The Firestorm Conspiracy (23 page)

He suspected his subconscious was right. His captors were going to kill him soon. The amount of truth serum they’d used indicated a lack of concern for his long-term survival. Normally given in gradually increasing doses to systematically break down the prisoner’s ability to resist their questioning techniques, the serum proved to be highly dangerous when given in a single, high dose.

Thoughts of his imminent demise brought his anger to the surface. He didn’t fear dying. How could he? He’d been waiting for death to claim him since the day he lost his family. In many ways he’d ceased to live, becoming a breathing automaton, refusing to seek out or take any joy in life. Taking command of the
Firestorm
had reawakened his enthusiasm for living. He still suffered from the nightmares, and he still lived with guilt from the past, but each morning he awoke ready to tackle the day with an excitement he hadn’t felt since his first space posting over thirty-five years ago.

Now they were going to take everything away. His rage built as he thought of the unfairness. He was angry at them for depriving him of the opportunity to go on living, he was angry at himself for wasting all those years, and he was angry at the universe for showing him life was worth living then cruelly whipping it away.

Damn.

And now his subconscious tormented him with dreams of escape. It wasn’t fair.

He picked morosely at his meal, close to despair, but not quite ready to give in. He leaned his head against the rough wall and opened his eyes when the sound of the opening slot interrupted his dark thoughts.

“Are you ready?” the avian whispered.

“What?”

“The shift changed and Greel is on duty now. I told him I’d watch your cell while he stepped out for a puff,” he explained, “but he’ll be back in a few minutes and we need to get you out of sight before then.”

“Are,” he stammered, “are you Kree?”

The avian rolled his eyes. “Yes.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Now, can we get going? I thought you understood the plan.”

John dropped to his hands and knees at the slot, peering into the large, dark eyes gazing back at him. “I thought you were a dream, a side effect of the drugs.”

Kree shook his head. “You have funny dreams, human. Now let’s go.” He thrust his hands forward, and John realized he planned on pulling him out through the food slot.

“You can’t be serious,” John exclaimed. “I can’t fit through there.”

“Do you want to die?” Kree looked over his shoulder again. “Trust me.”

He gestured with his hands, and John reluctantly thrust his own through the slot. Kree’s hands gripped his with incredible strength, and without warning he yanked John out of the dark cell.

John’s heart caught in his throat when his shoulders got wedged in the opening. Letting out a soft whistle, Kree savagely wrenched on his arms, tilting his body down and to the left, and pulled him through. Nothing popped or snapped, but John knew, if he survived, his arms were going to hurt like hell for weeks.

John blinked and tried to stand. He anxiously scanned the corridor, terrified they’d be caught. Kree surveyed his appearance and covered his nostrils with a delicate hand. “You smell worse than the sawdust under a hatchling’s birth site.”

“Thanks,” John grinned wryly. He didn’t feel much better either.

“Hurry,” Kree said as he jogged down the corridor. After turning the corner, he opened a storage closet and gestured John inside. “Get in.”

John gave him a puzzled look. “I have to go back and pretend you’re still in the cell.” He cocked his head, listening. “Someone’s coming. Get in. You’ll find clean clothes in the back.”

* * * *

Kree’s heart raced. He jogged back to the cell and took up his position standing to the right of the door just as Greel turned the corner and approached. Forcing his breathing to slow, he feigned nonchalance as the large avian guard came to take his place.

“Any trouble?” Greel asked.

“No, uh, well,” Kree let his true nervousness show as he spoke. “He was making some noises, and I was worried something was wrong, but when I checked he appeared to be sleeping.”

Greel nodded. “It’s a natural sound for humans.” He clasped Kree on the shoulder. “Sounds pretty unhealthy to us, but they call it ‘snoring,’ and the noise is supposedly quite common among their species.”

Kree nodded, wide-eyed.

“So, what did you think of your first chance to stand guard?”

“I--it was a bit stressful,” he replied.

“If you’d like, I’ll put a good word in for you with Trillip. You seem like a good sort. Too good to spend your life as a cart boy.” Greel grinned and slapped him on the back. “Thanks for watching him for me. He should be pretty quiet for the rest of the evening.”

