Parallel Extinction (Extinction Encounters Book 1) Page 4

  Apparently Taylor hadn’t bothered to notice the conditions. She leaned over to look at the document. Garrison wondered if they had made any demands on her, or if she gotten away with her usual advantage.

  “Yeah, Bartell, there’s a price, and we’ll find someone else if you ain’t into this. You just sign here,” Amio’s meaty hand thudded down on a different sheet on the bar, “and walk away now—and keep your mouth shut. Exactly what you’ll be gettin’ into if you stay and hear the rest of this story, I can’t divulge unless ya’ sign what ya’ got there. I can say you’ll be in charge, sorta. But if you change your mind after you hear the story, then it’s the brig, no two ways.” He paused, then goaded, “Time to choose.”

  Amio settled back into his stare while Garrison chewed on his choices. He looked at the silent Taylor. She just raised her eyebrows, offering no support. He didn’t much like the taste of it, but it would likely beat a lot of the USUCC missions for excitement level. In fact, he’d bet on that. And he would be in charge. That worked. He took a few moments more and used his opticals to scan the fine print for any key words which would make it a non-starter. He found nothing that would cause long term suffering for him.

  Garrison decided to match Amio’s surly demeanor. “Alright, alright. Fuck it. I’m in. Now would you get on with this bullshit?” He picked the contract and stylus up off the bed and looked back up at Amio. It startled him to find that the man’s face had gone from normal red to a purple shade. It gave the alarming impression that his head was about to explode.

  With an obvious and massive effort at control, Sgt. Amio said through his teeth, “If you call this bullshit again… I’ll beat the hell out of you and then have you locked up. Believe me, nobody in BUMP will question my authority, and you can rot in a cell. I had personal friends on that patrol, which is now some fuckin’ nightmare of a ghost ship, so don’t fuck with me.” The last was a suppressed shout as he ran out of wind. The sound of his inbreath hissed like water on a fire.

  Whoa, where’d that come from? A lamb, he ain’t. Garrison had misread the situation; the guy was ready to go off. The beast at the heart of this man was awake. Garrison nodded at him. “Okay, man… sorry. No offense.”

  Shrinking the perma-z back to normal view, he turned to Taylor and signaled her to turn her back to him. She obliged and he used her back to sign the document with a quick scratch. Garrison tapped the “Fix” box, and the sheet warmed and stiffened slightly as it underwent its electrochemical burn-in; it could not be undone. He handed back the contract and stylus.

  Amio took a moment to let the heat of his mood dissipate; then, with a deep, slow breath, he reassumed his military poise. Giving no acknowledgement to the exchange with Garrison, he continued. “We can trust Patrol Three’s data stream, it’s encrypted with Cross-Link Encryption Transmission—bulletproof anti-tamper.”

  Garrison wasn’t impressed by the man’s rookie comm-training references, “Yeah, I’m familiar with CLET.”

  “Okay... the only way to say this is straight out. Almost all of the crewmembers of the Seeker are dead. The others might as well be.” Amio paused, affected deeply by what he was telling them.

  By this time in the man’s recounting, Garrison had expected something of this magnitude. Still, it was terrible to hear the words flat out. He knew that anything he said now would sound trite, so he remained quiet. Taylor made no efforts at consolation either; he could only guess at her feelings.

  Amio went on with practiced reserve. “Now, Taylor hasn’t heard this next part either,” his eyes swept over her. “All of the crew, except one Private, appear to have been… well, the best way I can put it is, physically regressed. They are all fetuses.”

  A lightning-fast chill raced over Garrison’s scalp and down his back, jolting him up off his stool. “WHAT?” he shouted in concert with a similarly surprised and shocked Taylor. He could feel the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck standing on end.

  How could this happen? And as strange and awful as the outcome was, the implications were still more bizarre. Had time been altered? His mental gears turned, automatically formulating and discarding various explanations.

