Oblivion

Prologue

Quinn raced through the narrow corridor, brushing past the frightened, scurrying people in his flight to his living quarters. The lights ringing the rounded hallway flashed, creating a strobe, devastated his equilibrium and seemed to slow time and reality. He moved as if intoxicated, felt that he was in a nightmare. No matter how fast or how far he ran, the entrance to his family's quarters remained out of reach. All these damn people, he thought, didn't they know they needed to get out? Why weren't they headed for the escape pods instead of dashing back and forth in such a crazed fashion? It was as if their minds had shut down and only their motor functions continued to drive the empty husks that were their bodies, creating further havoc. It must be shock. It had to be. It couldn't have them ... not so soon.

Get out of here, God damn it! Get to the pods! he screamed at the wide-eyed, shocked settlers, pushing past them and entering his cubicle at last.

Thank God, you're here, Samantha cried. Everyone's gone mad. We have to get out of here before it's too late, she exclaimed, rushing to him and looping her arms around his larger frame in a fierce embrace.

The pods, he breathed raggedly, his voice husky with his own fear. If we hurry we can still make it, he added urgently, freeing himself of her clinging embrace and scooping up their two-year-old.

They left the small room which had been their home for the last six months, weaving through the crowded corridor toward the bay that contained the escape pods for their level. The mob of frightened colonists pushed and pulled, squeezing them like a vice. Quinn’s stomach heaved at the pressure and the heat from too many bodies in too tight a space. The bodies of the other settlers battered him about like flotsam in rough seas, wrenching Samantha from his desperate grip. The air was thick with the cloying scent of fear and horror, making breathing difficult as he fought desperately to reach his wife as she was swept away in the tumultuous tide of frantic settlers.

Panic swept through him, choked the air from his lungs. He gathered a breath and yelled, Samantha! as she was carried away from him by the rushing flow of people. She screamed—powerless to fight against the raging throng of people stampeding past the pods into the depths of the ship.

Fighting the heaving mob was like struggling against a rip-tide. Inexorably it tore them apart, pushing him closer and closer to the safety of the pods, carrying Samantha further and further away. Quinn hesitated in indecision as he reached the almost deserted docking area, desperate to rush in search of Samantha, and yet knowing he would be risking their child if he went after his wife. Sam would never forgive him for that.

Quinn ducked into the mercifully cool and quiet of a nearby pod that offered temporary respite from the chaos of the corridor he'd just escaped. Honey, I'm going to go find Mommy, he said, setting the child down on one of the benches that ran lengthwise down the vessel, then strapping the tot securely into one of the children's sections of the bench. The child immediately let out a wail of fright and frustration, wiggling and squirming under his shaking hands.

A noise, as of someone standing in the door, made Quinn pause in his task. Don't leave and don't talk to anyone until..., his voice trailed off into stunned silence as the door to the vessel slid shut with a loud, ominous click. The sound of the air pressure adjusting drowned out the last of the cries for help from the ship. He turned, staring white-faced at the door that had just been sealed. Had someone sealed it? It was entirely too probable. It certainly hadn't sealed itself. He had been too absorbed in his thoughts of Samantha to pay close attention to any possible dangers.

Oh God, no, Quinn whispered as he realized the door could only be opened once—when they were rescued. The fail-safe device had been designed to prevent over-loading of the craft. He rushed to the computer console and guiding mechanisms at the front of the ship, fully intending to blow the door himself. They could find another pod. No one else seemed inclined to use them. Abruptly, the floor beneath his feet shuddered.

It's releasing, he muttered incredulously, renewed horror etching the lines of his face into a tight-lipped grimace as he felt the vessel shudder again, this time with a series of clicks followed by the sudden sensation of falling. The deafening sound of booster rockets roaring to life drowned Quinn's cry of rage and anguish. He dropped into a crouching position on the floor a split second before ignition tossed him across the pod like a rag doll. Stunned, he wouldn’t have been able to move even if not for the g-forces the ignition burst produced. Finally, the booster rockets shut down and the quieter engines took over guidance of their craft.