“You’re, you’re welcome,” Kree replied as he took off down the corridor.

* * * *

John felt his way along the shelves until he reached the back of the closet. He moved completely on touch as he navigated the tight aisle. He sighed in relief when he found the bundle of clothing. Careful not to make any noise, he removed the rags they’d given him and pulled on the avian garments. The shirt fit decently, but the pants were too long and he had no use for the tail sleeve. He pulled the extra material inside and tucked it down his right pant leg to keep it out of the way. He gingerly sat against the wall as he pulled on the avian footwear. Where the avian had managed to find a pair of hatchling’s boots, John had no idea, but he was glad for them. Avian feet were a lot longer than their human counterparts, and he couldn’t have moved with any coordination while wearing adult footgear.

He silently shoved his soiled clothing into the corner behind a cluster of heavy containers. John marveled at how his drug-induced dream had turned into reality. He’d struggled to understand why another avian had impersonated Kree in the clearing--especially since the real Kree’s explanation had nothing to do with governments, wars, or conspiracies. He shook his head.
Why would anyone risk getting killed to see what I was wearing?

While waiting for Kree to return, John went over his options should the avian fail to reappear. His options weren’t good. He had no way to navigate the corridors without raising an alarm. Even if he did manage to get out undetected, he had no idea how he would get off the planet and link up with the
Firestorm
. He needed Kree, and while being totally reliant on this mysterious alien made him nervous, he was glad for the opportunity to actively work for his own freedom.

Adrenaline surged through his veins as the door slid open. He squeezed his body behind the last of the shelving units and held his breath as an avian flipped on the light source and began to scan the shelves. The avian slowly shuffled closer to him, wrinkling his nostrils as he searched for some item. John was positive the avian could hear his heart echoing throughout the small room, it was beating so loud. Obviously aware of the odor, the avian stopped his search and began to scan the room for the source of the foul smell.

John closed his eyes and waited for the avian to discover him and raise the alarm. He almost fainted when the door opened again and Kree entered. The avian turned back to address the newcomer and asked, “Can you smell that?”

Kree’s eyes widened, but he covered his surprise with a quick response, “Yes. Trillip thinks some vermin got in and died behind one of the canisters. He sent me to deal with it.”

“Ah,” the other avian replied. “I’ll just grab these coils and let you get to work.” He grabbed some small canisters off an upper shelf and squeezed past Kree into the corridor. “I’m glad I don’t have to deal with that guano,” he said.

Kree shrugged. “Yes, the glamorous life of a cart boy.” He winked at the avian. “Still, it’s better than cleaning out the latrines.”

The other avian laughed and moved as Kree shuffled further into the closet.

“Human?” he whispered. “Human, where are you?”

John stepped out from behind the shelves and said, “That was close.” He stared intently at Kree. “You did a great job, thinking up that excuse.”

Kree’s eyes widened again and he took a few steps closer to John. “You, you understand my language?” he asked, slipping into his native tongue.

John nodded.

“Your file says you don’t.” Kree paused. “This just might make our next step a little easier. Can you speak too?”

John grinned. “I was told my accent isn’t too bad,” he replied in Kree’s whistling language. “But everything I learned, I learned in a POW camp, so most of my vocabulary is either vulgar or profane.”

* * * *

Kree rolled the large canister down the corridor. He’d passed several avians and none had so much as given him a second glance, let alone questioned him. He opened the door to the cargo room and pushed the canister inside. He checked to make sure the room was empty before prying off the lid and helping the human out. The alien stumbled and almost fell, but Kree caught his arm and held him until he regained his equilibrium.

“You’ll find a ventilation conduit behind those canisters. I loosened the bolts earlier today. You’ll need to crawl through a series of tunnels before you reach the outside.” He counted the turns on his fingers. “Straight, straight, right, left, straight, left, right, and straight until you reach the fan.”

“Straight, straight, right, left, straight, left, right, and straight until I reach the fan,” the human repeated several times.

