Star Runners

by Clayton J Callahan

  “Allow?” Robishaw challenged. “What puts you in a position to allow or deny us? We are not a part of your sovereign colony. We came here of our own will and…”

  “And your safety is my responsibility,” Dr. Apple interrupted.

  Robishaw blinked. “Safety?”

  “You may have noticed that Central City is not an entirely safe place. You saw the rabble outside our perimeter. Do you think they would let you leave in peace? Savages, Ms. Robinson, they are modern day savages, and I cannot spare any protectors to escort you to your shuttle at this time.”

  “It’s Robishaw, not Robinson, and I am responsible for the safety of this landing party.”

  Dr. Apple stood up all the straighter and replied, “Then you will appreciate my decision to keep your people within the secure perimeter until I can spare the protectors to escort you out.”

  “And what, pray tell, are your protectors doing now that is so important?”

  Dr. Apple coughed before answering, “Why, suppressing the security threat groups that surround our facility, Ms. Robishaw. We are now engaged in a sweep to arrest malcontents and secure the colony.”

  As if to emphases his point the rattle of more automatic gunfire erupted in the distance. Dr. Harrigan whispered in Robishaw’s ear. “If they have a half decent lab, I can do my experiments here. This is not the hill we need to die on.”

  Robishaw nodded, “Just be sure to let me know when you find that hill.” Inwardly, she was very glad the doctor was not as oblivious to the situation as he seemed. “Fine, Dr. Apple. We’ll be your guests while our lab tests are run. But after our business is concluded, I expect you’ll grant us the protection of your troops as we return to our ship. If, however, that is not possible, I can always call Captain VanDer to send down the Yang-He’s MAF.”

  “The MAF?” Dr. Apple asked.

  “Oh, sorry, that would be our Marine Assault Force.”

  Eyes narrowing, Dr. Apple leaned forward to rest his knuckles upon his desk. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary. I expect my protectors will soon have the situation in hand.” And then with another wave of his hand, he said, “That will be all.”

  Later that night, as the Yang-He spacers bedded down in the dormitory of the Temporary Housing Unit under rough, woolen blankets on rickety canvas cots. Dr. Harrington nudged Robishaw. “Marine Assault Force?” he asked.

  “I’ve a good feeling this Dr. Apple hasn’t been entirely honest with us. So I saw no reason to be entirely honest with him.”

  “I can see that,” Harrigan said, “but marines?”

  Robishaw smiled as she glanced at Manly. “Well, would you settle for the navy?”

  Harrigan smiled back, “Sure, why not?”

  “Good." Robishaw activated her communicator. "I've got to update Captain VanDer on our progress.” With that, she reached for her communicator and started texting.

  Long after her last shipmate had lapsed into slumber, Robishaw completed her missive and pressed the communicator's send button. Hearing the bleep that confirmed a successful transmission, she rolled over on her cot, and mumbled, “An officer’s work is never done.”

  ***

  Exhausted as she was, a decent night’s sleep still evaded Robishaw. She knew stress was like that. Also, she wasn’t sure if she’d been awakened by gunfire in the night or had merely had a dream about it. “More like a nightmare really,” she said as she got up the next morning and wiped her face in her hands.

  Looking around, she watched the rest of her team in various states of wakefulness. Manly was the picture of a wide-eyed morning person, up and alert, while Dr. Harrigan could pass for comatose. She picked up her communicator and read Captain VanDer’s terse response “Acknowledged. Keep the landing party together and watch out for their safety.”

  She whispered to the gadget, “Great, Captain, that’s just great. Glad to know you’ve got my back.” Standing up, she yawned and stretched, giving a curt wave to Manly. It was then that she heard one of the medical staff moan. Robishaw turned to see the crewman shaking in his cot under his thick wool blanket. Putting a hand on the doctor, she roused him saying, “Harrigan, Harrigan, wake up. Looks like one of our people has a problem.”

  The bleary-eyed physician shook himself out of bed and went to the shipmate. Rifling through his medical kit, the doctor found the tools he needed and proceeded to take the young man’s vital signs. Once he checked his readings, Harrington turned to Robishaw with a grave face. “I was afraid of this. He’s got the disease.”

