When the Dust Settled

by Jeannie Meekins

  Dunlop agreed.

  Ten minutes later they met on the basketball court. Both were suitably attired in shorts, t-shirts and runners.

  “How do you want to play this?” Dunlop asked.

  “Usual.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Computer, time two twelve minute halves,” John instructed. “And keep score.”

  Most players liked to keep score for themselves. The computer was usually only a backup in case of a disagreement.

  They began slowly, allowing themselves to warm up fully before getting serious. It didn’t take long until they were both at it full on. By the time they began the second half, it was becoming a battle to stay on their feet. The permitted contact became rougher with plenty of pushing and shoving from both. Whoever had the ball tended to have the advantage, but use of the entire body to block was permitted. Sometimes, it was like running into a brick wall. The occasional elbow was accidental, but still painful. Hitting the floor was just as jarring, and took skin off knees and elbows.

  They were both in a lather of sweat well before they finished and at full time couldn’t agree on a winner. The computer confirmed a draw, which made them both groan. Draws were definitely not acceptable.

  They agreed to another five minutes, after a short rest. That resulted in nothing but complete exhaustion.

  “Next basket wins,” Dunlop panted.

  John shook his head. “Shoot out.” The words were barely audible.

  They took it in turns to shoot from a designated spot. Dunlop missed: so did John. Dunlop scored. John’s concentration was way off; he missed. Dunlop was declared the winner.

  John didn’t really care. A shower and dinner were the only things on his mind. And something for that elbow in the ribs that he had collected and the few layers of skin that were missing.

  The shower stung, but it felt good. Dinner with the doctor had the added bonus of a jar of salve and a bottle of painkillers.

  “If you wanted to beat me up, you should have just said so,” John said as he uncapped the bottle and tossed down a couple of painkillers.

  “I don’t approve of violence.”

  The comment shouldn’t have made John smile, but he had to admit he was a lot more relaxed now. And that chicken satay stirfry was hitting the right spot.

  The rest of the evening was uneventful until heading home after dinner. A terrible wailing was coming from further down the corridor, as though an animal was in pain. On turning the next corner, John and Dunlop were almost bowled over by Giacomo and Humphries.

  Dunlop immediately noticed Humphries’ eye. With Giacomo’s right arm around Humphries’ neck and his hand waving about under his chin, it was impossible not to notice the bruised knuckles. The doctor picked up Humphries’ right hand, which was limp at his side, and the left from around Giacomo’s neck. They were similarly bruised. As a doctor, he was disgusted.

  “Is he okay?” John asked.

  Dunlop looked into two sets of glassy eyes. “I doubt if either of them can feel anything at the moment.”

  A look of vague recognition crossed Giacomo’s face, but it took him a while to register. He stopped singing, his head tilting to one side, leaving Humphries to continue solo.

  “I know you,” Giacomo suddenly stated, his head straightening. “You’re…” he tried hard to think. “On this ship,” he finally decided.

  Now that the young pilots weren’t moving, it was difficult for them to stay upright. They were swaying heavily, ready to topple at any second.

  “Which one do you want?” John asked.

  “This one.” Dunlop took Giacomo’s arm from Humphries, whose knees buckled as he fell forwards. The doctor’s reaction was quicker and he caught the young man under the arms before he dropped too far, and steadied him. “I’ll take a look at that eye.”

  John pulled Giacomo’s arm around his neck, holding it at the wrist, and headed him off towards his quarters. Giacomo talked constantly, most of it incomprehensible.

  “Where we going?” came out clearly.

  “Time for bed,” John told him.

  Giacomo pulled away, shaking his head. “I not tire.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Jus’ one more drinkie?” Giacomo pleaded, refusing to move but swaying constantly.

  “But you’ve drunk everything. They’ve run out,” John tried.

  “We go som’ere ess.”

  “All right,” John agreed.

  Giacomo was happy, and went with John – straight back to his quarters. He seemed to vaguely recognise the room and complained, turning around on the spot to head back out, but unable to find the door.

  John steered him to his bedroom and dumped him on his bed. He fell backwards, his head hitting the pillow. John swung his legs up and pulled off his boots. The pilot groaned and complained, but was in no state to get himself back up. John left him there; a backward glance told him he was safe. The door closed and muffled the noise.

  * * *

  John slept well that night. It was late next morning when he awoke. The fact that he hadn’t been disturbed meant the crew had not caused trouble. He was grateful for that. He caught up with Sean and spent the rest of his time with him; catching up and updating him as best he knew on what was going on. Sean would have no input on anything that happened with his ship, but John wasn’t letting him go into any situation blind.

  For a fighter pilot, Sean seemed to come and go as he pleased. Shimodo was on leave for a week. As long as he kept out of trouble, no one seemed to mind where he was. John accepted that. As long as his own crew behaved, he didn’t care where they were either.

  It was all too soon that their twenty four hours were up. John would miss his friend, but he was safe and he now knew where to find him.

  There was a much improved manner from the bridge crew. McReidy and Gillespie were the only ones still in one hundred per cent condition. Giacomo’s bruised knuckles ached as his fingers worked the controls and he tended to make slower movements, which required using his hand and arm for movement and keeping his fingers as still as possible.

