Hawthorne had applied a local anesthetic before stitching the worst of Grady’s injuries, a nasty, gaping gash on his leg, likely caused by flying shrapnel. Burns from near misses—along with a profusion of smaller cuts, bruises, and abrasions—required less immediate treatment.
Afterward, bandages and nanite-infused healing gel applied to various parts of Grady’s body, the doctor gave him a stern order: rest. No moving around for the remainder of the day or night unless to answer the call of nature. And then straight back to bed.
Grady was reluctant at first—what if there were more attackers? Had the base been breached by a strike force? He only relented after Zoe assured him she had performed a thorough security sweep—aided by several of the fighter pilots with Mal conducting a deep scan—and found no sign of other intruders.
Surgery complete, and watched over by Hawthorne and Chalmers, he slipped under the thin covers of the bed assigned to him. Grady’s head no sooner hit the pillow than a wave of fatigue washed over him—doubtless aided by the drugs coursing through his veins. His eyelids seemed like reinforced blast doors, threatening to shut out the world. His ears still rang from the explosions in the mess hall, blocking out the subdued sound of conversation from the freighter’s survivors also resting nearby, all of whom had been transferred to the outpost’s better-equipped medbay. Before he knew it, he succumbed to a deep sleep.
He awoke several hours later, his brain fuzzy, unsure where he was—wondering why he wasn’t in his quarters on board Adventurer preparing to go on duty—to discover a relieved-looking Tara conversing with Hawthorne in low tones at the foot of his bed.
She stopped talking when she spotted his eyes flutter open and fanned her hands, saying in a firm but gentle voice, “Go back to sleep, Bro. We got this.” He opened his mouth to object, to remind her that he was the captain and would give the orders. But the words somehow became jumbled in his mind, and all he uttered was an incoherent mumble. Moments later, his eyes slid shut of their own accord as sleep sucked him into its numbing embrace once more.
The next time he returned to consciousness, it was to find Zoe seated in a chair beside his bed, a laser rifle leaning against the wall nearby. She had already debriefed Mbeki after the doctor released the sergeant, who only suffered a collection of bruises and sore but not cracked ribs—his armor protecting him from more serious injury. Mbeki was only too relieved to be free of the medbay. He hurried to return to Adventurer and placed his dented armor in its carrying case, initiating the self-repair cycle.
Zoe’s lips pursed as she tilted her chair onto its back legs. “So, let me get this straight. You’re suggestin’ that in this rendition of the multiverse—unlike in our own—someone successfully merged human tissue, bones, and muscles with mechanical parts to create a hybrid trooper, is that right?” She scowled, and almost spat the next words: “In other words, a mythical super soldier. A cyborg.”
“Seems that way,” Grady said, aware of how strained his voice still sounded. Between the battering his body took on Yerconam, the bruising encounter with the cyborg, and days without sufficient sleep, he felt like he’d been tossed around inside a gigantic centrifuge without protective gear. He shrugged, adding, “We’re in a different dimension, so anything is possible.”
Zoe uncrossed her arms and let the chair drop forward onto all four legs with a thump. “I guess so. We know Earth Galactic is in a much stronger position here than where we come from, so they’ve got greater resources to call on. Could be they’ve had a secret program to develop super soldiers—cyborgs—for years here, and you were unlucky enough to encounter a prototype. Can’t be many of them around, though, or Major Kotov and your flyboy buddy Captain Lorcan would have warned us.”
“Makes me wonder if something similar was, or is, in the works back home,” Grady remarked. “We discovered Earth Galactic had a hidden facility conducting some form of clandestine research, remember? What if it wasn’t the only one?”
Zoe shuddered. “Don’t say that, Boss. It needed both Sarge and you to take her down. Can you imagine facing an entire army of cyborgs just like her?” She swore, tugging at her hair. “Now I’ve got a whole new reason for nightmares.”
“Did you find out how she gained access to the outpost?”
“Yeah, we think so. We discovered a small, compact craft hidden in a crater of a nearby asteroid.”
Grady startled and attempted to sit up before easing back on the bed. “Why didn’t Mal detect its approach?”
“Good question. Its design is unusual, like nothin’ we’ve ever seen—or almost nothin’.” Zoe paused to refill his synth-paper cup from a pitcher of water on a side table at her elbow. “You recall that brief contact Mal commed you about?” Grady nodded, suspecting he knew what was coming next. “That was her ship?”
