He wished he could relax, too, but his busy thoughts wouldn’t let him. Fidelon’s revelation about the race of energy sucking space vampires had left him feeling dazed and daunted. The two had agreed not to tell anyone else about the threat for the time being. Grady figured the crew had enough danger to deal with without the added stress of a possible alien invasion of the Milky Way. Besides, what if Fidelon was exaggerating? After all, there had there been no reports of attacks by such creatures. What if the alien was mistaken, and the Manteku—as he called them—had set their sights on another galaxy, or were less terrifying than described?
A chilling notion occurred to him. It was not unknown for wealthy, intrepid—or foolhardy—settlers to sail off into the void seeking a remote asteroid, moon, or planetoid to claim as their own and establish a private enclave. Sometimes they were never heard from again. What if the reason for their disappearance wasn’t a desire for privacy, but the result of an incursion by the predatory beings Fidelon warned Grady about? If the creatures wiped out entire settlements, as the alien maintained, there would be no one left alive to report the raid to the nearest IC or Earth Galactic authorities. The imminent threat could be very real. And only he, and Fidelon, knew the truth. Except they were lost in another dimension, the gunship unable to travel the distance back to the rendezvous point with Epsilon. Another thought crossed his mind. Could the Manteku jump from one reality to another, or did they only exist in his own dimension? He would have to ask Fidelon once the alien returned after they snared a pirate for interrogation.
Grady chewed his lower lip and privately cursed. How had a mission to discover the recipient of the mysterious transmission turned into a life and death struggle, not just for his crew but, more ominously, the entire galaxy? His fists clenched, and he leaned forward. This isn’t helping my peace of mind or readiness for combat!
He closed his eyes, sucked in a silent breath through his nose, held it, and exhaled without making a sound. Then repeated the process several times, relieved as his thoughts started to settle. He cracked his eyelids, scrutinized the sensor and tactical holos and, seeing nothing to be alarmed about, let his eyes close once more as Adventurer continued to float alone in the void. He reminded himself that Mal, who never slept or became bored, would notify the cockpit crew without delay the moment a contact appeared.
His mind drifted, free from immediate worries, and, before he could stop it, settled on another occasion when he encountered objects floating in space. Only instead of a gunship playing dead, the scene he now pictured was peopled with actual corpses, their grotesque features distorted by exposure to vacuum.
Pulse racing, Grady grimaced and suppressed a groan, willing one particular image not to appear. He was almost successful. Sweat started on his brow as he saw her on the screen of his mind: the little girl, pale tresses trailing behind her small, lifeless body. Her facial features were frozen in a rictus of horror, the effect of a sudden, brutal, unexpected death.
He tried to remind himself that the unsanctioned attack by Cavill on the civilian outpost on Meridian Nine had taken place in another reality, not the one in which they now found themselves. Chances were, the girl was still alive in this alternate universe, her settlement unscathed. Should he go and check, fly there now and see for himself? Forget about their mission and find a way to bring peace to his fevered thoughts once and for all? But that wouldn’t change anything. The massacre had occurred, and he had witnessed it, powerless to prevent Cavill from turning rogue and killing innocent people. The memory was seared into his consciousness and Grady knew he would have to live with it, and the guilt it brought him, for the rest of his life.
With a muted curse, Grady shot to his feet, earning a startled hiss from Gizmo. The cat-like creature Tara adopted on an alien moon lay in its favorite spot, nestled beneath the copilot’s console. “Huh, what’s happening?” his sister said as she uncurled her legs, while Zoe shot a puzzled look over her shoulder.
“I need a coffee,” Grady said, not wishing to explain his abrupt movement, his voice grating in his ears.
“Okay, good idea.” Tara stretched, then covered her mouth with the back of her hand and yawned. “You make a fresh pot—we could all probably do with a caffeine hit. No worries, I’ve got the con. Not that we’re underway or anything.”
Grady nodded, not trusting himself to say anything else, his heartbeat pounding against his chest. He strode from the cockpit and made for the adjacent restroom. As he finished, he splashed cold water on his face, dried off, and headed for the lounge, his breathing calmer, a small forlorn shape fading from his thoughts.
