Nasferas: The Begotten

9

Most of the family had raced up to the Scenic Room to watch the rescue efforts through the ship's observation window. Davidar gave it some thought and decided to join them.

Ralia strolled over and stuck her index finger in his face. "You will stay."

"I'm fine." He raised his right leg and bent it a few times. "See, it's perfect."

Again, she threatened. "I mean it, Davidar. If you get out of this settle I will ..."

"You'll what? Point me to death?" He smiled.

Ralia leaned over the edge and smacked his right thigh.

"Ow. Okay." Davidar rubbed his leg. "You win."

"I'll come and check on you later." She started to jog out of the room but stopped in the doorway. With a glance over her shoulder, their eyes met. Her sly smile meant to convince him all would be okay. But they both knew Treylor didn't have much chance of survival.

Once she'd left, he couldn't get the thought out of his mind. Had the moment of extra eye contact been more than friendly?

Ranloo trudged by the open door. His heavy walk shoes clanked against the floor. The sleek silver of his blast suit emphasized the musculature of his chest and biceps. A tank of condensed air bulged from between his shoulder blades.

"Good luck," Davidar said.

Ranloo stopped and wiped his forehead. "For your sister's sake, pray to the Maker he's still alive."

"Be safe."

His cousin nodded and left for what Davidar would call a hopeless mission; a body retrieval at best.

Dram began dictating again. "S.M.R.S. has been deployed and a successful vacuum seal obtained. Ranloo is now making his way through to the ship's exterior."

"What's the S.M.R.S.?" the youngest of Davidar's cousins, Misha, asked. The petite sixteen-year-old brunette had opted to stay. He'd heard her fidgeting earlier. Per her nature, she stayed away from anxious situations, though, they usually piqued her curiosity.

* * *

His suit rode too tight in all the wrong places. Once Ranloo adjusted himself and clicked the helmet on, the suit lit up. The display in the face shield showed the distance between himself, his destination, and how much air he had left. He'd never done a spacewalk through the Species Modulated Retrieval System and didn't know what to expect. When he stepped inside the bubble of organic tissue, which expanded from the Transfer Bay and engulfed the fighter, he bounced. Then the parasite's tissue solidified and he felt the weight of his boots again.

"Coms on," he said. The communication system turned on and he immediately picked up chatter.

"... has entered the S.M.R.S. and a good vacuum seal is achieved."

"Dram! Get off my coms," Ranloo ordered.

"He's dictating for those who can't watch," his father said.

"Davidar, can you hear me?"

The coms sizzled for a second. "Loud and clear, Cousin."

"Good. Dram, stop talking."

With the constant drivel in his ear stopped, Ranloo continued forward. The ship had taken a worse beating than he could have ever imagined.

"There's an enormous amount of damage. With what this ship went through, I'm not sure anyone could have survived."

He immediately realized his mistake. He'd sealed someone's fate. And he didn't have to hear the anguished cries from Aleese to know his poor cousin had probably gone hysterical.

"I'm sorry, Aleese." He meant it with all his heart. Treylor, Davidar and he had a close relationship. A brother-like bond no one else knew about. They'd spent a lot of time working on the fighter. Ranloo had even used some insulation he'd invented to reinforce the ship.

"Son, tell me the damage," Moroo said.

"It's bad, Father. The hull is crushed ... melted down. This must be the result of the burst through the Third Plane. I can't imagine how he did it." Though, secretly Ranloo knew about the extra insulation. This gave the ship an extra cushion against the Gnam's energy blasts. It softened the impact through the ship's shields. Could the same be true for its ability to withstand the pressure of Nasferas's three atmospheric planes?

"I'm unable to find an opening. There's no way through. I'm headed back."

"Son, do not come back until you can tell us the status of the pilot. Now ... think."

Quiet seconds became minutes. Those minutes felt like hours while he searched every inch of the ship. Behind the cockpit and above the tubular wing, he found a finger-sized hole in the metal.

Ranloo forced his right index and middle fingers into the small crevice and pulled. The ship's outer layer began to bend back. Then with both hands, he grunted as he forced the metal down.

"I may be able to squeeze through." His hands worked at the small wall of insulation. He had to make sure not to puncture or slice his suit. In the pack on his waist, he found his laser cutter. Since he'd gotten through the metal his cutter should make short work of the insulation and underlying wires.

The piece he cut stretched open, wide enough he could squeeze into the cockpit. There he saw the pilot. Finally ... some good news.

"It's him ... I'm sure. Treylor managed to get an emergency blast suit on. Seems to be in working order. But he isn't moving. I'm going to remove the seat so I can get to him."

Ranloo removed the bolts holding the pilot's seat with the laser cutter and pushed the seat out of the way. "I've got him."

His coms came on and he heard cheers.

"Ralia, get the Med Room ready." Ranloo knew Treylor had to be in bad shape. Barely any air had been used and he couldn't see through the face shield. After pushing the injured wingman into the S.M.R.S., he walked Treylor's body through the weightless environment.

* * *

Davidar watched in awe as Ralia led a small contingent to the Med Room. Her leadership abilities are apparent in her directions to others.

Aleese passed by the doorway across from the Transfer Bay. Tears flowed from her like a broken water spout. She managed to look at him while their mother came up behind her and cradled her. They turned to watch the events unfold.

Davidar could barely see into the Transfer Bay. As the two men crossed the barrier of the tube into the ship, their weightlessness ceased. The ship's gravity field tugged them to the floor. Fladir, Dram, Tranz, and Alek caught Treylor.

Alek held the torso. Fladir had his arms. Tranz made sure no one fell over and Dram led the way. To hoist and carry such a large Nasferian wasn't an easy task. He'd bumped his head on the ceiling of their hovel every time he came over to call on Aleese. No one figured out how he stuffed himself into the seat of a fighter. Once he belted in, no one cared, because he flew the ship as gracefully as a sea creature gliding through the ocean.

Ranloo stumbled into the Settle Room. Exhaustion marred his features. Davidar had never done a spacewalk before but knew it felt like running up the canyon's crevice. No matter how long it took or how in shape you were, fatigue lasted for weeks after.

"I am sorry you had to go through that." Davidar looked his cousin over. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Exhausted." Ranloo flopped down on a bench across the room next to the entrance. He'd pulled the top half of his flight suit down to his waist. The sleeves dangled from his hips. "I truly hope Ralia can save him."

"That bad?"

"You have no idea."

Davidar did have an idea. He'd seen graphs depicting the horrors of unsuccessful spacewalks and suit malfunctions. The thought of them made his skin crawl.

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