These Violent Delights

by Jeff Baker

“Shh! Quiet!” Bax said.

“I’m quiet, dammit! Where is the damn thing?” Sommerfield said.

“I’m not sure,” Bax said. “All these machines look alike.”

The room was cavernous, with row after row of grey metal boxes pressed back-to-back against one another leaving only a small space for someone to walk in front of them. Each one was as big as one of their rooms in the barracks, Sommerfield thought.

Bax jumped across the walkway, landing on one of the machines, waving Sommerfield over.

“We don’t have much time.” Bax said.

“We don’t have any time.” Sommerfield said.

“I know,” Bax said, sticking his arm down between the backs of two of the machines, his cheek almost lying flat on the machine’s top.

“Use this,” Sommerfield said, turning on the flashlight on his revulator and shining the beam into the darkness.

“Turn that thrice-damned thing off!” Bax snapped.

“Remember, I outrank you,” Sommerfield said tapping the insignia patch on the sleeve of his uniform.

“Right, right!” Bax said flashing a half grin for a moment. They weren’t actually members of the Stellar Guard; they had been placed on the station with other members of the team infiltrating the Guard unit.

The unexpected part of their mission was discovering that another espionage team was active on the station and had planted what intelligence called “a destructive timed device.”

Sabotaging the Station Master’s operation was one thing. Blowing up over 450 people was another.

And doomsday was set for 2700 hundred hours. Not long.

“Not there,” Bax said standing up. “You take that side and I’ll take that side.”

But Sommerfield found the device in a matter of moments at the far end of a row of the machines, in the crack between the back and front; something in the shadows seemed darker. Sommerfield shined his light into the dark space and it revealed what looked like a wad of dirty something about the size of his fist and flattened into a slightly bulging disc.

Sommerfield pulled the object gingerly out from under the dingy curve of tubing that concealed it. Smeared with grime it blended in with the dark. Sommerfield rubbed the device with his sleeve uncovering an unlit display counting down time.

“Found it!” Sommerfield said.

Bax rushed up, Sommerfield held up a hand.

“Not an explosive, a chemical device,” Sommerfield said. “I’ve seen these before.

“Poison.” Bax said. “Spread all over the station.”

“How far is the nearest ejector portal?” Sommerfield asked.

“Not far,” Bax said as the two of them headed for the door, device in hand.

The slogans they would see in the lounge rooms of the stations ran through their heads: KNOW WHERE YOUR PORTALS ARE. KEEP OUR STATION CLEAN.

Sommerfield clicked open the ejector room door and realized he was sweating.

The portal was an unassuming box the size of a station clothes dryer at the end of the room on the far wall.

They put the device in, shut the lid and swiped the screen.

There was a click and a whoooshing sound.

“Look,” Bax said.

Through the small, round porthole to one side of the machine they could barely see the object ejected from the station, lit by the reflected sunlight off the planet beneath them. After a moment, the device seemed to blur as if someone had smeared something against the backdrop of stars. A blur that spread slightly.

“The gas,” Sommerfield said.

Bax and Sommerfield watched as the blur dissipated slowly in space, drawn towards the planet they were all orbiting.

Sommerfield and Bax sagged against the wall. They had barely made it.

“Think that was all of them?” Sommerfield asked.

Bax nodded. “One was all the message warned about.”

“If that had been a bomb, the regular station personnel would have noticed the explosion outside.” Sommerfield said.

“Certainly would have noticed it if it had gone off inside,” Bax said.

The two of them walked out into the main corridor.

“I wish we’d had time to examine that device before it went off,” Sommerfield said. “Maybe found out something about the other team that planted it.”

“Maybe it wasn’t another team,” Bax said. “Maybe it was one of ours.”

The two of them walked along quietly.

—end—