4
While the central corridor continued straight on to the slanted stairwell leading down to the hangar bay and engineering section, side passages branched off in opposite directions. One gave access to a multi-purpose compartment and a restroom before opening out to the lounge, mess area, and galley. The other contained several cabins, including the captain’s, with more crew quarters on the lower deck. Grady stopped at the intersection, his resolve to make for the lounge wavering.
His fists opened and closed, and he muttered to himself before stalking toward the door of his cabin. As it slid closed behind him with a muted hiss of compressed air, he angled straight for his desk, his hand already reaching for the bottom drawer. He yanked it open with a soft clink of glass and went to grab the bottle of whiskey nestled inside. As he placed it on the desk, his eyes flitted to the pictures fixed to the wall. One caught his attention, as it often did: a slim, dark-haired, solemn-looking woman in her forties.
Grady had sat at his desk and contemplated that image many times, wondering when it had been taken and what lay behind the deep sadness tarnishing his mother’s once vibrant expression. Had she already received the diagnosis of an unknown, and incurable, alien virus eating away at her insides? The same sickness that would go on to claim not only her life, and Grady’s grandmother’s too, but that of many others in the nascent New Ireland colony.
Or was her solemnity caused by the growing gulf between her and his father? Grady had been acutely aware of the hurt silences and angry stares, occasionally punctuated by harsh words, which were the outward manifestation of his parents’ increasingly fractured relationship. The responsibility of raising three children, and, in his mother’s case, leading the burgeoning colony, seemed to leach the joy from their time together and caused their relationship to fracture. Maybe it hadn’t been that strong to begin with. Had she lived, Grady suspected the pair would have divorced. But death stepped in and engendered a far more definitive solution to their marital woes.
He stood frozen in place, his gaze unseeing, his fingers wrapped around the neck of the half-empty bottle. “Mum,” he whispered, his voice rasping in his throat. “If you are still alive in this dimension, would the version of you here even want to meet me?” Grady felt a tightening in his chest and struggled to breathe. He flopped onto the chair clipped to the floor in front of the desk and let his hand drop as a tear stole from beneath his eyelashes. He swiped the moisture away with a sudden gesture and sat motionless, sucking air in and out of his nose.
Closing his eyes, Grady pictured his mother as he remembered her, especially the joy he experienced when, on rare occasions, he helped her with baking in their small but cozy kitchen. He treasured the memory of those times together, just the two of them, cocooned by the sweet aroma of sugar and spices. I somehow always managed to get flour on my face and clothes, he thought with a chuckle. But you never complained about my clumsy attempts to help.
“Should I detour to visit New Ireland and look for the alternate you, discover if you’re indeed alive?” he murmured to himself, opening his eyes. “Or would seeing someone who looks like your eldest son—but isn’t exactly the Jack you knew—appear from the dead be an unwelcome shock? Could we ever recapture the relationship we once had, when neither of us is truly the same person?” He knuckled the gap between his eyebrows and muttered, “This alternate reality crap is enough to drive anyone to drink.”
His gaze fell on the whiskey bottle, and he frowned, seeming to notice it for the first time. He peered at the picture of his mother again and let out a shaky sigh. “I know what you would say, Mum.” He leaned closer to the wall, his elbows on the desk and his voice dropping further. “And you’d be right. There’s no use hiding from the difficulties I face. Better to keep a clear head.”
Before he could change his mind, Grady pushed to his feet, grasped the bottle, and placed it back where he found it, sliding the drawer shut with the toe of his boot. He gave a bleak smile, turned, and stomped from the cabin.
“You look like you just saw a ghost, Jack,” Chalmers declared as Grady stepped through the doorway. He’d hoped to find the galley and lounge-cum-mess hall empty, not sure he was in the proper frame of mind to talk with anyone right now. But the look of concern the archeologist shot him appeared genuine, and he found himself saying, his voice sounding gravelly in his ears, “An old but persistent phantom.” He cleared his throat and tapped his temple. “Our ghosts are always with us, eh? Or so it seems.”
Damn, Grady thought. Why did I say that? I don’t feel like explaining what I meant. With any luck, she’ll ignore my words. As he busied himself preparing to brew a fresh pot of coffee, his back facing the table, he didn’t see the long, pensive look the professor sent him. She blew on the steaming, fragrant liquid in her mug and took a cautious sip of peppermint tea before saying, “Want to talk about it?”
