Night's Ocean

It was not the welcome she'd hoped for. Within ninety seconds of their transition past the installation, they were being hailed by two massive ships, each one almost a kilometer long. From scans, each appeared to be little more than a massive rail gun with a crew compartment and drive attached near the base—and later observation, what little of that they could do—proved them right. A commanding voice barked at them to identify themselves. That done, Essa waited for their response.

"Shut down your drives while we verify," said the voice.

Essa gave the order, though they were moving swiftly along, even on the coast. It took a quarter hour for the voice to verify. And by then they had already drifted well beyond the rail guns' effective range.

What were they doing there? Evidently they'd been positioned in anticipation of something arriving via the installation, though it wasn't clear whether they were there to keep ships away from it, or whether they were there to greet anything that might suddenly arrive through it. She was pondering these questions when the voice came again, ordering them to commence a braking burn and to prepare to be boarded. Essa gave the orders, and in another hour sensors had identified a launch that had deployed from one of the rail guns. Razia paged her, asking to speak on a closed channel, "Four ears only," she said, and once Essa had switched her over, she'd said, "I have something for you. Come below before the party starts, hm?"

They met on the science deck, Razia was climbing the ladder, laboring against the force of their braking burn. Essa dropped to the padded deck, and waited while the commando climbed up to her. Razia pulled herself up, nearly leaping off the ladder, as though it were nothing at all, to move from deck to deck under more than the force of Thessia's gravity.

"What couldn't you say to me over the interphone, commandant?"

"You need to listen. We're about to be boarded. They're going to come on in force, and it's very important that no one resist, or they may kill anyone who does." She paused for Essa to process what she'd said, but went on almost immediately. "They're going to be rough, force everyone away from their stations and probably tie us for transport. They will break things, destroy instrumentation, throw things around. It's going to be horrible, but it's standard procedure."

Essa shut her eyes. She'd been dreaming of coming home, and with that, all the safety that came with it. She wanted, above all, to feel solid ground underneath her feet, to feel the Parnitha's light on her skin, to walk out under the sky of Thessia, at sunset, at dawn, perhaps to throw herself into the sand on the Eolian coast. She wanted to visit Orie's mother, tell her how brave her daughter had been in the end. How she had kept everyone together, more than once, kept them sane, and above all, saved the entire mission by figuring out ways to keep everyone fed.

"Standard procedure?" Essa said. "They teach you to do this?"

"They do," Razia said. "Make a big show of aggression, scare everyone, and you have them submissive and under your control from the beginning. It's effective, but you don't have to like it. I never cared for it myself." She watched Essa carefully. "You'd best prepare the crew for what's coming."

Essa moved to the interphone and pinged the entire ship. "All hands, all hands. Come to the crew deck and prepare to be boarded. Do not resist the marines when they come through the airlock. That is all."

Her personal comm rang and she answered. It was the flight deck. "Captain, we've been ordered to cut thrust."

"Understood. I'm returning to the flight deck now."

A moment later there was a whistle and the navigator called out, "All hands, all hands, prepare for microgravity." Essa and Razia both grabbed handholds by the hatch to the telescope array, and then force holding them to the deck stopped. The rebound from the soft padding was enough to push Essa toward the ceiling, albeit slowly. She used the push to maneuver toward the companionway, but Razia called her back.

"Hang on," she said, and grabbing Essa's left hand, pulled her into an embrace. "Whatever happens," she said. It seemed like she was going to say something more, but her eyes looked wet. "This ordeal is not over," she said. "Not by a long shot." And with that, she patted Essa on the back, and let her go. It wasn't until she was back in her seat on the command deck that she realized that Razia had tucked something under the cuff of her rolled up uniform sleeve—a data disk, no bigger than her thumbnail. No time now to wonder about what was on it, and instead, Essa merely slid the device into her pocket and strapped into the commander's chair.

"Flight crew," she said.

"Captain!" they answered as one.