Quinn straightened on his knees, too stunned to think beyond the fact that that there was no way he could get back to the ship. They could do nothing now but wait for rescue. Finally, he moved to the whimpering child, untangling the restraints and clutching the toddler to him. It's okay, Honey, he soothed.

I ... wan my mommy.

Hush child, she'll get out. She had to. She was just too damned smart and stubborn to give up without a fight.

He stood, cradling the child in his arms as he turned to face the rear window to view the ship, Mayflower, on which all their hopes and dreams had been settled. An involuntary shudder raked through his body, traveling down his spine and settling in his clenched stomach. No! It's not possible...!

Quinn looked out into the black, endless night of space, a fathomless expanse rich in the promise of new worlds and adventures ... a dark void where there should have been a ship and wasn’t.

Chapter One

Captain Breanna Delaney leaned against the smooth frame of the large window that encompassed the entire back wall of President Howard Benson's office. Only vaguely listening to the rambling monologue of space station Helios II's Chief Executive, she sighed as she studied the wide expanse of space and the blue sphere below, beautiful in its tranquil simplicity. Breanna had come to Helios II to escape her private demons, hoping to find some peace within herself during her extended leave at the space station, high above her home planet, Earth. She hadn’t found it. She began to think she never would.

Distracted from her own musings finally by some vaguely heard remark that pricked her interest, Breanna turned from the window and looked at the pudgy, pink face of Howard Benson.

Excuse me? she asked, her gaze intent now as she probed the tiny, black eyes almost hidden by a fold of fat above them.

Somewhat startled by the sudden intensity of her gaze, Benson broke off his ceaseless monologue, confusion furrowing his brow. After a moment, enlightenment dawned and his expression settled into what seemed his habitual one of displeasure and uneasiness once more.

Oh, he snorted. I was just saying it would be ... uh ... be very much appreciated if you could take care of this problem for us. You've had considerably more experience than any of our militia and there'd be a ... large bonus for you if you could pull it off. The company and I feel you would prove to be a valuable asset to us on this mission, he said with a final grunt, patting his protruding belly somewhat absently—a blue vest stretched to near popping over its fullness.

Breanna sat heavily in the chair before the window and rubbed her tired eyes, wondering vaguely if she would ever know the luxury of an uninterrupted night's sleep. It wasn't weariness, however, that made her pause before she spoke. Nor was it reluctance to take the offered assignment. She was eager for it, hungry for the answers the mission might offer in helping her lay her own demons to rest.

She'd thought that, of course, many times in the past, but she knew ... knew this time would be different.

It was no part of her plan, however, to allow Benson to see that eagerness. He would try to use that to his advantage, she knew, twist the situation until she became the supplicant. Moreover, she didn't want him having second thoughts, didn't want his curiosity focused on her background. She wasn't certain it would withstand an intense probing by company officials. Not on this matter.

Her bleary gaze settled at last on the chair while she composed her disconnected thoughts.

It seemed out of place in the otherwise stark and ultra-modern office. The chair was plush and ornate, like something from another era. Absently she rubbed her hand over the textured surface of one padded arm, wondering at its origins, wondering if she seemed as out of place here as the chair she occupied. But maybe it was only her imagination. Maybe she didn't look as out of place to others as she felt ... as she'd always felt ... as she'd begun to think she would always feel, no matter where her wanderings took her.

Experience? she thought. Well it was a fact that she had that in plenty. She’d volunteered for some of the hairiest missions executed in the last decade, but she rather thought he was referring to her training in the regulars. Helios II's militia was an undisciplined group of routies—at least 50% of them anyway—men who for one reason or another, couldn't cut it in the regulars.

She shrugged with feigned disinterest, smiling very faintly. I've had better offers. On the other hand, I confess my vacation hasn't been all that entertaining. I'm not used to quite so much rest and relaxation.... You say it's been twenty-five years since the ship was last heard from? she asked almost casually, keeping her voice even with an effort. She knew, though, without his confirmation exactly how long it had been and how many passengers had disappeared without a trace.

