REDEMPTION TRAIL

It had been nearly a full day since RQ-733 penetrated the time barrier and began its long, distant journey to Capella. Without adequate computers to guide it, the mighty Star Saber simply coasted under its own relentless inertia on a heading that Krey haphazardly guessed at by aiming for the star, which, from their viewpoint, had come to resemble a small sun.
Krey was still asleep, tethered to a ratty, broken-down chair as he wrestled with the fading remnants of an uncomfortable, sleepless night. He had given up his bed to Cassie, though it was a sense of chivalry that prompted him to do it, rather than respect for the rude, unsociable stranger. Many harsh words had been traded between the two exiles since they entered the time continuum and, as of bedtime, they were barely on speaking terms.
Krey awoke from his uneasy slumber to the sound of banging or hammering coming from somewhere in the ship. He rubbed the sleep from his groggy, bloodshot eyes then, with a feeble sense of awareness, looked around the bridge for the source of the noise.
"Cassie?"
The sound of banging metal continued to echo throughout the ship.
"Cassie?"
Krey untied his tether, then reached for a nearby rope; it was then that he discovered a harsh, brutal pounding in his head, which was, undoubtedly, the legacy of draining too many canisters of Milwaukee Brew. His quick start down the rope suddenly slowed as he reached for his head.
"Ooh!"
He paused for a moment to wallow in his self- inflicted misery, then resumed his journey down the rope.
"Cassie? Where the hell"
Krey finally put two and two together when he realized that Cassie was not on the bridgeand that the constant banging was coming from the hatch, which had the tendency to stick from time-to-time.
"Damn woman," he muttered.

Cassie was drifting precariously in the dim corridor just outside the bridge. The metal case that she had brought from Unli was drifting aimlessly nearby as she banged on the door with a piece of scrap metal, which she found floating somewhere in the wreckage. She paused for just a moment to catch her breath.
"What does it take to wake this jerk up?" she muttered.
After a brief reprieve, she resumed her relentless task of hammering away at the hatch.
The loud, irritating noise of the scrap metal slamming against the hatch persisted for a minute or two, then Cassie finally heard Krey fumbling around with the latch from the inside, though she hit the door another time or two just for good measure.
The hatch finally opened to reveal Krey on the other side, who was holding his aching head in agony.
"It's about time," Cassie snapped.
"Shut uphaven't you made enough noise?"
Cassie hurled the piece of scrap metal down the corridor, which rang with repeated metallic echoes as it bounced from wall to wall. She turned a heartless grin to Krey as she watched him cringe to each and every hollow clank of the corridor.
"Head hurt?" she asked with a smug grin.
Krey let out a sigh of disgust; he was not about to oblige her with a response.
"Thought so." She grabbed her case, then started to make her way through the hatch.
Krey glanced down at the case briefly, then moved aside as Cassie entered the bridge.
"You shouldn't leave the bridge by yourself," he grumbled as he secured the hatch behind Cassie. "I bet you didn't even take a tube of Leak Stop with you."
"I did so!"
She reached into a pocket and pulled out a fresh tube of the basic survival goo. "I had to get my thingsand I wasn't about to wait around until you came out of your coma."
Krey turned around and started to make his way to the refrigerator.
"Eat shit, you stupid..." His muttering became less and less audible as the distance between him and Cassie grew. Cassie strained an ear to hear what he was saying, but she was unable to make any sense out of it. She turned her head in a huff, and started toward the rug-like partition.
"I simply can't tolerated another day of your boring, macho ramblingsdo you have anything around here to read?"
"Read this..." Krey made a lewd gesture by grabbing his crotch, then he, and his miserable hangover, opened the refrigerator and surveyed the beer stores. After deciding that the staple supplies would hold out for at least two more days, he reached in and pulled out another canister of famous Milwaukee Brew.
"Hair of the dog," he muttered, then he slammed the refrigerator and grabbed the rope that lead to the controls. "I'm going to see if I need to make a course correction. Just stay back herethat would suit me fine."
Cassie did not reply; she simply waited for Krey to leave so she could open her case in privacy and check its contents. She carefully peered out from behind the partition and looked down the rope. Satisfied that Krey was well on his way to the controls, she turned her attention to the case.
The previous day had been trying on both refugees, but more so for Cassie; she was not used to dealing with any one particular person for such an extended period of time. The sour, trying look on her face quickly changed to modest delight as she took the Model 7 out of her pocket and plugged it into a slot on the case. Her smile grew with anticipation.
She entered a short access code into the Model 7, which was followed by the sound of hissing air as the pressure inside the case equalized with the pressure of the bridge. A moment or two later, the lid of the case popped open as a bright, child-like smile came to Cassie's face.