When Kree was satisfied he knew his route he nodded. “I will be waiting in the woods beyond the clearing where the fan is located. You’ll have to time your exit with the guard patrols. They go by every twenty minutes. If you count slowly to one hundred after the guard passes, you should have enough time to run across without being seen.” He looked sympathetically at the human. “This is the riskiest part of the plan. I cannot help you. I have to take care of a few things if we’re going to get you off the planet. If all goes well, I will meet you in the woods in less than an hour.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet, human.”

Rebeccah surveyed the chaos on the bridge.

“Damage report,” she called as the alarms continued to blare.

She had no idea what to make of the new orders. They had bodies on ice, the ship needed significant repairs, and now HQ wanted them to stay on the border?

As if that weren’t confusing enough, minutes after she gave the order to alter course, the trans-light drive engaged and the ship rocketed toward Earth for almost four hours before the engineers restored command to the bridge. In addition, all six forward sensors ceased to function. The
Firestorm
was blind without those arrays, and all movement, toward Earth or back to the captain, was impossible until they were repaired. The saboteur made no effort to hide his or her actions, and left Rebeccah with a pit of ice forming in her stomach.

“Minimal damage, sir,” replied Lt. Monroe, Targersson’s interim replacement. “Crews are reporting the damage as superficial but time consuming to repair. Current estimates have us sitting at about eight hours.”

“Damn,” she muttered.

She wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery surrounding the captain’s transponder. The delay could prove costly to the captain.

* * * *

John crawled through another endless metal tunnel. Scrapes covered his hands and knees from crawling across the unevenly welded joins between conduit sections, and his lungs ached from the dust. His entire body hurt from the treatment he had received during his interrogations, but he refused to give in to the pain. His determination to be in control of his own future, his own life, kept him moving, one tired hand and knee forward at a time.

When he paused for a short break, he felt more than heard a faint thrumming in the conduit. The conduit sloped upwards, leading, presumably, to the surface. He increased his pace and soon reached the lazily spinning blades. Somehow Kree had managed to disable the fan so John could pass through without getting killed.

He sat next to the blades, willing himself to remain awake, as he waited for the guard to pass. His eyelids drooped and his head lolled on his neck. John gasped and banged his head on the side of the conduit, waking from a light sleep. Despite worrying that he’d missed the guard’s pass, he resisted the urge to check. Peeking through the grate at the wrong time would be deadly. He wiggled his toes and pinched his arms in an effort to stay awake.

Several minutes later a beam of light flashed against the metal grating beyond the fan blades. John prayed the guard would only make a cursory inspection of the fan and the conduit. He froze--he didn’t have enough time to crawl further into the tunnel. The guard would hear him for sure. He turned his head away from the entrance and held his breath. The beam of light traced a checkered path along the floor of the conduit. The shadow of the fan blade passed over his head. The light source faded and was gone. He breathed a sigh of relief and began his slow count to one hundred.

* * * *

“I want the security video from all six sensor bays, including exterior corridor shots, maintenance and electronics conduits, and all storage closets within fifty meters of each,” Rebeccah said as she tugged on the sleeve of her uniform. “Our saboteur has to show up somewhere.”

“Aye, sir.”

She turned to her communications officer and said, “I want you to scan all incoming and outgoing transmissions over the last twenty-four hours. I don’t think this was a random attack. I believe our perpetrator was taking orders from someone else, someone not on board.”

“But, sir,” the ensign asked, “what if the message was piggy-backed and not sent directly at all?”

“I don’t think we’re looking for a hidden signal, Ensign,” Rebeccah replied. “I think this attack was a desperate measure to ensure we left avian space. I believe you will find a transmission from avian territory somewhere in our databanks.”

“Aye, sir.”

A sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach accompanied her thoughts on their current situation. Had the saboteur been trying to ensure they’d follow their new orders? Were two different groups seeking to influence the location of the
Firestorm
? Neither option boded well for the long-term survival of the ship. And the matter of the captain’s transponder needed to be considered. Leaving Lt. Monroe in charge of the bridge, she entered the captain’s office to do some research.