Beams of Bethall

Beams of Bethall
By Clint Hall

There was only one way Wes could save his son -- or so the rumours would have him believe. He had to believe that all he had done was going to pay off, because by now his accounts were near empty and he had called in every favour he had in the universe. And then there was the shape-shifting pendant. Was it proof that these rumours might have more credibility than he first thought?

Wes watched the pendant transform around his young son’s neck, mesmerized by the prospects it offered. Its existence could mean his boy’s life can be saved from a disease that ate his mind and paralyzed his body. His blue eyes were drained of his vivacious life and his lips were forever parted, as if he was about to say something, or call out for someone. Maybe he would call for him, or maybe for his dead mother. That thought was too much for Wes and he turned away from his son, trying to wince away the image of his wife suffering in this same manner, months earlier. She suffered, but he had survived with not even a sniffle. Now he was surviving again just to watch the last of his family fade away.

His instincts brought him back. His wince vanished immediately, his eyes popped open with the hope that his son had moved, or stirred in the slightest, but Tristan was still locked in his internal battle with the alien disease. His son never moved on that gurney. Wes had wheeled it halfway around the galaxy, it seemed, before he finally found this woman’s transport ship to take him to the star system of Tristan’s salvation – Bethall.
The woman, Lindsay, was a strange and angry transporter who he had found smoking a handmade cigarette in a bathroom at the orbital lounge Spinners over Centauri Colony.

She didn’t welcome him warmly into the Ladies’ Room.

Wes knew she was the best one to talk to about deep space transports, and time was not on his side, so he would approach her where ever he could find her. He could never tell her the true nature of the disease that inhabited his son, nor the . . . ‘legal’ problems he was currently having with the Terran Security Agency. Those consequences could be dealt with after his son was safe. Pleading his case wouldn’t do any good, as this was a last chance effort that more-or-less involved what they would probably refer to as ‘magic’, or ‘alien propaganda’.
His focus withdrew from his son as he felt Lindsay’s suspicious glare digging into his back. She was strange, but she wasn’t stupid and there were enough clues around to lead her to the truth.

“Border crossing needs a bribe,” she called from the corridor. The low flickering lights outside the medical bay cast shadows in her eye sockets and created a thin finger running down her chin, which started from her burning cigarette. Her dishevelled red hair was tied into a messy ponytail and her clothes looked ready to fall apart. She looked like death come to take his son.

Wes gave her his credit number, briefly concerned that it may no longer work, and turned back to gently lift his son’s damp hair away from his pale forehead. Wes inhaled deeply with shuddering chest and almost cried on his exhale. Even his hard military demeanour couldn’t stifle the incredible emotional tear that was splitting his tough exterior.

He could endure when forced to watch the Dolktra kill dozens of his friends and colleagues within inches of his personal space, but when it came to microscopic organisms chewing on his son . . . he was brought to hysterics. At least the Dolktra could be fought. When they killed one human, he could retaliate and kill five. This invisible enemy couldn’t be retaliated against, couldn’t feel pain, couldn’t be shot into dust.

On instinct, he turned around again. Lindsay was back near the doorway. Or had she ever left? He wasn’t sure.
“Is there something else?” he asked.

Lindsay was a step inside the medical bay this time, her eyes illuminated and staring into his, almost as if she was searching him for something – most likely the truth. Wes knew that the truth might hurt his son’s chances of getting to Bethall, so he must try everything in his power to keep her from the full truth.

“What was the disease you said your son had?”

“Atkinson’s,” he said, without hesitation. She was testing his story and his memory.

“What’s that pendant around his neck?”

Wes looked back to his son, trying to buy a few precious moments as his mind brewed lies. The pendant gracefully melted into a different shape again.

“It’s a good luck charm.”

That wasn’t necessarily a lie.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. Must be valuable.”

Wes tried to read her face, thought about his response, hesitated. Why make a comment like that? Was she deciding whether or not to steal it? “Not really,” he said, trying not to sound panicky. “An heirloom from my great uncle. I think it’s from the seas of Europa. Millions of them floating around out there.” The pendant could burst his whole bubble of lies if he wasn’t careful.

She gave a dubious nod and left without saying a word.

This rouse wasn’t working, he could tell. Wes’ military brain began concocting scenarios of seizing the ship and subduing his host. He would need her for a few more tasks when they entered the more hostile Dolktra territory, but he wondered how he was going to pilot this ship after that. This heap was much more complicated and lumbering than the small battlepods he occasionally flew in the Dolktra war.

