The Lost Star Gate (Lost Starship Series Book 9) Page 39

  A half smile slid onto her face. The Visionary didn’t know that she knew about this place. Wouldn’t the old woman have a stroke if she could see Mako now?

  The petite Spacer shrugged. Then, she raised her right hand and made a gesture.

  Bolts moved in a stone door and a mechanism activated. Slowly, with the grinding sound of granite-on-granite, the heavy stone portal opened.

  Mako made another gesture. Lights appeared in the cell. She glided through the portal, her shoes less than a centimeter from the floor.

  The small, wizened Strand clone blinked and rubbed his eyes as he raised his head. He was prone on a stone shelf and raised himself up on his elbows.

  The Visionary had ordered him confined to the cell until further notice.

  The clone spied her, blinked again and then struggled to hide a superior smile.

  Mako didn’t mind. She understood motives so much better these days. She could also see the electronic functions of his body with her transduction. She knew his emotional state to a nicety—anyone’s for that matter.

  The clone slid off the stone shelf and indicated the chairs. The cell was small, with three rooms, the others likely as stuffy as this one. The Visionary should let the mad scientist have a bath now and again. They owed the clone that much for all the technical work he’d done for them.

  “Can I get you anything?” the clone asked her.

  “Sit,” Mako said.

  The clone frowned before hurriedly sitting in the nearest chair. He hunched forward as if to attend to her every utterance. That was false. He was thinking furiously, no doubt how to use her arrival to his advantage.

  “Is the Great Machine ready for transference?” Mako asked him.

  The question caught the clone by surprise. A second later, he bobbed his head up and down like a nasty little goblin.

  Mako almost asked her next question. He beat her to the punch.

  “Would you like me to send you through now?” the clone asked.

  Mako cocked her head. Was it possible to go now? She hadn’t believed that it would be yet.

  “It is possible,” the clone said, as if he could read her mind.

  Lancing suspicion bit Mako. She held herself perfectly still as she scanned his body thoroughly. No. He did not have any modifications. He could not see her electronic patterns like she could see his. Could he read her face?

  He was the clone of Methuselah Man Strand. She should remember that he was considered to be the slyest human in existence.

  “Why would you send me through now?” Mako said. “You know the Visionary is waiting for the perfect moment.”

  “There’s your answer,” the clone said. “I don’t like the Visionary. I don’t dislike you. What’s your perfect moment, eh?”

  Mako smiled.

  He smiled with her, likely hoping for the best.

  “What a truly horrid little worm you are, Strand clone.”

  For a second, his face betrayed his shock. Then, he grinned again like a little monkey, more than willing to laugh at himself if it would get him what he wanted.

  “Do you think I’d trust you?” she asked.

  “What’s to trust?” he countered. “The Great Machine is almost all fully automated. I’d only have to make a few adjustments.”

  “What?” she said. “Explain that.”

  He shrugged, flashed the nasty goblin smile again and made an admission of truth. Mako saw that in his body.

  “I, ah, have added a few modifications here and there,” the clone said. “If you used it as is…” The clone shook his head. “That would be bad for you.”

  “You’ve tampered with the Great Machine?”

  “Indeed I have. If you want to use it, you need me.”

  “You’re a treacherous scoundrel.”

  He tried the goblin smile a third time, figuring it was a charm. He must have seen that it wouldn’t work, though. That brought a vicious scowl to his features.

  “Who do you think I am?” he snarled. “Your clown? No. I am Strand.”

  “You’re a clone.”

  “Same difference. A Strand is a Strand is a Strand, if you get my meaning.”

  “You will—”

  Mako halted and closed her eyes. She sensed…ah…she sensed a hidden spy device that she hadn’t detected earlier. That seemed inconceivable, but there it was. The device indicated a watching Visionary. Was the old woman going to try to teach her a final truth?

  Mako opened her eyes. “You are in error, Clone. You will learn what it means to be in error soon enough.”

  She turned to go.

  “Wait,” the clone said.

