“Checkmate”
Stardate 74186.5;
March 09, 2397
Episode 53
Written by Chris
Adamek
Chapter Thirty
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
Alan Christopher forced his eyelids shut at
hearing the constant thumping noise emanating from his quarters. He didn’t know what was going on, and quite
frankly, he didn’t want to know. He
merely wanted to cuddle with Erin Keller under the warm covers of their
bed. As far as he was concerned, it
wasn’t too much to ask for.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
He tried to ignore the noise, instead
filling his mind with thoughts of Erin: her eternal good will; ethereal brown
eyes; long auburn hair; perfect smile…
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
…And to Christopher’s apparent
consternation, the noise would not allow itself to be ignored. He sighed, and hoped if he waited around for
a moment longer, it would go away all on its own. It was probably nothing more than the anodyne relays chugging too
much energy through this section—Commander Tompkins had said the relays were in
need of recalibration—and when the computer finally realized the problem, the
relays would automatically compensate for the error.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
Or not.
Christopher sighed, and turned to his
beloved. “Sorry to disturb you,” he
whispered into her ear. Erin said
nothing in response; apparently, she was completely unfazed by the
dreadful noise.
Shaking his head in disbelief, Christopher
phlegmatically started to make his way out of bed, but he got no further than a
few centimeters before realizing such an act would be virtually
impossible. Cold, metallic restraints
were clamped tight around his wrists and ankles, holding him in bed. Was Erin playing some sort of trick?
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
“Erin!” he whispered.
Nothing.
“Erin!”
The thumping stopped, and all around him,
Alan Christopher could feel the warm ambient air draining from the room. He blinked, and in an instant, Alan’s bed
was no longer a comforting haven, but a hard, metallic gurney about as
comfortable as a slab of coarse rock.
Out of the corner of his eye, Christopher could see shadowy figures
maneuvering in the distance.
“It won’t be long now,” came a malevolent
voice from above. Alan’s eyes swiftly
darted upward and immediately locked with Xi'Yor’s vivid orange eyes. The Overseer grinned deviously, inserted an
intravenous tube into Alan’s left arm, and then walked away; each step echoed
throughout the dreary chamber.
Alan’s eyes slowly maneuvered back to the
shadowy figures in the distance—only now they were standing much closer, and
Christopher was relatively certain they were Elorg. They conferred with each other for a few moments, retreated out
of Christopher’s line of sight, and finally returned—only now they loomed
directly overhead, consulting with Overseer Xi'Yor.
“…a genetic proximity detonator will
suffice,” Xi'Yor said, though in Christopher’s mind, the words were slurred and
distant.
One of the attendants nodded agreeably. “…should we target… and the… for…”
Xi'Yor shook his head. “…anorax in the…”
The attendant again nodded. “Very well…” His pasty white lips continued to move a moment longer, but only
a few of the words reached Christopher’s ears—and those that did made little
sense to him. He shook his head, hoping
to clear his mind, but the second attendant quickly grabbed it.
“Nefet al glib,” she said. She disappeared for a moment, and when she
returned, she placed a large, grayish mask over Christopher’s nose and
mouth. “Xanthar tu nalis sir tanu?”
Xi'Yor’s considered the question for a
moment. “Itan,” he said a moment
later. “Gau ju sol ivranis.”
At hearing Xi'Yor’s words, the male
attendant’s already pasty face grew even more ashen. He hesitated for a moment and then turned to his companion. “Renistarine,” he said. “Blan su den.”
The female nodded. Again she vanished from sight for a moment, and when she
returned, Christopher could smell a noxious odor emanating from the mask on his
face—a dreadful combination of skunk and vomit that almost immediately gave his
body the feeling of weightlessness.
Christopher was certain that this was his chance to escape. If he concentrated hard enough, he could
simply float out of the chamber.
That would definitely work, and there was
nothing the Elorg could do to stop him.
He swiftly closed his eyes and relaxed, allowing the horrific stench of
skunk and vomit to take him away…
Alan Christopher’s eyes bolted open to see
the familiar darkness of his interrogation chamber. For the first time in what seemed like weeks, he had been
asleep—if one could call that nightmare sleep.
Though it had been awhile since he last curled up in bed on the Starlight,
Christopher still had a good idea as to what sleep was like. It was comforting. It was relaxing. It was
refreshing. And as he sat strapped
into his cold, hard interrogation chair, Christopher realized he felt none of
the above.
Christopher sat and stared into the
nothingness for a long moment before he felt a sudden pang of pain in his left
arm. His eyes darted down to see a
faint scar that he had not been aware of prior to his nap. He sighed uneasily, and continued to stare
into his uninviting abyss—and now it was perhaps even more abysmal. Though he had no way to be certain,
Christopher had a feeling that his nightmare was anything but a dream…