The door to the medical bay abruptly slammed shut, the squeak of the outer lock quickly followed. Lindsay’s face popped into view through the small porthole, looking like death again. She watched Wes very carefully, as if she had just read his mind’s scenarios about taking over the ship.

Wes jumped up and leapt at the locked door. He slammed his fists on it, his face inches away from Lindsay’s, his rage separated from her by only a thin pane of glass.

“What are you doing?” he shouted.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” She scowled at him. “Your kid doesn’t have Atkinson’s! That’s Pryzkald sickness. My sister died from it – I know the symptoms. Atkinson’s looks similar, sure, but I’m no idiot.”

“So what do you plan on doing? I gave you your money. All we want is to get to Bethall!” He looked back at his boy. Did his son move? -- he thought to himself. No, that wasn’t possible. Every time he looked over at him he imagined he had just missed a twitch, or a smile, but there was nothing. He will move when they get to Bethall – if they get to Bethall.

“Look,” he continued, “if your sister had Pryzkald sickness and you survived, that means you are immune.”
“No one knows how it’s transmitted.” She took a moment to search her pockets for a handmade cigarette and a light. She looked a little shaky. She found her smoke, placed it between her lips, struck a match against the bay door, and puffed. “For all I know I have an hour before I turn into a drooling vegetable -- like your kid.” She pressed her finger against the porthole window, cigarette dangling between her index and middle fingers, to point at Tristan. She was damnably callous.

Wes punched the door, then frowned as a thought occurred to him. “Why did you lock us in here? Are you taking us back to Centauri?”

Lindsay took a drag from her poorly rolled cigarette. “You know, there isn’t a medical bay on my ship. You are in a receiving bay.” She pointed to the bay door behind Tristan’s gurney. “That door leads to vacuum. This button,” she said looking down, to the right, and placing her hand over it, “gets rid of you in a hurry. I’ve seen what that disease can do first-hand and I don’t need it happening to me.”

Wes watched her face intently, hoping she was bluffing. Her eyes burned with authority and were hard enough to cut glass. It didn’t look like she was bluffing. He looked around the receiving bay and saw large metal and plastic containers, but nothing more than a few wall-mounted first aid kits. It wasn’t a bluff.

“Wait! Wait.” Wes looked back at her, breathing heavy, his face losing colour. “I need your help – my son needs your help. If we get to Bethall there is a chance that I can save him. If there was a way you could’ve saved your sister, wouldn’t you have tried?”

Lindsay’s hand didn’t move away from the button, her eyes stared at her decision. She looked up at him again. “You’re military. My mother was military and she was the reason my sister got it. If I dump the two of you, I stop his suffering and get rid of a disease spreading war-monger.”

“You think I wanted to bring this disease back to my son? My wife got infected, too, you know? Tristan is the only person in the universe I have left. I need to try. I need to know I have a chance to make this right.”

Lindsay didn’t move, didn’t say anything, didn’t even puff on her cigarette.

Wes searched her face. Was he getting through to her? He had to try something else.

“The pendant!” Maybe some honesty would earn him something, he thought.

Lindsay looked startled at his yell.

“The pendant is from the debris cloud encircling Bethall.” Wes looked into her eyes, and noticed her hand move slightly away from the button. “Tristan should’ve died weeks ago, but when I gave him the pendant he stabilized.
“What if I’m right?” he continued, looking at her desperately and placing his hands on the sides of the porthole glass. “What if I can save him? What if we can save him? Aren’t you at all curious?”

Lindsay walked away from the porthole. Wes started pounding on the door again, yelling at the top of his lungs. He couldn’t let it end this way, not after everything he had done and all the sacrifices he had made. All that he had accomplished could all be blown out into space in this moment.

Lindsay returned to the door, armed with a Burner pistol. She pressed the door’s release mechanism, stepped back, and allowed Wes to cautiously open the heavy door. They stood in front of each other, not saying anything. Lindsay, puffing heavily on her cigarette, had her gun pointed at Wes’ chest. Beads of sweat rolled down her messy hairline.

“I don’t know the location of Bethall,” Lindsay confessed. “We’re going to be stumbling around hostile alien territory without a map.”

“What?” Wes was incredulous. One of the first questions he had asked her in the bathroom on Spinners was if she knew the location of Bethall.

