“Adrian,” Treoffa repeated. “Adrian, are you there?”
The four of them had been standing together, listening to Treoffa chanting the human’s name for what seemed far too long. Their expressions grew dimmer with every repetition – they knew that he had only so much air in that bag.
“Adrian,” Treoffa began again. “Adrian, are you-“
“For fucks sake, can’t a man suffocate in peace?” came the reply at last, although the speaker seemed far weaker than the human that had left them. “Doc, I don’t mind telling you that I’m buggered.”
The relief in the room was palpable. “We were getting worried,” Chir said. “You took longer than expected.”
“I forgot the door code,” Adrian explained. “God, it was getting harder and harder to breathe.”
“If you forgot the door code, you would not have been able to get into the Salvage ship,” said Treoffa, a question in her statement.
“About that,” Adrian said, “I’m afraid I’ve cut a big hole in your door with a future-sword I picked up.”
“You damaged my starship?!” Treoffa exploded angrily. “How do you intend for me to fix that? And where is my video feed?”
“Oh right,” Adrian said, and after a moment the video feed was restored to show the ruined features of the human’s face. Trickles of blood ran from bloodshot eyes, and cheeks showed swelling and bruising. He looked like he’d been on the receiving end of brutal violence, but he still managed a weak grin.
“Your face!” Trycrur exclaimed. “What happened to you?”
“It seems that a walk in hard vacuum doesn’t come cheaply,” Treoffa said curtly. “Even for a human.”
“I do feel like two pounds of shit in a one pound bag,” Adrian agreed. “Listen, I don’t think I’m up for another walk outside. Do we have any other options?”
“Are you feeling up to some computer work?” Treoffa asked.
Adrian grimaced. “It doesn’t sound like I’ll have a choice.”
Over the next three hours, while his condition worsened, Treoffa had stepped Adrian through the keystrokes and commands required to enable remote access. From then it was another hour of waiting and feeling sorry for himself before she had informed him that a Vacuum Suit had been configured for his own use, and another few minutes of trying to figure out her instructions to put it on.
He wasn’t feeling good at all, his body ached, his skin itched and his senses and mind were failing him with increasing severity. None of this pointed to a condition that was going to go away any time soon.
Hard vacuum. Zero pressure. Little wonder that he felt as though he had the Bends. His body now was stronger than it had ever been, and it still felt like several kinds of shit-house. Good thing he wasn’t still sporting the old model, or he’d almost certainly be dead – a fact that was good for his sense of humility if nothing else.
“Treoffa,” he said as he steadied himself by the broken airlock. He was ready as he could be to venture out there again, this time with air and suits for everyone. “Do you know how to treat decompression sickness?”
“Such a thing is not uncommon on planets,” she replied, “but we do not have the facilities to do so here.”
He paused, staring at the open flight deck. “Treoffa…” he began.
“I will have the others prepare a stasis pod for you until we can get you treated properly,” she said. “I can’t tell you how long that might be.”
He nodded to the camera, and then set out across the flight deck one more time.
+++++
On Treoffa’s orders, Trycrur and Zripob had rushed to ready one of the remaining three stasis pods, running through the brief systems checks as they pushed it on a hover lifter towards the airlock Adrian would return by.
They knew it was bad; the Corti had explained to them that there was no way she could know how dire his condition was, and that in any case all instances of Corti researchers exposing human test subjects to hard vacuum had never been experimental in nature. But Adrian had seemed to think his condition was bad, and that was all the information she needed to ready the only medical aid she could offer.
All together, the had waited outside of the airlock, counting down the moments before the pressure equalised, and rushing to help the forlorn human as best they could manage, easing him from his Vacuum suit and into the stasis pod.
Trycrur had been horrified to see he looked even worse in person than he had on the video feed. After his victory against a thousand or so Hunters, it had been difficult to imagine the human was even capable of dying. It wasn’t hard to imagine it anymore.
“Don’t worry,” she told him as he laid back into the pod. “We won’t let you die.”
“I know you won’t,” he said, smiling wanly as the pod closed.
+++++
Once she was alone, Treoffa breathed a sigh of relief, and allowed herself a moment to experience satisfaction. A thousand Hunters repelled, all of their equipment seized – and being inventoried by the others as she worked – and the human was in the stasis pod where he belonged.
Added to the fact that Bekmer was imprisoned, and the key to the Zhadersil and the resulting reward was nearly in her grasp alone, and it was hard to imagine a greater success.
The air for the flight deck would need to be recaptured, but with ten full troop ships at her disposal it would be easy to harvest the atmosphere of the planet below.
Besides the three remaining slave-soldiers, only one thing remained to be taken care of before her victory to be complete.
Something needed to happen to Bekmer.
65 Million Years Ago
“This is my last entry as Shiplord of the Zhadersil,” Xagh spoke into the recorder, watching the computer translate his voice into text record. “We have taken what we could of her and now leave her in high orbit of Affrag, under the care of our last Exterminator drone.”
He paused for effect, but the delay was not recorded by the software. He frowned at it, irritated that its transcription held none of his emphasis or pauses. It would all be transformed into dry words on a screen, devoid of any of the emotion he felt. It was a notable event for a Shiplord to abandon his vessel, and he couldn’t help but feel he was betraying some part of himself in doing so.
“The Zhadersil has served us well,” he continued, “but the time as come to make a new start. Time will tell whether we are successful or not, but one thing is certain – we will not be returning to the Zhadersil while I still live.”
He took a steadying breath. “To this end I am updating the biometric command profiles to use the entire homeworld genetic listing. Anyone with a recognised sequence will simply need to sit the command chair. I hope it may still serve you in your own time of need.”
There was a final pause, as he examined the ship from its interior senses, knowing that he had walked every corridor, understood every part of every system. The Zhadersil had been his to know – that was what it meant to be Shiplord.
“Xagh out.”