RP Thread: New Eden

Fan Projects Writings
61

The pilot didn’t move, as the adventurers left the premises.

Once they were clear, he bent down to the G-man, who was moaning as he regained his conciousness.

  • “What happened?”, the G-Man asked quietly, coughing to the fog around him.

  • “You were hit…”, the pilot explained.
    The chips in the pilots’ head chattered.

  • “But you are going to be alright. Come on, stand up, grab my hand.”

  • “I remember blood, what happened”
    The pilot helped the G-Man to his feet, responding with a pressed “I’ll explain later”. They looked around the bodies, and then to the returning bar personel.

  • “Where did they go?” the man asked the pilot, while he examined the hole in his suit, hissing to himself “Oh no this was my favourite suit”
    The pilot avoided looking at the door where he presumed they got out.

  • “I had no time to watch it, I was at gunpoint, and as you can see they concealed their departure” he replied.
    The G-Man nodded and looked now at the pilot. “I guess the reports of your expressions are not exaggerated.” He tried a brief smile.
    A short awkward moment arose, keeping both unaware of a small flying camera drone entering the room.

  • “I think introductions are in order, Mr. Valor. Harry Schmitt.”, the G-Man tried to break the unpleasant moment.
    They shook hands, and Roger Valor responded nodding, albeit knowing, that this Harry Schmitt knew his name anyway…

  • “Roger…”

In this second the doors sprang open, multiple guards entered the room.
“Freeze!” a loud voice shouted.
The guards pointed their guns at the two men standing in the middle of the room.
“Step away from the government official”
“Are you allright sir”
“He holds him hostage!”

“Clear that fog!”
“Step away and get to the floor”
Roger tried to raise a hand, “look dear officers”
“Now!” “To the floor!”
A shot was fired at Roger.
“Cease fire!”
The shot illuminated the room, intensified by the residual fog, and ended in a blue flash as Roger was hit.

“Who fired?” - “I said cease fire!”
He was taken from his feet and hurled toward the Mahagoni Bar, completely destroying one of the Barstools under his weight.

Harry sprang to the officer of the team, raising his arms and shouting in panic

  • “Stop this! He is not one of them! They are gone!”
    Two guards immediately ran to Rogers hit body. “Medic!”

  • “I’m alright”, Roger gasped. “but please keep those trigger happy recruits back”
    He slowly sat up, cleaning himself from debries of the barstool. His face was shortly distorted by the pain. “Ouch.”
    G-Man Schmitt sighed relieved.
    The officer lowered his gun, looked between Harry, Roger and the Bar owner.

  • “Where did they go?”

  • “They were talking about public transportations” lied Roger as he stood up, “I would hurry before they find some supply cargo vessel”
    The officer nodded, and started to give orders around to his men.

  • “I need you to stay here, I may have more questions to ask”, said the officer as he left the room with a couple of guardsmen.

 

Harry stepped closer to the pilot.

  • “You alright?”
  • “Yeah”
  • “How…?”
    Roger smiled. “Personal emergency barrier.”
  • “A new prototype? Interesting. Maybe we could negotiate trade rights?”
  • “Not so fast, Mr. Shmitt”, the pronounciation was slightly sarcastic.
  • “First I want my freedom, the evidence.” Roger added.
    Schmitt nodded. Both walked to the side of the Bar, and sat down in a booth, starting their conversation, partially watching some guards helping the bar owner, while the others cleared the room again.
  • “They didn’t really take public transportations, Mr. Valor, I suppose?” Schmitt asked.
    Roger smirked.
  • “I see you have studied my psychiatric profile very well, Mr. Schmitt. Let’s talk business.”
     

The chips in Rogers brain were communicating.

  • “Gab, I need this conversation on file. Open one for recording, name it…”

He didn’t need to think it loudly to his artificial companion. The Gabriel Implant after all used his subconcious to operate it’s own artificial cognitive matrix.