“I used to transport missionaries to the outer Dolktra colonies where the Dolktra were beaten and open to influence, but I’ve never been farther than Hrapaq.” She paused and looked away in shame. “I hadn’t had a job in months and you were paying a lot.”

“Yeah! Because I thought you were the only one who could get me to Bethall!”

“I still can! There are rumours of its location. And why don’t you know the location?” She scowled at him and waved her gun around in frustration. “How could you get that pendant without the location?”

As if the ship’s proximity alarm wanted to answer her question, it started beeping from the control room, twenty feet away. Lindsay looked back into the diamond-shaped layout of the control room where the noise had come, and lowered her Burner. Wes noticed the lowering right away and realized how easy it would be to disarm her and take control of the vessel, but it seemed like he had made progress in convincing her to help. She probably wouldn’t have lowered the gun if she wasn’t starting to trust him. If she found out how he had got the pendant, though, he might lose whatever trust he had earned. She turned back to look at him, Burner still lowered. The opportunity had passed; he didn’t take her gun.

Lindsay moved to the computer terminal mounted to the bulkhead of the port bow; Wes followed closely. She hit a few buttons and put the Burner down close to some switches and dials and flashing lights. Wes wondered about the purposes of the switches and dials and lights. This was an old ship. He again questioned his ability to operate it. His military brain kept bringing his focus back to the unattended gun and how easy it would be to take control.

“It’s the T.S.A.,” Lindsay said, pushing her cigarette butt into a wall-mounted refuse box, which was probably home for hundreds more butts. “They’re on an intercept course. I don’t know why. I don’t think my missionary tags are expired yet.”

Wes’ eyes went wide and perspiration percolated on his forehead. The Terran Security Agency had finally caught up with him. He looked at the Burner again, but it was too late – Lindsay picked it up, all the while staring straight into his eyes. She must have seen him staring at the weapon.

The radio beeped to life and a deep voice came through the speakers: “This is Captain Tyrell of T.S.A. 1-1-8-2. Please respond.”

She pressed a button on another control panel. “This is Captain Lindsay Davis of the missionary freighter Gemini. What do you want, Tyrell?” The Burner was pointed at Wes again.

“We are in search of a fugitive from the Centauri Colonies. He goes by the name Wes Carrington. He is accompanied by his dying son.” Pause. “My probes show you have three lifesigns onboard. Please identify your crew.”

Wes looked at her desperately. What was she going to do? She could end her troubles by admitting that they were on board. The Burner in her hand didn’t move, her eyes didn’t blink – she didn’t even look like she was breathing. Lindsay just stared blankly into Wes’ eyes. It looked like she was waiting for Wes to say something. Maybe telling her the truth about this last puzzle piece would earn him some sympathy. Or maybe she wouldn’t understand and would cooperate with Captain Tyrell instead of helping Tristan.

The radio beeped again. “Captain Davis, do you copy that request?”

She moved her hand toward the transmit button.

“I stole it,” Wes said, taking the chance. The words sounded strange when they came out of his mouth, so he cleared his throat to continue, and when he did, he spoke fast: “I stole the pendant from a T.S.A. research lab in Starlight City, on Centauri Prime. I have a friend who works security there and he told me he heard the pendant was from Bethall and it had strange healing properties. I stole his clearance card, let myself in and took the pendant.

“Please don’t turn me in,” he added. “I’ve been through so much to get to this point . . . it has to be worth something.” He held his breath and waited for her to speak.

Lindsay pressed the transmit button, leaned toward the radio, but didn’t talk right away. “I’m transporting a doctor and a missionary to Hrapaq.”

It was Captain Tyrell’s turn to pause.

The radio beeped. “Prepare to be boarded.”

Wes shifted his sight from the speaker to Lindsay, who looked deep in thought. Was she going to change her story and give them up, or run away, or stay and fight? A thousand scenarios flashed through his military brain as he prepared himself for battle. No matter what her decision was – he would be ready to fight.
She began busily typing into a small terminal with a small screen, mounted on top of the communications terminal that looked like it wasn’t a part of the ship’s natural assortment of buttons, touchpads, dials, switches, display screens and flashing bulbs. When she was finished typing she looked at Wes desperately.

“I’ve done something like this before . . . but it didn’t result in gunfire.”