Howard Benson squirmed in his chair. He was fairly certain she was as eager to take the mission as he was for her to take it, but fairly sure wasn't something he liked. He preferred absolute certainty and he didn't really want to get caught up in speculation about the strange disappearance and even stranger sudden reappearance of the ship in question. Yes, twenty-five years. There were no known survivors except two. A Quinn—

I already know about that, Mr. Benson, she said, cutting him off dismissively. But, if I'm to do this I'll need a reliable squad and from what I saw when I looked over the files you gave me, few of your men have seen any action at all and fewer still have the discipline I'd expect of a trained militia.... She shrugged, implying she was resigned to working with what was available, however unfit she saw them. We'll need weapons, supplies, a ship. I can give you a list of the supplies we’ll need....

Benson sputtered for a moment at her abrupt commands, obviously wrestling with indignation at her assessment of his militia, but he quickly recovered. His facade of pleasantry was gone now, however, replaced with a brusqueness equal to her own.

I've already assembled a squad according to your recommendations, Captain. They've undergone extensive training and are extremely loyal to the company, he added, trying to keep a note of defensiveness from creeping into his comments. They have been briefed on the situation. A ship is being readied now, supplies loaded, and weapons checked. All await your final approval. Once you've given it, you can be on your way.

A little surprised, Breanna hid it, merely nodding her approval. That will be fine.

Good, good. We'd like to get this matter taken care of as quickly and quietly as possible. Find out what you can about the ship's disappearance and the ... well ... whatever you can about what happened to the passengers and then get out. We don't need or want anything like the disaster twenty-five years ago, Benson said gruffly.

Clearing his throat, he rose from behind his immaculately clean desk and walked toward Breanna. Don't let me keep you, Captain. I know you're as anxious to be on your way as we are to have this situation resolved. Smiling somewhat nervously, he helped her from the fluffy softness of the chair and waddled towards the door, his hand on the small of her back, pressing her forward. My secretary will show you the way to the dock. I feel confident that you won't fail us.

Finding herself in the corridor outside his office, Breanna blinked as the door closed abruptly in her face, feeling uneasiness slide down her spine to mingle with the anticipation fluttering in her belly. Well, there was nothing to do now but go through with it, she thought as Benson's secretary, Ms. Melanie, smiled and rose from her seat behind her desk. If you're ready, Captain? she said politely.

Breanna nodded wordlessly. She knew full well the direction of the docks. She hadn't been on the space station long, but this mission was not one she intended to take lightly or as a matter of course. It was not business as usual. She'd checked everything out—everything. Benson needn't worry that she would fail in her mission, but it wasn't due to any concern over pay disputes that might arise over failure.

They had reached the dock, and she saw with renewed surprise that her crew was bustling about in final preparation for their journey. Benson was obviously far more anxious even than she'd realized and she couldn't say that she liked that.

She had her own reasons for wanting the mission behind her, chief among them the fact that she was half way through her leave and would have to hustle if she were to accomplish anything before she was due to report back. But why was Benson in such a rush? The ship's sudden reappearance had caused something of a sensation and a great deal of speculation, but the excitement over a disaster already a quarter of a century old was quickly dying down.

Mentally, she shrugged the uneasiness away. Politics, she thought disparagingly. Politicians were never really interested in much of anything beyond their popularity polls. No doubt he was extremely anxious for his militia to make him look good. Particularly since he'd come under fire in the past as having one of the least disciplined militias in the system.

Catching sight of her, the dock master barked a command and the men shuffled into a ragged line-up. The burly dock master glared at them, but, apparently deciding their lack of discipline was hardly worth commenting upon this late in the game, merely turned his attention to his roster and called out each squad member's name, the last being Caleb Sylvaine.

Her attention caught, Breanna felt a strange little