"You are dismissed to the crew deck as well," she said. "Do not resist the boarding party," she said.

They nodded that they understood, and hurried below as the launch carrying the boarding party circled them once, and then again. Essa sat on the quiet bridge, monitoring the ship's systems, all of which were behaving within operational norms. If one didn't consider that they were almost out of fuel, and that the ship's frame groaned and cracked and popped whenever they began a burn. She aimed the ship's navigational telescope at Thessia, which from here was little more than a handful of pixels on her screen, and then at Tevura, which loomed as big as a coin through the viewport.

For several minutes, the ship was quiet, almost contemplative. Essa tapped the thrusters to keep them from falling into a slow rotation as the marines made their final approach. But otherwise, she might have believed herself the only person aboard, the final survivor of this cursed mission. And now she was coming back with the news that they were not alone in the universe, or at least that at one time they hadn't been. That once there had been a galaxy spanning civilization and something had come along to wipe them out.

And then, there was that ship. She scanned through the old sensor data, where the navigator and sensors operator had been working to piece together trajectories for the ship, along with visual scans. At first there hadn't been much to go on, but over the months and years, they'd found it, nearly a dozen times circling, as though watching them from a distance, both before and after Nerai had been left adrift. It had to have been the same ship. There couldn't be more like it.

Except that after nearly four years in the light of other stars, it was dawning on her that just about anything was possible.

Essa thought of Neela, whose ashes they had scattered on that far away planet. She'd made it nearly all the way. It had scarcely been six months since she'd been killed. Essa thought of Nerai, who—she hoped—was going to take care of the rest of the crew they had marooned on that far away planet, until she could return to get them. Would they survive?

Would she?

The boarding party arrived with a horrible crash against the outer airlock that shook the ship, and sent them into a slow, but perceptible spin. Moments later she heard the marines in the airlock, their voices loud, coming over loudspeakers mounted to their suits. Hands! They were shouting, Show us your hands! There was a loud bang, not a gunshot, possible a stun device, or a shock stick, a scream, and the sounds of a commotion, rising up from below that slowly subsided. A voice shouted orders, and there was a moment of tension as she waited for their next move.

Essa sat quietly in her seat, kept her hands off the controls, and waited for them to come for her. They did, soon enough, three of them, wearing jet black EVA suits dressed in hard-shell composite armor, all of them armed with carbine-style weapons, and shouting for Essa to show her hands, and to stay away from the controls. She suspected she could have pinned the marines to the far bulkhead, or against the control panel by using the maneuvering thrusters to put the ship in an uncontrolled spin. But that would just mean death for her and everyone onboard once the rail guns were warmed up and ready to fire. So she held up her hands, easy to do in zero gravity, and switched off the panel, when she was instructed to do so.

The marines unclipped her harness and tied her up. And soon enough she was buckled to the floor of their boarding shuttle as their attackers made preparations to leave. Shifting this way and that, Essa tried to keep count of the crew coming in as the marines constantly moved in and out, hauling gear, or another body. Someone was moaning that she couldn't see, and Essa thought that at least one of the science team was missing, but she couldn't be certain. She thought about ordering everyone to sound off, but before she could, something pricked against her neck and the world blacked out.

#

She woke in an isolation room, narrow, padded, white, with pinholes in two corners that likely were observation cameras. Wherever she was, she was not under acceleration, a small blessing that made the compartment she was in feel bigger than it would have been under thrust. She languished there, a day, perhaps more. At intervals, a food pouch appeared in a slot by what may have been a door. At others, a mechanical voice asked her to present her forearm for blood and tissue samples.

That went on for a while. Another two days, or maybe three. Essa waited and watched. The lights in her isolation cell sometimes dimmed, giving her enough peace to sleep. She waited for that to happen again, but before they did, she heard a voice.

"Identify yourself, please." It had an odd sound, until Essa realized that it was a composite voice, comprised of several recordings made at once. She said her name, and then demanded to know where she was.

