Stories of the Confederated Star Systems (10 page)

Captain Reordan sighed. “Not speeds like this. In terms that you will understand, we are traveling at thirty-six thousand miles per second. When we reach a distance of five AU, we will transit to our home period. It is not happenstance that this vessel is named the
H.G. Wells.
We are a timeship from the 27
^th
century.”

“That’s not possible!”

“I am afraid that it is.” Captain Reordan turned back to Captain Powers. “Prepare your men, Captain. The transit is rough, though no worse than riding in some of the aircraft you have flown. There will be a warning over the announcing system. I suggest that all of you belt in. It will be safer for you to do so.” Turning, she walked out of the infirmary.

The men stared after her as the door closed. “Captain, you don’t really think that…”

“No, I don’t. We have to escape. Start looking for a way out of these cells.”

Lieutenant Taylor sat in a dispirited slum in his chair. “We were going the wrong way.”

“Straighten up and get over it. You can beat yourself up when we get home.” Captain Powers was trying to find a finger purchase along the seam of the isolation chamber’s inner door. “I am not leaving my family.”

Taylor looked over and nodded, then began his own search for a way to escape. All fourteen men were still searching when Captain Reordan’s voice came over the speakers. “All hands prepare for transit. All hands prepare for transit. You airmen, belt in and leave those door seals alone.”

Wide eyes looked around the room, then the men complied. They had no idea how the captain had known what they were doing, but her knowledge and the habit of obeying commands made them move.

The
Wells
tore space and time as her temporal drive took them home. The trip was, as warned, rough, the more so since the captain had left the view screen on and the men had a full, unshielded view of the violence of the time stream. Roiling lights of every imaginable color filled the screen. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the shaking stopped and the view screen was once again black.

“Oh, my aching ass,” a voice said softly. The rest of the men looked to see Sergeant Robert Gallivan climbing shakily to his feet. “Guess she wasn’t kidding about strapping in.”

“Sarge, are you in one piece?” Captain Stivers asked, real concern in his voice.

“Just hurt my pride, Sir.”

* * *

In the Wells’ command center, things were more tense. “Commander Frazier, I hereby place myself under arrest and relinquish command to you. Report to the Temporal Directorate immediately and inform them of our circumstances.”

“Captain, no! We all made…”

“That will be all, Mr. Frazier!” Captain Reordan snapped. “The decision was mine alone, and I alone will face the consequences.”

“Captain, we all—,” Lieutenant Deeson began, but the captain cut him off.

“I said that will be all. I am the captain, and the responsibility is mine. End of discussion.” Turning on her heel, she walked to her stateroom and closed the door firmly behind her.

Commander Frazier sighed mightily and took the command chair. “Lay in a course for Earth, best speed. Communications, send the logs to ComTempDir. Include my personal log as well.”

“Aye, sir.”

The welcoming committee didn’t wait for them to dock. The Assault Ship Carrier
CSS Guadalcanal
hailed them shortly after their transmission was received. “
CSS H.G. Wells
, heave to and prepare to receive a boarding party. Prepare Captain Reordan and Executive Officer Frazier for transfer.”

“
Wells,
aye,” Commander Frazier answered. The small ship came to relative rest as the enormous carrier came along side. Captain Reordan and Commander Frazier surrendered to the Master at Arms force from the
Guadalcanal.

Admiral Chandling boarded the Wells and took command, immediately making a ship wide announcement to the crew. “This is Admiral Alexander Chandling, ComSpaceFleet5. Effective immediately, the crew of this vessel is under quarantine. Your unauthorized passengers will be transferred to Temporal Directorate Headquarters to await disposition. Captain Reordan and Commander Frazier are under arrest on charges of violating Temporal Directorate Rule One. That is all.” The click of the intercom shocked the crew of the
Wells
silent.

Confederated Star Systems Space Force Headquarters, thirty days later.

“Captain Erica Reordan, you stand accused of violating Temporal Directorate Rule One, interacting with the past and bringing fourteen unauthorized passengers forward from the year 1945 CE. How do you plead?”

