Adrift (The Sirilians Book 1) (3 page)

Instrumental music played in Karo’s ears. He’d hoped that it would produce a calming effect—it wasn’t working. Instead, his heart raced, sweat beaded on his brow, even his palms were sweaty.

LINK called it agoraphobia: the fear of wide open spaces. If that was true then Karo was shit-out-of-luck. You couldn’t get more wide open than the vastness of the universe, especially
this
part of the universe.

Karo and LINK had been traveling through a sector of space that was strangely devoid of stars. The inky blackness unnerved him, so they were traversing this sector as quickly as they could.

Unfortunately a panel on the outer hull had come loose. He’d wanted to ignore the problem and continue on as fast as his engines could carry them, but hull integrity was a serious matter. He’d been having a hard time keeping up with all of the ship’s maintenance lately, and knew that if he ignored the problem now, it could become a major hindrance later.

Karo had been forced to cut power to the engines, and was now outside of the ship floating in zero gravity. He hated this part of space travel; he avoided putting on his space suit at all costs. But—much to his dismay—there was no one else he could send to do the repairs.

He fumbled the tool he’d been holding and cursed the large gloves he was forced to wear. He reached and caught the instrument before it had the chance to float too far away. The replicator could always replace the tool, but that would involve him maneuvering back inside the ship, waiting for the replicator, then going back outside again. He wanted to finish the task as quickly as possible.

There was something very unnerving about being tethered to his ship by a single cable.

“I’m nearly done,” he told LINK. “Just need to seal the new panel.”

“Understood,” LINK replied.

Karo ran the tool along the outer seam to seal the edges. “Done. Test it for structural integrity.”

“Running the test now.”

Karo waited impatiently. He looked around at the open space surrounding them, but that only intensified his unease. It was bad enough to be exposed to the vacuum of space with only a suit to protect you, but this void was unnatural. The black nothingness taunted him.

Damn, I hate being outside the ship.

“The test showed no sign of breach. You’re free to come back.”

Karo breathed a sigh of relief. “Understood. Heading back now.”

His suit was equipped with a winch, but it was far too slow in Karo’s opinion. Instead, he pulled himself hand over hand along his tether back towards the ship’s airlock on the side of the vessel.

He was still several yards away when a beam of white light sailed over his right shoulder. It didn’t hit him, but came close enough that Karo could feel the heat the beam had emitted. His head jerked up and his stomach fell; there was a ship uncloaking close to his location.

I thought we were the only race with cloaking technology?
he absently thought. Obviously his people had been wrong. The evidence of that was staring him right in the face.

The shape of the other ship was unlike anything Karo had ever seen. It appeared to be crudely pieced together from several different vessels, like a strange amalgamation of cultures.

As he watched, another beam shot from the nose of the ship, this time coming close to his right leg. He propelled into motion.

“LINK, shields!”

“Shields cannot be initiated until you’re inside the airlock,” LINK reminded him.

“Damn it!”

Karo pulled himself along the tether as quickly as he could. Several more shots were taken at his body, but they all missed. The volley intensified in number the closer he got to the airlock. Finally he was inside and hit the control to close the outer hatch.

LINK initiated thrusters, but he felt the ship lurch with a hit. Karo braced his palm against the wall and counted the seconds as the room continued to pressurize.

“Shields are holding.”

The second the airlock door opened Karo tore inside and headed straight for the main controls. He flung off his helmet and began steering the ship in an evasive pattern. His eyes searched the sensors for a place to hide, for help, for anything that could be of use to them, while energy beams sailed past the ship on all sides.

“LINK, who the hell are they and why are they firing at us?”

“I’ve checked the database but their ship looks to be comprised of pieces from many vessels. It will be impossible to positively ID them solely based on that.”

“Let’s see if we can get them talking to us.” Karo opened a wide channel of communication. “This is Karincin Abishek of the planet Siril. I mean you no harm.” The ship lurched with another hit, as if to contradict his words, but there was no reply. 

“Shields at eighty-five percent,” LINK informed him.

“Engage the cloak.”

“Understood, but it will do little good.”

“I know.”

Their cloak was next to useless when a vessel was already tracking their ship. They’d still be able to see the engine’s energy signature and follow that path just as easily, but Karo had a theory.

“I think they’re using us for target practice. If novices are at the weapons then maybe the cloak will give us a small advantage.”

“Engaged.”

He continued to rapidly weave through space—for once wishing that his ship had weaponry—and immediately the white beams were shot farther and farther away from his vessel. There was a moment of hope, but it was short-lived. His ship lurched as something ricocheted off of his hull.

