping – had been since he found Zerric dead in his stasis chamber. And then I decided we would explore this place. Nolan had protested quite loudly.
Jackson had a more stable personality than Nolan (Isaac, Alkron recalled, was the most stable of any of his crew) but was slipping. Unlike Nolan, Jackson became serious and defensive when he was nervous; he withdrew into himself, which was, while unhealthy, a lot more preferable to Nolan’s outbursts.
“I can still hear you!” Nolan’s voice shattered the mystic quiet. Speak of the devil. “Who is it? Zerric? Isaac?” Alkron turned to see Nolan waving his rifle wildly at the darkness. Jackson was staring at him with, what Alkron assumed was disbelief. “Isaac, you – I knew it was you haunting me. Bastard! Can’t even die without making me look like a fool one last time can you?”
Then, of all things, he started shooting. Randomly. Desperately. Short bursts of plasma illuminated the dark hall before they melted a circular section of the wall two inches in diameter.
“Nolan!” The crazed gunman kept on shooting. Alkron spun him around, nearly knocking him over. “What the hell are you doing?”
Can’t you hear them? The whispers out there?” His voice quivered. He as crying, Alkron realized with astonishment. “There are voices in the darkness. Calling me. Teasing me.” He grabbed the captain by his shoulders and pulled him close enough to where he could almost see the others face despite the visors. “Don’t tell me you can’t hear them!”
“Nolan,” Jackson pleaded. He let the rifle drop down in one hand and brought the other up in a subduing gesture.
“You stay away from me!” Nolan snarled. Jackson flinched, and returned his hand to the rifle.
“Nolan,” Alkron soothed. “We’re going back to the ship.” He slid the rifle out of Nolan’s hands slowly. “Then we’re going to get you help, okay?” But where would they get the kind of help he needed?
“There’s no help for me.” Nolan was bawling inside his helmet now.
“No one can make the voices. No one can make it stop.” Now he was holding a pistol. Where did he get that? Alkron swore. “But I know how to make them stop.” He raised the pistol to his head.
“Nolan…”
“You crazy fool,” Jackson shouted. “Killing yourself won’t fix anything!”
“I’m not crazy!” He disengaged the safety.
“Nolan.” Alkron watched helplessly as the man prepared to take his own life.
“I’m not crazy.”
“Nolan!”
“I’M NOT CRAZY!” He pulled the trigger. His helmet caved inward at the point of impact; the visor cracked. The bullet broke the skull and pushed through his brain. Nolan’s last moment was a loud bang, a sharp pain, and sudden darkness. Blood and brains mixed with hard plastic erupted out the other side of his head. He stood a moment longer; the gun arm dropped limply and the gun dropped from his fingers. The big man swayed and toppled.
Alkron and Jackson stood stunned beyond all belief. Then the communications officer uttered a gargling sound and dropped to his knees. He doubled over as his suit began leaking a sickly green liquid. The helmet filters struggled to cope with the amount of vomit.
Alkron turned at a clicking sound. Jackson had removed his puke-covered pressure helmet. He looked up sadly, and said, “This place ain’t exactly a beacon of hope is it, sir?” Then his eyes widened at the horror what he’d just done; they bulged. His face turned red. He gasped for air. Then all the blood in his face exploded out into the vacuum.
* * *
This place never seems to stay clean for very long, Dasmädchen thought as she slapped the mop down on the tiled floor of the Lighthouse. Not that the mop was a particularly useful tool for cleaning. At best it just moved the dirt and grime around; it’s all still there, just in a different order.
Though she had once thought it impossible, the halls of the Lighthouse seemed even more desolate lately. One thing was that, since she had begun working as a custodian of the Lighthouse, she had not seen the old janitor who had given her the position in the first place. But then that was the one and only time he had appeared to her. The Lighthouse was quite a large and imposing structure. Nevertheless, she went about her duties with a staunch determination. As determined as she was, exactly how far along she was, she did not know. She had decided to start from the bottom and work up. The spiral layout of the interior was no help.
She was just as unsure about how long she had been working – and waiting – in the Lighthouse as she was about how far she had come. Sleep brought thoughts of Einjung, so she seldom slept. As a consequence, the passage of time was difficult to gauge. Such as it was, not knowing kept her from missing Einjung…too much.
It was on this day – when her boredom had reached its epitome – that the dull rumble of a ship’s engine floated up the twisting interior of the Lighthouse and pounded against her eardrums. The sound was low and barely perceptible, but was like the clash of hail on a thousand tin roofs to Dasmädchen. All of her muscles froze and her thoughts ceased to wander and snapped to attention, latching onto the first break in the stillness in a long (was it really?) time. The mop fell from her hands and hit the floor with a clatter and snapped her out of her reverie. The small window showed an undesirable view of the base of the Lighthouse, but a view nonetheless. Down some distance, at the edge of the spit of land upon which the Lighthouse stood, a small craft sputtered up to the dock.
