Josh yelled, “Dammit!” as he heard a lock clicking followed immediately by a set of iron bars that quickly descended from the ceiling, shutting off all access to the door. They were being imprisoned.
A tinny sounding bell began ringing, causing most of the slaves to scramble to their feet. Dave Andrews saw that it was an old cowbell. A guard was stationed at the front of the cage repeatedly swinging the bell up-and-down. Next to the bell ringing guard stood Wayne Shasta. He motioned with his hand for the ringing to cease. Then he held out a ring of keys. The guard took the keys, discarded the bell, and unlocked the cage. After sliding open the large gate, Lieutenant Shasta helped the guard haul a wooden crate over the entrance. The guard entered and handed out an apple to each of the skinny shackled bodies. Next he quickly began undoing and then refastening leg chains. Once everyone was formed into a chain gang, Wayne shouted, “Move!” and the slaves obediently marched in single file out the cage door and up the dirt path leading to the silver tunnels. All, that is, except for Dave, Marlana Berg and two others. Lieutenant Shasta dragged the rusty iron door across the entrance and turned the key in the equally rusty lock.
“Enjoy your day,” he said with a big grin. “I hear that you guys don’t have many left.” Laughing, he did an about-face and hurried to catch up with the slaves.
Dave eyed the two remaining slaves who were chained to the mesh wall several feet down from where he and the doctor were shackled. Something about these two was different. The woman was thin with short blonde hair and large eyes. The man looked to be of medium build with wavy black hair. As he stared at the couple he wondered why they had been left behind.
“I’m freezing and I’m starving,” whispered Marlana Berg. She inched her way over to Dave, handed her apple to him, and snuggled up against his chest.
“You need to eat either the fish or the apples. Preferably both,” said Dave as he wrapped his arms around the doctor.
“Ugh to the raw fish. And I’d break out in an itchy rash if I eat the apples. No thank you.”
“Well, that might be better than starving to death.”
“I don’t think that will make a difference.” She shivered as she continued talking. “Lieutenant Shasta just said we didn’t have much time left.”
“I am confident that the Captain will not let that happen.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I know Josh. He will do whatever it takes to protect his crew. He will not give up.”
“I hope you are right.” She was still shivering, and Dave drew her even tighter to his chest. All this time he had continued to watch the other two beings in the cage. It was then that he noticed a small insignia on the cuff of the woman’s long-sleeved polo shirt. He was sure it was an insignia associated with the UGC. Was this woman a UGC officer or was she just wearing an officer’s shirt that she had stolen or found?
“Pardon me,” called out Dave. “I couldn’t help but notice the insignia on your sleeve. Is it from United Galaxy Command?”
The woman looked over at Dave. She had large, brown eyes with long lashes and puffy, purple bags below her lids. It looked like she had not slept for days. She just kept looking blankly at Dave, and he did not think she was going to answer, but finally she said, “Yes, it is the symbol for the U.S.S. Skybounder.”
“May I ask if the shirt is yours or—”
The woman cut him off. “I did not steal this uniform. It is mine. Like you, I am an officer of the UGC.” She gave him a salute. “Ensign Bess Tremont, pharmacist, sir.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ensign,” said Dave. “I am Commander David P. Andrews, first officer aboard the U.S.S. Gladiator and this is our chief medical officer, Marlana Berg.” He nodded toward the doctor crouched at his side. Turning back to face the young woman with the bloated eyes, he asked, “And your partner?”
“Lieutenant Meyer Monroe, M.D., sir,” answered the man. He sounded put off, almost angry.
“How long have you been here?” inquired Dave. “And how did you get here?”
“Two weeks, may be more, may be less. It’s hard to keep track of time under these conditions,” answered Monroe, again with some ire in his voice. “It’s your fault, you know, that Bess and I have been locked up down here.”
“My fault?” questioned Dave. “I don’t even know who you are, and I am not at all familiar with your ship or crew. I don’t see how I could possibly have anything to do with your being captured by the Tradians.”
Dr. Monroe shook his head in disbelief. “Well, of course I didn’t mean you specifically. I was referring to the U.S.S. Gladiator. You guys filed a false report that this planet was uninhabited and thereby suitable for the establishment of a drug research facility.”
“I resent your accusation that a false report was intentionally filed,” stated Andrews. “Captain Stoner would never have knowingly reported that the planet was uninhabited if there was any evidence to the contrary. The report that was filed was accurate to the best of our knowledge at the time it was filed.”
“That may be, but as a result of that report Bess and I were dispatched in the Skybounder, which is a small medical research space and land craft. Our mission was to go to Brisula and begin experimenting with a highly classified drug. We were nearly to our destination, but as we approached Lexter we lost all contact with UGC Headquarters. We orbited Lexter for a while hoping to establish communications, as we knew that there was a video system in place on the planet. Our efforts were futile, so we decided to continue on to Brisula. Shortly after leaving Lexter we came in contact with a Tradian vessel. They fired at us and blew a hole in our main engine. Then they used a tractor beam to tow us to Brisula. Some bumpkin named Platt was waiting for us when we got here. He slapped cuffs and leg-irons on us, and threw us into this god-forsaken dungeon. Since then that idiot Shasta has turned a deaf ear to my pleas. And that Torgenson is a complete moron.”