  Humphries had his head in his arms, leaning on the communications console, and moaning quietly to himself. He was hungover; his head ached. Most of the swelling had gone down from his eye. It was a lovely shade of black from his eyebrow, down the side of his nose and back under the cheekbone.

  Giacomo had cracked the bone. Dunlop had set it. There would be no permanent damage and his eyesight was unaffected. It was tender to touch and throbbed constantly.

  John’s ribs were painful. As long as he breathed evenly, he was fine. Sitting in the captain’s chair, he always tended to lean against an arm. This was now impossible and he shifted uneasily, attempting to find a comfortable position.

  “Do you know what I hate most about shore leave?” Dunlop growled over the intercom.

  “What’s that?” John asked.

  “Patching them up when they get back.”

  John smiled. “Are we ready to leave, Giacomo?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  A beeping came through the communications console. Gillespie leaned over and nudged Humphries. He jumped, his head moving from side to side as he tried to remember where he was and what he was supposed to be doing.

  “Incoming call,” Gillespie told him.

  “Oh… sorry… I thought it was my head.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine.” He answered the call and turned to John. “It’s for you, sir. It’s the Kirov.” He put the main screen on visual.

  “Captain Mikhailovich,” John answered politely. “What can I do for you?”

  “Well,” Mikhailovich hesitated. “I don’t quite know how to put this… but it seems that one of our Tom Thumb torpedoes is missing –”

  Gillespie immediately turned away with guilt and pretended to busy himself at his console. John was too smart to confirm his guilt. His eyes never shifted from Mikhailovich, never changing the
ir expression.

  “Our shipment was short, and my supply officer seems to think you might know something about it,” Mikhailovich finished.

  John was thoughtful, allowing the correct amount of time before answering. “Tom Thumb? I can honestly say, sir, I’ve never heard of it.”

  “I didn’t think so.” Mikhailovich was almost apologetic. “I know you’re not equipped to handle them.” He signed off.

  John waited a moment until he knew Humphries had broken the connection.

  “Aren’t you glad I didn’t know that… Mister Gillespie?” He turned accusingly to Gillespie as he spoke his name.

  Gillespie gulped. “Yes, sir.” He couldn’t face John.

  Although John had become familiar with the torpedo, that was the extent of his knowledge. What it was, where it came from and how it got to be there, he didn’t want to know. He would not deliberately lie to his superiors, and this way he didn’t have to.

  “Move out, Giacomo.”

  Gillespie turned slightly and caught half a smile from John, who leant against the arm of the chair, bumping his ribs, and shifted uncomfortably.

  Back to top

  Chapter eight

  The ship sped from orbit, heading for the junkyard moon. John knew there would be objections the moment he told the crew where they were going. He figured once they hit scanner range would be enough notice.

  “Steve, got that shopping list?” he asked.

  “Always,” Gillespie answered.

  “That little moon on screen is a junkyard of parts. We’re going to get what we can from it.”

  John paused. A few seconds ticked.

  “And you chose to tell us this now… why?”

  He smiled. Yep, there was the disapproval from McReidy.

  She turned her seat to face him. “Because it’s illegal?”

  All eyes turned to him. Giacomo’s only briefly as he glanced over his shoulder and then back to the helm and the main screen.

  “That wasn’t the word used,” John answered.

  “And what was the word used?” she queried.

  “It is patrolled.”

  She shook her head slightly.

  “So we need our heads down and our eyes open. Anyone else have a problem with that?”

  There were headshakes all round and Tan slipped an earphone in. McReidy turned back to her console.

  “Giacomo, move us in and set an orbit. If we can hide somewhere, all the better.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Scanners aren’t picking anything up,” Gillespie stated. “We seem to be alone, bar blind spots.”

  There were always blind spots. Some would clear with distance, others would remain so. John knew he’d be notified if anything came out of them.

  Once in range, Giacomo scanned the moon. The tiny rock was no more than five hundred kilometres in diameter and a million kilometres from its planet. The gravitational field was close to what they were used to on Earth. For the size of the moon, it had to be extremely dense. John reasoned that was why ships were dumped there. Small enough not to be noticed and a gravity strong enough to smash just about anything that was dropped on it.

  The air was breathable, but very thin. As long as they didn’t over exert themselves they would be fine.

  Gillespie pulled his shopping list from an inside jacket pocket and began comparing it to the scans. John brought the scans up on his chair, at first looking for anything from Earth, then at anything from a race they were familiar with or a ship that resembled Bismarck. There were a few possibilities and he gave Giacomo co-ordinates for a promising location.

  “Orbit set,” Giacomo confirmed.

  John hit the intercom. “Bridge to engineering. Kowalski, Red, Wright and Rodgers, transporter room in five minutes.”

  “Yes, sir,” Red answered.

  “Steve.”

  Gillespie looked up.

  “You and me.”

  “Wait a minute,” McReidy complained. “Your place is up here on the ship.”