  “Damn.” Robishaw took a moment to let that sink in. “Do we try to get him to the Yang-He?”

  “No, Ms. Robishaw, I don’t think that would be a good idea. He may well contaminate the rest of the ship if we did.”

  Robishaw shook her head. “But he’s had your medicine. The disease should be unable to spread from him to any other person.”

  “True,” Harrigan agreed, “but only if my medicine works as intended. Remember, I still need to run my tests to be sure the drug works. Until we’re sure, it’d be too great a risk to the rest of our crew in orbit to expose them to young Kim here.”

  Manly stepped up. “Well, what do we do for Kim now?”

  The doctor shrugged. “Make him as comfortable as possible and pray.”

  Robishaw replied, “My prayers won't do much good, doctor. I’m an atheist. But I’ll send word on high to the Captain. He might have some insights from orbit that perhaps escaped our notice down here. I hope.”

  ***

  Unfortunately, VanDer didn’t have a lot of light to shine down on them from above. His messages mostly consisted of advice on how not to get shot by Dr. Apple’s thugs. “…Don’t anger the locals and be ready to leave as soon as possible,” he’d say.

  Once the connection terminated, Robishaw would add, “No shit,” before returning to whatever crisis demanded her immediate attention. The food at the cafeteria tasted like processed cellulose, and the landing party’s morale dropped with each meal.

  Protector Quaid kept asking indelicate questions about the Yang-He’s non-existent marine force which forced her to deflect when she ran out of lies. She handled the problems big and small while clamping down on her own fears, the dreaded the notion that she might soon be infected ranked among them. Also, she very much wanted to keep her people out of the gun sights of what passed for local law enforcement on this planet. Quaid’s “protectors” were obviously little more than a gang of goons who felt strong when they smacked down the weak. They weren’t true soldiers in any sense. Lacking any discipline, there was no telling what they’d do if they got nervous, and Quaid’s questions indicated that the idea of a marine force made them very nervous indeed.

  Of growing concern, their crewmate/patient was worsening. Making matters worse, two of his comrades fell ill beside him the next day. The last thing Robishaw wanted to do was write one of those dreaded condolence letters to some bereaved family. Normally that onerous duty would be the captain’s job, but she was pretty sure VanDer lacked the skill for such a task. Not knowing how Quaid and company would react, the landing party took pains to conceal the three victim’s symptoms from their hosts.

  On the fourth day, however, she got some good news when Dr. Harrigan announced, “It works! The anti-mitotic appears ninety-eight percent effective at stopping the spread of the disease. Not only is that good news for our people, but I can mass produce the drug using the equipment on hand and begin distributing it immediately throughout the colony thereafter.”

  After the steady drumbeat of bad tidings, the doctor’s words were music to Robishaw’s ears. “Great, I’ll report to the skipper, and then we can give Dr. Apple our findings. How much time do you need before we can leave?”

  The ship’s doctor smiled. “Oh, perhaps a day in Dr. Apple’s lab will be sufficient. While I’m creating more doses, I can train the local medical staff to carry on after we’ve left. They are quite skilled actually, and I don’t think they will have any problem fo
llowing my lead.”

  “Wonderful!” Robishaw reached for her communicator.

  Once she’d given VanDer the details, he replied, “Very well. Dr. Harrigan can present his findings to Dr. Apple, and your team can depart tomorrow afternoon. What could go wrong?”

  Just then, Robishaw looked out the window to see Quaid and his toughs marching a gang of twelve shanty town dwellers down the street.

  “Stop!” the protector shouted before turning to his men. Pointing to ten of the prisoners, he said, “Take this lot to the lockup.” And as his men obeyed, Quaid took out Robishaw’s snub pistol and executed the two remaining captives without a word.

  Robishaw’s guts threatened to mutiny as her breakfast crept up in her throat. “That dirty son of a bitch!”

  “I wouldn’t mind sending that bastard to meet his ancestors,” Manly whispered in her ear. “But I’m guessing that would be a bad idea right now all things considered.”

