“You’re in a medbay, Jack,” Chalmers added, angling forward so her face was inches from his. “Doctor’s orders prevail. No checking yourself out early. Got it?”
Grady looked from her to Zoe, taking in their determined countenances. He let out an exaggerated sigh and said, “Fine, fine. Instructions received and understood. I’ll sit—or rather lie—tight for now.”
“Until Doctor Hawthorne clears you to resume your duties,” Chalmers said, cocking her head as she gazed at him, her hand still resting on his shoulder. “And no sneaking out when no one’s looking.”
A guilty expression crossed Grady’s face. He’d been planning to do just that. With a resigned grunt, he tucked the blankets under his chin and said, “Fair enough. I’m all yours. Now, what’s for supper?”
25
A hollow clunk preceded Grady as he traversed the empty corridor. Old-fashioned candles glowing in sconces positioned high on the walls shed a warm yellow pall over his surroundings, and he thought he smelled honey. Beeswax? An expensive rarity in space.
He glanced down, his boots grating on the flagstone floor, and paused, looking over his shoulder. Was that a clink from back down the passage? Was someone there? “Hello?” No response. He shook his head. “My mind must be playing tricks on me,” he murmured. “Maybe it’s the meds Doc administered.”
A wide door appeared in the distance at the end of the hallway. Grady sensed it should be familiar but couldn’t place it. He scratched his cheek, trying to recall how he got here, wherever here was. He couldn’t seem to remember getting out of bed or slipping unnoticed from the ward.
Had he stumbled along in a drug induced daze before coming fully awake in the corridor—somewhere deep in the asteroid’s core beneath the outpost—after deciding to stretch his legs having slept for hours? No point just standing here, so he elected to keep walking and approached the door. The only sound was the leathery slap of his own footsteps and his steady, even breathing.
Head cocked, he listened for any sign he wasn’t alone. Silence. He placed his ear against the door, but heard nothing. As he brushed his fingers over the cool, hard material, he stepped back, tracing the varnished smoothness and the rich yellow-brown grain. “Huh, genuine wood, if I’m not mistaken,” he murmured. “Oak, could be. Not what I’d expect to find in the bowels of a secret rebel base on a remote asteroid.”
His gaze flicked to the wall, searching for a control panel, but found none. Then he spotted the round knob and hinges. Very retro, he thought. What part of Cavalier is this, anyway?
He reached for the handle, but hesitated, his hand straying to his side. No pistol. Right, he’d been in the medical center asleep, dressed in a hospital smock. Someone must have brought him fresh clothes from Adventurer, but figured he didn’t need to be armed while he convalesced.
“Well, I won’t discover what’s behind the door by standing on this side of it,” he muttered. So he grasped the knob, twisted, and gave the heavy door a gentle shove. It opened part way without making a sound, the hinges well oiled. I don’t know if I should be disappointed or not. No spooky creaking noise. Is that a good sign or a bad one?
Grady hesitated before crossing the threshold. If his absence had been discovered, Doc and Chalmers would no doubt be angry at him for disobeying their admonition to remain in bed. Would they organize a search party, fearing he might collapse from his injuries and need assistance to return to the medbay?
The last thing he remembered was lying back on the hospital bed after finishing supper, the wound in his leg throbbing. Perhaps he should retrace his steps, get some more rest? But he felt energized, not tired or sore at all, and, damn it, he had come this far and even opened the door a crack. Why not take a peek inside?
He grunted, making up his mind, toed the door all the way open, stepped forward, and gaped. The area was large, as spacious as the mess hall, with dark wood paneling adorning the walls to a height of about four feet up from the floor. “Wainscoting,” he said to himself. “I believe that’s what this paneling is called. Fell out of fashion some years ago, at least on Earth.”
A heavy iron candelabra—festooned with lit candles—dangled on a thick silvery chain from the middle of the ceiling. The air was perfumed with the soothing scent of honey. “Definitely beeswax,” Grady muttered, advancing into the chamber, which he soon realized was devoid of furniture. “What is this? Some sort of community space, like a dance hall? When did rebels have the opportunity for formal entertainment? And how could they afford to expend scarce resources to build such an extravagant room? It makes no sense.”
His footsteps echoed on the polished wooden floor—which gave a muted creak as he moved—marveling at the ornate candelabra and rich wood paneling. It’s like an elegant ballroom from a bygone era. Or a replica of one. But why is it here?
A musical tinkling sound—like mellow wind chimes stirred by a playful breeze—drew his attention to the opposite end of the chamber. He spotted a shape in the shadowy far corner and squinted, trying to make it out. Had that been there before, when he first entered from the corridor?
The object glided toward the center of the room. Grady startled, realizing that it hovered several feet above the ground and slowly rotated as it came. His thoughts strayed to the oracle on Yerconam. But that had been teardrop shaped, whereas this was hexagonal, about three feet high by three feet wide, and the color of midnight.
