Chapter 7

“I don't get it,” Private Adelman said as he adjusted the Unfettered's course, firing the directional thrusters to bring her around into a sublight arc. He nodded his head toward the navigational display. “Sensors aren't finding any familiar landmarks. No Orion. No Big Dipper. No Horsehead Nebula. No Alpha Centauri. No...”

“Yeah, yeah, nothing on the charts, got it,” Dixon replied, looking at the readout as it echoed over and over again: NO RECOGNIZED CELESTIAL BODIES. CURRENT LOCATION INDETERMINATE. “Guess we're a long way from home, then. Makes sense, though, right? I'd never heard of the B'hiri before. Maybe we're on one of the other spiral arms of the Milky Way.”

Adelman shook his head. “No, sir. Even if we were thrown a whole galaxy over, those sensors still ought to be able to detect familiar constellation objects.”

The journalist furrowed his brow. “I'd just as soon not think about what that means, then.”

“It means wherever these Hive Minders took us, it's not the Milky Way galaxy and it might not even be our own universe,” Adelman said.

“Good on you for keeping that to yourself,” Dixon grumped. “How long until we're at B'hira?”

“A few minutes at top speed,” Adelman answered. Fingers of his right hand entered a brief sequence of pad taps. “Shutting off long range sensors since they're obviously no use to us. Focusing short range sensors on the planet. Entering coordinates the Hivers gave us.”

Dixon nodded, stepping around the console and making his way to the port side of the ship's command center. Rectangular portholes provided a glimpse of the alien stars and the massive vessel that had delivered them to this unknown corner of space. Like its interior, the craft appeared to be organic. At least half a mile in length, from egg-shaped exhaust ports to bulbous centerpiece to the odd sinuous tendrils of brownish-gray-green that stretched out like grasping fingers. That vessel dwarfed the Unfettered and surely had more firepower to bring to bear on the B'hiri enemy. Why not crash THAT monstrosity into the middle of the capital city?

“It doesn't make much sense,” Dixon mused. He rubbed at the gauzy material wrapped around his head, which still ached, hollow and shrill, after his collision with the Hiver force field. He looked from the alien ship to the white-gray orb of the planet B'hira, growing ever closer. “Why hijack an ill-equipped starship with an unprepared crew to fight a war for you?” He turned toward Adelman, who was doing his best to stay focused on the task of keeping the Unfettered on course. “Private, I get the feeling our captors aren't as powerful as they want to appear. If they aren't striking at the B'hiri themselves, it must be because they can't get close enough to do so. The Minders can fuck with people's brains – we've seen that, haven't we? So what if the B'hiri are even better at that than the Hive Mind? That certainly might explain why there's a war in the first place and it'd do to put some sense to the premise of stealing weaker help to do the job for them.”

The soldier-turned-kamikaze-pilot nodded as he contemplated Dixon's theory. “Maybe the B'hiri could help us, then.”

“Maybe,” Dixon agreed. “Worth trying, I think. If I'm right, the closer we get to B'hira, the less likely it'll be that the Minders will try to get near us. So, we get within hailing distance, say hello, beg mercy, and demand sanctuary. Maybe moon the Minders before we land?”

Adelman chuckled. “Sounds a great deal like a workable plan, Mr. Dixon.” He peered at the short range sensor display. His smile grew broader. “Close enough to start hailing. Shall I?”

The journalist nodded. “Do it. Maybe the B'hiri can tell us the fastest way back to Earth.”

Tapping a button on the navigation console, Private Adelman activated a multi-frequency general broadcast. The unencrypted message proceeded: “This is Private Jeffrey Adelman of the Consortium experimental starship Unfettered. We are an unarmed vessel brought to your territory against our will. We want nothing more than to seek sanctuary among your people until such time as we can return to our own homeworld in Sol System. We have no quarrel against the B'hiri and want nothing to do with the war that is being waged by the Il'Ri'Kamm Hive Mind.” He thumbed the END TRANSMISSION tab before tapping REPEAT – CYCLE 30 SEC. Then Adelman looked at Dixon and asked, “How's that?”

“I'm sure they're prepping the red carpet even as we speak,” Dixon replied.

Moments later, three red sensor contacts pinged onto the screen – port, starboard, and aft. They had been invisible before, but shimmered into existence either flanking or following the Unfettered. Dart-shaped craft, small and nimble. “Picket fighters,” Adelman said. “Never seen that configuration before.”

He didn't get much time to study the new starfighters on the screen before the aft vessel shot a burst of crimson energy along the port hull of the Unfettered. Warning shot, Dixon knew. “If they're hearing that message, I don't think they're understanding it,” he said.

Over the ship's speakers, Dixon and Adelman heard something like scratchy chattering noises, a cacophany that sounded to the journalist as though all the hens on a farm had been muted but could still clack talons on the wooden planking of the hen house floor.

“Tell them we're friendly!” Dixon shouted.

“Maybe YOU speak B'hiri?” Adelman asked.

The second shot wasn't a warning. It struck the starboard attitude guidance pylon, which had the effect of confusing the Unfettered's equilibrium and sending her into a slow but steady continual correction spin. Adelman struggled with the console, trying to right the ship, but he couldn't regain full control. Now they were in the gravitational pull of the planet B'hira, flanked by two fighters and pursued by another that was liable to shoot to kill on the next blast.

“If Hivers had asses, they'd be laughing them off right about now,” Dixon said.