Surviving The Theseus (7 page)

Blair rolled his eyes. “We stay low, hide
out, and wait for a rescue. We don’t even know if anyone has been
killed.”

Rachel raised her eyebrows at Blair. Regina
saw contempt in those eyes.

“No,” Regina said. “We don’t know what we’re
dealing with. For all we know, a rescue team already came on board
and was wiped out. We move. Now.”

Regina pointed her gun at Blair’s head.

“What, are you gonna shoot me for wanting to
live?”

“No, I’m going to shoot you because I don’t
trust you, and I’d rather you were dead than come sneaking up
behind me.”

Blair exhaled heavily. “I’m starting to
wonder if you’re worse than what’s out there waiting for us.”

“Come on Blair,” Rachel said. “I’m going, and
you aren’t going to leave your honey now, are you?”

Regina almost laughed out loud, but held her
tongue.

“Wha -- no, no I’m not. Fine. Let’s just get
it over with. Statistically, you know, men are better logical
thinkers, but if you want to chance --”

Rachel rolled her eyes.

Regina cocked her head slightly. “And I
suppose this information was gathered by men?”

“Never mind. Just something I read.”

“Well,” Regina said, “not such a bright thing
to say among two women. I’m guessing your nose was broken quite a
few years ago. Is that so?”

Blair started getting shifty. “Yeah. So?”

Regina locked eyes with Blair’s, or tried to,
as he could not maintain contact. “Well, I’m guessing you could
have easily had that fixed, but chose not to because you think it
looks tough.”

Blair’s gaze found the floor now, not even an
attempt at eye contact anymore. “Whatever. You don’t know what
you’re talking about. I have a deviated nasal septum, and it’s
inoperable.”

“Bullshit. I know a broken nose when I see
one, and just so you know: it looks stupid. Get it fixed, Mr.
Logical.”

Blair mumbled something under his breath, but
Regina couldn’t make it out. She let it go.

Pointing her gun back at them again, Regina
said, “You two lead the way.” She dropped her gun arm again, as
they all started moving, Rachel and Blair six feet in front of
Regina.

They made their way out of the cottage.

“Keep in the trees,” Regina said, “until we
get to the front of the ship, and we’ll take a stairwell all the
way down to the Control Room level.”

Blair and Rachel turned to the left as soon
as they got down the cottage stairs and then into the trees, not
saying a word.

Blair glanced back at Regina.

“And no looking back. Eyes forward at all
times, and listen for any sound not us.”

Blair turned back without a word.

They walked in silence, an occasional branch
snapping from Rachel or Blair, but otherwise no other sounds than a
warm breeze softly caressing the tops of the trees.

Regina followed the couple at a safe
distance, watching the ground and them at the same time. She knew
they were lying, but couldn’t understand it, unless they were part
of what was going on. She had to find out. From inside Regina’s
trench coat, she brought out a pair of glasses and put them on.

Regina waited for the whispering she knew
would come.

The sensitive microphone on Regina’s glasses
picked up a whistling noise from Blair’s nose as he breathed and
their amplified footsteps, but that was all, so far.

They continued on.

Blair nearly walked into the wall when they
got to the end of the level. Not because he wasn’t paying
attention, but because the holographic wall made it look like the
forest continued on, matching light and shadows of the real
forest.

“Jesus,” Blair said as he stopped himself
just in time.

Rachel smiled.

“Oh, and I suppose you knew it was a wall,”
Blair said.

“That I did,” Rachel said.

“They shouldn’t do that. I bet people have
bashed into that thing before.”

“It’s padded,” Rachel said.

Blair reached out and touched it, and sure
enough his hand sunk into it like a pillow. “I’ll be damned. Still,
they should put a fence up or something.”

“That’s enough talking,” Regina said.
“Everyone out of the trees, and we’ll take that --“

Regina pointed out of the trees to a
plain-looking door.

“-- stairwell.”

Blair looked at Regina’s face. “Where’d those
glasses come from? You weren’t wearing them before.”

“I found them on the ground and thought I
would try them out, and wouldn’t you know it, I can see better than
before. Get going.”

