Transmigrant - Chapter 4
Copyright © 2024, 2025 Stephen B. Anthony
Whose lives are we truly bringing into the world? Does assigning a child make them yours, or are they echoes of another time, another will?
—Christine Silman Decker
CHAPTER 4
Ray’s world faded in and out of focus. The barn’s familiar smell vanished, replaced by the sterile scent of antiseptics. The warmth of the outdoors gave way to the chill of conditioned air, and a faint vibration hummed beneath him. He reached down instinctively to scratch at something unfamiliar, but a firm hand intercepted him.
“It’s an IV. Leave it alone.” The man’s tone was calm but authoritative.
Ray blinked against the harsh light, cracking his eyes open just enough to glimpse his surroundings. He was on a hospital bed, a stainless-steel cart of surgical tools beside him. A man in blue surgical scrubs hovered nearby.
“Stay still,” the man advised, his tone softening. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal. Rest for now.”
Ray’s body responded before his mind could. Sleep took him, pulling him under with a heavy hand.
Garner invaded his dreams. The narrow-shouldered man, always dressed in a slightly tattered three-piece suit, berated him about the quota again. Why couldn’t Ray produce as much as the others? Why didn’t he care about the colony, the jump gate, or the children? The accusations echoed, too real for a dream. But in dreams, Ray didn’t have to be polite. He told Garner to shut up, enjoying the catharsis of being able to say it.
Awareness returned in fragments. The hum of machinery, the cycling of air handlers—it was all too familiar. He was on a ship. Ray forced his eyes open, the dim glow of ankle-level safety lights revealing the medbay. Robotic arms loomed nearby, tools gleaming in the low light. His gaze locked onto a suspended console. He dragged it closer, scanning the display. Two days had passed.
The autodoc had done its job, mending the torn muscles, stitching together his organs, and stabilizing him. But bed rest for five days? Ray couldn’t wait that long. His urgency to find answers overrode the warnings echoing in his mind. He disconnected the probes and tubes, wincing as the robotic arms completed their work, sterilizing some remnants and disposing of others.
On his feet, Ray swayed slightly but steadied himself. The ship’s design struck him immediately—advanced, alien, nothing like the utilitarian Perseus. Every surface was a muted carbon fiber, the infrastructure hidden, the materials foreign. He marveled at the technology, wondering just how far removed this ship was from the life he knew. Questions formulated in his mind, begging for answers.
Ray moved through the medbay and into a deserted crew lounge. His footsteps echoed, the ship’s emptiness unsettling. He explored methodically, finding spacious cargo bays, an all-terrain vehicle, uniforms neatly stored. The engineering subdeck caught his attention—two fusion reactors, each with emergency ejection handles. It was the heart of the ship, and Ray could feel the power thrumming beneath his feet.
He accessed an engineering console. The GSS Shinobi’s silhouette appeared on the screen, sleek and deadly, an Asimov-class light cruiser. Plasma cannons, railgun, flak cannons—this ship was built for combat. The drive systems boasted power beyond anything Ray had seen before, hinting at incredible acceleration.
A noise from above snapped his attention back. Light footsteps, almost like dancing. Ray returned the console to the home screen and headed back to the lounge. The galley called to him next, and the growl of his stomach couldn’t be ignored. He hadn’t eaten in over two days. He quickly heated two breakfast sandwiches and brewed coffee, but his hands shook as he ate. The realization crashed over him—someone had shot him, and he still didn’t know why.
Ray’s pulse pounded in his ears. He pressed a hand flat against the cool table, grounding himself. He focused on his breathing, calming the storm inside before letting his thoughts drift back to the attack. Why had someone targeted him? What had he done to provoke such violence?
His mind raced through possibilities. None of the other farmers had reason to resent him. He’d met his quota, even if he didn’t see the point of overproducing. His vocal opposition to the transmigrant program hadn’t changed in years, and his complaints, though sent up the communication buoy, wouldn’t reach anyone for two more years without a functioning jump gate. Could his dispute with Cooley over the river fishing rights have escalated? Unlikely—Cooley was a traditionalist, but not a killer. Ray shook his head, dismissing the idea.