  • “Fine. Opening file ‘hairyshit’ for recording.”

  • “Roger…”

62

As Quinn’s T-Rex made its escape, another vessel watched in silence from an otherwise empty patch of sky. It was sleek, blade like and impossibly thin; a craft devoid of canopy or any conventional crew compartment. Indeed, it was devoid of crew. With its systems running on absolute minimum outputs, just enough to keep the Neuroprocessor and some basic sensors active, it had coasted unnoticed for hours in the shadow of New Eden. Now it was waking up, and the consciousness began to transmit, via means that bordered on the arcane, to a receiver far, far away.

Brother? The ship thought. Brother? Are you there?

I’m here, Occam. replied the distant receiver.

Nephew is up to something. He’s leaving awfully quickly.

He went there in search of mercenaries, Occam. Knowing him, he’s got himself into some trouble and is making a quick exit. Open your ears for me, would you?

Occam obeyed. It didn’t take long to find word of the commotion aboard New Eden.

The ‘Soldier’s Fortune’ seem to be trying to escape. Perhaps they are after Nephew? Or are they his new mercenaries?

Knowing him, likely both. Time to wake up, Occam. Take them somewhere safe. I will meet you as soon as I am able.

 

The Razor began to power its systems. Static built up along the gauss rails of its weapons; frost was boiled from the hull as the shields flared white-hot for a moment before flicking away into a near-invisible sheen. The engines revved and roared, like colts eager to run free. And then, somewhat anticlimactically, the Razor simply vanished from sight. Safely cloaked, it began its approach toward New Eden, ready to cover the escape of its new-found allies.

63

Beroya, Ariphes, and Efefay were just about to the ramp of the ship, when the Captain broke into a run. The Federal troops were left standing dumbfounded and confused as the three figures disappeared inside the ship, but only for a moment. “He’s not a negotiator! That man was one of them!” The Lieutenant bellowed. “Bravo and Sigma, weapons free! Fire on that ship! Someone get those hangar turrets online, NOW!”

 

Safely aboard the Soldier’s Fortune, Captain Beroya Kaine raced onto the bridge, followed by his first-mate and Mishra. Efefay followed at a distance, unsure of where he should stand.

 

“Is the Fortune warmed up and ready for launch?”

 

“Yes, Captain! We started 'er engines as soon as we heard of a disturbance at the bar.”

 

“Good!” Beroya smiled with satisfaction. “All hands, battle stations! Helm! Give me full power to the reverse thrusters! Break us free of those docking restraints.” He turned to a great hulk of a man seated at the defense systems console. “Hobbes, get our shields modulated for electromagnetic damage. Prepare to take a wallop!” Hobbes went to work as if his life depended on it.

 

Efefay’s face showed puzzlement at the Captain’s order. The small arms fire coming from the Federal troops was kinetic. Ariphes saw his expression and grinned. “Brace yourself, this is gonna hurt.”

 

Music began to blare over ceiling speakers that had been placed around the bridge as the Captain continued barking out orders.

 

“Weapons control, you know what to do. Fire when ready!”

 

The ship’s deck shook as a torpedo launched from its underbelly, skimming mere centimeters over the walkway. Lieutenant McKeen’s eyes grew wide as his men dived to either side or fell off the gangway completely in their haste to move out of the missile’s path. His mouth opened in a silent scream of terror as the torpedo hit the barricade.

 

“All hands, brace for impact!” The shockwave glowed bright blue as it raced back towards the Fortune. There was a sickening lurch as the deck heaved upwards. Metal screeched in agony as the second-generation T-Rex ripped free of the docking clamps. “Helm, bring us around to the entrance, but do it the long way. Weapons control, cycle up the beams, and let’s kick them on the way out!”

 

A scrawny man sporting several gold teeth grinned wickedly as he rammed the control stick to port. Photo-receptors glowed bright red, as the cyborg at the weapon station brought the main guns to bear. Red death exploded against the walls of the hangar, burning through structural supports, turrets, and the few Federal guards who still lived. Coming around full, the red and black frigate gave vent to her afterburners and plunged out of the hangar into open space.