  Mako regarded him.

  “I have a proposition for you,” the clone said. “Help me escape. Give me a weapon, and I’ll show you how to fix my few…adjustments to the Great Machine.”

  “You poor deluded clone,” Mako said. “You don’t understand the Spacers at all. You think we’re crazy mystics, don’t you?”

  “No,” the clone said. “You have advanced tech, alien tech, even. You’re more than mystics, although I’ll admit you’re all as crazy as loons.”

  “Such words do not endear you to me,” Mako said.

  The clone cocked his head at her, and there was madness in his eyes. “Maybe you’re the craziest of the lot. Well, you know what? Screw all of you.”

  “No, clone,” Mako said, making another gesture. “That will not happen.”

  He laughed wildly, grabbed a hidden dagger and attempted to turn the knife on himself. His intention was clear. He would kill himself, thus ensuring they could not fix the Great Machine in time. Instead of plunging the dagger into his chest, the clone cried out, dropping the suddenly white-hot metal.

  “Did you do that?” he shouted, holding his burned hands gingerly in the air.

  “I did.”

  “Why?” he pleaded.

  “Because you must serve the Spacers before you die, worm,” Mako said. “You are the clone of a Methuselah Man, and we hate all Methuselah Men.”

  The clone stared at her with hatred, and she shuddered to see the depth of his passion.

  “I won’t forget this,” he said in a grating voice.

  “Good,” Mako said. “Neither will I.”

  At that point, provost marshals entered the room, converging on the clone, picking him up and carrying him away to whatever fate awaited him.

  Mako looked around. Then she levitated off the floor, floating away. Soon now, she would be ready to make the transfer.

  -77-

  Seventy-five hours of grueling and endless searching hadn’t produced a nexus in the thickening gases and dust of the Omega Nebula.

  They weren’t in the Orion Spiral Arm anymore, they had moved into the Sagittarius Arm. That made the distance seem even farther. Home was years away if they failed to find a nexus.

  Maddox was stunned at how quickly the Deep Beyond had wilted crew morale. Having a massed alien invasion armada behind them hadn’t helped them any. The starship was within the Swarm Imperium. Every hand—every tentacle and clacker, the captain supposed—would be turned against them. No one would aid them. No one would help repair damage no matter how much money they offered.

  Where was the nexus? Ludendorff didn’t know. Maybe as bad, probes had proven useless in the search, as the little drones had soon lost their laser-link connection with the starship because of the thick gases and clouds of dust. Maddox didn’t dare try anything else, as the bug scouts behind them would undoubtedly pick up ordinary comm signals.

  There was nothing else for it but dogged searching with Victory alone.

  “Can’t you remember anything about the nexus?” Maddox had asked the professor in a padded cell.

  The Methuselah Man had looked the worse for wear after seventy-five hours in the Deep Beyond. Galyan seemed to have guessed the right of it earlier. The great learning from the Builder computer-core had turned the normally decisive Ludendorff into the proverbial absentminded professor. It h
ad driven him mad in a sense. Ludendorff was just as apt to give Maddox a bewildered stare as to babble in gibberish. It was daunting.

  Maddox stood perplexed on the bridge, staring at the main screen, trying to forget about the professor. They searched and searched for the Builder nexus, finding nothing. Soon, they would have to double back and try a different exploration angle. Unfortunately, heading back toward the mighty Swarm armada, even obliquely, would strain the increasingly fragile crew morale.

  Traveling in the Deep Beyond was unlike normal space travel. It was definitely a psychological thing, but true nonetheless. Knowing that one mistake could strand them here forever, turning everyone into bug-food, had a daunting effect.

  It was the difference between practicing for a championship football game and actually being out there, on the field under the floodlights as tens of thousands cheered or booed and millions, perhaps billions, more watched on the vid-screen. Running downfield as the football barreled at you became an act of will in the big game. Your palms grew sweaty as the football rocketed at you from above. On the practice field, the pass would have been nothing…but few people could act normally under such tremendous pressure.