  The sergeant continued stoically, any emotions now hidden. “About half of these died quickly, according to the Rapscallion coroner’s reports. There are eleven still alive, ten as fetuses. These alleged crewmen—these fetuses—were inside the Enviro suits. Four have been placed in available incubators, six in chemical stasis, and a mass cold stasis for the lifeless fetuses.”

  Garrison slowly sat back down, exchanging wide-eyed looks with Taylor. Amio’s use of the word “alleged” revealed the sergeant’s own disbelief at what he was telling them. “The cold stasis of the dead was done aboard the Seeker once its power was restored, then quarantine was set. The Rapscallion will beam-tow the cruiser to outer Sol system. It’ll be put into orbit around Titan. Forensics will do a full investigation there.

  “The eleven living crew,” again his disbelief showed, “are quarantined on the Rapscallion. The single, unregressed crewmember, Private Sam Geoff, is still unresponsive—possible coma—though no physical harm is evident. The report I have,” with his huge hand he double-thumped yet another set of zephyrs on the counter, “says re-growth tanks will be modified on Dock Toroid Alpha for an attempt to affect overall body growth. Any luck, they’ll bring these ten fetuses back to adult state.” Sadness and doubt escaped past his defenses. “Maybe we’ll get some answers at that time, if there ain’t any brain damage.”

  Amio looked back and forth between the two of them. “The pirate scow stays where it is. There’s a hundred-fifty-thousand kilometer proximity-contamination beacon in place. All SciPod routes are being altered to be clear of the site by a parsec or more. There’s no pirates to worry about out there, now that we got this one; we’ve been after this scow for some time.

  “The SciPod that was under attack by the pirates is still grappled to the side of their ship. We suspect that the scow… Well, I’ve said enough about that. Eventually, the SciPod will be returned to the Tear and Form Corporation for a salvage fee.”

  The sergeant’s demeanor continued to cool as he talked. He took a long, deep breath and let it out with a sound in his throat. He leaned back off the end of the bed, putting an elbow on a kitchenette barstool, and rested his shoulders against the edge of the counter, remaining silent and contemplative.

  Garrison recalled what TJ had said about the man seeming not-too-smart at first; that first impression had indeed evaporated. He seized the silence as an opportunity to try for more information. “Yes, that’s too far out for your average pirate. So, what makes this pirate vessel special? How did they get out there?” Garrison wanted to see that ship. “You don’t really believe this stuff about regression, do you? And where do you see Taylor and me fitting in here? This is obviously top-secret stuff,” he pointed to the report Amio had indicated, “and I’d certainly like to know all about it… but I’d think BUMP should have things pretty well in hand.”

  His comment and questions brought Lamb’s defenses back immediately. “Far from it, Captain,” he said, harsh on Garrison’s rank. “And what I believe doesn’t enter into it. The pirate vessel, I only know a little about it, which I haven’t been given clearance to share. But Center doesn’t have all the info they want. They are unwilling take more risks with the Rapscallion’s entire crew for the initial investigation. We need someone in charge there, at the scow and SciPod, quickly; a small crew—and people with a proven record of skill in combat situations. Someone thinks you fit that description.” He motioned toward the reclining Taylor and said, “She’s been checked out completely. So have you, Bartell. I know of your former service with BUMP. Captain at twenty-seven is impressive.”

  Garrison wasn’t surprised when he mentioned this fact. Taylor was. “Garry, you never told me,” she mocked. All of his USUCC crew held the military agency in pretty low reg
ard for various reasons, valid and invalid. He had been careful to keep his service record hidden; they had no clue that he had been in BUMP.

  “You just keep your mouth shut, Taylor,” Garrison snapped.

  Amio went on, indifferent. “As far she’s concerned, Ms. Jest came to me and presented an impressive résumé of her accomplishments, some of which she could be arrested for.” He flashed her a stern look. She just smiled, sweetly batting her eyelids. Garrison rolled his eyes, knowing that she definitely had Bellboy on her hook.