Krey was still grumbling as he carefully positioned his bulky, hung-over body into the pilot's seat.
"Stupid witch," He strapped himself in, then dug the beer canister out of the pocket on his pant leg. The sleep was hardly clear from his eyes as he lifted the canister and took the first drink of the day.
"Ain't it the way," he muttered, "It's always the lookers who"
He stopped in mid sentence as his distant gaze focused out the window on nothing in particular. A brief moment later, he turned his attention to the rear of the bridge to see if Cassie had kept her distance. After assuring himself that he had an adequate degree of privacy, he turned toward the front, then pulled a set of keys out of his pocket.
Krey looked back one more time, making sure that he could keep his private life private, then unlocked a metal drawer, which was mounted underneath a console to the left of the pilot's seat. He slowly pulled the drawer open, then paused to take another drink from his beer.
A small, 3-inch Teddy Bear came drifting up out of the metal drawer. Krey quickly lowered his beer and snatched the fuzzy, stuffed bear from the air. He glanced back briefly, then turned his attention to the stuffed animal.
"If only she would have held me as close as she held you." He winked at the Teddy Bear, then returned it to the drawer.
The ever-present can of Milwaukee Brew came up to Krey's lips one more time before he braved the contents of the drawer. He lowered the beer then, with a slow, uneasy hand, he reached for the only other item in the drawer; a letter.
There was a heavy, distant sigh as Krey took the thin plastic sheet out of the drawer. The letter, which was several years old, was addressed to his home at Le Monnier, a city on Earth's moon; the return address was from somewhere on Theti.
Krey looked at the letter for quite some time before building up the courage to press the `Open' icon; the display on the plastic sheet changed to reveal the cold, hard text of the letter.

My darling Krey,
I haven't stopped thinking about you since the day I left. I enjoyed our ad-libbed voyage aboard RQ-733, the dinner, the view, and the intimacy. I never enjoyed anything as much as the three weeks we spent together. I'll never forget you.

I must apologize for the way I left. I know it must have been hard for you when you woke up the next morning and found me gone. I suppose I should have at least left a notebut I didn't know what to say. I've thought about it carefully since then, I feel that I should give you that overdue explanation in a letter.

Let me assure you that it was nothing you intentionally did or said. I have no complaints about the way you treated me, you always made me feel like a lady. Please understand, Krey, that this is as difficult for me to write as it is for you to read.

To be blunt, you have a problem; it's the same problem that my father had. We watched our father drink himself into an artificial liver, into bankruptcy, and ultimately, into an early grave. It was a difficult time in my lifewatching my father kill himself, watching him spend the grocery money on booze, and listening to him argue with my mother. After he died, I swore that I would never live with an alcoholic again.

I'm not trying to say that I see you as an alcoholicthat judgment lies on your shoulders. But, seeing you drunk three nights in a row and watching you pass out reminded me too much of the struggle with my father. I'm sorry, Krey, but I just can't endure that any more.

Still, I think of you often and, sometimes, I wish that I had never left. If you ever decide to give up your Milwaukee Brew, come look me up. I'll be right here, at the address on this letter. Please

I love you, I miss you, and I pray for you,
Delaina

Krey drew an uneasy breath as he pressed the `close' icon. He glanced out the window at Capella, then looked down at the return address.