Wes shifted his weight, now more ready to fight. He didn’t know what to ask her, though. Those words were very cryptic and could have any number of meanings. At first he wanted to know if she was going to start firing that Burner pistol at anyone who walked through the airlock, but then he decided she must be referring to some sort of weaponry mounted to her ship. That didn’t make much sense, though, as a missionary transport loaded with firearms flying across the Dolktra border would be stripped and turned around, whether Wes was bribing them or not.

He remained silent.

The radio didn’t, however: “We are deploying our docking umbilical,” said Tyrell. “Prepare to receive.”

The expression on Lindsay’s face was dead and emotionless, but somehow simmering with anticipation. After a very long moment, she pressed a few buttons to receive her unwelcome guests.

Was she helping Wes and Tristan? Or was she surrendering to the powerful T.S.A. ship? Wes shifted his weight again and stared malignantly at the sealed airlock where the T.S.A. would soon dock. For a brief second, he looked back at Lindsay’s cold face. She brought another crude cigarette to her lips and lit it, looking at the same airlock he had been watching. He swallowed hard and looked back at the door.

The T.S.A. wouldn’t be boarding unless they thought Wes and Tristan were aboard and they would be coming, guns drawn, (why hadn’t Lindsay drawn hers?) two-at-a-time. Wes would grab the first gun, grab the second, head butt the first man, kick the second in the groin, but if the third or fourth man reacted too quickly - Wes could get a whole new hole in his skull.

The ship shuddered with the unnatural connection. The seals embraced, clicked and hissed with impending doom. Nothing happened for what felt like minutes, but was in fact mere seconds. Wes stopped breathing, his heart raced, his adrenalin flooded his veins.

Just then, the familiar whine of the ship’s proximity alarm howled to life. Wes’ eyes jumped to Lindsay’s still cold expression. All she did was take another long drag of her cigarette. Wes couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was looking at the airlock, but not concerned about it, nor was she fazed by the howl of the proximity alarm. Both meant danger, but all she did was smoke. She didn’t even bother to use her hands to control that cigarette; she just puffed on it and let it dance on her lips.

The airlock did not open.

Wes broke his silence. “What the hell is going on?”

Lindsay looked at him as the ship shuddered again. It felt like the T.S.A. ship had just decoupled.
“I sent out a fake distress call to the Dolktra. They think one of their ships is being attacked by a human vessel,” she said from behind her cigarette. Lindsay removed the butt from her mouth and squished it into the communications terminal. Wes noticed dozens of similar burn marks across the whole length of the panel. “That’s not the case, obviously, but they will fire on an armed human ship in their space and do everything in their power to chase them out.” She motioned to the active monitor beside her, which showed explosions and particle weapon fire in a boisterous and colourful confrontation between the two vessels.

Once she confirmed that the T.S.A. ship had indeed decoupled, Lindsay jumped over to the central flight control island and got busy flying the ship in the rumoured direction of Bethall. Before they could fly very far, though, a light started blinking on the communication terminal near the monitor that had shown the violent display of Dolktra aggression moments earlier. Lindsay glanced at it and shook her head.

“What does that light mean?” Wes asked.

“It means we’re going to have trouble before we reach Bethall,” she said.

“You mean if you can find Bethall.”

“I know where it’s supposed to be, but I haven’t heard of anyone stupid enough to go looking for it that deep in Dolktra space. Until I met you, of course.”

“All right, all right. What kind of trouble are we expecting?” Wes said.

“That Dolktra patrol ship just sent out a signal. If I know my Dolktra patrols, they were warning someone about us flying deeper into their territory. Our course is far off track from the usual course humanitarian efforts take.” She tapped at an interactive screen to her right and the ship lurched into faster-than-light speed, creating frightening rattling and popping sounds from all around.

“If we are heading in the right direction, how long until we reach Bethall?”

“Minutes.” She sat down, looked over at the proximity alarm speaker on the communication terminal, which hadn’t yet started howling, and found another cigarette in a drawer in the flight control island.

“They say smoking can kill you, you know?” said Wes.

“Not as fast as making a deep run into Dolktra space,” Lindsay countered.