Now they knew where he was, and were using more powerful weaponry.

The ship was struck again, this time hitting the broadside full-on. Karo was thrown from his command chair and slid across the floor to impact the far wall.

“Karo, are you damaged?” LINK asked urgently.

“No,” Karo said with a grunt.

He pushed himself onto his hands and knees and was relieved when nothing was broken. He felt a stab of pain at his ribs but pushed through it to stand.

“Maybe a little,” he amended, holding his side.

Another projectile hit the ship, but he was able to catch himself against a wall and walk back to his chair. His console was alight with alarms and warnings. Systems were failing rapidly, and as he watched, the shields went down.

Panic barely registered in his mind before his ship was hit again, this time directly in their aft. Karo caught himself on his seat, but knew that things were at their worst.

“We’ve lost propulsion,” LINK informed him.

“Can we get it back online?”

“No. The engines have been completely destroyed,” LINK told him solemnly.

Karo’s stomach sank as he saw the enemy ship right atop them.
Think! What can I use?
He quickly scanned his consoles. The engines were gone, environmental systems were failing, but he still had the ship’s cloak—which was still engaged—and energy reserves to keep it powered for as long as he needed.

The problem was that his propulsion signature and debris field led a clear trail to his ship. Even cloaked, the enemy would be able to find them based on their projected path.

“We need to steer the ship!” he thought aloud.

“But, we have no engines,” LINK argued.

“All we need is a nudge.”

Karo moved quickly, dodging debris that littered the interior, until he got to the door of the airlock. The ship jolted with small weapon fire, as if they were using it for target practice again.

“LINK, put a containment field around the aft to contain any debris that’s falling off. We need to stay invisible.”

“Understood.”

Karo only had to wait a moment.

“All debris is contained.”

He held his breath and engaged the airlock’s outer doors.

Compressed air was sucked into the vacuum of space, and though it wasn’t much, it gave them enough of a push to change the ship’s course. Karo brought up an exterior view on his wristunit and watched as the enemy ship fired on where he’d just been. Their shot missed and continued into space. They fired several more missed shots along the path his ship had been traveling, but none came close to hitting him. They stayed close by for several minutes, then gave up the hunt and left.

Karo’s back hit the wall and he sank to the floor, overwhelmed with relief.

“They’re gone,” LINK confirmed.

Karo nodded, knowing that LINK could see him on the interior cameras. He heard a pop come from the front of the ship, then LINK’s voice.

“Sir, that was the last of the environmental system. I suggest you put on your helmet before making repairs.”

Karo looked at the bulky gloves that were on his hands. He was still wearing his spacesuit, which would protect him for a while.

“Okay.” He forced himself to stand. He may have lived through the initial attack, but now he needed to make sure that he continued to survive. He made his way through the ship and found his helmet against the far wall, where it’d been flung during the volley of hits. He put it on and got to work.

Karincin rechecked the dining table to make sure that everything was in proper order for his and Aevum's First Meeting.

The restaurant had everything placed to his specifications: the flowers emitted a scent that was neither too strong nor too subtle, the lighting was set to the perfect level, the Assembly’s “suggested conversation topics” were written on small cards and stacked within reach, the glasses had been placed according to his request—everything was perfect.

After another few minutes of waiting, he saw Aevum enter the restaurant. She was immediately greeted by a server and led to their table.

Karo watched her approach and was pleased that she’d made an effort to look presentable. More than presentable—actually, she looked quite lovely.

Her blue skin was nicely offset by a cream-colored jacket; her long white hair was gathered and sat high upon her head, showcasing her neck. She wore no adornments, no jewelry, but she didn’t need them.

Karo stood and gave her a respectful bow once she reached the table.

She began talking right away, “Am I late again?”

“No you’re right on time.” A fact that pleased him.

Karo watched her take off her jacket and admired the matching cream-colored dress she wore underneath. Coming only to her knees, it left the rest of her legs and arms bare without being distasteful. Her skin was a darker shade of blue than his own, and he found himself wondering if it’d be as smooth as it appeared.

A slight shake of his head dispelled those thoughts. They were still a long way from deciding to Pair Bond or not, too soon for him to be thinking about the temptation of her skin, her hair, her eyes—damn! It was off-limits. All of it! 

He sat back down, hoping that she didn’t notice the slight bead of perspiration on his brow.

The server hung her coat and she took her seat in the booth across from him. Karo watched her scan the restaurant, then look at the table, which he knew was impeccably set.

