Phantoms Page 4

  Monty studied the numbers on the chart again. He’d been a hull tech during his Navy career, not a flash cannon gunner or a weapons specialist of any kind. However, since then, he’d acquired the skill, a necessity in his most recent vocation as a runner of contraband in and out of the Dysion Void. When growing up, he’d always been a good shot, and he taught Summer what he knew. But he left when she was nine. That wasn’t enough time for her to acquire any real skill during their father-daughter hunting trips. What the experience did, however, was instill a love for the outdoors and target shooting in the young girl. That led her to pursue the hobby as she reached her teens and beyond. Eventually, love of the sport—as well as her natural ability—led to the Olympics and a gold medal in archery, followed by a brief career with the Washington, D.C. SWAT team. He shrugged. He knew some people are gifted at one particular skill or another. Perhaps Summer was a prodigy; that would explain a lot. But not everything. Like how she was able to access skills and weapons systems without first being instructed in their use, and all in the course of a running ten-minute space battle?

  “Have you shown the charts to her?” he asked Tidus.

  “I have not. I wished to discuss the matter with you first.”

  Monty looked at the screen again then back to his green-skinned friend. He smiled. “Let’s just count our blessings that she did what she did and that she’s on our side.”

  “And where would I find these blessings of which to count? I do not understand? Is there a rating system I am unaware of?”

  Monty laughed. “I thought you were one of the few Juireans who understood Human slang?”

  “It would be impossible to know all Human colloquialisms. You seem to make them up as you go.”

  “And that is true, buddy.” He patted the alien’s knee. “That’s how we keep all of you guessing what we’re really up to.”

  “So it is a deliberate act! I thought so.”

  Monty winked.

  The massive yellow eye stared at her again. It hovered on the other side of her eyelids, causing her to squeeze even tighter to keep them from opening. The eye wanted in; it wanted access to her soul.

  The dream came every night, growing stronger each time. She would remember each episode upon waking, then slink off to a quiet place in the Forty to work out the symbolism. She knew that’s what most dreams were, a puzzle of impossible or disjointed images and events which meant something as a whole. However, a week or so since leaving the Aris base, the dream had only grown stronger and the eye closer. Earlier, there were other scenes surrounding the eye; blackened landscape, a red sky, and then distant screaming. As the weeks passed, the eye became more dominant until it filled her sleeping vision.

  She knew it had to have something to do with the Essence of J’nae she drank at the Aris base. What else could it be?

  For a while, she’d thought she’d become immortal, just as had the Aris—including Kracion—when they merged with the Essence. But then Panur and Lila scoffed at the idea. She was a biologic—as they called her. She was not compatible with the Essence regarding immortality, only as a strong stimulant that brought her back from the dead. As Panur explained, if Adam had waited another few minutes to administer the stimulant, no amount of distilled mutant super-juice would have saved her.

  But what of the dream?

  She got the impression the mutants weren’t telling her the whole truth. As evidence, they began to spend an inordinate amount of time with her once they returned to the Colony Ship, much more so than ever before. They were studying her, and she knew it.

  It would be the same when they eventually made it back to the station.

  But then came the battle against the Gradis Cartel.

  She wasn’t blind to what she’d done. And what frightened her—to a point—was that she seemed to retain all the knowledge that flowed into her during the fight. She felt she could do it again if called upon.

  All this was related to J’nae. There was no other explanation.

  And if that were the case, what now?

  The dream was continuing even as Summer tried to wake. There was fear, but now she was consumed by an overwhelming curiosity. If this was the eye of J’nae seeking entry into her subconscious, was Panur’s creation not already there? How else could Summer have done what she did? Perhaps facing the phantom would answer her questions.

  Summer. Summer, wake up.

  The eye flared, then fell away quickly, a sense of anger filling her mind. She opened her eyes.

  Her father was hunched over her, a hand on her shoulder. The Juirean, Tidus, was floating behind him.

  “You’re having a nightmare, sweetie. C’mon, wake up.”

  It took a moment for reality to swamp her senses. She was in her bed, the soft hum of the single gravity generator pervasive throughout the room.

  “What’s wrong?” she managed to ask.

  “As I said, you were having a nightmare. You were shaking and whimpering. Are you okay?”

  Summer unbuckled the top holding strap that kept her in the bed during zero-g. Monty helped her sit up. “I’m okay. Are we there yet?”

  “Another twelve hours, little one,” Tidus said, his towering figure leaning forward over her father.

  “You want to talk about it?” Monty asked.

  “The nightmare? I don’t think so.”

  “Tidus says you’ve been asleep for ten hours. Maybe you should get up and get something to eat. We need to put on the spacesuits in about an hour. The air in here is getting pretty thin.”

  “Yeah…that would be good. Give me a minute to get dressed.”

  Tidus and Monty left the room.

  For a moment, she remained in bed, thinking. Next time, she would let the eye in. Next time, she would learn the truth.

