Chapter 20 #2
“The level of the element changes. Based on previous observations, I believe it changes as they are going in and out of jump. I’m starting to collect enough data to postulate that it also changes based on duration out of jump.”
“So, they stopped in some places longer than others?” He was pretty sure that’s what Veirn was saying, but it didn’t hurt to ask.
“I believe so.”
The confirmation didn’t help that much, since they didn’t know why the entity was stopping anywhere.
“I believe we are approaching another drop out point,” Veirn said. “The element is occurring in more density than previous stops, however.”
“That’s…curious,” Kellen said, resisting the urge to ask Veirn what it meant. It couldn’t know and it would just have to smack him down.
“Indeed,” Veirn said. “I have noticed our ships, when breaking heavily, leave expanded element debris. It is possible, they—how do the Earth humans put it—slammed on the brakes.”
“Then we should probably follow suit,” Kellen suggested.
“I agree,” Veirn said.
Rinna appreciated Tim’s efforts to protect her, but it was also annoying not to be able to see what was happening.
A large avian.
A little helpful but lacking a lot of specifics.
She tried to peer over Tim’s shoulder. She couldn’t. So she crouched down and tried to look under his arm.
It was a little better. A little.
She crouched some more and then wished she hadn’t.
A large avian was so lacking in specifics. Yes, it was large, almost as big as the shuttle, she decided, based on where the top of its head reached against the damaged ships on either side.
It had black, gray, and dirty white coloring. A beak that—if clean—might be orange. Instead, it was a dingy brown. The only real color were its eyes, which were red with gold centers.
It had beefy legs, and a claw span that looked impressive this far away. She hoped she wasn’t going to find out how impressive. She realized it had some kind of electronic device secured around one leg, and she wondered who had been brave enough to do that.
It lifted its head, extending its neck, its wings flapping and gave a sound that sent chills snaking down her back.
She hoped, she really, really hoped, it wasn’t calling to more of its kind. That it had scattered the canines was only a minor positive.
“We’re in so much trouble,” she muttered, not sure who was hearing her. Or if anyone was. She couldn’t move to check her comms or move to do anything.
“Yes,” Tim said.
Its claws scrapped against the surface, cutting through the debris to the metal base as it took a couple of steps closer, its head lowering to regard them.
She had the feeling it was hoping they’d do something. Perhaps its eyes needed movement? Or it wanted an indication of intent?
It was also curious—a side thought to perhaps reduce her rising tension—that there was metal under foot. What was this place? Other than Lt. Dish’s junkyard?
Its head tipped to one side, bringing up a memory of before, when she lived planet-side with regular sized birds. Just so did they look at a worm before stabbing at it.
It had been cuter on the smaller bird.
But…was there a kind of intelligence in the eyes? They’d encountered sentient animals, quite a lot of them recently. Was this one?
And again, her mind circled back to the question: what was it and what was it doing here?
It made another sound, a smaller one this time. Was it hope that made her catalog it as less hostile? Delusion?
And then, amazingly, she heard another bird sound. A smaller bird, well, small compared to the large avian, flew past it and landed on Tim’s shoulder.
It was T’Korrin. And yes, it gave her a pointed look before directing its attention toward the avian.
It settled firmly, its claws digging into Tim’s suit shoulder until it seemed satisfied. And then it began to squawk. Make avian sounds anyway.
It paused, as if waiting, and then started again, the sounds slightly different from before.
“I’m kind of terrified,” Riina said, quietly into her comm.
“Lira,” Lt. Dish said, “thinks T’Korrin can help.”
Riina wanted to ask the usual questions, where, why, how, what the freaking heck—that Earth phrase felt right for the occasion.
She didn’t.
The large avian’s head tipped the other direction. Its wings shifted, lifting just a bit before settling down again.
And finally, it made a small sound.
Riina, Tim was somewhat relieved to realize, was staying calm. He could only be somewhat relieved because he expected the avian to attack at any moment.
He was not happy that the stowaway bird called T’Korrin was trying to communicate with the large avian.
It could fly away if it went wrong.
Still, the large avian hadn’t attacked yet.
Yet.
He had inputs. He had sensors. He should have known where everyone was—friend and foe—and what was happening around him. Perhaps it was a function of being human that he was so hyper focused on the big bird and unable to process anything else.
It was somewhat comforting to feel Riina pressed against his back. If he was going to die—he found himself unable to complete the thought. He didn’t want her to die, too, even though he also didn’t want to die alone.
He wanted…he wanted them both to live. To walk away together from this. But if they were to die, he needed to tell her…
“Rinna.” Somehow he managed to secure a private connection with her, despite his frozen inputs and outputs.
“Yes.”
“I, you need to know,” he had to swallow. Curse his human throat, his human brain that struggled to find the correct words, if that were possible.
“Yes?” Her voice was gentle.
There was no way for him to truly feel her through their suits, but he was still sure that somehow she’d softened and pressed closer.
“I do not understand all the words or feelings, but I believe, based on what I have seen with the others, that I…” for a moment the word caught in his throat. He forced it out. She deserved it. “I love you. I believe I love you.”
“Oh, Tim.”