 

Off in the distance, the Sanguine Shepherd and Wayward Rambler could be seen waiting for the flagship. Sudden explosions outside the viewscreen alerted the pirates that they were not home-free just yet.

 

“Federal Marshals!” Ariphes yelled from the sensor array. “Five of them, armed with Gauss cannon and EM missiles!”

 

“Shields are holding, but they’ve got us painted and gimped! We won’t make it to the others before they wear us down!” Hobbes looked worried.

 

“That was the last of the torpedoes, Captain!” The cyborg’s metallic voice echoed across the bridge. “Those fighters are in our blind spot, and we’ve got no way to shake them loose!”

 

Captain Kaine’s eyes closed, as he cursed quitely and began to pray for a miracle…

64

The shields of the lead Marshal flared white hot as an unseen volley splashed against them. A missile shrieked out of nowhere, forcing the rearmost ship to take evasive action. Suddenly, without warning, there was a Jericho ship in their midst.

 

To say it was a dogfighter failed to do it justice. It was a slight thing, yet it moved with flawless grace and precision. It twisted and span, its shields flickering on and off as retaliatory fire came its way. The Marshal’s gauss cannons were heavy calibre; their Tigers were built to hunt and slay even the largest of opponents. The Razor, however, was able to move like an interceptor, but punched well above its weight. And she could turn like a demon.

 

She span on a pin head and roared off a volley of kinetic shells into the face of a Marshal that sought to kill her. Before the return fire could find its mark she was gone again, having executed a high-G burn that would have caused a Human pilot to black out. She came down upon another Marhsal’s tail and fired again, this time finding his hull and ripping off chunks of armour plating. It wasn’t enough to take the ship out of the fight, but it certainly convinced them the Razor could not be ignored.

 

As the Razor indulged in its dance of death a communication was sent to the Soldier’s Fortune. “It seems you are running for your life from the Federation,” the voice said, feeling a need to state the obvious. It was an old voice, tired and slightly breathless. “Occam shall give you what support he can, but I suggest you flee as fast as you are able. Given that Mr Quinn fled shortly before you did I can only assume you are in his employ, or possibly seeking to collect a debt from him. Either way, we have much to discuss. My name is Elijah, and I am… well, let us say that if Mr Quinn has taken an interest in you, then I too must take an interest. I hope that we shall meet face to face, and remain on pleasant terms. Do you know of a safe place we can rendezvous?”

65

The shadowy man opened his palm and manoeuvred it onto his forehead as he watched the rapidly escalating conflict.  :014j:

“Amateurs,” he muttered, “by this rate, they are going to have all the bounty hunters in this sector of the galaxy going after them.”

 

Now he had no choice but to intervene, the artefact must not fall into Federation hands. Pressing a few buttons on the control panel, the cockpit shielding rolled back revealing a state of the art imperial reconnaissance ship, codenamed “Jarl”, adapted for exclusive Warden use. Its hull gleamed of the latest camouflage, reverse engineered from biomorph ships, allowing it to remain undetected to all but the most advanced sensors. However, the man was not going to take any chances, for any mistakes he made may restart the war that have slowly came to a halt as biomorphs invaded sector by sector. He entered a code and his ship became one of the thousands of regular traders operating in Federation space.

66

Inside the station, Federation workers turned on missile turrets located on the external shell of the New Eden base. The turrets fired with great accuracy on the T-Rex and the Razor.

Back on the guard ship, Efefay looked over the defense watchman’s shoulder and gazed upon the utility dashboard. He saw the generators for the shields tiring out under the constant fire of turrets and gauss.

“Sir, the shields won’t hold up much longer! We have an estimated 3 minutes and 23 seconds until hull strength becomes critical,” the watchman said, “Sir, do I have permission to redirect non-sustaining ship power to the shield generators?”