  “Since you were so dead set against the idea, I’m not asking you to go. The ship’s yours.” John stood up and turned to leave the bridge. Gillespie was waiting for him at the door. “Oh, and keep an eye out for patrols.”

  He didn’t give her time to answer.

  The engineers were waiting in the transporter room, along with North who was operating the transporter.

  “Okay, boys, we’re going shopping,” John went straight to the storage cupboards and opened one. “Not quite legal, so keep your eyes open. Mister North, be ready to pull us out at a moment’s notice.”

  “Yes, sir,” North acknowledged.

  John pulled out weapon belts, scanners and torches and dumped them on the console.

  “Precaution only,” he told them as he buckled a belt on, pulled the phaser from the holster and checked its power.

  Gillespie grabbed and buckled a belt on. The engineers were a bit slower to react; Wright and Rodgers looking at each other awkwardly before doing so.

  John looked to the engineers. A fist fight they could handle. Weapons at close range – not something any of them were used to.

  “We get what we need. If we’ve got time, we’ll see what else is there.”

  *

  The moon was cold and dark. Starlight shone down, covering the silence in a light grey gloom. A wind whistled around them, but John noticed the air was still. He shivered as he looked around. As his eyes became used to the dark, he could make out the ghostly shapes around them.

  The relics of ships long past their usefulness were scattered everywhere. Most were in small pieces, the remains of self destructing before plummeting to the surface. Larger chunks looked like they had simply been abandoned within the pull of gravity and smashed on contact.

  “Let’s check out the bigger stuff,” John pointed to an old transport that had cracked in half. The two main pieces were a hundred metres apart with refuse scattered between. “You three,” he indicated Red, Wright and Rodgers, “Go check engineering. We’ll do the bridge.”

  “Yes, sir,” Red answered.

  John checked the sky for patrols and the soft dust for his footing as he made his way towards the forward section of the transport. He looked for markings to try and identify its origin. Anything that might have been there was coated in thick layers of dust.

  The wind whistled in the still air and John couldn’t help shivering. The moon not only looked like a graveyard, it felt like one. The only things missing were the bodies.

  The hatch had crumpled on contact and popped its hinges, causing it to hang off. A bit of effort from the three of them and it ripped off completely; the shearing metal softened in the thin air.

  John ducked the buckled frame as he climbed aboard and into the dark. He switched on his torch and shone it around, moving clear of the hatch as Kowalski and Gillespie climbed aboard.

  “This way,” John inclined his head and made his way the dozen steps to the bridge.

  The bulkhead was sealed. That could mean the bridge was still intact. As John looked for another way in, Kowalski had the control panel off. In seconds, the bulkhead gave and the bridge was open. He threw John a cheeky grin.

  John stepped inside, his head moving in all directions as he glanced over the entire bridge. It wouldn’t have surprised him to find the crew dead at their places. Instead, the complete emptiness of it sent a shiver down his spine. Light from outside filtered through the windows. And why could he still hear that wind whistling?

  “Helm,” John pointed. “Go.”

  Gillespie was at the controls. Nothing worked. “Dead here, sir.”

  Kowalski squatted down and propped his torch against the pilot’s seat, focusing the light in front of himself. He unscrewed a panel and carefully lifted it off. Dust and cobweb-like threads clung to it. Something tickled the back of his hand and he screamed, flinging his hand away from his body. The panel dropped, crashing loudly on the floor, but he was half way across the bridge.
/>   “Aw, geez, man! I hate spiders!” He shuddered as though it was still on him, his arms crossed over his chest, fists buried into his armpits.

  “I don’t think they have spiders here,” John reassured him. He was trying to access the logs from the captain’s chair. The ship was without power and any decent captain would have erased them before dumping their ship here, but that didn’t stop him trying.

  “Yeah… well maybe technically… they don’t have arachnids…” Kowalski persisted. “But if it’s black, hairy and creepy, it’s a spider!”

  Gillespie knelt down beside the opened panel. He shone his torch inside, cautiously checking the cobwebs before scooping them down. “Kowalski.”

  Kowalski stayed where he was.

  “Get over here,” Gillespie bullied.

  Kowalski shook his head.

  “I promise there’s no spiders.”

  John looked across briefly, amused by Kowalski’s dilemma.

  Kowalski hesitated, and slowly stepped back to the panel, an unconvinced look on his face.

  “Everything looks intact… if you know the system,” Gillespie continued.

  Kowalski carefully peeped inside, looking more for whatever shouldn’t be there than what was. He reached in tentatively and pulled out a control grid, then another. All the chips were in place, some a little loose, but were easily put back.

  “Well?” John asked, having given up on being able to access anything without power.

  “It seems… pretty basic,” Kowalski answered.

  “Basic sounds good,” John encouraged.

  “Lines appear fine. Do you think,” Kowalski began doubtfully “we can transport the whole lot up and strip it there…? I didn’t think so.” He answered his own question as John frowned.

  “Commander, McReidy here,” the tense voice came over John’s communicator.

  “Go ahead,” John answered.

  “You’re not alone. We’ve picked up life forms in your area.”

  “Where from?”

  “I don’t know. There’s no sign of any ship. They just appeared.”