  “Yes, Mr. Manly, I think it would. Let’s only hope Harrigan can get production started on his drug and we can lift off this shit hole ASAP.”

  Manly shook his head. “Somehow, I don’t think the plague is the greatest problem this colony faces.”

  She felt a headache coming on as she replied, “Truer words were never spoken. But getting Harrigan’s drug to those who need it most will have to count as our moral victory for this trip. Since we don’t actually have a marine force, I don’t see what else we can do.”

  Putting his hand on her shoulder, Manly gave Robishaw a good-natured pat. “Good point, ma’am. Good point.”

  ***

  Dr. Apple actually allowed his off-world visitors to have a seat in his office as Robishaw and Harrigan gave him the good news.

  “I just conferred with your man in the lab, Dr. Apple,” Harrigan began. “He will have enough of the anti-mitotic manufactured for all your people within this compound by late this afternoon and for the rest of the colony in just a few days.”

  Sitting behind his massive desk, Dr. Apple stroked his goatee and seemed to ponder Harrington’s words. “The rest of the colony?”

  Harrigan blinked. “Yes, the people living in the shanty town beyond your perimeter. The medicine works. You can arrest the spread of the disease, and within a few weeks there should be no new cases.”

  Robishaw thought of the three cases among her medical team. They had all lost hair which made it harder to conceal their condition. Thankfully they would not be spreading the disease to the rest of the Yang-He’s crew, but she very much wanted to evacuate them and the rest of her party before something else went wrong.

  This, of course, left no time for fiddling around.

  Dr. Apple leaned across his desk. “Thank you, Doctor Hanson, but I believe that may be unnecessary.”

  Robishaw felt pain dance across her forehead. The headache that had been beaten back with modo-aspirin a few hours ago was suddenly returning uninvited.

  “It’s Harrigan, and what do you mean by that?” Dr. Harrigan asked.

  “Nothing; only that those people are my concern, not yours.” Dr. Apple answered. Turning to Robishaw, he asked, “What preparations do you need to make before your party returns to your shuttle?”

  With a shrug, she replied, “We are ready to go at any time. Your medical staff has all the information they need on Dr. Harrigan’s drug, and we didn’t bring a lot of luggage in the first place.”

  “Good. Good. I will advise Protector Quaid to prepare an escort for you and your crewmates in two hours. He will see you safely to your shuttle, and I wish you all a prosperous voyage thereafter.” Dr. Apple rose, and his guests followed suit.

  Hoping for a sign of good will, Robishaw reached across the big ugly desk to shake Dr. Apple’s hand. The man accepted her gesture, his grip week and unfeeling. Once out of his office, Dr. Harrigan whispered into her ear, “He’s just going to let them die. He doesn’t like them for whatever reason, and he’s just going to let them die!”

  “I know. For a tyrant, he’s not a very subtle one. But we simply don’t have the resources to fix all of the problems on this miserable cesspool of a world. We’ve got three sick shipmates and dozens of problems of our own.”

  When they got back to the dormitory, Robishaw gave the order. “Okay, everybody, we’re bugging out in a little less than two hours. Pack up your stuff and get ready to move.”

  A ragged cheer rose from the landing party as everybody got busy gathering up their belongings. And in all that hustle and bustle, Robishaw failed to notice the disappearance of a stack of wool blankets and a ship’s surgeon.

  When Robishaw called the roll, she discovered there was one name missing. “Where the hell is Harrigan?”

  Manly answered for her. “You know, ma’am.”

  She cursed again, and that headache refused to go away. “Manly, give me your weapon. If I’m not back when Quaid comes, get the landing party in line and march everyone out of here.”

  He complied and asked, “And what do I tell Mr. Quaid when he asks where our doctor and first officer are?”

  She checked the ammo counter display and noted fifteen caseless ten –millimeter rounds ready to fly at the touch of the trigger. “Tell him whatever he’ll believe.” She looked him square in the eye, “You know how we have to do this?”

  “Aye aye, ma’am. Leave no one behind.”

  “That’s right.”

  But as she ran away, she heard Manly say, “But Quaid won’t be easy to convince.”

