Chapter 8
John Doe
With wide open, pressed eyes, he'd watched. The view screen of the Pegasus had recently been updated. The old smart glass was gone, and in its place was a section of hull that had been infused with holographic receptors. They offered a full, interactive 3D representation of whatever area John instructed the computers to scan. Whether it be a desolate section of space, a building, or a planet - John and the other members of the bridge crew would be able to walk around and interact with the vision completely.
It had taken some getting used to. It made things feel uncomfortably closer and all the realer.
It seemed to heighten his reactions too, and right now as John watched the Pegasus' transport lock onto the falling woman, he slammed to his feet. Heart in his mouth, he saw the transport beam crack to white.
There was a sharp, surprised inhale of breath from his side. ‘Sir, receiving massive feedback along the transport line,’ Foster, the human pilot, snapped.
John could see it. Prack, everyone on the bridge could see it.
As John's jaw went slack, his previously tightly-clenched teeth dropping open, he stepped forward, right into the display of the transport beam. ‘What the—’ he began.
And that would be when the Pegasus' systems went haywire. The lights dropped to half-illumination as a red line around the floor blinked on.
‘Red alert, system feedback unsustainable. Transport lock lost. Beam about to go critical,’ the computer chirped back in an unfazed, electronic drone.
‘Oh sh—’ Foster began.
John jumped back, bringing his hand slamming down on the control pad that sat by his chair. Fingers flying, despite the fact he wasn't wearing any armor to assist his speed, he managed to key in new coordinates to the computer.
When John had rematerialized on his bridge and told the crew to lock onto the falling woman, he'd figured there was no point to transporting her to the cargo hold, the brig, or even the usual transport bay; the bridge was just as secure as anywhere else, plus, she wasn't exactly big.
But right now he was regretting that mistake big time.
When the transport beam had surged, it had lost hold of its target and had snapped down to the planet below. But it had not been shut off.
It had locked onto a massive chunk of snow-covered ground, and in just under two seconds it would have made it rematerialize on the bridge of the Pegasus.
It would have crushed everyone, everything, and probably popped the side of the hull.
But he'd managed to redirect the beam, just in time.
There was a tense moment as John waited for the computer to register his move, then the bridge let out a collective sigh as everyone wasn't suddenly crushed under tones of icy rock.
‘Beam direction altered. Contents materialized two kilometers off starboard.’
‘Damn,’ Foster let out a spluttering breath that made his voice sound like a shaking metal sheet.
Oh yes, damn, that had been very, very close. Sweat collecting along his brow and already dripping down to his eyes, John wicked it off with a flick of his sleeve. ‘What just happened?’ he didn't bother to swear. It wasn't out of decorum or any sense of duty at being the commander of the vessel; he swore in front of his crew all the time. It was because he could hardly sustain the breath.
John had only ever seen a white transport beam on a battle cruiser, never, ever anything smaller than that. The amount of energy required to sustain just a normal transport line was astronomical.
‘Ah,’ Foster bought time as his fingers flew across the console in front of him. Though Foster, and any of the other crew on the Pegasus could integrate directly with the ICN via their neural implants, John never allowed it. Off ship, maybe, but on ship it only posed a risk. He'd seen people go mad, their sense of self fried from too much use of the direct uplink. Plus, it could be hacked too easily. Any space bum with a link to the Union ICN could get past the firewalls and snoop around local activity. John had seen it way too many times. The beauty of using mechanical input - fingers darting over panels and voices shouting at computers - was that it was far harder to hack. The Pegasus locked out most neural control, and unless you were a living body standing right in front of the right panel, it would block out access. Archaic, yes, but far safer. And John had experienced enough trouble in this universe to know that safety was the better option.
That being said, his ship had almost burst at the seams after accidentally transporting a chunk of a planet to the bridge.
‘Sir, somehow massive feedback was created along the line, it overloaded the transport lock and . . . ’ Foster drew quiet for a second, ‘the beam locked onto the nearest object.’
‘A chunk of ice and rock,’ John added, his voice low and surly.
And then he stopped, because he was really forgetting something here. ‘The woman—’ he began.
Foster turned around in his chair, the black and blue uniform of the Union Forces tight around his shoulders. Foster was young for his job - most ship's pilots had to be trained for years before the Union would let them helm an experimental vessel like the Pegasus. But Foster was a brilliant kid. In his early 20's, with a face that never seemed to stop smiling, at least he brought an edge of humor to the bridge. Humor that could cut through the overpowering cynicism of John’s XO.
But right now Foster wasn't smiling. His face was pale, his cheeks slack. And he was shaking his head.
John felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. Sniffing sharply, swallowing, he sat back down in his chair.
He didn't like to lose people. Even if he didn't know them. His job was to protect, when he failed, people died.
‘Lieutenant Foster, begin an immediate investigation into the transport beam malfunction,’ Chado said from beside John.
Chado was John's XO. As second in command, he tended to deal with all the crew disputes while John got to run around on planets pacifying pirates and furthering the Union cause. A towering Talan, Chado had never cracked a smile. Not once. In the two years John had been commanding the Pegasus, Chado hadn't moved his cheeks other than to scowl. And scowling was something the Talans were very, very good at.
‘Get me a com link to the Head Engineer,’ Chado stood, tugging down on his uniform as he did. Talans were a blue-skinned race with impeccable cheekbones and eyes that might as well have been lasers considering how fiercely piercing they were. And right now Chado did not look happy.
‘Where did the extra energy come from—’ Chado began.