“Look,” said Andrews. “It sounds to me like UGC’s decision to send you two out may have been rushed. Our report, findings, and conclusions certainly turned out to be premature. I am sorry that you got caught in the middle. But we are all in this right now, and perhaps if we work together we can figure a way out of this mess.” Dave stuck out one of his chained hands as far is it would go. After a few seconds Dr. Monroe reached out his hand, and they touched fingertips. It was as close to a handshake as they could manage. Marlana and Bess did the same.
“Are you feeling OK?” Marlana asked when she dropped her arm after touching fingers with Bess Tremont. “You look quite pale and feel rather clammy.”
“She has been ill for the last several days,” said Dr. Monroe. “She has been vomiting and having chills. It may be a stomach virus or some type of food poisoning. I’m not sure which. A lot of the slaves are sick. Some are dying and a few have even died.”
“Poisoning!” exclaimed Marlana. “Dave, I meant to tell you yesterday but never got a chance. I am pretty sure that the children have been poisoned.”
“Are you positive? Who would poison children?”
“Quiet in here!” yelled a guard. “I will be making rounds all day long. Don’t let me catch any of you talking again.”
Dave leaned back against the mesh cage. Who would poison the Flax children? Surely not Colonel Flax. Would Mrs. Flax poison her children? Most likely not. Torgenson and Shasta would have no reason to want to poison children. Was it a coincidence that the slaves were sick also? This was an intriguing question but a more pertinent one remained, where was Captain Stoner?
Tobias Carter pressed the buzzer and waited impatiently for someone to come to the security window.
Finally a man dressed in the uniform of a seaman slid open the window. “May I help you, sir?” he asked.
“You certainly may,” answered Dr. Carter rather grumpily. “It took you quite awhile to answer the bell. I will need to file a report. What is your name?
“Seaman Chase, sir. I am sorry, sir. I was attending to our prisone
r. Assisting him with his breakfast.”
“I assume that is Dr. Loring. Please take me to him.”
“Follow me, sir.” Seaman Chase led Dr. Carter through the corridors of the Brig to Paul Loring’s cell. “Do you want to go in or should I escort the prisoner to an interview room?”
“Mr. Chase, Dr. Loring is ill. I cannot conduct an examination in an interview room.” Carter shook his head in amazement, as if he could not believe how dumb this crewman could be. “Please open up.”
“Yes, sir. I am sorry. I was unaware that Dr. Loring was not feeling well.” He unlocked the cell door and stood to the side while Carter stepped inside. “Please signal me when you are ready to leave.” Then he hurried away.
Paul Loring was sitting on his prison cot drinking coffee out of a plastic UGC mug with one hand and holding a cornbread muffin in the other hand. There was a computer monitor on the small table alongside the cot, and the UGC morning newspaper was up on the screen. So far it had been a great morning. Late last night he had complained of another headache, and much to his delight Amanda was dispatched to the Brig with a couple of tablets and a glass of water. They had managed to squeeze in an hour of hugging and kissing and rubbing noses before Amanda had to get back to work. He had lain awake for several hours reliving those moments and thinking of all the times he had yearned for her when she didn’t even know how he really felt about her. Then he fell asleep and dreamed about making love to her. He awoke refreshed and had spent most of the morning daydreaming about having another evening headache.
Paul took a big gulp of coffee before putting down the cup and addressing his visitor.
“Dr. Carter, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
“I have been reading Nurse Rugan’s medical log entries, and she has been reporting that for the past two nights you have been suffering from rather severe headaches. I felt that I should check on your condition.”
“Well, I appreciate your concern, but I really am fine. They are just some migraine type headaches. I get them occasionally, um, especially when I’m, um, under stress.”
“With your recent history of concussion, severe headaches can be a warning sign of additional complications. I need to see if more tests are warranted.”
“I assure you, I am fine. The headaches are really nothing to worry about. They are not connected to the concussion. Just tension headaches.”
“Are you sure?”
“Hey, I am a doctor,” Paul laughed.
“You know what they say ‘the doctor who treats himself has a fool for a patient,’” Carter said with a grin breaking out across his face. “Perhaps I should just run a few routine checks. An MRI and a brain scan to start with.”
“No, really that is not necessary. A couple of aspirins and I am fine.”
“Nurse Rugan’s reports made it sound more serious.”
“I think she was just being overly cautious. Making sure to cover all bases,” said Paul. “She was probably just wanting to make sure I get the best care possible.” As soon as the words left his lips, Paul wished he could take them back. The look on Tobias Carter’s face told him that he definitely had made a mistake in the words he had chosen to utter. And what Dr. Carter said next clinched it.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would say that Nurse Rugan purposely exaggerated your condition in her report.”
“For what purpose?” asked Paul.
“So I would react just as I did. Order tests that would cause you unnecessary pain and discomfort.” Tobias pressed the buzzer to signal Seaman Chase. “Well, she will not get away with that.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
June 25, 1200 Hours
Jackson Greene reached for the screwdriver that he had left on the right side of his work station. It wasn’t there. He felt around for it, but he wasn’t finding it.