67

The Razor’s dance of death seemed to enchant the bridge crew. They stared, slack jawed as the thin, nimble craft bobbed and weaved through enemy fire. This trance was broken by an audio transmission that interrupted the loud battle-music. “It seems you are running for your life from the Federation,” the voice said, feeling a need to state the obvious. It was an old voice, tired and slightly breathless. “Occam shall give you what support he can, but I suggest you flee as fast as you are able. Given that Mr Quinn fled shortly before you did I can only assume you are in his employ, or possibly seeking to collect a debt from him. Either way, we have much to discuss. My name is Elijah, and I am… well, let us say that if Mr Quinn has taken an interest in you, then I too must take an interest. I hope that we shall meet face to face, and remain on pleasant terms. Do you know of a safe place we can rendezvous?”

 

Opening a return channel from his Captain’s chair, Beroya shifted his weight. “This is Captain Kaine. So you’re the one called Elijah? You’ve got some impeccable timing. I don’t suppose Quinn managed to pass along the coordinates to the rendezvous? We had planned to meet in Ice Pits where you would come aboard. Is that still the plan, or did Quinn leave the sector before things got too hot?”

 

“Sir, the shield won’t hold up much longer!” Hobbes was sweating with exertion as he attempted to balance the power output to the guard frigate’s failing shields. “We have an estimated 3 minutes and 23 seconds until we can no-longer sustain the barrier, and our hull strength becomes critical. Sir, do I have permission to redirect non-sustaining ship power to the shield generators?” Beroya’s brow knit in concentration. If they sacrificed engine power for the shield they would live a little longer, but be unable to run very far. If they did nothing, the shield would fall and the Gauss cannons would rip through the ship’s hull.

 

The privateer saw Efefay standing near the Defense station, eyeing the controls over Hobbes’ shoulder and mumbling to himself. He seemed to be making some sort of diagram on his hand. “Efefay!” Beroya’s voice shook him from his private thoughts. “If you know something we don’t, now would be the time to share it!”

68

Elijah sighed, “Hardly impeccable; Occam has been following my nephew for over a month. If he’s sending you to the Pits then he must have intended for us to meet. Go quickly; I will find you once you arrive. Occam’s systems indicate he has no more than two minutes of combat time left before he must abort and return to base. He’ll have longer if you can reduce the need for high-burn tactics. Good luck, Captain.”

69

Efefay said, “Allow your watchman to be us some time Beroya.” Efefay gave his FedCom to Ariphes. “Plug it in to the dataport. Go to the folder named ‘Guardian Class Modules’ and download the software file named ‘C’. It’ll buy us a little more time. Beroya please redirect the power! I need you to buy me a bit more time to help. Ariphes, are there any spare repair parts on this ship?”

“The spare parts are in the mechanic’s room. Leave the bridge, go down the hall, take the first left, second left from there,” Ariphes said.

As Efefay sprinted to the mechanic’s room, the lights went off. Somewhere on the ship, a cook was cursing at Beroya as the cook’s appliances and lights died. All that was left on were the dimming lights on the bridge, the shield generators and the combat systems. His hands brushed the side of the hall to feel where openings and doorways were. When Efefay opened the door he saw the mechanic laying there reading a magazine with a flashlight. Efefay gave a glare to the man.

“What?” he said, “I’m useless in situations like these.”

“Well you are going to start being useful now! Grab the cart and fit all the spare parts you can! Bring some hand tools.” said Efefay as he pointed to the cart, “I need to know where the ship’s main generator and engine are.” The mechanic did what Efefay demanded. In the dark, Efefay saw glints of light reflecting off the metal of a portable welding machine and off the lens of a welding helmet. It was to hard to find leather clothing in the dark room. Efefay and the mechanic left the room with tools and parts in tow… The mechanic knew where everything was even in the dark because, by now for him, the ship was his home. The mechanic had no trouble directing Efefay in the way he should walk.

