Dark Vengeance (4 page)

R.J. smiled. “Thank you so much for the explanation. Can we still order?”

“Oh yes, of course, and I would be most honored to bring your servings to your table to make up for the interruption. The alarms will silence in a moment.”

I had eggs and potatoes because it was the only thing on the menu I felt sure about, and even then there remained the question of exactly who or what had produced the eggs. R.J., having studied the food beforehand, ate something I did not recognize, though it looked like a brisket with legs. I couldn’t even tell if it was plant or animal. Afterward, the coffee was the most delicious I had ever tasted.

The Crystal sisters rose from their table and headed out with a shifty little stroll that made you look back each time you tried to look away.  Their white gowns were faintly transparent with little blue swirls in all the important places. R.J. seemed to have become glassy eyed from repeated eye contact with them.

By the time we left the place, the lighting had been turned down to the evening setting. In the corridor, I stopped for a moment to look up through the high windows at the star clusters drifting by overhead. I turned to say something to R.J. and was abruptly stricken by one of the most frightening visions I had ever seen. It was one of those happenings that you’d normally be able to handle unless caught in a relaxed moment of vulnerability. It made me jump back and partially raise one hand in defense.

Speeding by not more than 2 feet away was the oldest-looking woman I had ever seen. She was nearly bald except for a few failing clumps of gray hair that hung down to her shoulders. The skin was pressed so tightly to her face it could have passed for a skull. The eyelids were closing over the black irises at slow steady intervals that seemed too long to provide adequate sight. She was dressed in a sleeveless light-brown gown that looked almost as old as she did. The skin on her arms looked dead. Her arms and bony fingers were flailing around unnecessarily as she went, as though she was trying to keep her balance on ice skates. Adding to the arcane imagery of it, she was on some sort of form-fitting device that kept her in an almost upright posture. The unit moved speedily along 2 or 3 inches off the floor, dragging the hem of her gown in such a way that it made her look like a ghost levitating along on its merry way. There was a back rest for her head that may have been the only thing keeping it upright. From the front and side you could barely see the ambulatory device. Only from the back could you distinguish it from her decrepit body.

I whispered to R.J. “What the hell was that?”

R.J. intently watched her coast down the corridor and disappear into a stateroom. “Wow! That was The Ancient! From what I read I thought we’d never even get a glimpse of her. Amazing!”

“I’ve got to get back to reading those guest profiles.”

“She’s a planetary elder. Supposed to be more than 1300 years old by Earth standards. She and a few others govern the planet Aberidian by absolute rule. The Aberidians believe that the oldest are the wisest. At any given time their ruling council is made up of the 6 oldest people on the planet. That was probably a one in a million shot. We probably won’t see any more of her.”

“I don’t want to see any more of her. I’ll probably have bad dreams for a week.”

“Now, now. God didn’t create any of his creatures without a purpose.”

“How about mosquitoes?”

“The primary food of bats, Sir.”

“Well, isn’t that just a delightful link in the ecosystem.”

“Speaking of that, have you read that there is a Tagon guest aboard?”

“The ones whose favorite drink is blood you mean? What, are you trying to keep me awake all night?”

Back in the safety of my stateroom there was plenty of time to get through the reading list. Every so often I kept seeing the face of The Ancient, sunken eyes in a dead-skin skull, floating along busy, busy, busy. It would have made Hitchcock step back.

Just about the time I was contemplating trying to sleep, R.J.’s image appeared in the top right-hand corner of my screen. I tapped it to open.

“Guess who just had late drinks with Fantasia,” he said boastfully.

“You are a braggart, Sir. Is there no end to your surprises?”

“Learned a great many interesting things, I might add.”

“Good or bad?”

“Some disappointing, some quite disconcerting.”

“Like what?”

“Like Fantasia revealed to me that she has no sex organs, at least as we know them.”

“You’re kidding? How does the race proliferate?”

“Apparently when attraction with a male is strong enough and the feelings of desire and intimacy crest to a certain point, somehow the life force energy between the two transforms the female’s egg into the fertilized state and a pregnancy is initiated.”

“Holy crap!”

“Yes, certainly made me sit up and begin thinking like an upstanding citizen I should tell you,” he mused.

“Dating must be a nightmare on her planet.”

“Gives new meaning to the words, ‘Sir, I never laid a hand on your daughter.’”

“Anything else I should be forewarned about?”

“No, but tomorrow’s another day. Sleep tight.”

“No chance. That picture of the Ancient is stuck in my head.”

I heard him laughing as he switched off.

Nightmare girl was not completely to blame for keeping me awake as I lay in my very comfortable holomatter bed. The room had switched to night/sleeping mode all by itself as I sat at the information center reading. I wondered if it switched back prematurely would I crash to the floor in a heap. This was not the perfect place for a good first night’s rest. Holomatter walls certainly could not be trusted. Alien characters all around. Alien security to protect you from them. Occasional intruder alert alarms. This was one of those times you sleep with your eyes half open. It is a talent well-used by horses and a friend I have by the name of Wilson. Wilson can sleep soundly dressed in full combat gear sitting with his back against a tree, his eyes wide. You can be talking to him for several minutes before you realize he’s asleep. The technique is not without its benefits. Though you are unconscious, the eye remains open and adjusted to the light. Motion sensors within alert the brain, and when danger strikes, you need only pour the appropriate amount of consciousness back into the anterior visual pathway as the arms automatically come up to block and assume a ready to kill posture.

Never tap Wilson on the shoulder when he’s asleep.