Her heart pounded in elation as a figure stepped tentatively onto land. Just like Einjung. Even though the figure was too small to be seen in any great detail from this distance, Dasmädchen knew in her heart – nay, her soul – that it was Einjung. And I’m supposed to be the first one he sees coming ashore! Without a second thought, she sprinted down the spiral path of the Lighthouse interior. She arrived at the base just as the door swung open.
She stopped and smoothed her hair and put on her best smile.
* * *
Multicolored wisps of gas and gust and plasma swept past the derelict Star Strider, caressing its hull. They teased and beckoned it forward; pushed along by leftover thrust from the warp drive, and faint traces of gravitational fluxes, the starship had no choice but to obey. Behind the vessel trailed an impossibly long tunnel through the nebula where it was pushed aside by the massive construct. Perhaps if the ship could have been turned around, it might have followed the path home.
Alas, the Star Strider had no means by which to turn itself around. It had only survived this long solely because of the crew’s decision to shut off all but the most vital systems. Now that the crew was awake (well, what remained of the crew) the stasis chambers were shut off, as well as the AI. Even so, there was not enough fuel left to ignite the fusion thrusters, since most of it had been burned off by the warp drive. So, it drifted with no direction, and no ability to alter its course.
Captain Alkron slammed shut the airlock door for the fifth, and last time. On the other side Isaac’s body was sucked out into the void to rejoin his former crewmates in death, as in life. No tears came this time, only a soft prayer. He lingered though, both hands on the airlock door, as if contemplating opening the door again. But then he shook his head and shuffled off.
His soul was heavy with the weight of five lives whose deaths he thought were his responsibility. I’ve failed them. They died because I made a mistake. Somewhere. It’s my fault. As he prepared the bodies of his crew for jettisoning (a the outer-space version of burial-at-sea that hadn’t been performed since the invention of the stasis chamber) Jackson had tried his hardest to ease his captain’s guilt. While he thanked him for the concern, it did little in the way of actually absolving.
The void of space also tugged on the captain. Any positive thoughts seemed to be sucked away the instant they formed. Perhaps they were chasing after the corpses of his crew, since his the time he spent with his them was the happiest he could remember. He wanted to remember those times, so that maybe it might keep the crew alive – in memory at least. But no, whenever he found a happy memory, thoughts of their deaths pushed forward, and forced the happiness out.
“Captain,” Jackson acknowledged when he entered appeared in the bridge. The communications officer then turned back to his console and simply stared. What was there to do? He was basically wasting space (and oxygen) at this point, since there was no one out there to communicate with. Nolan was staring at the view screen, out into the nebula, and gave only a curt nod. Alkron nodded at both of them, then floated over to his chair and let the molding foam suck him in.
“Still nothing?” he asked.
“Still nothing,” Jackson replied.
“Location?”
“Unknown. There are no satellites with which to link up and determine our position. We’re flying – if you call what we’re doing flying – blind.”
“How’s the ship?”
Jackson hesitated. “Fusion fuel at less than ten percent. Hull has suffered extensive degradation due to out prolonged exposure to the vacuum environment, but we’ll run out of air before it becomes a problem.” He wished he hadn’t made that last comment; it felt more like a prediction than an exaggeration.
“How is the life-support?”
“Well, if we don’t run out of food in the next week, me might suffocate. Oxygen is at sixty-seven percent. I think there’s a leak somewhere. I’ve closed off all of the outer wings. We’re left with the command cluster near the center, including the bridge.
“So, what exactly is still running?”
“Hmm… Life support, lights, pressurized combat suits, the fusion engine (though there very little fuel left to do anything drastic), and weapons.” Nolan twisted his head slightly, but otherwise remained impassive.
“So we’re… stranded then.”
“Aye, sir. Stranded.” A heavy silence descended on the three.
“It’s really big, isn’t it?” Nolan asked suddenly. Both of the others looked his way. “I mean, we fly around it all the time, but it’s always near other places. Places with people, I mean. Now, when we’re out here all alone, it seems, I don’t know, bigger, I guess.” He turned back to look at his fellow shipmates. “You know?”
Alkron nodded. “Yeah, I know. It does seem bigger now, especially now that five of our – my – crew are dead.” And just like that, he was back to grieving. “I feel very alone.”
Jackson thought a moment, and then nodded, too. A light flashed on his console. For a moment he stared at it, then, once it fully registered in his mind, he pressed the button below it. A radar screen blinked to life on a blank monitor. He was not prepared for what he saw.
“C-Captain,” he choked out.
“Yes, Jackson?”
“I… We’re picking up a signal.” Jackson felt both Alkron and Nolan stare at him.
“What kind of signal?”
“Well it’s…like an emergency signal, but different. It is not asking for help, rather it is almost signaling to stranded vessels. That’s what I can make of it, anyway.”
Alkron was bout to say something when Nolan called him. “Captain! There’s… something out there.” He placed a finger on the view screen, indicating a dark shape materializing in the nebula. “And I think we’re being pulled towards it. Jackson, what’s the read on its gravitonic signature?”