They came to main generator. They pried open the panel leading to the mess of wires and parts inside. Efefay stripped off his clothing. If sparks got on his shirt or pants and lit up, the garments would melt to his skin. “I need light man. Where is the torch?” Efefay asked.

“I forgot it in my room,” said the mechanic. Efefay cursed in his mind.

“Screw your light,” said Efefay angrily. He pulled out the small, black box from his clothes on the floor and opened it. The green mist glowed dull and dim. Barely enough to see what Efefay was doing. It had to do though until Efefay made his own light. He turned on the generator attached to the portable machine and he got to work in his underpants.

In the dark passageway, flashes of blue light were emitted. He ripped certain wires and he tacked them elsewhere. He put in new ones and he tacked those. He put in machine parts and fixed them to other parts. During this time sparks flew of between the metal and the welding torch. Some of them flew away dimming on the ground, while others flew on his bare skin and fell off, while more flew on his arms and stayed, burning him in small spots all over his forearms. He ignored the pain or he and everyone else on the ship would die.

The mechanic and Efefay moved to the engines and Efefay did the same. In between welds and wires, Efefay said to the mechanic, “Go to Beroya and tell him to activate the third active module on his control panel in 25 seconds.”

70

Not wanting to “God Mode”, but I’d like to push things along enough that we can properly transition from the “intro” to the main event, so I’m going to take what’s been set up and run with it a little if that’s alright. :002j:

 

Occam had established communication with the Soldier’s Fortune and was providing a running commentary of events from his end. They came to the communication station as a garble of disconnected thoughts and concepts. Suggestions for course corrections were thrown in the midst of analysis of enemy armour condition; calls for fire support were almost lost in a flurry of sensor returns indicating that New Eden was scrambling mercenaries to help the Marshals. After a while the man on station got the hang of reading Occam’s output, though it wasn’t entirely reassuring.

The comms chirruped and a familiar voice came over the system. It was Elijah’s, only many years younger and warped by digitization. “Primary fuel tank at 03%; shields at 27% and falling; proto-metal reserves expended - remaining ammunition: one sentry, eight missiles, fifty-six kinetic penetrator rounds. Exfiltration imminent.”

The announcement did nothing to improve the mood on the bridge. The mechanic burst in, breathless, and gasped, “Hit the third module in twenty-five seconds!”

“Hear that?” Beroya cried. “Just hold a little longer!”

The seconds ticked by slowly, filled with Occam’s voice counting down his combat strength. Twenty seconds…

“Primary Fuel at 02%. Seven missiles, forty-eight rounds remaining.”

Fifteen…

"Primary Fuel at 01%. Sentry deployed."

Ten…

“Primary fuel expended. I’m sorry, Captain. Aborting mission. You are on your own.”

Five…

Beroya and the others watched as the Razor screamed past them, burning hard despite now running on emergency tanks.

Zero.

 

There was a vibration through the entire ship. It began in the engineering room and spread outward as an invisible shockwave that sent a shiver down the spine of every crewmember as it passed through them. Then it moved outward, into the void. It found Occam’s sentry and embraced it, wrapping it in an invisibility field while leaving the Marshals untouched. The lead edge brushed Occam’s wing and that too became ethereal for just a few moments. Just long enough for Occam to notice.

The Razor burned retros and came to a dead halt. Then it span on its core and turned its nose back toward the T-Rex and the closing Marshals, who had yet to notice the danger.

“Emergency fuel reserve at 92%. Estimated combat time: One minute fifty three seconds. Estimated time to victory…”

The signal became filled with static. Through the bridge glass the Razor shone in blood-red light as its main drive spooled up to full power and the afterburner kicked in hard. She was coming right for the T-Rex, her guns tracking targets, her missiles armed and ready. She vanished from sight, but the fury of her passing made the armoured canopy rattle.

“Negligible!”