Whatever its material composition, the artifact’s flat, featureless surface failed to reflect the lambent glow from the massed candles above. Instead, it was as if a sliver of a black hole had somehow manifested in front of him, neither emitting nor reflecting light.
Grady frowned, his breathing shallow, and pushed his hand through his hair. Had he been transported to Yerconam without his knowledge—it wouldn’t be the first time—and found himself back in the oracle’s presence, the avatar assuming a different shape? For all he was aware, the entity might alter its form every day, or as frequently as it liked, for no discernible reason.
He glanced around, half expecting to find Chorden, the oracle’s chief attendant, standing off to the side in the shadows. But he had the chamber to himself. Just him, and whatever he was facing. Perhaps Chorden had chosen to wait outside this time? Yet Grady had seen no sign of him in the hallway beyond.
He cleared his throat, uncertain how to proceed. On the previous occasion he was granted an audience with the entity, he found himself drawn into a less than enlightening debate about the meaning of existence. The oracle seemed to answer his questions with riddles. Was this an opportunity to pose another query, and, hopefully, receive a more useful reply?
“Um, hi. Are you the oracle?” he asked, lifting his hand in greeting. “Only I’ve no idea how I got here, or even where here is. Am I back on Yerconam?”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than the shape drew closer still, looming over him, rotating faster. He heard a furious buzzing noise. Had a swarm of enraged bees found its way into the room? Grady looked around, half expecting to discover an open window—insects flitting about—then sighed, relieved to see nothing except the mysterious shape. Then a sudden pressure enveloped his ears, as if each had been wrapped in thick but invisible cotton padding.
He grimaced as a shaft of agony speared his temples—the top of his skull feeling like it would shatter—and lowered his head, eyes narrowed, his hands raised in front of him. “Stop, stop,” Grady grated. “That really hurts. What are you trying to do? Do you want to tell me something?”
The harsh sound intensified, reminding him of a horror vid he once saw when younger, where a horde of bio-engineered hornets descended on a helpless victim, surrounding and stinging her to death. His knees buckled, and he sank to his knees. “Please stop!” he gasped, hands cupped over his ears.
All at once, the noise, pressure, and pain ceased. Grady looked up and discovered he was alone. The object had vanished.
A wave of nausea washed over him, and he toppled sideways, the floorboards firm against his cheek and redolent of fresh wax. The edges of his vision turned black, and it seemed as if he was peering through a small round peephole. Then the aperture closed, and all was still.
Grady cracked his eyes open, swore softly, and drew a shaky breath. He was lying in his bed in the outpost’s medical center. He turned his head. Chalmers sat at a desk toward the rear of the darkened ward, her attention on a bank of displays. His gaze slid to the entrance, and a familiar form: Zoe, a laser rifle cradled in her arms as she stood guard in case of another surprise attack.
Aside from an occasional low beep from the monitoring equipment, the room was quiet, except for the relaxed breathing from two of the freighter’s survivors, fast asleep, who shared the ward with him, each separated by privacy curtains.
What a weird dream, Grady thought. I must be more exhausted than I imagined. Better go back to sleep and rest up. He turned onto his side and almost yelped. Heat radiated from underneath the thin pillow. Brow creased in consternation, he reached in his hand to investigate and stifled a curse as he pulled out the flat, almost translucent stone that the oracle had gifted him on Yerconam. It emitted a faint yellow glow, warmth seeping from its surface.
“What the hell, I locked this in the safe in my quarters,” he murmured, puzzled. “I know I did. It’s bio-encoded to me. No one else can open the safe without blowing the door—which they wouldn’t—and triggering all sorts of alarms.”
Shaking his head, he held the object up before his eyes and watched as the glow faded. “What in all the cosmos is this relic doing here?”
Grady bit back a curse as his knees threatened to buckle. He staggered, his shin clattering the jamb as he swayed at the bathroom doorway. His body erupted in agony, and he gritted his teeth. Could he make it back to bed without falling on his behind? Or worse, blacking out entirely?
He lifted his head at the rapid patter of feet to find Chalmers bearing down on him. He sent her a wan smile and whispered, “Sorry, Prof. I guess I’m not ready to run a marathon just yet.”
“It’s Monika, remember? We’re way past the formal stage of our relationship.” Chalmers ducked and placed her arm around his waist. “Here, lean on me and put your arm across my shoulders. Let’s get you into bed.”
“Best offer I’ve had in ages.” Grady felt light-headed, his thoughts muddled and his voice hoarse. As the pair shuffled across the tiled floor, his brain suddenly caught up with his mouth and he murmured, “My apologies, Monika. That was unprofessional of me. Must be the meds talking.”