The only thing that mattered now was survival. Someone had rescued him, but who? And why?
A single footstep brought Ray out of his thoughts. He looked up to see a Japanese man in the doorway, sweat-covered, dressed in lounge pants and a T-shirt. Another stranger.
“What are you doing out of bed?” the man demanded, his voice sharp.
“I got hungry,” Ray replied, realizing he was still in a hospital gown.
“You shouldn’t be up,” the man continued. “You’ll tear your stitches. You need rest.”
“You’re the one who rescued me? Who are you?”
The man, appearing to be about forty, with dark hair and a strong jawline, met Ray’s gaze. “I’m Ichiro Hoshi. I told you before, but you were delirious. It’s only been a couple of days. You’re not out of danger yet. Now, grab your food and get back to the medbay.”
“I’m fine,” Ray insisted, though he knew better. Infection was still a risk.
Ichiro’s expression hardened. “On this ship, you follow my rules.”
Ray hesitated, then nodded. There was no arguing with that tone. He followed Ichiro back to the medbay, recognizing the wisdom of taking precautions.
Once inside, Ichiro gestured to the examination table. “Back on the table.”
Ray complied, eyeing the sweat on Ichiro’s shirt. “Been working out?”
“Kata exercises,” Ichiro said, adjusting the autodoc console.
“Kata? Which style?”
“Itto ryu.”
“Single sword technique,” Ray noted, a flicker of interest in his eyes. “Do you practice with an iaito?”
“Sometimes, but I prefer a katana,” Ichiro replied, surprised by Ray’s knowledge. “How do you know about these traditions?”
Ray’s face tightened. “I learned through simulations. Being a botanist doesn’t limit what I can learn, just like being a doctor doesn’t limit you.”
“I’m not a doctor,” Ichiro said, moving to check Ray’s wounds. “Let’s see how you’re healing.”
“Not a doctor?”
“No,” Ichiro confirmed. “The medbay is self-sufficient. Let’s do a scan.”
Ichiro removed the gauze from Ray’s ear as Ray ate his sandwich. The stitches had healed remarkably. Ichiro examined the ear, then moved to Ray’s abdomen.
“Wow,” Ichiro muttered, peeling back the bandages.
“What is it?” Ray asked, sensing something unusual.
“You’re healing at an extraordinary rate. Is this normal for you?”
Ray shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
Ichiro double-checked the scan, his brow furrowed. “You’re practically healed. No scar tissue. It’s as if the wound never existed.”
“Feeling a lot better,” Ray said, testing his strength.
Ichiro removed the remaining staples, his disbelief evident. “This kind of wound should take months to heal, yet you’re almost fully recovered.”
“So, I’m not going to die?” Ray asked, half-joking, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere.
“Not today,” Ichiro said, his tone softening. “The other guy wasn’t so lucky.”
Ray felt a wave of grief and remorse wash over him. “I never wanted to kill him,” he admitted quietly. “I didn’t have a choice.”
Ichiro’s expression softened. “You acted in self-defense. That man was a contract killer sent to eliminate you. You saved your own life, and potentially others.”
Ray frowned, the weight of it all pressing down on him. “But why? Why would anyone want me dead?”
“The reasons are more complicated than you might think,” Ichiro said, his voice tinged with sympathy.
“I don’t get it. How did you end up on my farm? Two strangers in one day. There are no strangers on the planet! One tries to kill me, the other saves me. I don’t know either of you.”
Ichiro paused, choosing his words carefully. “I came to warn you that you were in danger. Unfortunately, I was too late.”
“Warn me? Why didn’t you take me to New Virginia?”
Ichiro shook his head. “It was too dangerous. I had to bring you somewhere safe.”
“Where?”
“Through the jump gate, of course,” Ichiro said, his tone casual.
Ray blinked. “The jump gate isn’t finished yet.”
Ichiro met his gaze, his eyes serious. “It’s been operational for the last three years.”
“What? That’s not possible!”
“Where do you think the shooter came from?”
A look of astonishment appeared on Ray’s face. “You’re saying he came from another world?”
“Exactly. Where did you think I came from?”
