Spengler was swaying, with a deep frown on his stupid face. “Where did the knife go? It’s around here somewhere. Did you see where it went?”
Both he and Kris must have noticed the knife at the same time. It was stuck in his chest up to the hilt.
“I’ll be damned,” Spengler said. “You did it. You stuck me.” He reached up, grabbed the handle and yanked the knife out of his chest. Blood spurted and the knife was red with gore. “Guess what?” he said. “I don’t feel a damn thing. Drinking has its value, wouldn’t you agree?”
Kris made mewling noises in the back of her throat.
Spengler sighed deeply, started toward her and then a look of confusion filled his face. “You know what?” he asked.
Kris shook her head.
Spengler didn’t say another word. Instead, like a tree, he toppled forward onto his face, twitched a few times, and then lay still.
Kris stared at him. She was certain that if she went to check, he’d look up and laugh, telling her he’d been faking. Then he would grab and hold her, cutting her throat.
Kris waited a solid ten minutes before it dawned on her that First Mate Spengler was truly dead and that she’d killed him. Would they put her away forever or hang her for this?
“No,” she whispered. It was time to change her luck the way Captain Maddox changed his.
-4-
Maybe Kris wasn’t thinking straight about this. A man had just tried to murder her on her own vessel, and she’d killed him instead while defending herself. She hadn’t intended to actually kill him, but who would know that or believe her story? Could she even trust the other two?
In her present mental state, Kris didn’t think so. Her heart had twisted within her, beating strangely. Breathing became a chore she found fatiguing. Wasn’t that weird? Without breath, she would end up like Spengler here.
Kris had moved the corpse on an anti-grav sled, after wrestling his fat dead bulk onto it. Her clothes were bloody and—
“No,” she whispered. Blood dripped from the sled onto the deck. That meant she’d have to retrace her route and scrub away every particle of blood. It was damning evidence against her.
Kris grabbed a rag and sopped the blood so it wouldn’t drip more from the sled. She crumpled the bloody rag and tossed it onto the dead thing on the sled. Then, numbly, she continued pushing the floating anti-gravity sled down a ship corridor.
She was going to space the corpse and maybe the grav sled too. But that was okay. She didn’t think anyone was going to do an inspection anytime soon. Well, not exactly, anyway. She couldn’t go back to Alpha Sigma 9. That was crystal clear to her. So…
Kris halted, standing there breathing mindlessly. What if the other two are in on this? They might be carrying combat knives, hunting for me even now.
Kris heaved a deep sigh and headed away from the sled. Her steps quickened until she was running down the corridor, reaching an armory shelf—
She slid to a halt in sick disbelief. The armory panel was open, which meant someone had opened it. Trembling, she examined the blasters—one was missing, the third on the top.
Okay, okay, she had to think. Who had taken the blaster and why? She snorted, grabbed another blaster and checked the charge—full. She set it on high blast. No more half-measures for her. She took a step, and then halted, came back and closed the panel. Then, she ran back to the anti-gravity sled.
With the blaster tucked behind her waistband, with her hands on the handles, she pushed the anti-grav-sled through the corridors. She kept her ears open, straining to hear everything she could.
No spaceship was ever quiet, not if one listened. She heard the air-conditioning and engine thrums. She heard metallic groans and creaks, terrifying if one listened to them for long. What she did not hear were footfalls other than her own.
The tension in her coiled tighter until she made short sharp gasps. She wanted to relax. She wanted—
Kris halted and forced herself to breathe as deeply as she could. She held that and exhaled slowly and completely. Then, she repeated the process. Amazingly, that calmed her and straightened her thinking.
Would Commodore Smits order the prison warden to have Corporal Johan make a deal with First Mate Spengler to murder her? That seemed unlikely. Who would possibly trust Spengler to see something like that through?
A fool would, Kris told herself. Was Commodore Smits a fool? No. Was the prison warden a fool? That was unlikely. So, who did that leave?
“Corporal Johan,” she whispered.
While Johan wasn’t completely stupid, he might be just foolish enough to murder. Was Johan friends with the Bombay’s engineer and computer tech? What had Spengler told her? Johan and he had gone to boot camp together. It would stretch credibility to think that the other two had been in the same boot camp.
Kris started feeling better until she remembered the open armory panel and missing blaster. “Oh,” she said, laughing nervously. It was obvious now that she thought about it. Spengler had opened the panel earlier and taken the blaster. Afterward, he’d gotten roaring drunk and forgotten all about the blaster, using his knife instead.
Feeling safer, she hurried down the corridors. Ten minutes later, she reached the small pressure chamber. She pushed the grav unit with the corpse through the airlock hatch, stepped out, shut the hatch and opened the outer one right away. She hadn’t drained the atmosphere for a reason. Rushing out, the airlock atmosphere would propel the sled and corpse into space.
She reversed the airlock process, waited until the atmosphere had equalized in the airlock chamber, and then opened the inner hatch. It was empty, devoid of the incriminating evidence. There was some blood, though, on the floor, three drops to be precise.
