The Case of the Barille Blood

Jim appeared to present the opaque white potion which lessened the shock of molecular rearrangement. Deacon tightened straps over his body as the liquid slinked down his throat. Suddenly, his legs and arms were heavy as they disappeared into the blue fog of Thorbee ions, while his vision blurred as he lapsed into a coma. Opening his eyes later, the glorious site of rising out of a multi-colored ionized Vesper dish was exhiliarating as Glasso inquired, “Are you alright, Master?” Deacon wobbled. “I seem to have all my parts!” Jim manipulated 3-D dangling charts of the heavens over the navigational table to say, “Master, something is wrong. The Heritage did not Vesper to Globiana!” “That’s impossible.” “Master, this is not the Vesper dish at Globiana.” Deacon was alarmed. “Where are we?” Jim spun the 3-D image around. “The Heritage resides in the Hygill section, a very remote, empty sector at the edge of our universe where there is no recorded life, no raw materials of any use, and no suns to influence life.” “What about that Vesper disc we just exited? Turn around immediately.” “Sire, the station has vanished without a trace.” “That’s impossible! Send out a distress communication for assistance.” “I did, Sire. Our signal is being blocked. A signal from here back to life would take more years than the remainder of your lifetime.” Deacon’s pulse raced. “Was an engineer at Earth’s Vesper station in the employ of the Barille Blood?” He stood hands on hips to address the two Owlers. “Flee towards the nearest signs of life.” Jim crushed that idea. “The Heritage does not have enough fuel to reach the nearest planet plus there are no known fuel stops recorded in this sector.” The Owler suddenly pointed to a small blurry dot. “This new disruption in space just appeared.” Deacon moved forward to examine the milky discoloration which grew to an oval outline before materializing to a shifting sparkling specter. “It appears to be a ship of enormous mass heading directly towards us. What are your orders, Master?” Deacon had to decide quickly. “The Heritage is not equipped with weapons. The advantage of speed by our ship is lost as there is nowhere to flee to. Unarmed, we cannot stand to fight.” The Owlers stood at attention waiting for instructions. The image now appeared blurry, looking like a giant spider with a black bulbous body and dangling spindly legs. He had never seen a space ship of this shape with such protruding tentacles. Then an orange ray was emitted from the craft as Jim said, “Master, we are being fired on!” Deacon was stunned by the events. “The powerful shot from the ship approaches. Our best bet, Master, is to flee and hope that the ray dissipates before it hits us. We will take drastic evasive maneuvers so please secure yourself.” Glasso warned. “Brace yourself, the disruptive beam has arrived.” It hit with one enormous thud, tossing the ship off course as it knocked Deacon out of his seat onto the floor before he had a chance to complete his buckling. Then, the Heritage briefly lost its balance and tumbled. Deacon found himself upside down momentarily. The next minute he was lying on the floor, stretched out, his shoulder sore, and his mind spinning. Deacon was solemn. “Well, we now know we are the hunted.” He thought about how they were first diverted to this empty space, and now sent a predator sent in for the kill as Glasso shouted. “Second beam fired from a closer position so will have a more severe impact!” Deacon closed his eyes. “Am I to die in this lonely desolate area of space never to be found?” He mumbled, “Oh, Lyanna I love you.”