  But what if that pressure lasted not a few hours, but for days on end? Most people cracked fast then.

  Maddox was very aware that they had to succeed soon or crew performance would begin to sink dismally. Against 143,000 Swarm motherships, they couldn’t afford any mistakes.

  The trouble was that he had no idea which direction to search next. Ludendorff was supposed to be their ace in the hole. He was the directional finder, and he was broken. Ludendorff had reached for the Sun, as it were, and it had burned his fingers and maybe blinded him forever.

  Maddox chewed at his lower lip as he studied the main screen. Victory neared the edge of the Omega Nebula. From her station, Valerie glanced at him sidelong. Galyan fidgeted. Andros rechecked his board, being obvious about it.

  All three knew he should order a new heading. Was maintaining their Patrol-like routine, sticking to a pattern chart, the answer? Under normal circumstances that would be true. But what about here and now, in the Omega Nebula with time running out on humanity? Was it time to gamble and choose a random search direction?

  The strain had tightened Maddox’s stomach for some time now.

  The captain almost jumped in alarm as a hand grabbed him from behind, clutching an elbow. He whirled around as his right hand dropped to his holster. He found himself staring down into his wife’s green eyes.

  “You need a break,” Meta whispered.

  Maddox licked his lips.

  “You should go to the gym and lift,” she suggested.

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “You’re like everyone else, wound too tight. You can’t do anything well like that.”

  With a lurch, he strode past his wife as he headed for the exit. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes,” he said.

  “But…” Valerie said.

  “Keep searching,” Maddox said. “I’ll give you a new heading once I’m back.”

  That seemed to mollify the lieutenant, although it didn’t help the holoimage’s fidgeting or Andros Crank’s panel examination.

  After leaving the bridge, Maddox hurried to the closest gym, changing in the locker room into shorts and a T-shirt. Once in the gym itself he did arm and shoulder stretches, several rounds of jumping jacks to get his blood pumping and three sets of deep-knee bends to get his legs and glutes ready.

  By that time, Meta had joined him.

  The captain racked up several hundred pounds and did some warm-up deadlifts. The warm-up weight felt incredibly heavy to him. He couldn’t believe it.

  That only forced him to add more weight. He needed to push himself if he was going to relax.

  Soon, he had a solid, deadlifting load on the bar. He waited a few minutes to let his muscles revive. Then, he put his feet into position, bent his legs so his shins bumped against the bar and set his grip.

  Mentally preparing, Maddox suddenly lunged upward, straining to lift the weight. He strained, and quit, releasing the bar without having lifted it off the floor.

  Maddox straightened and flexed his hands. He couldn’t believe this. He should have easily hoisted the bar off the floor. What was wrong with him?

  “You’re tired,” Meta said. “I didn’t realize just how tired until seeing that. What you need is sleep.”

  Maddox shook his head. “I can’t sleep. I’ve tried. I just…” He just stared at the ceiling while in bed, but he didn’t want to admit it aloud.

  Meta stepped near and took his right hand with her left. She tugged him. He didn’t have the will this moment to resist. She led him back to the locker area and into the showers. Then she began to take off his clothes until he was naked. At that point, she began to take off her clothes, but did it slowly and seductively.

  Maddox watched his wife, absorbed with her beauty. Soon, she too was naked.

  Meta came to him, and she began to touch him, stirring the primordial instincts in him.

  Finally, Maddox came to life. And there in the showers in the locker area, the captain became reacquainted with his wife.

  The release came in time, and it seemed to do more than affirm his love for her. All the anxiety, worries and fears fled him at that moment. With her beauty and love, Meta had helped to ease him and shown him how to enjoy the moment once more.

  For the first time in days, Maddox relaxed, holding his wife. This was his mate, his love, his companion. She cared about him. She cherished him, and he cherished her. As he held her, as he kissed her slowly, enjoying the afterglow of love, a fierce resolve began to stir in Maddox.