Their table was one of a few that were reserved for pairs that hadn’t yet bonded. They were inset into the back wall of the restaurant, which allowed for maximum intimacy and privacy. The walls were a soft beige fabric, the ceiling was low, the lighting was soft, and there were scented flower petals spread on the table. Soft music that had been on the Assembly’s suggested list played through hidden speakers.

“Wow, this restaurant is amazing,” Aevum said softly, more to herself than to him. “What made you choose it?”

The random question took Karo by surprise.

“My family lives close-by, so I’ve been here before and am familiar with their quality of food and atmosphere.”

She didn’t get a chance to respond because a server approached the table and set drinks down in front of them.

“Welcome. We’re honored that you chose us as the location for your Meeting. Our chefs have prepared a selection of gourmet foods for you both, so I will hasten to bring out the first course.”

He turned to leave their table but Aevum stopped him with a question. “We don’t get menus?” 

“No madam. The food has already been selected.” He smiled politely and walked away.

Aevum’s brows knit together, and Karo didn’t understand why she would be displeased. Each time he had eaten here the food had been remarkable. Perhaps she’s never dined like this before?

The waiter quickly returned carrying two plates. He made a show of placing them on the table, then explained their contents in a singsong voice.

“This is five-year-old densuke that was harvested this morning and transported to this sector especially for our restaurant. It grows on a single cliff high above the Eastern Ocean, where the light breezes have suffused its petals with palatable beauty.”

Karo looked to his companion, whose eyes were wide in disbelief as she watched their server.
She must be impressed by the waiter’s poetic explanation,
Karo thought. Although even he had to admit that it was a bit overdone.

The server turned to leave and pulled a decorative rope; sheer fabric slid between their table and the rest of the restaurant, providing them with a sense of privacy. Karo took a bite of food that had been meticulously arranged on his plate, and savored the flavor. As he chewed he looked at Aevum, and saw a peculiar expression on her face. She swallowed her bite and immediately reached for the nearest water glass.

“That’s a… unique flavor,” she observed.

“Yes, there’s nothing like it on Siril. I’ve heard that it’s the combination of soil and salt air of the ocean that really punctuates the flavor.”

“You can sure taste the salt,” Aevum agreed before she took another large drink of water.

Karo was perplexed by her strange reaction to the delicacy, but concluded that she must be unused to such gourmet food. He ate the final bite on his plate, then reached for the top question card on the pile.

“What is your profession?” he read.

Aevum took a moment to swallow before answering. “I work for the Department of Anthropology; my focus is on extraterrestrial cultures. What about you? Where do you work?”

“I have been employed at the Department of Space for the past eight years.” He picked up the next card, but Aevum interrupted him before he could read it.

“What do you do there?”

Karo glanced at the card in his hand but set it down. He was confused by her line of questioning; hadn’t she read the Assembly’s Pairing Handbook, which outlined the best and most efficient way to form a Pair Bond?

“We’re not supposed to elaborate on our careers until the Second Meeting,” he reminded her.

The corner of her mouth lifted in a small smile. “There are no rules against it. Why don’t we forget about the cards and you can tell me more about what you do?”

She was right, there weren’t any rules per-se, just guidelines, which she seemed to derive pleasure in not following. Even so, Karo was willing to give her some leeway for the sake of their pairing, so he answered her question.

“I am a leader for a team developing an artificial intelligence that will be installed in all new spacecraft.”

“That sounds interesting! How long have you been working on the AI?”

“Roughly two years.”

“Did you always want to work for the Department of Space?” she queried further.

It seemed like an odd question to Karo. He’d always known he was going to work for that department, like so many of his family before him, but there had to be more to it than that. He took a moment to ponder her question before answering.

“Yes. I chose this field because I believe that developing technology for long-term space travel is essential for the future of our people. It will be what saves our race.” 

She sat forward in her chair and seemed truly interested in what he was saying. “Really? I didn’t know our race was in danger of extinction.”

Her tone was humorous, but their planet’s future was not a topic Karo took lightly.

“Of course we’re under threat,” he insisted. “It’s only a matter of time before we’re endangered by a natural force.” He sat forward in his chair, mirroring her position, and continued. “Think of our planet: we’ve done everything possible to make it optimal for the survival and flourishing of our species, but there are risks to our people that remain.”

She nodded her head in agreement, and for the first time Karo felt an intellectual connection to her.

“I agree, but I don’t think there’s any way to eliminate every possible risk. Danger can come in so many forms, including from the vastness of the universe.”