The voice ignored her, but pressed on, saying, "Identify your ship."

Essa did as instructed, and there was a long pause before the voice answered, "The Nixia was reported missing four years ago. In Jennur of last year, it was declared lost with all hands."

"I guarantee you it was not," Essa said. The voice went away for a long time. When it came back, it asked about various mundane things. The Nixia's dry and loaded mass, its specific acceleration at full thrust, and how long it could accelerate before burning through its fuel reserves. What was the escape velocity from the surface of Thessia, from low orbit, to escape Parnitha entirely. What was the maximum power load of the ship's BT-173 reactor. How many fuel pellets did the ship carry, and how long could they be reasonably expected to provide power? Essa answered dutifully.

More questions followed. How was it that the BT-177 reactor—173 Essa corrected—continued generating power beyond its rated overhaul period of two years? Essa explained that the reactor hadn't been under full load for most of that time. They had conserved fuel whenever they could, and the ship had been parked in orbit and left with minimal crew for months at a time.

Parked in orbit where? Where had the rest of the crew been? The Nixia, the voice insisted, did not carry any gear for extended planetary EVA. Essa explained, dutifully at first, then growing more exasperated—and asked the voice to check the Nixia's navigational logs.

The voice started again, different questions, or the same ones but in different order. Tell us about the reactor.

Over the next few hours, they began adding in others. Essa's crew, the ones who had been on the ship but are presently unaccounted for. She chronicled everything dutifully. Captain Tenneya, killed during an unplanned acceleration when the commandos had briefly taken control of the ship. The science officer who had cut her own throat inside her sleep sack. Neela, the two commandos and three scientists who had all been killed in one night on the planet they had given a number, but not a name. The other crew that they had had to leave behind, for the sake of saving some part of the mission. Essa restrained the panic she felt, the desire she felt to pound on the walls and scream that they had to go back.

These conversations were punctuated by the voice cutting in, asking Essa who she really was, where she'd been, and what she was playing at, claiming to be someone who had been missing for four years, and legally dead for nearly two.

"By now you've checked my identity," Essa said. "You'll know I am who I say."

The voice waited, then said, "And you know that this is not possible."

"It is," Essa said. "I'm here for you to ask me what happened."

The questions came again. Who was she. What was the operational lifecycle of the BT-173 reactor, and how much fuel did it carry. How much fuel could the Nixia carry in its primary tanks. Who had dismantled and reconfigured the FTL probe. Why had its data core been wiped? Those last questions Essa couldn't answer.

"Progress," the voice said. "Are you aware that someone destroyed the guidance console attached to the probe?"

"No," Essa said. "I was on the command deck during the boarding action."

There were more questions, but none of consequence. When voice went away, Essa moved over to the narrow shelf that served as her bed and pulled the straps tight around her so she could rest. As she did, something in her pocket jabbed against her skin. She pretended to adjust the straps as she felt around in her breast pocket. There it was, not in the pocket, but wedged into a space in the lining, the bottom of the pocket having worn through in a place. Either the marines hadn't been searching the crew for anything but objects that could be used as weapons, or they hadn't been careful. Essa left the disk where it was, and tried to sleep.

When she woke, one of the padded panels to her little cell was open, and the ship was under acceleration strong enough that she could stand. She stepped toward the open panel. From the corridor, there was dim light, and beyond, the sound of voices. Essa instinctively went toward them, finding herself at the end of a circular corridor that bent away in both directions. There were hatches across the corridor from her. This was not a crew deck with cabins for crew—asari generally didn't like to be alone anyhow—but it was a purpose-built ship, maybe a floating prison. The decking was made of a soft material that cradled her feet as she walked.

About ten meters on, she came to a junction with a corridor that ran straight to the left, a kind of diameter to the circle whose circumference she was now following. She went left toward where the light was brightest and the sound of voices loudest. There she found a communal area where a few of the science team and commandos were seated around a cluster of tables. Perhaps a galley or mess hall of some kind. The commandos and science team noticed her, gave a brief nod and went back to their conversations.