  5

  The last twelve hours of the journey to Sasin were spent in environmental suits, changing out oxygen tanks every four hours as the sieve of a starship lost the last of its atmosphere. The Forty came fully stocked with extra suits and tanks, and with the gravity off it wasn’t much of an inconvenience to move around in the bulky outfits.

  For Summer, the real discomfort came from the claustrophobic confinement. She’d never been in a spacesuit before, and now she would be trapped inside one for half a day. The cold began to seep in. Without an atmosphere in the ship, the heaters didn’t work. And battery packs within the suits had to be changed out frequently—even more than the oxygen tanks—to keep the cold at bay.

  Although she’d heard a lot—none of it good—about the planet Sasin from Tidus over the intervening three days, she was still relieved to see the bright dot in the black of space grow in the viewport. Soon she could make out surface features, such as the vast oceans and smallish landmasses. At least here was a place with an atmosphere. The Forty was on its last legs when Tidus brought the damaged ship into a loose orbit around the planet.

  “There is an incredible number of vessels drifting above Sasin,” the Juirean observed, concern in his voice. “The proximity scan shows nearly a thousand. It is extremely hazardous for us since the orbits have no organization to them.”

  “What does that mean?” Summer asked.

  “It appears as though these vessels—mainly freighters and other long-haulers—came to the planet and were abandoned as their crews fled to the surface. Collisions have subsequently occurred, which has produced even more debris. Each item must be tracked and avoided.”

  “But we’re not staying in orbit, are we?”

  “No, but our landing could be problematic. In addition, there appears to be no formal planetary approach control in operation.”

  Monty was at the navigation scope. “At least we have automated highlights of several landing sites, although they’re not giving us vectors and glide paths. Probably just AI beacons at work. It will be a line-of-sight landing. I’m pinpointing a large field designated for merchants and other commercial vessels.”

  “I have it; thank you, Monty,” said Tidus. �
��It is best that we avoid the refugee ports. We would not want to be confused for immigrants.”

  “Does Priority Acquisitions have offices here?” Summer asked.

  “At one time we did, but no longer,” the Juirean answered. “Sasin was once a rich environment for criminal sanctuary. PA was constantly picking up bounties here. However, the criminals have since taken over, making our presence unwelcome.”

  “So no one to help us?”

  “I can try to contact some of the old employees to see if any have remained, perhaps in a different capacity. We do have a protection division—you would call them bodyguards. In a society such as this, I could see a need for such services. But first, we must get to the surface without hitting anything or being hit. Monty, could you assist in the co-pilot seat?”

  “Of course.”

  Monty and Summer strapped in. The Forty had neither internal gravity nor inertial compensators. It was going to be a rough ride.

  Monty was having a hell of a time healing from his injuries. Just as he was getting better, an event would occur that tore open his wound. The first had been the Cartel attack. Now it would be the roller coaster ride to the surface of Sasin. And there was nothing Summer could do to help. She sat at the weapons station as her father fought through spasms of pain helping Tidus dodge dozens of haphazard objects in orbit. And once they entered the atmosphere, it wasn’t much better. From the collisions and abandoned vessels, there was a constant rain of debris falling toward the surface. Most were small enough to burn up in the atmosphere, yet occasionally an entire ship would fall out of orbit and crash to the surface. Fortunately, eighty percent of Sasin was covered by water, reducing the chances that a major strike would hit land.

  Eventually, Tidus steered the Forty into clear air, and, following the automated beacon, lined up on the commercial landing field in the heart of what was the planet’s major metropolis.

  Summer studied the sprawling mass of dilapidated structures—a horrific blight on the surface that spread for hundreds of miles in all directions. She scowled.

  “What an ugly mess,” she said. “I see now why you called it a cesspool, Tidus.”

  “The city is called Yanish-kas, and it has grown four-fold since I was here last, and mainly over the past standard year. According to the research I have done through the Library, there was no time to organize for the influx of refugees. What government that remains is now controlled by the five major Tribes—savage criminal enterprises that run the planet. They allow the authorities to remain in place to provide power, water, sewer and communications. Workers are loaned to the government by the Tribes in exchange for the services. Beyond that, there is no infrastructure to speak of.”

  “Why do people come here?”

  “They have no choice. Their worlds were irradiated by Kracion and the Klin. All they’ve ever known is gone. As I mentioned before, the affluent and the powerful have gone elsewhere. These are the survivors with no assets. They come with only the clothing they wear. And if any do have a modicum of wealth, it is quickly confiscated by the Tribes. Labor skills have the most value. There is a need to keep the systems running.”

  “What about food?” Summer asked. “There must be twenty million people down there.”

  She saw the alien grimace. “Unofficial tallies place it at close to thirty million. Furthermore, you will not find this information to your liking, little one, but you must realize nearly all the creatures that inhabit the Expansion—and your Human Union as well—are carnivores: meat-eaters. Although it is unacceptable to practice cannibalism on the more civilized planets, it is acceptable to find sustenance from other species, much as you do among your livestock and fowl populations on Earth. In a desperate society, such as you find on Sasin, the weaker species are often preyed upon for food.”

  “They eat each other! These are supposed to be intelligent beings. That’s gross.”