“You don’t have to be sarcastic.”

Rachel took the lead, followed by Blair, and
then Regina.

In the stairwell, across from the door they
just came through, there was another door with a sign reading:
Pyramid Staff Only.

Blair tried the door and it was locked.

They all stared down the most massive
staircase Regina had ever seen.

“Does this run --“ Blair started.

“Yep, I think it runs straight down to the
lowest level on the ship,” Rachel said.

There were no flights of stairs, only one
long flight from top to bottom, broken only by small platforms for
each level.

“What if you fall?” Blair said.

“Eric --“ Rachel started, and then looked at
Regina. “-- that’s a friend of ours who worked maintenance on the
shuttles here -- told me he got cranked up on some uppers one
night, after making a bet with a buddy of his that he could walk
the whole staircase without falling.” Rachel laughed. “He didn’t
even get down to the next level. He fell down and cracked his right
knee, but not before a shield shot up and stopped him from falling
any further.”

Blair smiled. “That’s awesome. He never told
me that.”

Regina looked down and could see a thin
opening at the end of each step, where the shield must come up. She
guessed they would probably not be able to run down the stairs
without triggering it.

“Let’s get going,” Regina said. “And no
talking. Move quickly, but don’t run. If anything happens, duck
down, unless you want your head shot off.”

Cindy piloted the SPARS ship. Michael rode
shotgun. Cindy steered the ship closely along the matchstick
markers. She had no doubt they would run into Pyramid One, stalled
along the markers. Michael never bitched to her about anything, but
she knew he thought the same thing: why didn’t the nearest gate
patrol go check it out? Cindy figured it came down to some
political crap, someone going above an inferior to tout their
power, scoffing at the notion of gate patrol checking it out. Leave
it to better trained, and she had no problem saying it, well
respected and higher profile military division. She had never been
prouder, her involvement with the SPARS, even if politicians stuck
their noses where they didn’t belong.

Michael studied his wrist device in silence,
always the prepared one. She rubbed her shaved head, liking the
feel of the stubble, thinking a shave would be in order soon to
keep it down where she liked it.

Cindy put the ship on autopilot to the last
known location of Pyramid One and looked at her wrist device, much
like a small handheld tablet, crystal clear glass, a black strap
keeping it on her wrist. At four inches by six inches wide, it
suited all their purposes as a very handy device. She pressed her
index finger on the screen and it came to life. Cindy brought up
information on Pyramid One, but her mind wandered only seconds into
looking at a detailed map of the shuttle bay level.

It happened for her over a year ago, out of
high school for three years at that time, cheated on by her high
school sweetheart, and full of piss and vinegar. All it took was
one night out with her friends.

“C’mon Cinz, just one more,” her friend Amy
kept saying as they hopped from one bar to another, all of them
dressed to tease and no intention to please.

“Did you see that guy’s face?” Cindy said,
Cinz to her friends. “I totally flashed him when I bent over and my
skirt hiked up.”

Her friend Amy, short, but taller by a couple
of inches than Cindy, said, “You’re such a dirty slut.” She
couldn’t keep a straight face when she said it.

They all laughed.

Jenna, who towered over both Amy and Cindy,
snorted while she laughed.

All of them were to the point of slurring
words and no holds barred behavior, with many a tit flash whenever
a guy hooted or hollered. Or a middle finger, if the guy acted like
a pig. Cindy cringed when she thought back to her behavior, how
juvenile it all was, but wasn’t that how every young person acted?
All the ones she knew, anyway. Probably still to this day. She cut
off all ties with them after the incident.

They covered six bars that night, getting
guys to buy their drinks, flirting, and then buggering off after
getting several offers of sexual adventures they were told they
never experienced before, making them laugh.