Ray stared at him, stunned. “There’s no way. We’d know if the jump gate was working. We’d have new immigrants, better tech, a working reproduction lab—”
Ichiro waited for the realization to sink in.
“What is this ship?” Ray finally asked.
“The Shinobi is a fleet ship, about two hundred years more advanced than anything you’ve seen. I’m a commander in the galactic fleet.”
Ray’s mind reeled. The fleet was a distant legend, something he never expected to encounter. If the jump gate worked, why hadn’t they used it to solve the problems on Tellarius?
“Did you come from Earth?” he asked, still trying to grasp the situation.
“I jumped in from Eden,” Ichiro said. “And I’m sorry about your clothes. I would have grabbed your things from New Virginia, but it’s crawling with Niruku operatives now.”
“Niruku?”
“The guy who tried to kill you was one of them.”
Ray’s confusion deepened. “Who is Niruku, and why would they want me dead?”
“Niruku runs the migration program, including Tellarius. They control everything.”
“So, they’re responsible for what happened to me? My parents? Everyone?”
“Yes,” Ichiro said simply.
Ray’s fists clenched. He had always suspected something was off, but this confirmed it. The losses he’d endured, the lies he’d been told—it all traced back to Niruku.
“How did you know I was in danger?”
Ichiro sighed. “I was monitoring communications when I heard about your message to the extranet. Niruku found it and sent the hitman.”
“So, I was targeted for telling the truth?”
“You threatened a major income stream, and I knew that would put you in danger. So, I decided to track you down and warn you not to cross Niruku. Unfortunately, by the time I reached your farm, the assassin had already made his move. I had hoped to get there before Niruku could respond, but they were quicker than I expected. It took me a while to find you, and I can’t help but feel guilty for not being faster. It’s too dangerous for you to return to Tellarius.”
Ray stood, his resolve hardening. “I need clothes.”
Ichiro pointed to the cargo hold. “Gotta be something that will fit you. Help yourself.”
Ray dressed quickly, finding Ichiro in the captain’s cabin afterward.
“Grab a cabin below and settle in,” Ichiro said.
Ray picked a berth with a portal, staring out into the void of space. The events of the past days weighed on him. He had killed a man—someone who had been sent to kill him. The memory of the struggle, the final moment of desperation, played on a loop in his mind.
Ray looked at his hands as if they belonged to someone else—a being capable of lethal force. This role was foreign to his self-perception. Cast adrift in the vastness of space, an overwhelming urge to wash the imagined blood from his hands propelled him to the head.
As he gazed into the mirror, Ray searched for answers. Was he a killer now? Could he have taken a different path? His reflection offered no solace, only the cold truth of survival.
With no answers and despite the lingering pain, Ray made his way to the bridge, finding Ichiro in the captain’s chair. The captain nodded for Ray to take a seat nearby at a bridge station.
The Shinobi’s helm was unlike the simulations Ray had practiced on the Perseus. Smooth panels and holographic displays replaced the familiar buttons and levers. Ray’s fingers traced the edges of the controls, his curiosity mingled with a sense of apprehension.
“You seem familiar with ship systems,” Ichiro observed.
Ray nodded. “I’m not completely unfamiliar. I’m curious about the drive. The reactor has a very large water envelope—I’ve never seen anything like it. What’s its purpose?”
Ichiro raised an eyebrow, impressed. “You figured that out just by looking?”
“It seemed obvious,” Ray replied, shrugging. “It’s almost like we’re using water as supplemental fuel.”
Ichiro nodded. “We are, in fact. Did you study nuclear engineering?”
“I’m just a farmer,” Ray said, scratching his head, “but I’ve read a bit. I’m assuming deuterium-tritium fusion is going on.”
Ichiro’s eyes widened. “That’s exactly what’s going on, but it sounds like you may know more about it than I do.”
Ray shrugged. “The gravitic drive’s mass ratio didn’t make sense to me.”
Ichiro turned to look at him. “You’re familiar with gravitic drives?” he asked.
“Well, yeah. Every ship has one,” Ray said matter-of-factly.
“True, but not many people understand how they work,” Ichiro said.