 

The lead Marshal took a missile to the nose out of nowhere. Its shields failed for a fraction of a second - more than enough time for Occam to blow the canopy clean off with a quad of gauss rounds. A second found itself tethered by a leech beam that left it stalled in open space, where an unseen sentry drone raked its flank with laser fire. Railgun rounds pounded him from the opposite flank, and he began to spin, firing wildly in all directions. A third, having already taken damage in the right chose to run for his life. The last two stayed on target, running for the T-Rex. Their cannons fired on full-auto and their missiles were launched as fast as the arming protocols allowed, but with three ships out of the fight their firepower wasn’t enough. Soon they came under fresh attack from guns far heavier than the invisible Razor as the other frigates joined the fight. They pulled back, knowing that to keep fighting would only result in their destruction. Their reinforcements were coming, but would not make it in time to prevent the frigates from forming a proper fighting line. They weren’t yet in the clear, but at best they could now retreat; at worst, they at least now had a fighting chance.

 

Occam decloaked above the T-Rex and clanged against their dorsal plating. Once more the bridge rang with his voice. “I am spent,” he said. “Twelve rounds remaining. All missiles spent. Emergency fuel dangerously low. Take me home now, I want to go to bed.”

71

The sounds of missiles leaving their bays and high pitched sounds of lasers stopped as Efefay sat in the passageway of the “Soldier’s Fortune” half naked. His hands were pulsating and throbbing from the heat conducted from the welding torch. His forearms had small open sores and blisters. Strangely he felt little pain. He lost consciousness still half naked and sweating.

In his unconscious dream, he saw home. The nightrobins were chirping as the sun was setting, painting the sky orange and purple. He saw the girl of his youth and Ariphes on his porch. He walked up the steps leading to the porch. Neither the girl nor the woman said anything but they both held out a hand.

72

Captain Beroya Kaine stood silent and still, drinking in the events that had just unfolded. To starboard, the Shepherd’s cluster missiles forced the last of the Marshals to flee, while the Rambler’s disintegrator beam lanced out to tag some of the more distant reinforcements.

 

There was a muffled clang of armor hitting armor before an audio transmission came through the bridge, “I am spent,” Occam said. “Twelve rounds remaining. All missiles spent. Emergency fuel dangerously low. Take me home now, I want to go to bed.”

 

The privateer opened a channel. “Fine work, Occam. Stay on our port-side stabilizer, and ride the wake. We’ve still got two jumps to make before we can take you aboard, but I’m confident…”

 

“Sir!” Ariphes looked up from the sensor console, a smile radiating across her face. “We won’t need to jump anywhere! It’s the New Haven. She’s here!”

 

Beroya was on his feet in an instant, striding up to the front viewscreen. “Where!?”

 

As if in answer to his question, the distant starlight began to distort and bend directly in front of the frigate. An instant later, the dreadnought arrived. It’s imposing armored hull, which dwarfed even the largest of the frigates, was painted in non-reflective black. Emblazoned proudly upon the ship’s forward bow was the red ‘X’ and Skull of Kaine’s Privateers, and below that was her name: New Haven. She was ancient, even by Federation standards; a product of the first extensive voyages beyond the original solar system. Since then she had been retrofitted multiple times by various mining corporations before winding up in the pirate’s hands.

 

“See that, Occam!” Beroya crowed into the comm, “How’s that for a port in the storm, eh?” He flipped a switch on his chair, his face breaking into a wide grin. “New Haven, this is the Captain speaking. Four coming aboard. The Jericho ship is with us, so show him an open door.”

 

“Acknowledged, Captain. You are clear to land. Broadcasting docking order to the Shepherd and Rambler now. Welcome home, Sir.”

 

Within minutes, the four ships had vanished inside the landing bay. Then the New Haven spooled up her drives, and was gone.

______________________________________________

 

Not a soul was around when the black dreadnought jumped into the Ice Pits. Only the ice and ceaseless solar winds greeted her as she slid into a large cove created by the ice belt, and waited.