And then it happened. Cindy went off to the
bathroom, opened the door to a stall, a twenty-five year old punk
waiting for her or some girl, probably any girl would have done. It
was just her bad luck. That’s what she thought at the time, but
now, in a way, she was glad it happened. He pulled her into the
stall and closed the door, pushing her against it. He tore at her
tank top, pulling it down over her breasts, braless. She tried to
scream, but he held a cloth over her mouth with one hand as he
moved a muscular arm around her waist, trying to hike her skirt up
in a horny frenzy and then going up and rubbing her breasts, and
then back down to her skirt. His breath raced in and out, heavy
with booze and greasy food.

“Where are you, my bitch,” came Amy’s voice,
just outside the doorway to the bathroom.

He stopped, pushing the cloth harder against
her mouth, her eyes watered.

With his other feely-grabby hand relaxed, she
took the opportunity to elbow him hard in the face, and ripped the
door open.

“Amy! That fucker just tried to rape me!” And
that was that. Amy screamed bloody murder and friends came running,
dragged the guy out of the stall and beat him near to death, which
Cindy had no problem with. They left his body in an alley. Whether
he lived or died, she had no idea, and couldn’t care less.

Cindy decided she would never be a victim
again, signed up for the SPARS Academy the next day, shaved her
long, brown hair off, and never wore a skirt again.

A total spontaneous decision, but she never
regretted it.

She loved her job and respected Michael a
great deal. Everyone always wondered how Michael got so high up in
the ranks at such a young age, but she knew why. He never stopped
working. She couldn’t remember, in the short time she had been a
SPARS member, a time when he wasn’t working.

*****

The others sat in the holding area, a cramped
space with eight seats, four on each side of the ship in single
file.

Brett could see, out of the corner of his
eye, Mary staring at the control device on her wrist, probably
memorizing every conceivable detail about Pyramid. She sat in the
front left seat, Brett to her right.

Brett feigned studying about Pyramid, staring
at his wrist device, but his attention was focused on a story
Travis was telling.

“So, tell me Brett,” Mary said, “how many
levels are there on Pyramid?”

Brett was ready for this. “Twelve.”

Mary raised her eyebrows. “Okay, that was an
easy one. What is the top level of the ship?”

“The Observation Level.” He gritted his
teeth, eyes narrowed, trying to fight back images of beating her
face to a pulp. He took a deep breath.

“Why don’t you tell me all the levels,
starting with the bottom one.”

With a forced smile on his face, Brett said,
“Shuttle bay, engineering, crew’s quarters, four levels of
passenger rooms, casino/restaurants/shops level, two sports and
leisure levels, an amusement level with more shopping and
restaurants, and the observation level.” Brett sensed Mary’s face
contorting in defeat.

Mary composed herself, back to her usual
expressionless demeanor, or maybe it had been there the whole time.
He didn’t care. “Where is the control room located?” Mary asked
him.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! pulsed over and over again
in his mind. Distracted by Travis. “Ummmm . . . on the crew’s
quarters level.”

“Well, I guess you have some more studying to
do. So get to it and never you mind what sordid tales Travis is
creating.”

Brett scowled at her, looked longingly to his
left where Travis started another story, and then back at the
control device on his wrist. But now he knew he had some time. Just
a little longer. One more story.

Travis sat in the same column of seats as
Mary, two seats back. George sat in front of Travis, facing
forward, studying his control device. Paula and John sat across
from Travis, facing him as he spoke, both with a smile on their
faces. Brett caught all of this when he turned his head left.
Neither John nor Paula smoked, because no one but them would
tolerate it. Brett tried it once, for a couple weeks, but couldn’t
find the thrill in it. He guessed he didn’t have an addictive
personality, finding smoking a disgusting habit that he would never
understand. But, what he would do is keep it to himself. He learned
early on you don’t talk a smoker out of smoking, without them
turning into fire breathing dragons.

“There was this other woman,” Travis said,
“you wouldn’t believe.”

“With you,” Paula said, “I’d believe just
about anything.” Brett would have liked to believe anything was
possible with Paula, but she liked older guys, and he didn’t think
he could handle dating a smoker. Still staring down at his wrist
device, he pictured her giving her head a little shake and blowing
her silky, shoulder length, dark hair out of her face as she set in
to listen to Travis. On second thought, he figured sex would not be
out of the question, not by his standards, even if she smoked.