  Slipping out the back door she soon discovered the method of Dr. Harrigan’s escape. Thick, wool blankets lay across shallow razor wire creating a bridge to the shantytown beyond. After that, the good doctor left no clear trail for her to follow.

  “Damn him,” she muttered.

  Lacking time to be discreet, Robishaw ran headlong into the jumble of huts and garbage heaps that over half this world’s population called home. The locals were quick to notice the weapon in her hand and gave her a wide berth. She understood their panic but had no time to soothe it. Her head darting down ragged streets and up narrow allies desperately looked for any indication that a stranger in a green uniform had passed by.

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only person with a gun running through that town. To her right, she saw a cluster of five to eight men crouching behind a rubbish wall with homemade rifles in their hands. The weapons looked as much a threat to whoever fired them as to whoever stood at the other end of those scruffy barrels. She imagined the bravery necessary to use such crude muskets against the automatic rifles of Dr. Apple’s protectors, and then it all made sense.

  She knew that people didn’t take their life in their own hands unless they have something they desperately want to protect. Rounding a corner about a hundred meters from the shanty town’s defenders, Robishaw caught a glimpse of blue uniform, confirming what she’d already suspected. Her headache suddenly gone, she turned to her left and sprinted full tilt until she found what she was looking for.

  Seeing a crowd milling in front of a building with a steeple and arched windows reminiscent of churches back on Earth she found what she sought. In the middle of this crowd, some kind of priest stood next to Dr. Harrigan. The doctor cradled boxes of pills in his arms while talking to the audience.

  “Yes, yes,” Harrington insisted, “one does is enough for anybody. Please, take only what you need for you and your family.” And as the crowd around him grew increasingly agitated, he could be heard shouting, “Yes, it is definitely safe. We tested it. There is no danger. What? No, it won’t cure the disease, but it will stop it from spreading.”

  She ran up to the errant doctor and grabbed Harrigan by the arm. “Okay, you’ve done what good you can. Bravo. Now, we need to get the hell out of here.”

  Through tear-soaked eyes, Harrigan looked at her and said, “I still have twelve more boxes to hand out, and these people will need instructions on how to use the medicine.” Perhaps the good doctor had at last found that hill he was willing to die
on, but as his superior officer, Robishaw had no intention of giving him that choice.

  Gunshots rang out, and Robishaw decided that persuasion alone wasn’t going to get them out of town fast enough. She folded Harrigan’s arm into a bent wrist lock. The doctor cried out in pain but she was unrelenting. “This way, Doctor. Move. Now!”

  Dropping his precious boxes, Dr. Harrigan complied and let himself be dragged away from the crowd. Robishaw could well imagine the horde of locals descending upon the supply of medicine now strewn upon the ground. But her eyes stayed focused on what was in front of her as she forced the reluctant surgeon back to the compound.

  Suddenly, she heard another burst of gunfire, this time much closer. She prudently threw herself and Harrigan to the ground. Now free from Robishaw's grasp, the doctor tried to get up, only making it to his knees. Another burst of automatic fire rang out and took the good doctor’s head clean off at the neck.

  “Goddamn it!” Robishaw shouted as she raised her snub pistol and took aim at the offending blue-clad son-of-a-bitch. He stood but twenty meters away and was in the process of reloading his rifle when the ceramic slug drilled a neat ten-millimeter hole into his forehead.

  As the protector died, Robishaw looked for another target. Gratefully seeing none, she made a mad dash for Dr. Apple’s compound. The thought crossed her mind that she should have carried Harrigan’s body back so he could be properly buried. However, she knew dragging a corpse would impede her retreat, and John and the kids were still waiting for her back on Earth.

  She crossed the blanket bridge and darted back into the dormitory, soaked in sweat, with the warm pistol still in her hand. “Report,” she shouted to the assembled landing party, but all they did was look at one another.

  Taking quick stock of her people, she noticed the absence. “Where’s Manly?”

  One of the med team braved an answer. “He said he was going to make a run for the shuttle, and the rest of us should wait here. Where’s Dr. Harrigan?”