73

Occam surveyed the Pits through borrowed sensors. He had not been a model passenger - his many attempts to access restricted systems, copy the ship’s media files and spam every unprotected inbox with “lfg 4 shadspdr dng gt rog nd dbuf + tank” every two minutes had at best annoyed, at worst made him a security risk. He blamed it on being bored. Now he was itching to be off the ship. “We need to head to the Aqua Vitae mining site. It’s about two thousand km away on a vector -014, 221, 103 from shiop’s origin. There’s a lot of debris between us and them, and they may not take kindly to a warship barging in. Recommend we disembark here.”

74

“We need to head to the Aqua Vitae mining site. It’s about two thousand km away on a vector -014, 221, 103 from shiop’s origin. There’s a lot of debris between us and them, and they may not take kindly to a warship barging in. Recommend we disembark here.”

 

Beroya Kaine rubbed sleep from his eyes, as he considered Occam’s suggestion. He had not slept well. He mind felt heavy and his body told him he was much older than he looked. He surveyed the bridge crew of New Haven, working up a plan.

 

Ariphes bounded onto the bridge in high spirits. “Good morning, Captain!” She chirped merrily.

 

“Uhmmmmr.” Beroya grunted.

 

Ari paused her joyful romping and looked around, confusion etched on her face. Then her eyes grew wide in panic. “Captain? When we disembarked from the Fortune, was Efefay with us?”

 

The Privateer thought long and hard. “Ehhhm… No… I don’t believe so.”

 

Ariphes was gone before he could give the order for a medical team to meet her in the landing bay.

 

_______________________

 

A short while later, Efefay lay in a clean white bed. His body was covered with burns and crusted blood. The medic, a cranky old man with a prosthetic hand, stuck tubes into his arms for a blood transfusion. Nearby, Ari watched Efefay, surprising herself with how concerned she felt for this man she barely knew. The green mist ring was still attached to her finger, yet she wasn’t able to summon up its impressive healing powers.

 

The transfusion was well underway when Efefay stirred. Ariphes was asleep in a chair at the foot of the bed, unaware that he was regaining consciousness.

75

Memories and dreams faded as Efefay started to regain consciousness. Before he had even opened his eyes, he inhaled and exhaled deeply. It’d been years since he had seen her even if it was a dream. He felt grief wash over him and his chest tightened as he realized he was gone from her.

Still not having his eyes open, Efefay sensed his surroundings. He shuffled his legs back and forth feeling scratchy, white sheets below him. He heard the soft buzz of machines to the left of him. He then felt something foreign as he moved his arms. His eyes cracked opened and his neck turned to his left arm. Efefay felt enraged as he saw the hanging blood bag and the plastic tube jutting from his left arm. He tried to jerk off the tubing but his hands felt nothing, letting the tube slide through his weak grip. He rolled within the restraints and pulled the tubing out of his arm, leaking blood from both the plastic tube and his arm.

For the first time, he saw Ariphes waking up sitting at the end of the bed. Efefay decided to ignored Ariphes and shimmied out of the straps on the bed. He walked out of the room with his arm still dripping with blood. He turned his head looking for the bloody doctor who assumed that Efefay would be fine with a blood transfusion, if the doctor was a him, and give him a swift kick in the genitals. He saw an old man standing near a counter with a white coat on.

“Excuse me,” said Efefay, “are you the doctor who is treating me?”

“Yes I am,” said the old man somewhat sheepishly because of Efefay’s anger.

The tone of the old man softened Efefay’s rage. “While I thank you for treating me,” Efefay said, “what gives you the right to infuse other people’s blood into my body?!” his rage quickly building again. “There are other ways of saving a patient’s life without using blood. Did you try recollecting any of my fallen blood, filtering it, then feeding it back in me?! Did you check if you had water simply to restore fluid volume?!”

76

Through a not entirely authorised data-tap into the ship’s internal monitors, Occam was keeping tabs on his new comrades and, by extension, so was Elijah. The developing scene in the medical bay caught the data-clone’s attention, if only as something to amuse him until he could be out and flying once more.