  If he failed out here, he would lose Meta. His beloved wife would die and there would never be another like her, ever. The idea of Meta ceasing to exist because the Swarm devoured all humanity in its ceaseless quest to grow—

  “No,” Maddox said.

  “What’s that, love?” Meta asked.

  “The Swarm isn’t going to win.”

  “Can’t you think about something else at a time like this?”

  Maddox looked down into his wife’s eyes. “I did,” he said. “I had a moment of—” He grinned. “I wouldn’t call this rest.”

  “You’d better not or I’ll make you do it again.”

  He hugged her tightly, and he thrilled that this beauty was his woman. He’d chased and caught her, and the hunt for her love had been worth every effort to achieve it.

  He was Captain Maddox, and he had a duty to perform out here in the Deep Beyond. He had accepted the post of captain on Starship Victory, and he was here as the champion for humanity. He could wilt under the pressure or he could perform.

  In that moment, Maddox determined to go down swinging, if go down they had to. He would not lose by indecisiveness. It was time to reach the nexus—and it was time to figure out why the Swarm fleet hadn’t been able to reach it yet, either.

  The enemy fleet had changed direction several times. That had thrown him off.

  Maddox released his wife, stepping back from her as he snapped his fingers.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “This nexus is mobile,” he said.

  “Meaning what?” Meta asked.

  “Meaning…” He stared at her. “I think the nexus is steering away from anyone coming too close to it. That means someone or something is steering it.”

  “Is that important?” Meta asked.

  “It has to be,” he said. He almost turned to go. Instead, he reached out, grabbed his wife’s hand and pulled her against him one last time. He pressed her naked body against his, kissing her. Then he let go and turned away.

  It was time to go to work.

  -78-

  This was frustrating. In the padded cell, Maddox told Ludendorff his theory. The professor stared at him as if he understood, and then the Methuselah Man began speaking alien gibberish.

  Maddox tried another two times. It made no difference. H
e brought Dana in, but neither her presence nor her ideas helped.

  Riker was there because the sergeant had the unenviable task of watching the professor.

  Maddox still wasn’t completely convinced that Ludendorff wasn’t playacting in some manner.

  “Why not explain all this to Draegar 2?” Riker asked. “The Bosk overlord is in it with the rest of us. Maybe his supposed genius can see what we’re all missing.”

  “How would he communicate any of his understanding with us?” Maddox asked.

  “I’ve seen him scribble mathematical formulas,” the sergeant said. “Maybe that’s the only language you and he can both understand.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Dana said. “The sergeant has a point.”

  “I don’t see it,” Maddox said. “How do you speak to the Draegar through math equations?”

  “Is that a serious question?” Dana asked Maddox.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she said. “We should get started on it right away. It might take the Draegar some time to figure it out.”

  “Figure what out?” Maddox asked.

  “Oh, come on,” Dana said. “I’ll show you.”

  The doctor proved as good as her word. She wrote out a complex mathematical formula and presented the paper to Draegar 2 in his cell. Then, she showed the Draegar a video as Andros Crank explained the same thing through visual aids.

  Maddox stood back and watched. This sounded as nutty as the professor’s craziest ideas.

  The bronze-skinned Bosk paid careful attention to Dana, and frankly, seemed more interested in her as a woman than in her math paper. The Bosk overlord only paid half attention to the demonstration Andros showed him. Once or twice, though, Draegar 2 looked up sharply and followed the maneuvering of the giant Swarm armada on the video screen.

  Maddox glanced at the screen then, wondering what the supposedly genius Bosk saw that he didn’t.

  Finally, after Dana and Andros completed their briefings, Draegar 2 sat back in his chair. The Bosk didn’t acknowledge their presence anymore, except for the few brief times Dana switched her position. The brainy Bosk then paid the closest attention to her breasts, or the fabric covering them, as if he might have X-ray vision. Otherwise, Draegar 2 was motionless. Suddenly, however, he clapped his hands and made writing motions. He did this several times.