The computer let out a click signifying that a comlink had been opened. ‘Don't give me that, you think I know yet?’ Parka snapped. ‘That surge completely fried a whole computer bank. We aren't going to have long-range scanners for hours.’
John watched as Chado began to scowl. Though it was hardly as if Chado ever stopped frowning; the natural and permanent grimace of his race deepened. ‘You will maintain disciple,’ he snapped.
John put up a hand, quick and neat. He did not have time for a verbal fist-fight between his engineer and XO. He needed to find out what had happened to that woman.
Was there a chance she was still alive? Had she jumped over that railing with a plan?
Bringing his hand up, mouth far too dry, John accessed the small panel next to his command chair.
Parka was obviously right, and long-range scanners were toast. But that didn't mean John couldn't use the Pegasus’ visual field to get a lock on the woman. Or her body. Because unless she had jumped over the railing with one hell of a plan, she would be a red dot amongst the pure white snow.
Feeling uneasy, not wanting to see on visual what his mind was already doing a horrific job of imagining, John told the computers to get a lock on where the woman would have fallen.
Suddenly the rest of the bridge drew quiet as they realized what their Commander was doing. The holographic view screen no longer showed a section of Block Alpha - the location the transport beam had shot through. Instead it descended down and down, magnifyin
g as the image shook and shuddered until it locked on the surface of the planet.
Orion Minor really was barren. Nothing but ice and salt. There was foliage, but nothing an Earth boy like him should recognize. Slim, almost metallic-like poles stuck up from the snow, with tiny white fronds dotted all over them. The Orion version of a tree, it was the only structure that could withstand the wind and cold.
As the computer finally locked onto the only thing on the horizon that wasn't white, John's stomach gave a kick.
He recognized the blue of the woman's hood and the black of her tunic and pants.
The rest of the bridge stilled. No matter how much they dealt with death, John was proud of the fact none of them had grown accustomed to it. He'd come from the slums, he knew exactly how easy it was to block yourself off to others’ pain. He also knew exactly what that let you do. If death didn't scare, shock, or disgust you, there was nothing stopping you from doing it. Killing.
And that was a slippery slope.
Getting up slowly, letting his tense muscles unwind, John stood. Though he really didn't want to, he walked up to the holographic image around him. If he'd felt like it, he could have instructed the computer to make the holograms solid so he could truly touch them. It was a great way to interact with a prospective environment without yet being present. If you managed to get a scan of the inside of a pirate den, you could walk around hiding behind the crates and heavy weapons, seeing exactly where it was best to hide, finding the nicest vantage points should a gun battle ensue.
And right now, if John had wanted to, he could have walked up to the image of the woman in the snow, knelt down, and picked her up.
She had fallen on her front, her arms and legs splayed out at an awkward angle.
Her hood had finally fallen form her face, not that John could see it. But he couldn't help but lock eyes on the back of her head. She had black-blue hair that wasn't entirely human. In fact, if John needed any more evidence that the woman was not - or had not been - entirely human, it was the fact her body hadn't broken apart or squashed on impact. A fall form that height under those conditions would have mutilated a body.
She was intact. Her clothes were a little torn, ripped in sections over her arms and legs, having no doubt been lacerated by the salt-laden winds.
But her flesh was unharmed. He could see a section of her bare shoulder, though it was steadily getting paler, it was not covered in blood.
‘Computer,’ John forced himself to take a deep, calming breath. He couldn't stand there and look at the woman's body for the rest of the day. ‘Lock onto these coordinates. Tell the authorities on Orion Minor to send out a team to pick up a body. And computer,’ John added suddenly, ‘tell them to prioritize this.’
He knew that a request to pick up a slum dweller who had been stupid enough to throw herself off Block Alpha was going to go straight to the bottom of the pile. With the weather fields out throughout the whole building, the engineering and security staff would have other priorities.
But as John stared down at the vision of the woman face-first in the snow, his fists tightened by his sides.
She'd shown strength and speed that was not normal. Just what species was she? Maybe she'd stolen several Union implants, hell, she could even have been a pirate assassin. Though he doubted that. Because the second the possibility popped up in his mind, a vision of her looking up at him after he'd caught her followed. Even though that hood had stayed resolutely over her eyes, he could recall the exact pull of her lips as she'd frowned up at him.
Her chin had dimpled, her cheeks drawing tight and hard.
What a picture to have stuck in his head. But pressing a hand to his temple and letting it run down until he clutched hold of his jaw, John told Foster to put in a priority one dispatch to the Orion Minor security forces.
‘Pulling rank there, John?’ Parka said, her voice snapping over the comline. ‘The Prime is going to love that. Still, I'm behind you on this one. Any creature dumb enough to jump off a building three kilometers high is worth investigating.’
John gave a sharp swallow. Finally he turned away.
But not before something happened.
He'd brought his hand up and given the signal to cut the visual feed. Just as he’d made a swiping motion with it, the computer picking up on his movement and terminating the visual link, she’d moved.
The woman had moved.
Everyone on the bridge had snapped around to see it.
Bodies stiff, mouths open, just for a split second before the feed had terminated, they'd seen her buck forward, plant her hands in the snow and sit up.
Then the holo emitters cut out. The image of her snow-covered body gone.
‘Get it back, get it back,’ John screamed, voice way too loud. His crew were right by his side, and none of them were hard of hearing. But he couldn't control it; the surge of fear that erupted through him at the sight of her bucking forward cut through his control.
Foster's fingers flew across the console, his eyes darting to and fro and his shoulders tensed. ‘Locking back onto it. Three seconds,’ he added.
It would be the longest Three seconds of John's life.