working together, and the giant rumor mill of the military. Even that was too much at times, he supposed.
Just looking at him, she could see the wheels grinding along. He hadn’t slept more than a few hours a night for some time, claiming insomnia. She suspected instead that it was some attempt to keep pace with her. Her species had evolved to sleep half their brains at a time. That meant she could be conscious whenever she liked, and Tark didn’t like to leave her by herself all the time. In fact, his attentiveness was lately at an all-time high.
When they’d first met, it had taken a while for Sa’andy to come around to his affections. She’d been more than a little certain that he would lose interest once her novelty had worn off. This theorem had proven incorrect; Tark had grown more enamored with each passing minute of contact.
Because she had finally relented, there had been more than a few nights of surprises for them both. She did not regret her change of heart in the slightest. To be with Tark, she’d rejected suitors of her own species who were seen as highly desirable by other females back home. Naturally, she was considered quite mad back on her home world. A mad scientist, she thought cheerfully.
“Don’t worry, I’ll handle assignments. You go and have a breather, maybe try that cafe that opened a few months back.” And take a nap, she would have added, but he was already trudging away.
۞
There was a new cafe on board? He ought to get out more. There was no telling what else might have sprouted up recently. He got the name of the place, and found that he had actually heard of it before. The large-sized business was crowded for breakfast, but was blessedly hushed. He guessed morning had that effect on most individuals, regardless of species. There were a number of varied individuals clustered in yawning packs throughout the rooms of the cafe. Tark paused to soak in this new scene.
The main area of the cavernous space was the bar, with tables pushed against the walls. A deeper recess held couches, providing a more intimate gathering spot. But the most interesting feature was a huge boulder, strategically cut to provide more seating. This was littered with large cushions, all of which were occupied by reclining bodies.
One group seemed to be locked in a heated, but good-natured debate over some intransigence of politics or another. Two of them were human, one was of Sa’andy’s people, and the other two were heavily furred creatures of great height. The latter two were humoring the hushed furor around them with a great deal of what one might call snickering.
He walked up to the barista and ordered vaguely, the only stipulation being caffeination. He let the girl have free rein to create whatever she liked. Eyebrow raised, she set to work, wondering whether it was a practical joke or a test to have the station commander pop in unannounced. She peeked over her shoulder at him, wishing she’d washed her hair that morning, rather than leaving it wound around and tied up in a scarf.
Regrets…oh well. The barista mustered up her sultriest smile and handed him a latte, crisscrossed by salted caramel drizzle. Tark smiled back at her, noting the slightly crazed look in her eyes. He recalled Sa’andy’s dry remarks as regarding female attentions toward him. At the time, he’d been inclined to disregard her words as exaggeration. Since then, he’d begun to notice these looks. He wondered if it had always gone on, or was a new development. It wasn’t as though he was as rakishly handsome as his executive officer, after all. Now, there was a man who fished for attention and usually landed it.
With that thought as accompaniment, he strode back to his quarters, seeking out privacy, as well as the warmth and comfort of the space he shared with Sa’andy. Once inside, he sat gripping his mug of coffee, trying not to lose his comfort or think about the container. He drifted into a light slumber. As the forgotten sensation gripped him, he twitched while the mug trembled slightly. Steaming liquid hissed at its sides. Luckily the entire contents didn’t pour into his lap. Relaxation finally and thoroughly found him and pushed him into a brief oblivion.
۞
Just outside in the immutable blackness, a small towing craft was returning with their mysterious find. It was still a good ten minutes away from their location, guaranteeing a few more moments of respite for Tark. Now serenely encased in a sleepy cocoon, a wake-up call would be like an ice bath when it came.
At that moment, he was dreaming of a childhood memory. About the only event of nature he could clearly recall; a summer thunderstorm. He’d been traveling in the reclaimed frontierlands with his parents. Those were the places given back to wildness after the last recent wars on Earth.
The soil had been hard and warm, angrily seething at the invading moisture. In the landscape of this dream, thunder shuddered across the sky. He trembled against it. Thor, of his favorite mythology, chased Loki across the sky, threatening to crush him with his thunder.
Tark came to, feeling lightheaded, smelling the long-buried scent of rain. He looked around, taking in peaceful surroundings. Half the day had passed. He rubbed his eyes, and stretched, while anxiety crept in. It was the lingering aftereffect of his dream. A tangible connection to whatever was being towed back to the station. It must nearly be here.
He felt that he could sense it just outside, as though it was watching and sizing him up. Looking at his tablet, he could see a dozen or so messages regarding the progress of the retrieval. Definitively an artifact. Earthmade origin seems probable. Possibilities sprang to mind. Time capsule, experimental station, or any number of other things. There were DNA storage projects he had heard about, seed storage…well, it no good to anyone to sit around speculating. He groaned to his feet, yawning as he walked out the door.