Cassie had finished checking the contents of her case and was quietly searching Krey's storage lockers for something to read. She had already examined three lockers and found nothing that resembled reading material, other than an emergency egress checklist. She quietly closed the locker, then nervously glanced toward the front of the bridge before moving on to the next one.
The forth locker contained a myriad of old, dusty junk. There was a space helmet with a broken faceplate, several gloves, a wrench or two, and an old, tattered bag, which was about the size of a bowling bag. Cassie slowly unzipped the bag, then made another nervous glance toward the front before rummaging through its contents.
The bag appeared to be filled mostly with clothes, which were so old and ill-kept that they actually crumbled when Cassie tried to pull them out. She had absolutely no interest in the clothes; she was hoping that there might be a piece of jewelry underneath, or something else that she might claim as a prize.
The bag appeared to be stuffed with someone's personal effects, such as; men's clothes, a very old shaving kit, and a small plastic envelope containing letters. Cassie reached for the letters, thinking that she could amuse herself with them later, when she discovered something peculiar.
There, underneath the letters, was an odd looking device. Cassie furrowed her brow; it was square and appeared to be made entirely of very old paper. Her excitement grew as she pulled it free of the bag; anything made of paper was considered a valuable antique.
Suddenly, Cassie recognized the object; it was a booka bound, paper book like the ones in museums. She glanced up toward the front of the bridge one more time, then carefully opened the cover. Inside, on a brown, brittle page, was a hand-written title that read, `Personal diary, property of Major Fenton S. Raver, UNSF.'
Cassie wore a devious, triumphant grin as she slowly closed the antique. She realized that Krey had no idea that the diary existed; the crumbling clothes on top of it had not been undisturbed for quite some time. As far as she was concerned, the antique had suddenly become her rightful property; all she had to do was claim that she brought it with her in her case. It would be the easiest theft of her entire life.
Cassie quietly closed the locker, then slipped off to an isolated corner to read; few people had the luxury of browsing through a bound, paper book.