Captain Reordan stood and straightened her dress blouse before speaking. “Your Lordships, I plead guilty, and ask that the charges against Commander Frazier be dropped. Mine alone was the responsibility.”

Admiral Kenyon nodded. “We accept your plea, but Commander Frazier’s own logs place the blame firmly on his shoulders. We cannot accept that you alone took these steps.”

Captain Reordan nodded, casting her eyes on the floor. She had hoped to spare Kellin, but had known that it was a vain hope. He had convicted himself in an effort to save her. “I understand, Your Lordship.”

There was a stir at the back of the courtroom as a late visitor arrived. Lord Kenyon, as First Space Lord and senior justice of the Military Court, banged his gavel for order. “Order! I ordered those doors sealed!”

“Oh, posh, Devero. You will not exclude me.” Lady Roberts said in a gravelly voice. “I was late. It’s my prerogative.”

Lord Kenyon nodded and folded his hands as Lady Roberts made her way forward. “How may we be of service, Lady Leslie?”

“You may dismiss this court. You are out of order, and out of your jurisdiction.” Lady Leslie said softly. “The
Wells
and her crew are the responsibility of the Temporal Directorate.”

“Lady Leslie, we understand your desire to…” Admiral Chandling began, but was cut short.

“Oh, be quiet, Alexander!” Lady Leslie snapped in a tone that she usually reserved for recalcitrant children. “You are dismissed.”

Admiral Chandling rocked back as if he had been slapped, then stood and bowed before departing. Lady Leslie glared at the other six admirals. “This court is dismissed. Captain Reordan and her crew were and are my responsibility.”

“Lady Leslie, this is most irregular. The
Wells
is a unit of the Confederated Star Systems Space Navy. Captain Reordan’s actions were totally…”

“…Expected.” Lady Leslie interrupted, causing a stir throughout the courtroom. “I expected Erica to do exactly what she did. My reasons are my own, as the decision to send them was mine.”

Admiral Kenyon leaned forward. “Lady Leslie, you
expected
Captain Reordan to violate the most basic rule of time travel?”

“Of course I did. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have sent her.”

Admiral Kenyon put his head in his hands. “Lady Leslie, please explain. This is just too much for me.”

The old woman gave him a frighteningly impish grin, then walked forward and took the witness stand, waving away the protestations that she shouldn’t. Looking about, she focused her eyes on the men in the guarded seats to the side.

“When word that Flight 19 had been found reached me, I did a little research. Upon finding the information that I wanted, I ordered the
CSS H.G. Wells
, under the command of Captain Erica Reordan, to investigate the disappearance of the planes. I was aware of Captain Reordan’s habit of stretching her orders, and of the emotional state of her crew, especially Commander Frazier. I expected them to realize that rescuing men presumed dead for six hundred years would not cause any disturbance to the time stream. I fully expected them to rescue those men, and would have been disappointed if they hadn’t.”

“Lady Leslie, why?” another of the admirals asked.

“Because a little girl lost her father long ago, and I had the opportunity to find him.” Smiling, she walked over to where Captain Powers sat and said, “Hello, Grandpa.”

“Rescue Mission” © 2008

Minerva was written for and submitted to a ghost story anthology. Didn’t make it, but I did get an encouraging letter from the editor.

Minerva beckoned, her siren song of promise drawing Alberto deeper into her lair. He chased her, following the trail she left through the maze of trees and mist that was her home. He could see her ahead, a figure in the mist that he could never catch, but was eternally fated to try.

* * *

The sound of the phone ringing woke Alberto, jarring him out of his dream and back to the reality of his life. He cursed, fumbled, and finally got the phone off the hook and to his ear.

“Hello, you have reached a dead man. Please don’t bother leaving a message.
Bleep!
” he said, slurring his words slightly but not caring at all.

A voice snapped, “Berto, get your ass out of bed. It’s nearly ten.” The voice belonged to Alberto’s best friend, Nathan.

“Up yours,” Alberto mumbled. “What do I have to get out of bed for? I can be a disgrace from here quite effectively.”

“Berto, you can’t just become a hermit in your room. There are people who are counting on you. You’ve got to come out and face the world.”