Ray didn’t really understand, but he could grasp the concepts. The key to propulsion was the gravitic drive. It reduced apparent mass by wrapping the ship in a mass displacement envelope. The primary drive wasn’t pushing a quarter million tons of mass. It was driving a tiny fraction of the ship’s true mass.
Ray furrowed his brow. “So, the ship’s main advantage is fuel efficiency?”
“Yes, academically,” Ichiro agreed. “But strategically, it’s about longevity. The ship can operate independently for a long time. Tactically, the advantage is acceleration.”
Ray nodded, absorbing the information. “That makes sense.”
“So,” Ichiro said, “we can reach a significant fraction of the speed of light with this drive, provided we have enough time. But it doesn’t replace jump gates for interstellar travel.”
Ichiro watched as Ray took in the bridge. “Have you flown before?”
“Only in simulations,” Ray admitted, a touch of uncertainty in his voice.
“Let’s get you some time at a real helm,” Ichiro suggested.
Ray’s focus sharpened as Ichiro brought up the flight control display. The layout was different, but Ray’s hands instinctively gravitated toward the controls.
“Six axes of control,” Ray muttered, noting the interface. “What’s flight assist?”
“It simplifies control to prevent inexperienced pilots from spinning out. It also automates the gravitics drive to dampen inertia during acceleration. I recommend keeping it on for now.”
Ray turned the assist off, eager to feel the ship’s direct response. The ship moved smoothly under his control, but he noted the lack of tactile feedback that he had grown accustomed to in simulations. His heart raced as he tested the ship’s maneuverability, a mix of excitement and responsibility coursing through him.
“Go ahead,” Ichiro encouraged. “We’re millions of miles from anything.”
Ray pushed the ship’s limits, feeling a surge of exhilaration as he experimented with the controls. The vastness of space stretched out before him, offering a canvas of stars and celestial bodies. Despite the absence of physical feedback, his flying became more fluid, each movement more confident than the last.
“Sweet,” Ray said, satisfied with the ship’s performance. “She’s a nimble craft. That’s the first time I’ve flown a ship in real life.”
“You’re an excellent pilot already,” Ichiro remarked, impressed. “How many hours in simulators?”
“Over three thousand.”
“Good grief.” Ichiro shook his head and pointed to the console. “The Shinobi has a built-in AI. It responds to voice commands.” He demonstrated, instructing the ship to plot a vector to the nearest jump gate.
Ray watched as the ship’s AI created a vector on the holographic display. They were just seventeen minutes away.
“You said we went through the jump gate. Where are we?”
“The jump gate the AI highlighted is Chara-1,” Ichiro explained.
“Chara? That means we’re near Eden!”
“We’ll head there shortly,” Ichiro said, then glanced at his console. “Interesting—Niruku seems to have lost some tech.”
“What do you mean?”
Ichiro swiped up on his console, displaying an image of two women on the forward viewer. Ray studied them. The petite woman with striking green eyes caught his attention, while the taller blonde had a distinctive look, her waistband flashing red on the scan.
“She was armed, in a spaceport,” Ichiro noted.
“Mars?” Ray guessed, recognizing the architecture.
“Good eye. It was Mars.” Ichiro played a video showing the blonde girl disabling two assailants with well-placed kicks.
“She’s fast and accurate,” Ray observed, impressed.
Ichiro nodded but remained silent, exchanging a glance with Ray.
“Who are they?” Ray asked, sensing more behind Ichiro’s reticence.
“I don’t know the Taekwondo girl, but the shorter one is Senator Stewart’s daughter. Apparently, they stole something from Niruku.”
“A senator’s daughter? They’re likely heading to Andonia then,” Ray said.
“They might be headed to Eden, where her family estate is,” Ichiro said. “She’s wealthy.”
“Different from the politicians I knew.”
“If Niruku’s after them, they’re in danger,” Ichiro said. “We’re supposed to detain them for questioning if we see them. She probably thinks she’ll be safe at her parents’ estate, but Niruku will be waiting. I wonder what they took?”
“I learned the hard way not to underestimate Niruku,” Ray said.
“Indeed.”
After showing Ray how to plot a course for Eden Station, Ichiro engaged the autopilot. They began the burn to align with the vector.