۞
Tark got to the cargo area a few minutes later. The bay was still cold from decompression. He could see his breath, and shivered a bit. Their find was much larger than he’d imagined, even having known the dimensions. It was comprised of dulled grey titanium, erratically streaked with prismatic color. There were two thick plated hatches; these looked like the proverbial window painted shut. Presumed to operate the hatches were old hydraulic hinges, though they were completely seized up, according to the mechanics and engineer.
"Sir, we’ve managed to hack our way through the locking mechanism. If you'll just stand back, we'll give a shot opening this can up." He obliged, feeling his fists ball up in anticipation. This was the most notable thing to take place since the beginning of his tour here, never mind the storm periods. As promised, the hatches eventually began to move, groaning out of an ancient sleep.
It took five minutes for them to pry the doors open wide enough to allow passage through. Just as they were about to give up and leave it, the thick titanium plates mischievously gave way to the pressure, sending six befuddled men and women crashing to the floor. An odd off-white mist billowed out, and almost immediately, ice crystals formed around the frame of the entrance. Tark squinted through the mist as he cautiously crossed the distance and went inside. He was followed closely by anyone else who could fit into the space. An audible intake of breath collectively sounded as the container began to give up its mysteries.
Nine compartments surrounded them, all with a glassed area at the top of each outline. These windows shaped like half moons; they were dimly lit from within. Tark approached the forwardmost compartment and polished clean condensation formed from the outside moisture. His jaw fell slack in surprise, while he drew in a clean knife of air that seconds later gave him goose bumps.
There was a young woman inside, her head tilted slightly back, eyes closed. What could be seen of her face was unbelievably pale. It was an unbearable semblance of death. It frightened Tark on some level he could not grasp. A mask covered the rest of her face completely, possibly to feed oxygen or protect from the cold. Her hair was fine and straight, to her shoulders. Its color was elusive; as he moved from side to side, he watched it shift in the flickering lights. One moment it seemed red, the next, brown. He wondered if she would be as difficult to pin down as her hair.
The rest of her body w
as covered similarly, giving nothing away. Around Tark, other personnel crowded in, peering into the other windows. Six were occupied, came the final count, two empty, one…expired. Tark maneuvered himself over to the spot where broken glass scattered around the floor, and saw for himself the mummified remains of some unfortunate soul.
Surely that would mean the rest of these people were alive, wouldn’t it? Or were they just exceedingly well-frozen? He called the clinic, praying that one of the better docs was on duty. His joy was to be denied; soon enough one of his less-favorite individuals was making her way into the confines of the container.
"They're all human." The doctor observed this to no one in particular as she elbowed her way in. She moved authoritatively around the space, touching what appeared to be terminals and computer relays. The engineer politely requested that she stop, earning himself a nasty glare in the process. The doctor noticed Colonel Tarkington standing transfixed in front of one particular stasis chamber.
Involuntarily, her eyes rolled in disgust. He was someone she could have admired, had he not gotten involved with that off-worlder. She had her own private thoughts on non-humans, none of them very pleasant. Her name was Commander Maria Hawke. At times, she was capable of being a competent physician.
A bare minimum of her energies went into caring for the ill. The rest was poured into doing the work she believed she had been sent to carry out. She was not a missionary, not of the traditional baptismal sort. The word she secretly preached was something else entirely. It was a call to arms and action, to panic and fear. It was not new.
During her tenure aboard the Nimitz, she had carefully concealed her work. At least, her vanity let her think that. She’d had been some near misses. A low profile was necessary in order to serve the group that had secured her this posting. They had given her that message more than once.
This was a sticking point for her. It went against her every desire to remain a faceless servant. After the last warning, however, she’d realized she could only push her masters just so far. Anyway, eventually everything would be put to rights. Her role would become indispensable when the next phase of their grand plan was implemented. She had done everything in her power to make certain of it.
Tark, for his part, had noticed her behavior long ago, at first thinking that it might have been work stress-related. Many people cracked up a little on space rotation, especially if they’d been born planetside. If you couldn’t handle it, you got out. Transfers weren’t uncommon, after all. In time, he had come to know better the reasons for her behavior. There was a small stack of complaints regarding her refusal to treat non-human patients. There was a history of vague threat making.
She was under his command, strictly speaking, but every attempt he’d made in the way of disciplinary action had been denied. He took that as an indication that she’d gotten her position through some form of nepotism. It was aggravating, but he’d taken the hint. Leave her alone. This didn’t mean he had to ignore her actions, merely that he couldn’t do much about them. He sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, wishing his XO was by his side. Dmitry always seemed to know how to handle Hawke.
Dr. Hawke peered over Tark’s shoulder. The woman inside the compartment had seemingly hypnotized him. At least this one was human, she thought, maybe there was hope after all. From what could be seen of her, symmetry of features lent to speculation that she might be pretty. Hawke felt the itch of a memory