Chapter 3

The Star-Seven morning was bright and clear, an oasis of light within an ocean of infinite darkness. It occurred to me that despite the oddity of my surroundings, this trip had been intended as a reward of sorts, something Bernard Porre had never before provided.

Over the past few months my workout routine had been badly neglected. A quiet, peaceful cruise in space presented the ideal opportunity to tighten things up and bring the heart rate and respiration back up to where they should be. Star-Seven’s gym had looked like the perfect commodity for just such an endeavor. I served myself an exotic breakfast alone in the stateroom, pulled on sweats, and headed that way.

The concourse looked like a large mall just opening. Small staff members were busying about rearranging things that no one would notice, and cleaning in spots the automaton cleaners could not reach.

The wide gym entrance led to yet another glistening glass-like environment. The workout machines were all shining chrome. Because they were designed for humanoid users, they were not difficult to understand, although many were adjustable far beyond any human anatomical capabilities.

There was one other individual working out. He was seated in a formfitting body machine pulling the handles on mechanical arms set to some ungodly level of resistance.  He wore black sweat pants, black boots that came up above the ankle, and no shirt. His body had a light golden tint and looked like it had been chiseled from stone, not because of pronounced muscular development but rather just because it was shaped that way. It would have been easy to be startled by his face. The hair was a pleasant golden-gray and shot straight up from the head, cut to an even 2 inch flattop. The brow had a few irregular bumps and a ridge down the center leading to the flattened nose well suited for any retired boxer. There were several small nostrils on either side at the base of it. The eye sockets were large and slanted upward, nearly filled by black teardrop retinas speckled with gray. His thin lips were well defined and had a downward curve like that of someone who knew you were lying to them. The chin had its own crop of stiff downward beard no more than an inch long. I recognized him from the information center’s display. He was a Golian ambassador. The only thing that stuck in my mind about the race was that the women were unusually sexually aggressive. Mercifully, none were aboard this cruise.

First impressions would have suggested this alien to be a less than friendly guest, but as our eyes met he surprised me with a neighborly nod. I returned the gesture and took a machine on the opposite side of the room. As I sat, a display screen appeared suspended in the air in front of me, showing the various workout regimens. I had to laugh to myself upon discovering it was a midair touch screen.

There was an option on the screen called “Prestretch.” I tapped it thinking the screen would get out of my way which it did followed by the arms and legs of the machine clamping on to mine and performing a stretching program on my body that required no assist whatsoever from me. After easing up on the flinching, I discovered it actually felt good. The machine was obliging enough to at least let me contribute to the actual workout routine, although it dictated which muscle groups were selected and for how long. The floating screen reappeared scrolling meaningless numbers as I huffed and grunted and tried to keep up. When the sweat level had become so great it was a nuisance, I bailed and headed for a running room. They were 6 by 8 foot fully enclosed cubicles with 3D imagery displayed on the walls, ceiling, and flexible, moving floor. The choices for jogging environments were endless. There were mountain trails with periodic leaps over deep canyon drop offs and, if you did not make the jump, the entire cubicle became you falling through the depths. I selected the forest program listed as most popular and managed to achieve runner’s Zen before encountering rock jumps and river streams that left real spray on the legs of my sweat pants.

The ship offered wet or dry showers. I soaked down, soaped up, and rinsed. My sweats were hung up and waiting, cleaned and pressed. Back in my stateroom, a quick change to jeans, a black turtleneck, and brown sports jacket canceled out the slightly too cool ship’s air. My first tourist stop would be forward to check out the entrance to the flight deck.

The concourse had become busy with staff and a few guests milling about. I kept to myself and in the grand gallery strolled innocently by Fantasia, wondering if she would prevent me from going further forward. She smiled and waved.

Beyond Fantasia’s counter, the room opened up to a large oval section of new entrances. Sliding doors to offices, laboratories, the medical facility, and some sort of electronics lab, lined the walls. Directly forward, a small alcove provided access to a two-person open air lift. Above, a balcony that serviced the flight deck and its associate offices appeared unoccupied. Harsh red labels in many languages made it clear the lift was off-limits.

The medical sick bay office was open. I stuck my head in just for a quick look. Beyond a pristine waiting area, the door to an elaborate examination room was open. A four-foot tall doctor and nurse stopped what they were doing and looked up at me inquisitively. Their skin tight suits were snow white with red collars. Each time I focused on the collars there was a faint, repeating mental message that said “medical personnel.”

“Can I help you, Sir?” called the nurse.

“I’m sorry. I’m just being nosy.”

“Nosy, Sir?”

“Curious. It’s a beautiful facility you have here.”

She approached the open exam room door. “Yes, be assured we can do most procedures here, even those that require advanced surgery.”

“That is very comforting. May I ask your name?”

“I’m Tia, that is Doctor Lae. If there’s nothing you need I must get back to work. We’re making the daily supplement for the Ancient.”

“Thanks for letting me interrupt.”

She smiled and returned to the doctor. For a moment, I wondered what it would be like to be on an operating table surrounded by four-foot tall medical personnel. I made a promise to myself never to find out.

Back at the reception counter, Fantasia smiled and came right over.

“Fantasia, would a Captain have any chance of getting a tour of the flight deck or engineering section?”

“I’m so sorry, Captain. Those areas are strictly off limits to all guests and even to most crew members.”

“Well, that is standard security, after all.”

“Yes, Captain Tarn. If anyone understands, I’m certain you do.”

“I’ve noticed the intruder alarms have stopped. What was the problem?”

“Sir, you’d have to catch one of the crew members who have the silver collar. They are security techs.”