Grady sighed and turned as the coffee burbled behind him. He opened his mouth to decline, but before he could utter the words, his eyes met hers. Something in her gaze seemed to draw him in. Her platinum-blonde hair was tied back, while the short-sleeved yellow shirt she wore served to accentuate her bronzed skin.
Maybe it was the image of the dead little girl lingering in the back of his mind, or the fear Fidelon’s disclosure had evoked in him. Whatever the reason, Grady recalled his grandfather’s sage words: a burden shared is a burden halved. He’d bottled up his emotions for too long, enduring in silence. Facing imminent death together on Yerconam had convinced him that Chalmers was trustworthy, even if he sensed she was holding something back about herself.
With a nod of acquiescence, Grady held up his hand. He looked around, satisfying himself that they were alone in the room and adjacent galley. He paused, glancing toward the entrance. Had he heard the thump of a footfall? Was someone in the corridor? He walked over, glanced outside—seeing no one—and keyed the panel, closing the door without locking it. The lounge and galley were the most popular places on board, and he didn’t want to deny anyone access. But with the door shut, at least he’d have a warning before someone else entered.
After pouring himself a mug of black coffee and adding a teaspoonful of honey, he dropped onto a chair facing Chalmers. She watched in silence as he started to recount the details of Cavill’s murderous attack on the civilian outpost on Meridian Nine. Once the words began to flow, he found he couldn’t stop himself, and before he knew it, he decided he would tell Chalmers what the alien had revealed to him.
“There’s something else,” he said, looking her in the eye, his tone grave. “Something no one else in the crew is aware of. But first, you must swear you won’t reveal what I’m about to tell you to anyone without first discussing it with me. Agreed?”
Chalmers sat back and downed another swig of herbal tea. She tugged at her lower lip, frowned, and said, “You’re serious?”
Grady gave her a slow nod. “Deadly so. And I don’t use that word lightly, as you’ll discover if you consent to my conditions.”
“Fair enough,” Chalmers said, her tone turning somber. “I promise I’ll keep whatever it is to myself, unless someone’s life depends on my speaking up.”
His hand caressing the side of the stainless-steel mug, Grady hesitated, eyes narrowed. Was she playing games with him? Once again, he reminded himself of his suspicion that Chalmers hadn’t been completely honest with him, both on their first mission and this latest assignment. But could he blame her for wanting to give herself a way out of making a binding commitment to secrecy if a person’s life was on the line? Her caveat didn’t seem unreasonable, and in her place, he imagined he would have done the same thing.
He swallowed more coffee, then said, “Understood. It’s just as well you’re sitting down, because what I’m going to communicate could rock you back on your heels.” Placing the mug on the table, Grady went on to divulge everything Fidelon had told him about the race he called Manteku. To her credit, Chalmers largely listened in silence, her eyes never leaving his face. When he finished, she took several sips of tea before putting down the mug as if it was about to shatter. “Energy vampires? And you believe him?”
“My impression was he meant every word,” Grady said. “Though it’s not as if I’ve had much experience with aliens and determining if they’re being truthful.”
Chalmers snorted. “Me neither. Gods, this is unbelievable. Just when I thought things couldn’t get much worse.” She traced her finger around the rim of her mug. “So what now? If our entire galaxy really is in danger, we must warn both governments, IC and Earth Galactic. Even if the threat proves to be overblown, or it’s years before these creatures arrive, we have to make preparations to defend against them.”
“I concur,” Grady said. “First, though, before we can notify the authorities, we have to fix the fusion drive and then backtrack to locate Fidelon’s mothership. And for that, we need to find a suitable repair facility somewhere in the Badlands—without becoming entangled with outlaws and slavers, that is.”
Chalmers tapped the tabletop. “A tall order. Let’s hope your plan to capture a pirate and squeeze them for information works.”
“If it doesn’t,” Grady said, “we could find ourselves stuck in this dimension and on the run with an unreliable means of propulsion. I won’t lie to you. Just surviving here, let alone returning to our own reality, is going to be the toughest test any of us have faced.”
5
