AllFreeNovel
Share Us
They were doing something to the plasma generators. What? Was it dangerous to the craft and crew? He had no way of knowing. Ilid had been trained to assist in Engineering should a majority of its crew be incapacitated, but a lot of what he’d learned had consisted of what not to do in order to avoid blowing the damned vessel to pieces. He could operate a console on the orders of a skilled technician, switch out components of a few devices, but beyond that, he had no idea of how to fix any of the machinery on his own.
What was clear was the spyship was in hostile hands. The darks hadn’t killed anyone, but operating men against their will qualified as malicious intent.
Someone had to be told. Ilid had to get a message to Fleet Command. But how was a lowly ensign surrounded by enemies supposed to do so? He lacked the clearance to contact a bigwig such as Hobato or any admiral. All complaints were to go through the chain of command. It was an extremely long chain, in Ilid’s case, which started there on the ship. The ship where the chain of command had been taken over by shadows.
He had to try.
“Crew communications relay station,” he ordered the patiently waiting conveyance. It beeped acknowledgement, and he detected the slightest shift beneath his feet.
He entered the room where crew was allowed to transmit messages home to family. Usually, Ilid recorded such messages to his parents or his brothers once a week. He was a couple days early to do so, which might send up a red flag if the darks were monitoring the activities of those they hadn’t taken over.
A Nobek, whose usual detail was in security, was posted at the coordinator’s station. Such duty for a member of security wasn’t odd; they took turns handling the task. Sometimes it was used as a punishment detail. It was boring, static work, the sort of chore action-oriented Nobeks despised. They tended to be grumpy to those who stopped in to dispatch their messages to loved ones.
Nobek Niken wasn’t scowling as Ilid had noticed him do in the past when stuck with com relay duty. His expression had the blank malevolence the young Dramok had come to associate with the shadow-ridden.
“Hello, Niken.” He smiled, hoping he communicated easy familiarity.
“Ilid.”
This time, Ilid didn’t imagine he was being watched as he entered a station. He reminded himself Niken had little else to look at in the room, thanks to its chest-high cubicle partitions allowing some privacy for those sending messages. The only way Niken would view the com Ilid sent was if he stood behind him and looked over his shoulder.
Privacy was a relative term on a spyship. Every communication was run through a program that searched for descriptions hinting the spyship’s location and mission. If such issues were found, the coordinator…today, Nobek Niken…would examine the message and flag it as problematic. Minor slips were simply remarked to the sender as needing rewording before they could be directed through coded channels hiding the whereabouts of the ship.
Ilid licked his lips as he brought his com unit up and signed in. He’d have to word his message carefully to get past the program and avoid Niken’s inspection. It would also have to be abnormal enough to alert its recipient the vessel was in trouble.
Usually, he sent messages to his parents by addressing them to his mother. He decided the better strategy to give a distress signal, as well as gain the attention of the parent most likely to sense his predicament, was to make the primary recipient of this particular missive his Nobek father. He tapped in the appropriate frequency.
He drew a breath and glanced up nonchalantly, as if gathering his thoughts. His gaze went to the blank wall on the opposite side of the room, close to where Niken glowered.
The Nobek was still watching him, the dark draped against his neck. Ilid pretended he noticed neither. He bent to his com and tapped the message.
Hello, my father,
I was sorry to hear you were unwell when Mother messaged me last. No doubt you’ve shaken off the shadow of illness by now. If there were danger, she’d have told me, so I hope I won’t offend you with this com. It’s just I’m worried, isolated as I am. Everyone is so busy, it’s as if I’m among strangers, and I have no one to talk to. I know, a Dramok must cast aside his feelings and attend to his duties, and I’m trying my best to do so. I suppose I regard it as my duty to contact you and let you and whomever else should know when I sense matters aren’t what they should be. On the surface, all is well; but deep down, I’m concerned. You did raise me to act on my concerns, thus this message.
I hope with every cell of my being to see you healthy and strong. My love is forever with my parents.
Ilid
It was an awkwardly written attempt to relay a warning, but he hoped its clumsiness would alert his Nobek father Gruthep something was wrong, particularly the false assertion of an illness. If tough Gruthep had been sick a day of his life, Ilid had missed it.
He wondered how much his father, an investigative analyst for law enforcement, would pick up. Probably not the shadow reference, butdangerwould jump out at him. He’d realize Ilid was unable to speak to superior officers on board the ship, and Fleet Command needed to be alerted.
He might also realize from the last two lines Ilid was saying he didn’t know if he’d make it home alive.
Ilid had a sudden urge to cry, though he believed it was beneath a Dramok his age to give in to tears. He might never go home to his parents. He might be killed, or worse, taken over by a shadow.
He cleared his throat. “Com, send—”
The words ended on a scream as a dark, a small one the size of those that had come from the rider on the engineering tech’s back, abruptly slithered over the top of the cubicle wall. It dropped on top of the com unit. He jerked backward, and found a barrier behind him. He swiveled and was face to face with Nobek Niken.
The cold features contorted. “You saw it, Kalquorian? Yes, you did. How unlucky for you.”
Chapter Eleven
Earth II
The first five hundred and seven residents not connected to Earth II’s government or infrastructure arrived aboard a sleek Galactic Council of Planets transport. The ship landed in a dock festooned with welcome banners. Music from a live band and applause echoed in the port as the arrivals disembarked. They were families with children and elders, people who’d elected to live in a pleasant little neighborhood just outside New Hope City, the recently agreed-upon name of the planet’s capital. They’d commute to the city to take up jobs they’d already been hired for: teachers, doctors and nurses, mechanics, salespeople…the workforce that comprised a society. Everyday people. It had been Stacy’s suggestion the initial influx of residents be treated like heroes on this venture, in order to properly celebrate the return of human society to full strength. Ken Bryant and the legislature had unanimously agreed.
