Symbiosis: Chapter 38

 

Captain Jackson opened his eyes slowly, blinking hard against the searing white light from above his head. He found himself leaning against a wall; his back ached and the floor beneath him chilled his bones. His wrists were crossed and tied behind his back with a heavy flax rope. Clambering to his feet he only saw four gray walls and a closed door. No windows, not even a skylight, provided any clue to the time.

The side of his head throbbed. He remembered someone had grabbed him and muzzled him, a huge person, a person with hairless green arms: a Pegasi minion with the familiar reek of acidic, tarry toxin on his hand. A heavy metal thwack of a laser pistol was the last thing he could recall. The pain below his ribs reached deep toward a kidney. He didn’t know what happened there. Perhaps it’d had been the hard toe of a giant boot.

A square metal footstool hosted a plate of green and white blobs, some kind of starch in a little leaf wrappers appearing suspiciously like Cinconian cuisine. A pitcher of water and a bowl accompanied the assumed food balls. He needed the hydration badly but looked around for something sharp instead. The room was intentionally devoid of any implements of destruction. Jackson looked at the empty ceramic bowl and full pitcher. He reached his foot to the little pedestal and kicked the bowl hard off onto the floor. It crashed into several glorious shards with a satisfying clatter.

He squirmed to select the largest shard with one hand and manipulated it against the ropes like a knife until he felt their strength waning. He flipped the chunk to his other hand and finished the job with one more contorted slice and his hands flew apart. The dangling fragments of rope fell off his wrists when he rubbed the raw skin gently to get some blood flowing again. He picked up that pitcher and drank water straight from the lip until he could drink no more, then he had one more swallow.

Pegasi! Those bastards just couldn’t keep their debauched green fingers off this planet. If they were dispersing antibiotics again, the whole mission would come to naught. Jackson shoved both hands in his jacket pockets but came up empty. He had to get out of the room and find out where they’d hidden his com button. At least he still had his jacket.

He hadn’t felt his head ache so much since before Zalara removed the glioma in his brain, but without the accompanying nausea. When he touched his temple he felt a hot, angry hump which begged for an ice pack. The tips of his fingers on his left hand tingled with slight numbness, possibly from the same situation that caused the wallop now pulsing on the right side of his head.

The small room was sealed like a submarine. He tried the door but it was shut as tight as a gnat’s ass. Jackson smashed his face in his hands, pushing them up through his hair, but not even an inkling of a means to escape arose. He returned to the footstool and selected a ball, sniffed it, then tasted it. Sushi. It was fishy and grassy and tasted like sushi. For Cinconian cuisine, this was tolerable. He ate all of them.

Since he wasn’t dead, he decided that the Pegasi wanted him alive for some reason, so he’d simply have to wait. With no place elevated to sit, he backed up against one wall and slid down until his butt hit the floor. Still cold, after some serious thought, he decided to keep his jacket on rather than sit on it. He started to drift, wishing he could call Rianya, make sure she was okay, and tell her that he missed her.

~~~

“Why are you here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Commander,” Quixote answered. He recognized the depth of Dukvita’s voice easily and its distinctive cadence.

“I’m sure I was clear with Captain Jackson. We are engaged in commerce with the populations of this planet.”

“And, Commander, we are here on a mission of mercy at the request of the medical community.”

“Yes, and your missions interfere with our commerce. I must ask you to leave promptly so I not forced to take action.”

“Dukvita, I believe Captain Jackson was clear stating his mission with you several days ago. We have an assignment with dire health consequences at risk. Is it not in your best interest that the population of this planet actually exist for your commerce activities?”

“What do you mean?”

“I have it on good authority that you are aware of the pandemic medical situation, are you not?”

“Quixote, do you always talk backward? Human is not my first language. Speak again.”

“Human is not my first language, either, Dukvita.” Silence.

“We knows of the pandemic. We supply critical medical supplies; of course we knows.”

“Then your request for us to break orbit is unwarranted.”

“Unwarranted or not I make my intentions clear to Jackson.”

“And I am certain that we are here at the request of the Cinconians and your authority is not binding on us.”

If the bridge had been dismal a few hours earlier it was as tense as steel now. Quixote never considered himself terribly emotional but he sat on a pedestal, his back straight, his dorsal scales quivering. That overweight, chartreuse pirate wasn’t about to chase the Maria Mitchell out of orbit, especially with men on the surface.

Quixote shifted on the stool, tapping one claw on the console in front of him. Jean was a statue at his helm. Zoe fidgeted in her chair. The silence was thick and heavy.

“I have three hostages on the planet. If you don’t leave orbit before you complete another revolution I’ll kill one of them.” Quixote gestured a slash across his neck to Zoe and the com was closed.

“Men, we’re not finished here. The only location with three of us is New Hope. He must have Jackson, Gregory, and Wagner. Rougeau, plot a course to Cuatro at ISS speed. Stone, call Watson or May up here to relive you; have whoever prepare a copy of the logs and transcripts and stand by.” He nodded to open the com.

“Very well, Dukvita. But you certainly don’t expect us abandon our crew on the surface.”

“You may collect them when we have finished our business, if you leave orbit as required.”

“How long do you need?” Quixote said through his conical, clenched teeth. He resented having to cooperate with the likes of that Pegasi, but for the sake of the team, not the Cinconians, he would at least give an appearance of acquiescence.

“Oh, six or seven days”

“Six or seven days?! You have thirty hours to get your business completed, Dukvita, and I highly suggest you don’t press your luck.”

“If you don’t leave orbit of Cinco I’ll be forced to open fire,” Dukvita said. “When you have three Pegasi hostages you may speak all the demands you like. Until then, good bye, Maria Mitchell.” The com terminated with an acute snap.

Lieutenant Quixote drummed his claws on the console and closed his eyes to shut out the planet in the windows. He took a deep breath and simmered for a few seconds.

“When we’re beyond the planet’s gravity send our status transmission to Earth and simultaneously initiate a waste dump. Rougeau, as soon as that task is completed engage ISS drive at half speed on a course toward Cuatro.” The old reptile marched to the elevator and banged the call button. “I’ll be in sick bay.”

Mr. Mills sat in front of a monitor with colorful images floating before him when Quixote came in. The man’s eyes looked up but his head didn’t move, then he looked back at his images.

“How is she?”

“No change. Fever, fluid in pericardium, thoracic cavity, hyper-swollen lymph nodes. I wouldn’t call it grave, but she’s critically ill.”

“That’s not what I wanted to hear.”