Zoe tapped her forearm patch, bringing up a floating holo image of a small, dark gray spacecraft—somewhat elongated and vaguely circular, with stubby wings and sharp angles—nestled between the walls of a crater. “Seems likely. The stealth ship that attacked us while you and Professor Chalmers were on Yerconam had to drop its cloak every so often—perhaps to manage the excessive power drain or to get a navigational fix, or both. We figure that’s what your homicidal visitor did, too, and Mal detected her for a few moments.”
Grady brushed his cheek—a new growth of stubble prickling his fingers—his demeanor thoughtful. “So, once she had a firm locational fix and her ship’s energy level was stable again, she coasted in, cloaked and undetectable?”
“Yep. That’s what Tara, Mal, and I think. Sneaky, eh?”
“Worryingly so,” Grady said. “How’d she enter the base without triggering any alarms?”
“In fact, there was an alert on a screen in the ops center. A maintenance hatch had been opened, though how she got the access code to begin with we’ll never know. Wouldn’t surprise me if an enemy agent has infiltrated the rebel forces.”
Grady groaned, dragging a blanket up to his chin as he began to shiver. “I was probably in the galley making coffee, and there was no one in the control room to raise the alarm.”
Zoe grinned, leaned closer to punch his shoulder, then seemed to think better of it and drew back before making contact. “See? I always told you your caffeine addiction would be the death of you someday, Boss.”
“Hey, you glug just as much of the stuff as me, if not more.” Grady settled back deeper on the bed. “But, yeah, it almost did get me killed this time. How’s Mbeki? He seemed a bit shaken up, but otherwise more-or-less okay when we stumbled in here.”
“He’s fine, just some bruising. More worried about his precious combat armor than himself.”
Grady tried to chuckle, but it ended up sounding more like a reedy wheeze. “Well, it did save his life when she dinged him with a grenade, so I can’t say I blame him.” He gave her a rueful grin. “I could have done with a suit of armor myself.”
“Didn’t help her much in the end, though,” Zoe said with a smirk. “You’re lucky the mess hall is a designated refuge area, thanks to its size. Its walls are reinforced and absorbed the blast. No exterior breach, so no sudden decompression, or neither of you would be alive to talk about it.” She sniggered, adding, “Wasn’t much left of her, though.”
“How were you able to find her ship if it was cloaked?” Grady asked, looking puzzled.
“It appeared on Mal’s sensors without warning, virtually on top of us. Best guess, when your cyborg chum went full kamikaze, her fiery demise severed her connection to her vessel. And, hey presto, it just materialized, ready and waiting to be told what to do next.”
“Makes sense.” Grady’s eyes narrowed as he gazed at the image of the unfamiliar craft. “Hmm, that would fit nicely in our hangar bay, especially with Fidelon’s transport now gone. A stealth insertion ship of our own would come in very handy on missions.”
Zoe chortled. “Way ahead of you, Boss, as usual. First, we gotta make sure it ain’t booby trapped. Then, figure out how to open the sucker. Hopefully, the controls aren’t bio-encoded. Mal and Tara are working on it. We’re gonna be here for another couple or so days. Should be enough time for us to gain full access to its systems, debug it, and bring it aboard Adventurer without endangering the ship or crew.”
Grady went to shove the blankets aside, saying, “I can’t lounge around here doing nothing when you’re all so busy. What if there’s another attack?”
Chalmers, who had been tending to a survivor in the next bed over, stepped up to his side and clamped her hand on his shoulder. “Whoa there, Jack. Just where do you think you’re going?”
“I’ve got to get back on duty. We’re too vulnerable here.”
“Uh-uh,” said the archeologist. “You’re staying put overnight. The doctor prescribed rest and recuperation. Those wounds of yours require time to begin healing. Or would you prefer I bring your physician over here to make you remain in bed? His medbay—at least for now—so his rules.”
Zoe cracked a broad grin. “That’s tellin’ you. Even captains have to obey doctor’s orders.”
“I’m perfectly capable of flying Adventurer if need be.” Grady’s words came out in a low-pitched growl, his hand still gripping the edge of a blanket.
“Do we have to place you in restraints?” Zoe said, her grin growing even wider.
“Something tells me you’d enjoy doing that,” Grady said.
“Nah, you’re not my type,” Zoe said, quirking an eyebrow. “Or gender. But, hey, it’s not every day a girl gets to shackle her CO with the blessing of the ship’s doctor.”