“Oh now this is just wonderful! Look, Brother, he’s actually mad that his friends fixed him! What kind of crazy has Nephew hired for this mission?”

“Hush, Occam,” Elijah replied across the neural link. “A man has a right to be concerned for the state of his immortal soul, especially in this line of work.”

If Occam could scoff, he would have. “Immortal soul? Really? How can you of all people believe drivel like that?”

“Must we do this again? When did you become so full of doubt?”

“When you downloaded me onto a hard drive.” Elijah couldn’t help but note the bitter edge to Occam’s thought-words. “Besides, we’re apostates, remember? Heretics cast out of the cult. Your ‘immortal soul’ has been in dire peril since before you made me.”

“Just because one is not a member of a church does not mean one cannot have faith,” Elijah answered patiently, as though speaking to a child. “I do not see the world as the Priesthood wishes me to, but we ultimately work toward the same goal. Remember-”

“Brother, if you start quoting scripture at me again I might have to ‘accidentally’ perform a strafing run on you.”

“So cranky! You’ve been away too long; bring our guests as quickly as you are able and you can rest. I’ve made a few adjustments to the dream programs for you. I think you’ll like them.”

After a pregnant pause, Occam asked, “Brother, what would happen to me if I- if my ship were destroyed? Would I survive?”

“In more ways than one, yes. Put such thoughts out of your mind, dear brother. You’ll be home soon, safe and sound.”

The sentient machine huffed, and nearby deckhands were startled by the unexpected, angry flaring of the Razor’s engines. “Immortal souls. Stupid idea.”

77

The medic, a crusty old man by the name of Micah, blinked in confusion as Efefay berated him. “Son, perhaps you ought to lie back down? You’ve been unconscious for almost 48 hours due to blood loss and third-degree burns. Or did you miss the fact that you have several lacerations across your midriff? Frankly, it’s a miracle you’re still alive. That blood I was pumping into you, which you are now dripping all over my sickbay floor, is completely synthetic; grown in a lab here on the ship by yours-truly. There is no risk of disease, infection, or rejection.”

 

Micah paused, as a new revelation struck him. “That is, unless you have religious objections to such procedures…”

78

“Completely synthetic,” Efefay muttered to himself. Everything after what Micah said no longer mattered. Efefay realized that his rage was uncalled for. His anger was instantly replaced with shame and embarrassment. Instead of his chest tightening, now his throat was tightening.

He kneeled with his head tilted downwards before the old man. His voice choking out the words, “I’m sorry sir. Please forgive me for my outbursts shown towards you.”

79

The medic was completely taken aback by Efefay’s display of prostration. But before he could think up an appropriate response, the comm crackled to life.

 

“Medbay, this is the bridge. How is the patient?”

 

“Errr… just fine.” Micah said, his face slightly red. “He’s up and about and seems to be no worse for wear. Ariphes is here too.”

 

“Good. Have them both proceed to the hangar deck. Captain’s planning to disembark for the mining facility with Occam within the hour.”

 

“Aye, aye. Medbay out.” Micah helped Efefay back to his feet. “Looks like you two are in for a bit of fun. Better get your flightsuits on.”

 

Ariphes touched Efefay’s shoulder, as he turned away from the medic, guiding him towards the hangar.

80

As Ariphes and Efefay walked down the New Haven passageway to the hangar, the hole from the plastic tubing on Efefay’s left arm scabbed up to match the numerous breaches to his skin. He felt uncomfortable with the crusting blood on his body and he had chills running through his body since he had a papergown from the MedBay. Efefay was definitely not ready to go on a space flight.

Efefay stopped walking, Ariphes going a few steps forward before turning around. “Ariphes, I don’t think I’m ready to get out with the rest of you yet. Do you know where my things are?” Efefay gestured to his body which was scattered with wounds.