“Here it is,” said Bonnie Shea, placing the tool into Jackson’s hand. “It rolled off and was under your chair.”
“Thanks,” said Jackson. “That was the next place I was going to check.” He smiled at her. “Actually, I need to be more careful with my instruments. I should place them in a container or on a sticky substance.”
“Don’t sweat it. We all get sloppy with our work tools. That’s why we have so many spares.” They both laughed.
The lab doors slid open and Dennis Pearson entered. He glanced around the Science Center. Everything seemed in order. Dennis was impressed with Officer Greene’s work ethics and his attention to detail. He was sure to give the Captain and Andrews a very glowing report when they got back. That was if he was still here himself. Dennis was finding himself consistently haunted by his last conversation with Admiral Wilcox. I can’t even count all the lies and misrepresentations I told the Admiral. He closed his eyes for a second then reopened them, telling himself to focus on the present situation.
“Sounds like you two are having fun at work,” he said as he approached Jackson’s work space.
“Sorry, sir,” said Jackson.
“Nothing to be sorry about as long as you are getting your work done.” He looked over at Bonnie. “I take it you are feeling well-rested now?”
“Yes, sir. The nap helped a lot. Thank you.”
“Good. Now, how are we coming on the suction requirement?”
“Before we get to that, sir, there is one detail we may have overlooked,” said Jackson hesitantly.
“Now is no time to be shy, mister. We need to cover every detail no matter how trivial. So speak up. What is it?”
“Well, sir, once we melt the metal it is going to be extremely hot. When we place the liquid into the sanitation bags, how do we know that the liquid will not burn holes in the bags?”
Dennis was quiet for several moments as he pondered Jackson’s question. “An excellent observation. One I have to admit that I had not considered. The trash bags are rated to be flame resistant although we are working with an unusually high temperature. We don’t have time to conduct a test. I suggest that we cool down the trash bags ahead of time. I also will rig up a thermoelectric cooling device that can be installed onto the germicide sprayers. What do you think?”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” said Jackson. “We of course, need to be careful not to turn the liquid back into a solid.”
“That should not be a problem,” said Jackson. “As you may recall, there is one huge advantage to employing jilcojack. Besides being a heating source, it also acts as a stabilizing agent when potassium hydroxide is added. It bonds with the substance that it has melted or boiled so that the substance retains its new state. In other words, if we use jilcojack with the proper additive to melt the shield, it will remain in its liquid state; otherwise as you noted, the liquid would slowly begin to resolidify as it cools. We’d find ourselves hauling huge bricks.”
“Thank you for that reminder. I have to confess that I totally forgot that aspect of jilcojack. Now what about the suction?”
Jackson brought up some figures on his computer screen, and the three of them spent the next half hour discussing exactly how they were going to carry out the operation. It would take a couple of hours to disengage the pesticide sprayers and another couple of hours to attach the suction device that Pearson had created. Then they would need at least an hour to hook up the bags that would collect the liquid. Another hour would be needed to build up the suction power required to absorb the liquefied metal. Jackson estimated five hours for the shield to be completely melted and contained in the sanitation bags. All told it looked like it was going to take eleven hours to pull off the operation barring any mishaps.
“Gentlemen, it is noon,” said Dennis looking at the time on his stat phone. “I will begin heating up the jilcojack as it will take a few hours to reach the necessary temperature needed to ignite the lightning rods. If we start preparations for Project Melt at 1800, we should be able to launch a space pod down to Brisula by 0600.”
Lieutenant Hampton watched as Captain Stoner pulled on the thick steel bars for the
umpteenth time. They would not budge. Keith had tried the bolt cutters from his backpack but they would not even make a scratch. He could not believe that they were so foolish to allow themselves to get trapped. How could they have been that naïve to think that General Platt was going to be a hospitable host? Keith closed his eyes, and all of a sudden he was back in the Punishment Center looking on with horror as one of Platt’s lackeys applied electric shocks to Beverly. Her torso rose off the leather chair each time a bolt went through her body, but she gritted her teeth and never uttered a sound. A wave of shame flooded through Keith. He had made her endure so much pain before he relented and gave Platt some of the information he wanted. Yes, it was wrong to divulge confidential secrets, but could UGC really expect him to allow a fellow officer to be tortured? He quickly opened his eyes, and he was back in the bare, square cell. He saw Captain Stoner, still tugging on the prison bars.
After one final desperate wrenching of the steel gate, the Captain plopped down beside Keith on the cold tile floor of their cell. They sat in silence staring at the walls and floor. It had probably been almost an hour since they had become entrapped, and neither had spoken since Josh’s outburst when the bars slid into place. The silence was getting to Keith. It was bringing back bad memories of his prior enslavement on Brisula.
Keith interrupted the silence.
“Sir,” he said quietly. “I must apologize for my inappropriate behavior earlier.”
Josh looked questioningly at his young officer. “What inappropriate behavior?”
“When I interrupted your conversation with Chief Monks,” replied Keith. “And made that comment about someone purposely bashing Wayne on the head.”
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