Alberto rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “Face my failure, you mean. Face the fact that twenty-seven men and women died because I saw a ghost. Face the fact that I’ll never command a ship again, and probably never leave this Godforsaken mudball again, either.”

“The Board of Inquiry cleared you of those charges, Berto,” Nathan reminded him. “The gas leak in the vent ducts caused you to hallucinate.”

“I haven’t cleared myself, Nate. Oh, sure, there was gas. But there isn’t any gas now, and I dream of Minerva every time I close my eyes.” Alberto rolled back onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows. “I know she’s there, waiting for me.”

“Okay, maybe there is something to this hiding in your room stuff. You tell anyone else that story and you’ll be making pretty pictures for the PsychTechs.”

“I’m crazy, not stupid,” Alberto said with a laugh. “You’re the only person I’ve told, and everyone knows you’re crazier than I am. No one would believe you if you told them.”

“Maybe so. Now get your ass out of bed and meet me at my office for lunch. I have someone I want you to meet.”

“All right, Nate. See you at noon.” Alberto hung up the phone and collapsed onto his back again. His eyes drifted closed, but his first snore startled him awake and he sat up, scrubbing his face with sweat-slicked hands.

He didn’t want to get up. He didn’t want to go out. He especially didn’t want to face the reporters who wanted to know what really happened out in the asteroid belt. But most of all, he didn’t want to look in the mirror and face himself: Alberto Coronado Rivera De La Cruz, former captain of the space ship
Guadalajara
, which he had brought back without his crew.

He went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. The man who looked out of the mirror with bloodshot eyes and wildly straggling hair was a stranger. Deep crescents of darkened skin hung under both of his eyes. He looked at the stranger and snarled, and the stranger snarled back.

“If you start talking to me, I’m calling the boys with the I-love-me jackets myself,” he told the apparition. The other’s lips moved with his, but he didn’t say anything after Alberto finished talking.

Alberto moved on to the shower. Real water, as much and as hot as he wanted it. The
Guadalajara
didn’t have showers. If it had, he’d have taken Minerva-he broke that train of thought immediately. She wasn’t real. He knew she wasn’t.

He was rubbing his hair with a towel as he walked back into his bedroom, savagely scrubbing at his scalp as if he could make the images disappear by wiping them away. He could still feel Minerva’s firm flesh under his fingertips. He smelled her, the smoky musk of a woman in her prime. He could hear her, her sweet voice telling him that everything was as it should be, and to ignore those sounds. The sounds of his crew beating on the hull. The radio calls for help. The pleading of the people he’d killed as he let them suffocate while he made love to a phantom.

He threw the towel on the floor and kicked it against a wall as his chest heaved, struggling to breathe as those memories came back again. That was the worst part: he remembered it all. There was no haze to obscure his memory. No fog of drugs to distort them. He remembered everything that he had done.

Alberto looked around his apartment with the wild intensity of a caged animal for a moment, then struggled into a shirt and pants. His feet found his shoes as he shrugged a jacket on over his shirt. He was out the door in moments, fleeing the memories that wouldn’t stay behind.

Nathan’s office was in the Arvantan West Tower on the three hundredth floor. Alberto had managed to comb his hair in the elevator, using one of the walls as his mirror, and was actually presentable as he walked into Nathan’s office.

Nathan’s receptionist smiled brightly when she saw him. “Señor Chavez will be with you in a moment, Señor De La Cruz. Please have a seat. May I bring you anything?” she asked with just the right lilt in her voice.

Alberto shook his head no, but didn’t say anything. The girl counterfeited an airhead quite well, but Nathan had once confided that she was a member of MENSA and held double doctorates in personnel management and mass psychology. That fact was obscured by her appearance. She looked like a model and was one of the most beautiful women Alberto had ever met in person. Her numbskull persona was there to make people careless around her. She was Nathan’s front-line spy on the people who came to visit him, and was far too adept at reading people. The last thing Alberto wanted was for her to read him and figure out what was going on behind his haunted eyes.

Alberto had just picked up a magazine when Nathan’s door opened and he walked out, followed by a tall man in an immaculate black suit. As soon as Alberto saw him, the thought,
Spook,
rolled through his mind.