She put the cigarette to her lips, but before she could light it, the proximity alarm startled them out of their short moment of peace. Lindsay jumped up and quickly lit her cigarette. She punched a few buttons and a metal plate in the island slid aside to try to allow a joystick to rise. The joystick stalled before it could rise fully, so Lindsay slapped the top of it, and waited a second before she got frustrated and kicked the flight control island - almost knocking the entire station out of the floor. When the joystick responded to this by rising and clicking into the lock position, she grabbed it, touched the monitor in front of her and pulled it hard to the right. A menacing beam of light shot through the middle of the monitor and she reefed the joystick sharply to the other side. Lindsay repeated these manoeuvres a few more times before the Dolktra finally connected with one of their shots. The rattling and popping sounds stopped and the stars streaking past the port porthole slowed. They were just kicked out of light speed.

That didn’t matter though, because the monitor Lindsay had been flying with showed a large, blue-tinged, white star with a glowing disk of dust and debris encircling it.

Bethall.

The Dolktra ship appeared on the monitor, dropping out of light speed. It stayed motionless. Lindsay moved the joystick forward, making the Dolktra shrink away in the distance.

“They aren’t chasing us?” Wes said.

“One rumour is that Bethall is some sort of taboo area. Like religious ground, or some sort of hell or heaven. Don’t ask me to describe their culture and beliefs, because no one can. Fortunately for us . . . it seems to be more than just rumour.”

A few more shots connected with Lindsay’s ship and Wes was tossed, head-first, against a bulkhead. He shook off the impact and made an effort to regain his equilibrium.

When he regained his balance he went back to the receiving bay to check on his son. The gurney was still upright, Tristan was still strapped in and his blind eyes continued to stare at the ceiling. His whole body remained paralyzed. Being this close to Bethall didn’t seem to be doing anything for him.

“Is he okay?” Lindsay asked, inches away from his left shoulder. He turned quickly, a little startled by how close she got without him noticing.

“I don’t think he’s changed. Maybe this has all been for nothing.”

Another Dolktra shot jostled the ship. Lindsay pushed her cigarette butt into a refuse box, walked back to the flight island and pushed the joystick forward twice. Wes moved over to join her and saw the Dolktra ship shrink away again as Lindsay flew at full throttle. The monitor jumped from the enemy ship to the rapidly expanding view of Bethall in front of them.

“You asked me if there was anything I could’ve done to save my sister, would I? Well, my mother was off-world doing colony patrol while I was taking care of my sick sister. I was right beside her, reminding her of the time I came into her room when I was a kid and she was a teenager and I couldn’t find her. I searched her entire room and she was nowhere to be found, so I went and told my dad. It turned out she had snuck out to meet her boyfriend and I got her in all kinds of trouble.

“At that point, I noticed she had stopped breathing,” she said, and took a deep breath. “At first I shook her, then I gave her chest compressions, then I gave her mouth-to-mouth. I kept at it for what felt like hours, but she was gone. My sister was gone forever and there was never going to be a new memory I could make with her. The last one I have is breathing into her cold mouth. I would’ve given my life to make one more good memory with her. I would’ve done anything.”

The blinding light of Bethall was now all the monitor could see, so Lindsay shut it off.

At that moment, Wes turned around to look at the open entrance to the receiving bay. He had heard something. Hadn’t he? He looked back at Lindsay. She was still deep in thought; her eyes welled with tears for her sister.
The ship again shook from a Dolktra blast. Lindsay wiped her eyes and pulled on the joystick, which no longer seemed to be working. They were careening into the star.

Another sound came from the receiving bay. Wes looked back into the room, steadied himself after the jostle, and moved toward his dying son. His son didn’t move. His face was still pale and still staring at the ceiling. He had imagined the sound like he had imagined it every hour since his son was first put on the gurney. The sound was nothing more than his imagination giving one last wish to his son before the Dolktra ended his last hope. Everything had come to an end and saving his child was nothing more than a dream conjured by a sad and broken man. The Dolktra would make sure the three of them never got back to human space and make sure that if there was an answer to this disease – Wes wouldn’t know it and Tristan wouldn’t get it.

Tristan’s paralyzed eyes blinked. Wes was shocked, and for a long moment he thought he had imagined it.
“Daddy?” Tristan said, still staring at the ceiling.

Wes rushed to his side and grabbed his hand. “Yes! Yes I’m here, son.”

“Daddy, . . . I can see!” Tristan smiled.

Wes cried and hugged his son. Lindsay’s hand carefully touched Wes’ back.

Wes knew this was the end. But he found the answer to his son’s disease and got to see him move and smile one last time before the curing beams of Bethall burned away the memory.