Razia emerged from behind her, a pouch of food in each hand, and taking Essa by the arm, led her to a seat at the one unoccupied table.

Essa looked around, taking in the scene. The interior was utilitarian. The decking was soft to the touch, and the chairs were comfortably padded, as were the bulkheads. Pipes and power conduits ran along the ceiling inside insulated tubes. On the far wall was a monitor showing what looked like sensor data and ship information. The ship's name was Night's Ocean.

"Here," Razia said handing over the pouch. Essa sucked at the tube—it was good, hot, and spicy, protein and carbohydrates flavored to taste like Armali dumpling soup. Such a change, from the long years eating alien berries and what little meat they could gather. Even the food she'd been given in the cell had been nutritive paste, bland as uncooked flour. The flavors of Armali brought her back home, and for a moment, Essa couldn't stop herself from letting out a sob. When she'd finished wiping her eyes, Razia said, "It looks like they're done asking questions for a while."

"Is that live sensor data?" Essa said. Razia nodded. "It looks like we're on our way to High Rock," she said. You can tell by where the planets are positioned. It's in orbital resonance with Janiri, so we must be on a braking burn."

"Glad to see you back in your element," Razia said.

"You got the same treatment in the cells?"

"So far everyone has."

"We're missing a few," Essa said. "From your team as well, it seems."

Razia nodded. "From what I can tell, they split us up between two separate ships, but no one is telling us anything."

"Have you seen the crew?"

"No. We're isolated on this deck. No one's come on or off, at least not since the cells opened."

"And the Nixia?"

Razia looked at the table.

"Tell me," Essa said, and took hold of her arm.

"We don't know for sure. But Liss said the marines who came aboard had remote-operated navigational gear. It's likely they scuttled the Nixia by crashing it into Tevura." She took hold of Essa's arm. Razia had her sleeves rolled up and the coil burn scar on her arm was prominent in the warm light of the galley. "Listen, from what we can piece together, we're all dead. As far as anyone knows, you and I and everyone else in this compartment died in a collision with the FTL probe, or whatever story they've been circulating back home. Chances are, they're trying to figure out what they want to do with us. The fact that they haven't put us all out the airlock already is a good sign, but it doesn't mean they're not going to kill us later, or that they're ever going to let us go."

Essa sucked more soup fro her pouch. "I guess it makes sense. No one wants news of a galaxy-wide alien civilization getting out, especially one that's long gone. At least without first being able to control the story."

"That's pretty well it," Razia said. "I hope you weren't expecting a hero's welcome. Or even the chance to see your family again."

Essa shook her head. "It was just me and my mother. She died in an accident while I was still at the academy."

"A lot of stories like that on board the Nixia," Razia said.

"Except for Orie," Essa said. "She had people. I'd like to get the chance to speak to her mother."

"You may yet, but we need to get out of this first."

"So what do we do?"

Razia lowered her voice. "We have to be careful," she said. "I'm sure they're monitoring us now. Our conversations, our movements, our body language, any biotic activity." Essa nodded. "We need to behave. If we give them reason to, they will kill us—not just you, or me, but everyone in this room."

Essa felt her pocket. The little data tab was still there. Razia saw what she was doing, and smiled.

"Bunch of fucking amateurs," she said. "We're lucky. How much time until we're at High Rock do you think?"

"Depends on what this ship can do, but likely no more than a day or two. We'll probably drift and burn a few more times before we dock, but looking at where the other planets are, I'd say we're close."

"Good," she said. "At least we'll know soon what they're going to do with us. Chances are we'll be separated again once we're on solid ground. We need to figure out a way to get back together or at least to stay in contact. That thing I gave you needs airing. That's our best way out of this."

Essa nodded. "It's probably our only way out," she said.