“True, but we can mitigate as much risk to our planet as possible,” Karincin asserted.

“Is that what your team is trying to do? Eliminate risks that originate from space?”

“Yes. And we’re not just trying… we’re succeeding,” he told her proudly.

Her eyes widened. “Really! How so?”

“The AI I’m developing will serve as a co-pilot for long term Scout missions which will travel into the galaxy beyond our solar system. Their goal will be to map, identify, and categorize everything they come across.”

“That’s very impressive,” she complimented enthusiastically.

The waiter slid between their curtains of fabric bringing their next course of food, which he thankfully didn’t go into poetics about. He took away their first plates, and Karo barely noticed that Aevum hadn’t taken another bite of her densuke. Instead he felt satisfaction that she was pleased by his professional achievements. He was incredibly proud of his team, who’d been working tirelessly to perfect the AI system and integrate it into the Scout ships.

“Will they be ready to launch soon?” she asked once the waiter had left.

“No, it will still be several months until the ships and their systems are ready. The department hasn’t assigned the pilots yet, although I hear that the announcement will be coming soon.”

Aevum smiled around her bite of food. “It would be good for the pilots and crew to have time to prepare before they’re sent out into space for a long stretches of time.”

Karo corrected her. “Actually, only the pilots will need to be notified, since the missions are designed for a single person crew.”

Aevum stilled with her fork raised in midair. “Wait, they’re going to send one person alone into space for long stretches of time?” she clarified.

Karo only nodded, since his mouth was full of food.

“How long exactly?”

He swallowed. “Decades probably, maybe longer. By then better technology will have been developed.”

She sat back in her chair. “I can’t believe that the Department of Mental Health approved such a mission.”

Karo scoffed at the notion of his department having to check with another on matters that were solely their own. “We have no need to consider the opinion of psychiatrists,” he announced.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

Karo had no idea why she would react this way. This was his life’s work, not a humorous topic. “Of course I’m not.”

“But people can’t be sent into space alone for that long; it’s not healthy for them.”

She sounded genuinely anxious for the pilot’s welfare, but her concern was misplaced. “You have no reason to worry. A regeneration chamber will be on-board to maintain the pilots’ health throughout the mission. They won’t age, they’ll be able to heal any wound…”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Aevum interrupted as she shook her head. Karo absently noticed a few strands of her hair come loose from its confines as she continued, “I meant that their
mental health
is at risk, not their physical.”

When he didn’t respond, she continued, “We are communal beings by nature, and aren’t meant to be alone for long periods of time. There’s no telling what it will do to the person’s psyche. I don’t want anyone to have to go through that.”

Karincin didn’t know what to say. He’d worked for years on the Scout project, and the logic of it had never been questioned until now.

“Their safety is a top concern. We designed the missions for a single person not only because it saves on resources, but also because it has the lowest risk for loss of life,” he explained.

Aevum still disagreed with him. “I’m not arguing that. My point is that the mental health of the pilots will be at risk because they’re alone. It would be a greater loss of resources, not to mention that person’s life, if they’re mentally unstable during the mission and upon their return.”

She was right. If the explorer was unstable it was likely that the mission would fail, but Karo didn’t understand this reliance on others that Aevum was referring to. Many people go through their daily lives alone, and they cope just fine. He hadn’t been reliant on other people since he was a child.

“I disagree,” he stated flatly as his temper began to flare. “We are more worried about our entire race than the mental health of a single individual.”

Aevum’s posture changed as she took a more defensive stance and a wave of displeasure crossed her features. “Well you shouldn’t be,” she snapped at him. “If their mental abilities are compromised, then their missions will fail.”

How dare she question his work?

“You’re wrong. I believe that I could live alone in space without problem.”

She looked at him disbelievingly and crossed her arms over her chest. “Really? Being self-sufficient isn’t the same as being truly alone. You live with family members that you see daily, you walk the streets among people, have conversations with coworkers; you have an instinctual need for companionship, just like millions of other lifeforms throughout the universe, even if you don’t recognize that fact. At an instinctual level, you and I are no better than herd animals.”

Karo sat back in his chair and ignored the third course that the server silently placed in front of them. He did not like being compared to species that were less evolved and intelligent than he.

“Talking with an artificial intelligence would give a person the same experience as talking to a coworker,” he argued.

“And what if you’re wrong?” Aevum asked. She stopped and made an effort to soften her tone. “I study cultures for a living; people are my field of expertise, and I’m just suggesting that you take what I’m saying into consideration. We are not machines; we have needs outside of food and oxygen.”