  Amio continued. “It was decided that her indiscretions would be overlooked if she’d work with us: her skill-set is unique. She has agreed to do so.” Garrison wondered what it meant that she would work with them. And what all was in that résumé.

  The soldier spoke to Garrison with the first hint of respect. “I’m told your tour of duty was exemplary for one so young, and that you could have gone for higher officer’s rank. I’d like to know what happened.”

  “Yeah,” Garrison growled, failing to appreciate the new tone, “well, I don’t want to get into it. And don’t go spreading it around either. I don’t even know how I’m going to explain this tour of service that I’ve apparently just committed to.” Garrison did not like how the man came across as superior, even though he held a lower rank.

  The big man sat quietly, looking at him. Garrison matched stares. Then the sergeant gave details. “Well, I’m not privy to all your background. As far as this mission goes, you’ll pilot a one-of-a-kind ship out to the scow’s location to scout for the escape pod that’s missing off the pirate ship. You’ll be co-captaining the two-person Light Skipper.”

  Garrison groaned. Co-captaining? When Amio said he’d be in charge, he was thinking he’d have a crew, not be sharing a command. He held his tongue, waiting for the next piece.

  “She will have authority to supersede you if she feels it is necessary. Conflicts may be resolved through Center, if time allows, otherwise, her word will be final.”

  Garrison couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He looked at Taylor with incredulity, how many men had she screwed to get this bonus? “That’s ridiculous. You can’t just make Taylor a Captain. And over me? On what possible reality would you base that decision? She’s just a stunt-junkie!”

  “Hey!” Taylor was also confused but took offense at the slight.

  He looked back at Amio but he could feel Taylor’s glare like an infrared beam on his bare neck. He ignored it.

  Amio found it funny. “Ha! No, Bartell, not TJ. She’s getting a separate assignment.”

  Garrison still burned, just the same. That the sergeant thought it so humorous didn’t help his mood. His face had grown hot. He went on, “I’m not signing up for this just to be countermanded and contradicted at my every order. You can just send your lady captain along without me.”

  The sergeant drawled in a self-satisfied tone, “Well, Captain Bartell, like I said, we’ll make another choice. I hear that BUMP’s brigs aren’t quite as dangerous as they used to be. I’m sure you’ll be just fine.”

  In his upset, Garrison had momentarily blanked his circumstances and choice limitations. He had no choice; this was a set up. His tongue was tied as he eyed the signed contract where it sat on the counter behind Sgt. Amio.

  The sergeant, showing a new and unexpected generosity, said with a rumbling laugh, “Relax, Captain Bartell. Your co-captain is briefed on your achievements, and she has a healthy respect for you. You might even have heard her name, Dominique Astra.”

  Captain Astra. Yes, he had definitely heard her name. He looked quickly at Taylor and realized she had also; she didn’t look too happy. But, hell with it, she was playing games anyway, fooling around with this guy. Besides, just because Astra’s beauty was renowned didn’t mean that he’d have a thing with her… despite the fantastic possibilities that already competed in his mind.

  He became aware of the sergeant saying his name for a second time, and Taylor was looking more upset than before.

  “Well, I’m going to guess you know of her,” Amio said. “Consider yourself lucky to co with her. She’s one of our best.”

  Yeah, thought Garrison, most definitely.

  * * *

  “Hey Garrison,” Taylor said as they walked away from Bellamy Amio’s quarters. “Why don’t I see if I can talk Lamb into letting me transfer to your Light Skipper crew? I bet he could pull some strings. I’m sure there’s room for little ol’ me.”

  Garrison was still taking in all of the implications of what his near future held, and didn’t respond to Taylor’s comment. She took it to mean that he was lost in thought about that bimbo, Astra, and turned up the ice control. Loudly she said, “Fine. I know you’ll be real busy with your new co-captain. I’m sure I’d cramp your style big time.” With that, she stalked off in another direction.

