Past Lives

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Three months earlier...

One moment you’re teetering on the edge of the precipice, the next falling in space.

Muriel clutched the chair as the lights failed. Artificial gravity was out. The restraints held her, but she still gripped the slick arms.

Space outside blurred. The alien ship that had moved to intercept Brock’s escape pod, the teeming hive of Hansel below, and the stars all shifted.

Then the holographic view of the space in front of the Tretan’s ship winked out.

Banging noises echoed through the ship. Metal screamed. A sharp electrical smell stung Muriel’s nose.

“Dyami!”

A deep throbbing moan that vibrated her bones, felt more than heard, came out of the dark.

Was his translation band off? Before the lights had failed, Dyami’s massive black and orange striped body had been draped over the log-shaped couch at the front of the cabin.

“Pilot?” Muriel raised her voice. “Pilot!”

The Tretan’s pilot, a cybernetic mnemonic clone, partially organic, partially non-organic, was in the forward compartment. If that was lost, if Pilot was lost, they might not have any way to regain control of the ship. Assuming the integrity of their compartment held, they’d have to wait for rescue from Hansel.

And what about Brock? The same alien ship that had fired on them had been moving to intercept Brock’s escape pod. Was the ship working with Kelwyn? Part of the whole plan to ransom their way into the Galactics’ Glittering Throng?

Muriel took a deep breath. Artificial gravity and power were out. Whatever the ship had fired at them, it had disabled the ship’s systems. Given that the Tretans had once been part of the Glittering Throng, before being expelled, that was pretty impressive.

Brock was on his own until they could get power restored and assess the situation.

Running her hands down the restraints, Muriel found the emergency release and pressed the button. Three loud snaps and the restraints broke free.

Keeping a grip on the chair, Muriel pulled a comm tablet from her pocket. The screen lit up at her touch. The dim light filled the cabin.

Thin smoke clouded the air, but she could still see around the cabin. Dyami’s eyes were screwed tightly shut, and his massive arms and legs clutched the log-shaped couch.

Muriel kicked off her chair and floated past the other chairs in the cabin to Dyami. She caught the end of the log and her feet swung around through the air toward the door to the forward compartment.

Being weightless was somewhat like swimming in the ocean, without the water around to push against. Muriel pulled her legs in and swung down to straddle Dyami’s couch. She squeezed her thighs against the firm material and tucked her feet beneath.

Then she reached out and patted one of Dyami’s thick fingers. Short bristles on his knuckles tickled her hand.

“Dyami? Hey, come on, I need your help.”

One lemon-sized eye opened, his golden, green-flecked iris shrinking as his bi-lobed pupil expanded. His other eye opened and both focused on her for a second, then her comm tablet, before moving to take in the cabin. His fleshy lips parted as he spoke, a deep infrasound vibration that carried through the couch to her thighs.

On his right arm, his flexible translation band translated the sounds into standard speech.

“What happened? Feels like falling!”

“We’re weightless. The artificial gravity and main power are out. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Dyami’s head swung toward the forward wall. More vibrations and the translation band spoke up. “I am unharmed. The other vessel, it fired on us?”

“I think so. I don’t know what it hit us with, but it knocked out our systems. I need your help to see if we can get to the Pilot.”

Dyami pushed up with his thick arms. The automatic restraints held him down. He twisted around. “I am strapped down.”

Muriel patted his arm. “There’s an emergency release. Hang on, I’ll help you with it.”

She used his arm — thicker than her waist — as an anchor to pull herself back to the straps. She held on and pulled herself hand over hand down to the emergency release at the base of the couch. With his thick fingers, it would have been a challenge to do himself. Muriel shoved it down.

With a loud snap, the release came free. Muriel caught the couch to stop herself from drifting away.

Dyami sneezed a loud, explosive sound. Muriel automatically jerked away and lost her grip on the couch.

With the grace of a juggler, Dyami reached out and caught her around the waist with one massive hand. His big fingers nearly encircled her waist. He pulled her back to the couch.

“What do we do?” He asked.

Muriel pointed at the doors leading to the forward compartment. “Let’s check the hatch. Maybe there is a manual release.”

Once she had a grip back on the couch, Dyami released her. Muriel pulled herself along the couch, then kicked off toward the door.

She floated across the space between and carefully caught herself, damping her motion when she reached the doors. She hung in the air, her feet inches from the floor, while she studied the hatch, moving the comm tablet’s light over the surface.

A thin line, much too small for even her fingers to gain purchase, traced the boundary of the hatch. When they had boarded, and Pilot had gone through, the hatch had slid to her right. The walls on both sides were featureless. Nothing that looked like an access point.

Dyami had pulled himself to the end of the couch, holding on with his long arms while his shorter legs floated out behind him.

“Do you see a manual release?” He asked.

“No.” Muriel reached out and ran her fingers lightly across the hatch. Slick, frictionless material. Nothing on which to get a grip, and nothing nearby that she could use to brace herself. “Pilot? Hello? Pilot?”

A chirruping beep answered from the tablet. Muriel tapped the notification.

Pilot appeared on the tablet screen. Part of him, his metallic spider-like face scarred and scorched. His blue eyes pulsed. “Are you harmed?”

“We’re both okay.” Muriel coughed, the smoke irritating her throat. “No power, no artificial gravity, and there is smoke in the air. What’s our status?”

“Primary systems are offline. Secondary systems are in safe mode while my remotes assess damage and make repairs.”

“What did they hit us with?”

“Many of my systems are offline. The weapon struck as the Space-Time Coordinate drive engaged. Navigation systems lost lock. When power is restored, I will identify our coordinates.”

Dyami’s voice thrummed. His translator band spoke up. “Is the ship secure?”

“Remotes report venting and are attempting repairs.”

Muriel looked around the cabin. “Venting? We’re venting atmosphere? How long until those systems are patched?”

“Unknown-n-n.” Pilot jerked and shook on the screen.

“Pilot?”

“Are you harmed?” Pilot asked.

“What? We’re okay, I told you that. What’s wrong?”

“Primary systems are offline. Secondary s-s-systems —” Pilot’s eyes flickered and dimmed.

The screen went blank. Muriel looked at Dyami. “I’ve lost contact.”

“He sounded damaged,” Dyami said.

He did. And without the pilot, they didn’t have any access to the ship systems. Their compartment could be losing atmosphere right now. They had to get some systems back online and at least make sure that they didn’t both suffocate before rescue ships arrived from Hansel.