Chellaina, like Cassie, was also killing time by reading. She had already read several weapons manuals, and was working on an operator's manual for a spacesuit, which she cheerfully read to her fallen hero.
"...Rotate locking collar, see figure 27.3, clockwise until Helmet Ajar light, located on Inside Helmet Display, goes off..."
She was comfortably seated next to Fenton's unconscious body and wearing her old military uniform, which proved to be much more practical than her tattered, silky clothes. She had also tended to her own wounds; such as the bruise on her leg and the cuts on her knees, which were the result of crawling over the rubble. Although her bandages were old and dingy, they were at least some kind of protection against the dust and dirt of the crumbling disaster shelter.
It had been over a day since the emergency radio first spewed out the strange voices, which had been continuing non- stop without a break. Chellaina still didn't know what to think of the eerie sounds; they made her extremely uneasy and she did her best to ignore them. Still, from time-to-time, she would find herself listening to the exchange and taking note of which voices she heard and when.
At that particular moment, however, Chellaina had no interest in the voices; she was trying to ignore them by focusing her attention on reading to Fenton.
"...Connect Wrist Position Sensor cable to the seven pin electrical connector located inside the sleeve."
Chellaina paused to listen to a peculiar voice, which started coming through the emergency radio. The voice was like any of the others, with the exception of being marked by a constant ever-present rumble in the background. It had become a common occurrence and Chellaina came to realize that it was part of a sequence, which had been repeated over and over since the voices first appeared.
Chellaina took note of the time; it had been twenty minutes since she last heard the rumbling on the radio. That seemed to be consistent with most of the other intervals between rumblings, though sometimes it would come five minutes early, or as much as fifteen minutes late. After listening to the strange rumbling on the radio for a minute or two, she returned to the manual, and to her endless task of reading to Fenton.
"Attach glove to sleeve, see figure 27.4, then rotate wrist locking collar clockwise until Right Glove Ajar light, on Inside Helmet Display, goes off. Repeat above procedure for left"
Chellaina stopped in mid-sentence when she noticed that the rumble from the receiver became more pronounced. She could tell that it sounded somewhat different than usual, though she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She listened for a moment or two; it seemed to be getting louder.
Suddenly, several small pieces of concrete fell from the ceiling, followed by gentle trails of dust. Chellaina quickly realized that the rumbling not only came from the radioit also came from the walls, the floor, and the ceiling.
Chellaina dropped the manual in fear as the rumbling grew to frightening proportions. She leaned over The General to cover his head as more and more pieces of concrete came smashing to the floor. The rumbling quickly escalated, knocking larger and larger pieces loose from the crippled ceiling when, suddenlyit stopped.
Chellaina sat there in silence; her nervous eyes slowly panned across the crippled ceiling, "I don't like this, Fenny."
The receiver went quiet for a moment or two, then the strange, eerie voices resumed their endless chatter. Time seemed to stand still during the two or three minutes that followed. Chellaina listened carefully to the voices as she nervously glanced around the shelter; something, somehow, seemed to be amissshe was sure of it.
Chellaina snapped her head toward the nuclear- hardened hatch; she could have sworn that she heard something coming from the staircase just beyond it. She crouched closer to The General.
"Please wake up, Fenny," she whispered, "Something evil is"
There it was again! Yes, something was moving on the staircase!
Chellaina picked up a remote control device, then turned down the volume on the emergency radio. She listened carefully to the subtle sounds of heavy, clumsy movement just beyond the hatch.
"What is it, Fenny?"
She drew a quick breath when she heard a series of scraping sounds, which were rhythmically interrupted by a series of clunks, as if someone or something were dragging a large piece of debris up and out of the staircase. Chellaina wondered; was it a rescue party, or was it some kind of unspeakable nightmare?
Her worst fears were soon confirmed; she heard the muffled sound of strange voices just beyond the door. She gasped with her eyes fixed solidly on the hatch; her heart felt like it was beating in her throatthe voices were just like the voices she had heard on the emergency radio! She realized that whatever was on the radio, was now on the other side of the hatch.
Suddenly, the latch began to rattle back and forth, as if someone outside were trying to get in.
"Wake up, Fenny," she whispered as she shook his shoulder, "You must wake up!"
The fumbling at the latch ceased, but was immediately followed by the sound of something metallic slamming against the nuclear-hardened hatch. The sound drove chills down Chellaina's spine; she hobbled over the rubble toward The General's feet as fast as her aging body would allow. The metallic pounding at the hatch persisted as Chellaina struggled to free The General's .40 caliber pistol from his boot. The pounding was tremendous; she was certain that the hatch would cave in at any moment, followed by some hideous monster of unthinkable proportions.
Chellaina's hands trembled wildly as she pulled the pistol free of its holster. It took both unsteady hands to raise the heavy iron and point it nervously at the door. Both of her slender, feeble thumbs reached for the hammer of the gun and struggled to pull it back; the pounding, slamming blows to the door had escalated to massive, ramming shocks. Finally, the heavy hammer seated with a clickthe pistol was cocked and ready.
The abusive blows to the door came to an abrupt halt. Chellaina sat there on the ground, trembling as she covered the door with the large-caliber sidearm; she shuttered to think of what the powerful recoil would do to her frail body, should pulling the trigger become necessary.
Once again, she heard the strange voices discussing something on the other side of the hatch. Frightened, horrified tears poured down Chellaina's cheeks as she kept the trembling barrel of the gun pointed at the door. A moment or two later, she heard a small pop, followed by a hissing, roaring noise. Less than a heartbeat later, the latch began to glow red with heat. It was immediately followed by a shower of sparks, which came pouring out from a tiny gap where the handle met the hatch.
The shelter became filled with the smell of burnt, flaming metal as the shower of sparks grew in intensity. Chellaina began to weep out loud, though she faithfully kept the trembling weapon pointed at the door.
The shower of sparks came to a sudden halt; Chellaina knew that the dreaded moment was at hand. She could hear her heart pounding in her chest as she nervously clutched the trigger; her eyes were fixed on the burnt, glowing latch. She heard the strange voices again, followed by the sound of heavy movement. She was sure that the hatch would burst in at any moment.
During the lengthy seconds that followed, Chellaina came to realize that the voices were gradually becoming more faint, more distant. She listened to the bulky, clumsy sound of their movements; they seemed to be ascending the staircase.
The sounds faded into nothing, though Chellaina's aching arms kept the heavy weapon trained relentlessly on the hatch. It was not until two or three weary minutes later when the silence was once again broken; the entire shelter suddenly began to shake and rumble violently.

The hours that followed were filled with strange sounds; rumbling, whining, pounding. Chunks of concrete fell from the ceiling from time to time, and the strange voices continued to plague the receiver. The sound of something moving or working just beyond the hatch returned on several occasions, though no apparent effort had been made to gain access to the shelter. After quite some time, the eerie activity came to a halt, then the violent rumbling, once again, shook the crippled shelter. Several large pieces of concrete fell from the ceiling and Chellaina was certain that the whole shelter would cave in at any moment.
The rumbling gradually subsided into a welcomed, peaceful silence, as if something massive and menacing had moved off into the distance. Chellaina, once again, huddled close to The General's side, though the cocked sidearm was prudently kept within reach. Her shaking, trembling hand gently brushed across The General's cheek.
"Please wake up, Fenny."
She looked up with a frightened tear in her eye as she wondered about the world they had grown to lovewas anything left of it?