“Um… sixty to seventy percent standard. Jesus, that can’t be right. It’s too small an object to produce a gravity field that strong.” He looked over at another monitor. “And it’s not spherical. I think that gravity is artificial.”
“Do we have enough fuel to break away from its pull?” Alkron rested his head on folded hands.
“Yes, sir, only, there’s nowhere to go if we boost away from this…” - Jackson was unable to find an appropriate description - “…thing”
Then let’s let it pull us. Relax, boys.” The Star Strider drifted closer and closer to the stellar object. As it did so, a clearer view of the structure (as it turned out to be) was achieved. It was big. Artificial. Imposing.
“Is that…?” A brilliant light shined in through the view screen, blinding the crew. In a few seconds the light sensors adjusted the sensitivity, but by then the light had moved on. “It can’t be…”
“Jackson, do you have any idea what in the hell this thing is?” Alkron demanded. He noticed he was whispering, as if he thought someone was eavesdropping.
“Sir, I… I think it’s a… lighthouse.”
All at once the nebula parted, giving them an unobstructed view of the structure. It was grand, and eerie, and wonderful. The beacon of light spun around again. It was indeed a lighthouse.
* * *
Alkron paused at the top of the spiral incline. This was it; he’d made it to the top. Tears sprang to his eyes as thoughts of Jackson and Nolan: dead, both of them. My fault. All of his crew weight heavy on his soul; their deaths he took responsibility for. Another might say he was being to hard on himself, and even have tried to console him and relive some of his guilt. But there was no one else. Only him.
The powerful beam of light swung overhead once, twice. On the third pass he looked through it. The structure above him was revealed as just a ceiling with some arches that reached down to his level. Between here and there was a great space of nothing. The beacon dominated the center of the room, propped several feet above his head and the light itself standing at least thirty feet high. For just a moment he admired the structure for what it was, a marvel of engineering. For something this grand to be floating in space was… a waste, to say the least.
Structure on any human-settled planet (or Khaldean, he guessed) possessed no structure that could match the beauty of this lighthouse. There was something about lighthouses that always had occupied a special place in his heart ever since he was a child.
He recalled from when he was a child, perhaps eleven or twelve, a time when he rowed out to the lighthouse near his seaside home on Oaies. Night was forcing Twilight’s beauty away, and the beacon flared to life. Not a few minutes later did a ship appear out of the gloom and follow the light to a berth safely. What if, he had wondered, that light had come on just a few minutes later? Or not at all? The ship might have crashed on the rocks, or missed the shore entirely and headed back out to sea. There the crew might have gotten lost and run out of food or water. But they found their guiding light, and returned to land.
There used to be a legend associated with that lighthouse: that a woman had died in there waiting for her lover, who was a sailor, to return. Alkron had always found that a ridiculous story, even for an urban legend. Why would she wait there, instead of waiting at home, or going to get food?
Alkron shook his head, suddenly faced with the reality of the Lighthouse. What strange memories are conjured as my journey nears its final destination. He sighed and sat by one of the floor to ceiling windows through which the beacon projected its light. The whole of the nebula spread out before him, a psychedelic euphoria breaking up the monotonous dark of space. Somewhere out there was home, Oaies, Earth, Scionis, Raskokov, Feldvre, and every other settled planet. If only he knew where he was.
“Who’s there?” Alkron jumped to his feet and sun around. Someone just spoke. No one was there. An image of Nolan standing there with the gun to his head, bleeding, flashed in his mind. He drew his pistol, ejected the ammunition, and threw it with all his might. It skidded on the nice tile, leaving a scratch on its otherwise perfect floor, and slid down the spiral incline. Panting, he leaned against the window. He was going crazy. But at least I’m still sane enough to know it.
He sank to the floor, exhausted. He just needed to rest… he shut his eyes gently, intending only to sleep for fifteen minutes or so. Later, he awoke gently, suggesting that it had been longer than that, but without any real method of timing. Alkron got his feet, feeling better than ever.
Someone else was there now, someone unfamiliar. He was unsure if it was even human (or any other alien race encountered), but waved hello anyway.
“Where is Einjung?” she asked.
* * *
STAR STRIDER FLIGHT VECTOR
ANGLE: 30.07 DEGREES NNW
DISTANCE: 8.01 LIGHT YEARS
Alkron von Wilhelm was the last of the Star Strider’s crew to close his stasis chamber hatch. The calm darkness washed over him, and his last thought before succumbing was a prayer that, of they were shot down, it would be quick.
The AI took control of the flight computer, now synched up with thousands of other starships, and mulled over the plethora of calculations it had to process in order to maintain the correct flight path. It ran unhindered by the rest of the ship’s systems, and so computed much faster than normal. Idle thought routines communicated with one another from ship to ship across the fleet, learning where each was heading, battle records, or places visited. One ship, the Bane of Asimov, boasted a record 76 confirmed Khaldean ship destroyed.
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