  “As in reference to large?” Tidus asked. “I am confused.”

  “No, in reference to disgusting!”

  Tidus shrugged. “Desperate people will take desperate measures to survive.”

  “So who decides who’s food and who isn’t?”

  “I do not know for sure, but I would imagine the Tribal leaders make the determination.”

  “So these poor, desperate refugees come here looking for a safe harbor, and some of them get herded away to be slaughtered for dinner?”

  “That is my understanding. Apparently, there are services now active that round up the last survivors from many of Kracion’s victimized species and bring them here for that express purpose.”

  “And the refugees know this?”

  “The word is spreading, but most do not have an option. A lost ship in space has little option other than to be towed here by the slavers.”

  “This goes way beyond slavery, Tidus,” Summer pointed out, her voice trembling.

  “Be assured there is no fear of us suffering the same fate. I am a Juirean, and you and Monty are Humans. Both our races are accepted as off-limits for such use.”

  “That’s not why I’m upset!”

  “I understand. However, if you were on the verge of starvation, and there was a viable food source available that was not Human, I am sure you would use it.”

  “I say we drop the subject,” Monty growled. He could see that the Juirean’s calm acceptance of what was happening on Sasin was beginning to get to her.

  Summer nodded. “Let’s just get down there, make our call to Adam, and then get the hell out of here as soon as we can. I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “I guarantee your condition will only worsen once we land,” the alien said nonchalantly.

  “Dammit, Tidus! She didn’t need to hear that,” Monty scolded.

  “But it is the truth.”

  “Just land the damn ship, will you?”

  “Five minutes. Then you will see I am right.”

  6

  The Forty came in on a shallow gravity-well, and when Tidus transitioned to the landing jets, the crew discovered another problem. The starboard propellent tank had been ruptured, draining fuel throughout the three-day journey. They got a burp from the engine before it fell silent.

  Landing a ship the size of the Forty with only one jet was not recommended; Summer wasn’t sure if it was even possible. But Tidus was anticipating this. He channeled exhaust from the port engine to the starboard side at the first sign of trouble. The ship rocked like a swing before the jets stabilized. But then they were dropping far too fast for a gentle landing. They also didn’t have an option where to land. The ship was falling like a rock, and anything below it was about to become a pancake.

  That anything was a small, sixteen-person shuttle resting in the commercial spaceport. There was about a twenty-second warning before landing, and as Summer watched the lower monitors, she didn’t see anyone run from the vessel. Hopefully, it was empty and abandoned, as were most of the ships around it.

  The light construction of the shuttle helped cushion the landing for the Forty, but not much. It crumpled under the weight of the much larger starship, sending a spine-chilling screech throughout the hull like a thousand fingernails on a chalkboard. The Forty listed to starboard, settling at a slight angle when the engines were cut. A moment later, the starboard reaction jet broke from the fuselage and crashed to the ground, rolling away about thirty meters before coming to a rest.

  They were down… and for the count. “Well, we’re here,” was all Monty could manage as a critique of the landing.

  Summer unbuckled and went to the forward viewport. The spaceport was a virtual graveyard of ships, with few of the vessels having weathered well in the environment of Sasin—be it from natural elements or otherwise. Scavengers were active across the landscape, as evidenced by the missing hatches and gaping gashes where grav generators had once been attached to several nearby ships. The few that appeared space worthy were under guard by a menagerie of species, most of whom had swatches of various colors
staining their foreheads.

  Tidus moved up beside her.

  “Identifying dyes for the Tribes,” he volunteered, answering her unasked question. “Once enlisted in their service, the members are branded. I imagine the ships they are guarding are those bringing crucial supplies to the city to be traded for exorbitant fees.”

  “Where are the refugees?”

  “They would be at another landing field. There is a process for new arrivals, where either skills or wealth is recorded. Then the Tribes bid with the captains for the most valuable. Those with neither skills nor assets will likely become part of the food stock for the processors. That or the larger ones become the enforcers.”

  Summer tried to look beyond the mishmash of starships to the city beyond. “Where will we find a CW comm setup?”

  “There will be a few,” Tidus replied. “Links to the outside galaxy are still crucial. I will now attempt to contact former PA employees to see if any remain on the planet. I will ask for their assistance if there are any on Sasin. We have funds, especially Juirean credits. I am sure they would have great value, over any of the local labor honoraria in use among the Tribes. All I require at the moment is a guide.”

  To his relief, the Library was available, even on Sasin. Using his old access code, Tidus pulled up a directory of past PA employees on the planet and scrolled through the names, searching for anyone he remembered. He had a good memory and found several he recognized. He began to make the contacts.

  On the seventh try, someone answered the voice-only link.

  “Is this Anoc Firostum?” Tidus asked.

  “It is. Who is this?”

  “Tidus Fe Nolan.”

  “The Juirean!”

  Tidus smiled. He had been a minor celebrity during his time with Priority Acquisitions, the only Juirean out of a staff of over one hundred thousand permanent employees and a million contract workers. “Yes, the Juirean. I see your location code places you on Sasin. Is that so?”