  TJ’s outburst caught Garrison off guard, bringing him out of his reverie. Quickly putting his brain on replay, he realized his problem. He wasn’t sure what the future held for him and Dominique, but he did not want to alienate TJ. “Taylor, come on. I’ve never even met the woman,” he called out, “it’s not like that.” But it was no use; she heard but completely ignored, continuing away from him.

  “Hey, keep it down out there,” came an irritated voice from a darkened apartment window.

  Garrison hadn’t been tracking the time during this strange meeting. It was early morning, he saw, checking his optics time. His girlfriend faded into the dark moonshadows of another building. “TAYLOR...” She disregarded his call. Well, he’d deal with her later. He headed back to his apartment. Having this unexpected, early-departure timetable, he’d need to get some sleep.

  * * *

  Later, lying sleepless in bed, he thought about the force, or forces, which were capable of doing what had been done to that crew. He began to feel some of that tingle that Amio had been talking about. Also, some of the old zeal from his BUMP days catching pirates. It was tempered by that question: What am I getting into?

  No answer echoed back from the repeating query as he drifted into an uneasy sleep, one filled with disturbed dreams.

  * * *

  …in front of him, knobs rattled violently on closed doors, hiding mystery. With a tearing noise a black void opened behind him, its edge creeping closer. The floor slowly disappeared, pulled under the wall of potential exits, by whatever horror lurked on the other side. He could not choose a path, so he put his back to a door. It began to concuss with a loud, excited pounding, as if something sensed that the blood of prey was near and would break though in seconds. Looking down, he saw he was wearing his military dress whites, his sharply polished black shoes sliding, as if greased, while the floor moved under them. The last bit of purchase disappeared and he dropped with a scream into the blackness, falling... falling…

  The scream droned on… though he wasn’t screaming at all.

  The wail amplified.

  With a jolt, gasping for breath, he landed in dark, warm softness. Heartbeats drummed in his ears. With each thump, certainty of death twisted instead toward confusion. He struggled to see in the darkness, searching for the source of the scream. His pulse raced as reality slowly resolved. He reached over, dropping a clumsy hand down on his MUI, the material interface to his implants, silencing the intensifying whine of the alarm. His labored breath was loud in the silence.

  Garrison’s actions pulled his awareness into the pre-dawn hour of 0400, flashing on the surface of the slim rectangle. He lay there in the silence, ears still ringing with the ghost of his alarm, concentrating on slowing his ramped-up physiology.

  His consciousness teetered between states of reality and unreality. With a mental message to his MUI, a wan glow arose from its surface, just enough to allow him to fumble for his Waker Shaker, spilling out two small tablets of Super Cortical Activator. They dissolved quickly under his tongue. This neatly chased away t
he cobwebs but had the unpleasant side effect of cementing the memories of the nightmare into his waking consciousness.

  It was time to prepare for space, but his mind held onto the dream, trying to assign meaning to the symbolism. Before he knew it, he had wasted a precious five minutes in a stupor. Lurching into action, he made for the shower.

  He found that, despite the heat of the water, the chill of the previous evening still clung to his spine.

  CHAPTER 7

  EVENT: DAY 6, Retro to Day Zero

  The hulking form huddled unmoving on the ice floor.

  Bands of gray slashed into the weak rays of sunlight as they struggled through the translucent sapphirine walls of the cave. The blue beams failed to penetrate Fred Comani’s psyche. The mechanics of “present time” were turned off. Locked down.

  In his mind, the doctor grasped at old memories, avoiding those of the journey that brought him here.

  His misery had started on the last day of his latest system survey. He had picked up the strange, accursed rock as a souvenir. That action began a string of events.

  Bad luck. Disaster. Nightmare.

  First, the power fluctuations. Hurtling through the void in quantum realities, he had decided the issue was severe enough for a mayday and to risk an unlikely encounter with a rogue pirate scow. He’d been warned of one in this quadrant. He hadn’t been worried, though; he was well acquainted with the vastness of space.

  Comani switched to standard drive and engaged the distress beacon. Then, without warning, all systems went down, shortening his call for help to a few seconds before it failed with the rest of the arrays.