“I’m looking forward to seeing another planet,” Ray said, bringing up the station charts. He marveled at the system’s layout—the hot, tidally coupled Berrod, the Mars-like Enarra, and the gas giants Mordred and Pono, all leading to the jewel of the system, Eden.
Ten minutes later, Eden Station came into view, floating above the planet like a massive, inverted cone, looking like a hive in space as ships docked and undocked like bees returning with nectar.
“Five million people live on Eden Station, five times the planet’s population,” Ichiro explained. “The upper-class levels face space, with more sunlight and a regular diurnal cycle.”
“And the bottom levels?”
“Perpetual twilight, with reflected light from the surface. It can be dangerous down there, but you can buy anything you want,” Ichiro said. “As long as taxes are paid, the government turns a blind eye.”
“What about organized crime?” Ray asked.
“It’s seen as better than chaos. Sometimes the mafia’s enforcement is useful.”
“Weird,” Ray said. “Wouldn’t the underbelly have the best view of the planet?”
“It does. It’s the best view, and you are closer to the planet than people on the topside. It’s almost like you can reach out and touch paradise, but it is so much further away for the people who live there.”
“In what way?” Ray asked, intrigued.
“Rich people live on the planet. The people in the lower levels are poor. They know they will never live in the paradise staring them in the face. Most of them never even visit the planet. It’s like a glass of water sitting just out of reach of a thirsty man.”
Ray considered the enormity of Eden Station as they approached. It felt like a separate world. Docking was automatic, controlled by station systems, freeing them to attend to other tasks. Ichiro answered Ray’s questions with patience, impressed by the young man’s growing competence.
Once docked, Ichiro announced, “I’m heading to my office at the station. It’ll be safer for you to stay on the Shinobi.”
“Am I a prisoner?”
“Certainly not,” Ichiro snorted. “But if you want to get shot again, feel free to leave.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“I’d prefer if you stayed on the ship. I know you heal quickly, but you’re not back to one hundred percent yet. It’s up to you, but if you go, keep a low profile,” Ichiro advised. He stood, heading for the ship’s airlock.
“Ichiro. Thank you for saving my life.”
“You’re welcome.”
Ray spent nearly an hour studying system charts and politics, grappling with the changes that had occurred during the two centuries his people were separated from humanity. Despite the intrigue, his curiosity about the station got the better of him, and he left the Shinobi.
As he wandered through Eden Station, the scale of the floating city struck him. The bustling corridors of the upper levels, where the galactic elite lived, were filled with holographic displays advertising luxury and entertainment. Ray’s pockets were empty, leaving him to observe with a mix of fascination and longing.
He was most stunned by the old people on the station, older than anyone he had ever seen. They didn’t seem as sick as he had been led to believe. Thoughts of his parents, lost too soon, lingered as he made his way back to the central hub.
Descending to the lower levels, closer to the planet, the station’s atmosphere shifted. Narrow, dimly lit passages replaced the pristine corridors. Holographic signs flickered, advertising bars and pawnshops. Ray felt the weight of the underbelly’s gritty reality, the air thick with synthetic alcohol and industrial solvents.
Ray stopped to rest at the viewing deck, wondering how long it would take his stamina to return. He gazed down at Eden. The lush planet reminded him of the best parts of Tellarius. He thought of Ichiro’s words about the people in the lower levels, living in poverty with paradise just out of reach. Ray leaned against the railing, feeling both isolated and connected—a stranger among millions, yet part of a vast network of lives.
He imagined what it would be like to belong here, to have grown up with purpose and opportunity. But as the crowd thinned, and the laughter faded, his reality became more acute. Lacking money, he could only observe, yearning for experiences just out of reach, but he had lived with it only an hour, whereas most of the people around him had lived it for a lifetime. It made him realize that despite the harshness of living on a new world, perhaps not everything was better on the other side.
With a deep breath, he turned away from the viewing deck and headed back into the throng. The sensory overload fueled a growing resolve within him—a determination to find his place among the stars.
Thirsty, Ray eyed a restaurant. He had no way to pay, but hoped for a drink of water. As he approached the entrance, he paused. Seated inside at a table were two women: one blonde and the other with striking green eyes.
Transmigrant is available at Amazon & Audible.