The softness in her voice, the happiness closed his throat with something thick. How could she sound happy in their current situation?
“I love you, too.”
The surge of joy caught him by surprise. So that was how it worked. They were going to die. Probably. And they were happy.
“I wish…” He wished he could turn around and take her in his arms.
“I know,” she said. Her hands left his shoulders and slid around his waist.
His suit registered contact the length of his back and legs. His body registered, well, something else.
She loved him. He didn’t want to die, but at least he could die happy. Yes, it was happy, though strange and unfamiliar to one who had been content to be free. He’d thought it was enough. He was glad he’d had the chance to feel this before he died.
And he wished one of them spoke avian.
T’Korrin hopped off his shoulder and trotted over to the big avian, passing under its formidable beak without problem. He reached the big bird’s leg and Tim realized, for the first time, that it had an electronic device circling its beefy leg.
T’Korrin tapped it, then looked back at Tim and chirped at him, its head angling as if to say, “Come get this off.”
“Tim,” Rinna’s voice held a warning note.
He holstered his hand weapon and handed her his long weapon. “Hold this,” he said.
“Tim,” she said again.
“It will be fine,” he said. “Cover me without looking like you’re covering me,” he added.
“Right,” she said.
He thought he heard irony in her tone and might have smiled in other circumstances. In this one, he paced carefully forward, his hands in clear sight. The large avian watched, its head lowering as he drew closer.
He passed within inches of that deadly beak and half expected it to stab into his back and he stepped under the body. He stopped by the leg, then knelt down and studied the device.
“You seeing this?” he said, in his comm.
“Most curious,” Trac said.
“Curious good or curious bad?” Tim asked. He cautiously touched it, his fingers sliding along a surface that appeared to be smooth.
“I’m not sure yet. Zoom in on that section,” Trac said suddenly.
Tim did as requested, also focusing his human thoughts on the spot. It was the only place that wasn’t perfectly smooth.
“I think there is a port here,” Tim said, finally. He touched the small indentation with the tip of his finger. He extended an access cable toward it, half expecting to get a jolt from it, but it slid in. After the obligatory “handshake,” he started sensing data. “I can’t read it,” he said to Trac.
“Veirn’s fragment is attempting to translate it,” Trac said. “But I am assuming that the goal is to remove the device?”
“That is my belief,” Tim said.
“Based on my experience with similar devices, a surge of power should do the job.”
Or hurt the avian, Tim thought ruefully. And make it mad while he was kneeling inches from its claws.
“I think the canines are coming back,” Riina said, “using the high ground.”
Tim checked. She was correct. Their heat signatures were moving across the surface of the debris that circled them.
“Faint heart,” said Lt. Dish, “never won fair lady.”
He looked up, where he imagined the ship to be. “What?”
“Just do it,” Trac said.
It wasn’t Tim’s imagination that there was humor in his tone. Easy for him.
He sent the surge, without a countdown. If he stopped to think, his heart would be faint.
A small puff of smoke emerged from the device. There was a click and it fell off at Tim’s feet.
“Androcles and the Lion,” Lt. Dish said, now.
This time he didn’t ask what. He waited. The air came alive as the big bird’s wings moved, sweeping the area with a wind that swirled the dirt, then it lifted off, the force of it almost knocking him onto his back.
He instinctively covered his head as the legs and claws brushed his shoulder. The ground debris seemed to rise, too, swirling like a small storm. The avian cried out as one of the canines leapt from its perch and landed on its back.
The other canines tried to join the attack, but the avian was rising too quickly. Several fell, landing not far from Tim. T’Korrin rose, crying out as Tim spun to face this new attack. His hand weapon was pulled and his back toward Riina.
One of the canines howled, shifting as if in pain, then rolled to its feet and barred its teeth at him. But as it paced toward him, it showed signs of injury. Two of the canines moved feebly, more seriously injured he concluded.
He reached Riina, took the long weapon she held out, noted that she then deployed her weapons as well. He felt an odd reluctance to further injure the canine, which made no sense.
“We don’t want to hurt you,” Riina said, at his side.
He didn’t look at her, though he wanted to. Had she picked up on his reluctance, or did it come from some place inside her.
“Why?” he asked.
“They are probably prisoners here, too,” she said.
And then he got it. They weren’t so unlike, he and the other crew of the Najer. Trapped by circumstance. Dangerous by necessity. Angry and frustrated. As he now looked at them, others had stared at him and the others as they were forced to attack. How he’d hated it.
“No,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
The canine stopped, his head tipping to one side, as if considering what he’d said. Was that even possible?
It lifted its head in a long, mournful howl and then turned and disappeared back into the shadows. His sensors showed the other canines following suit.
T’Korrin dropped down, landing on his shoulder again and made a sound that was almost approving, or so it seemed to him.
“Thank you, T’Korrin,” Riina said. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you before.”
T’Korrin made a huffing sound, then hopped onto her shoulder and rubbed the side of her head.
“I hope that means I’m forgiven,” she said.
T’Korrin chirped again, then lifted off as the empty center once more swirled into a small storm around an invisible object.
Trac was bringing the shuttle in to collect them.