“I’ll take care of that,” she muttered.
Even though she felt spent, Kris soon cleaned the deck with an old-fashioned mop, squeezing it into a bucket. She cleaned the airlock and retraced her route, wiping away droplets of blood wherever she found them.
It took her an hour and ten minutes to make sure. She was mentally exhausted after that.
I could use a drink.
After putting away the mop and bucket, she went to the galley and selected a cold beer. She sat in the tiny cafeteria, savoring each sip. Once she was done, she debated having another.
Yes, I think I will. I’ve certainly earned it.
In the middle of sipping the second beer, Kris cocked her head. Why hadn’t she seen the other two at any time in the corridors? Wasn’t that odd?
She took a longer sip, soon guzzling the rest. She didn’t want to waste the beer. Two on an empty stomach had begun affecting her, though, but in a good way. She felt much calmer, much less troubled over the killing and blood cleaning.
She smiled as she stood, picked up the bottle and put it in a dispensary. Feeling nicely buzzed, she headed for the crew quarters. She would knock on the cabin hatches and see if the other two had been sleeping. That would be best—
Kris stopped in the middle of a corridor. She stopped because she heard a footfall, a boot, a heavy one. She creased her forehead thoughtfully.
The engineer and tech were both skinny men. She doubted they—
There it was again, a heavy footfall.
Despite the buzz—it was already dissipating—she knew better than to call out. Her mouth was open just the same, and she ached to call and see if anyone was there. She leaned forward, straining to hear. Yes, she heard someone walking, and she heard a scrape of metal on metal.
Her heart started pounding—the buzz was gone. All the crew wore soft-soled boots or shoes. The walker had a different kind of boot. It was on the tip of her tongue the kind of—
“Oh,” she whispered. She’d heard something like that not so very long ago. Boots against concrete—
“Johan,” she whispered. The bastard of a prison guard must be aboard the Bombay. But that was outrageous. Why would he—?
Never mind, Kris told herself, knowing why he was aboard.
> She swallowed hard and began walking toward the footfalls. She didn’t hear them anymore. Had Johan killed the other two? Would Spengler and Johan have planned to take the Bombay somewhere and sell it to space pirates perhaps?
Kris walked softly, dreading coming upon Corporal Johan. Would she have to shoot him?
Drawing the blaster from her waistband, she gripped it so tightly that her gun hand began to ache. She looked at it and noticed her hand trembled.
Well. There was nothing she could do about that.
She continued heading down the corridor. She strained to hear him. She—
Footfalls came toward her, causing her stomach to twist into a knot. Looking around, she spied a hatch, hurried to it, opening it and manually closing it until only a tiny crack showed. She pressed her body against it so she could peer through the crack.
Kris waited, the stomach knot tightening, tightening—she heard his boots click against something on the floor. Then he passed her hiding location—Johan! He was a short, stocky man with a brown flight jacket, black pants and the boots he’d worn in the prison. He wore a hat with a short bill. He’d shaved the back of his head so two folds of flesh showed. He was a disgusting pig of a man.
Her hand reached for the hatch switch and froze. She was trembling, feeling sick, wanting to vomit. It struck her that she hadn’t vomited after killing Spengler.
“Now,” Kris whispered, pressing a finger against the switch.
The hatch slid open, she stepped out with the blaster ready and faced Johan as the man turned his head to glance over his shoulder. He must have heard the hatch opening.
“If you turn around,” Kris heard herself say, “I’ll kill you.” She didn’t say, “I’ll shoot you,” but, “I’ll kill you.” She was shocked at how calm her voice sounded.
Johan stared at her like that, his thick round face twisted to the left so he could peer over a shoulder.
“I don’t think—” he said.
“Drop the blaster. Do it now, or you’re dead.”
He bit his lower lip as his dark eyes swirled with indecision. Clearly, he wasn’t enjoying this.
“Fine,” she said, bringing the blaster higher as she used both hands to hold it. “Spengler is dead. You can join him in space if you like.”
“What are you talking about?”
Kris’s trigger finger fractionally tightened.
“Wait!” Johan shouted, perhaps seeing the finger tightening or sensing it. His unseen blaster clattered against the deck at his feet.
“Kick it away,” Kris said.
Johan waited a half-beat, then he kicked blindly, and the blaster slid across the corridor deck away from him.
“Good,” Kris said, feeling lightheaded but in control. Don’t screw this up. If you screw this up, he’ll kill you. “Lie on the floor.”
“Kris,” he said. “Let’s talk about this, huh?”
“On the floor, you bastard,” she said. “I don’t mind shooting you in the back. I should just gun you down and be done with it.”
Did Johan hear something new in her voice? Something serious, something deadly? He must have because he dropped prone as if doing calisthenics.
“Arms behind your back,” she said, her mouth bone-dry.
He obeyed, struggling to put his thick short arms behind his back.
Kris took a step closer to him. She didn’t have handcuffs, although she had her belt. Could she tie his wrists together with that? No. He might twist around and try to grapple with her as she tied. To attempt it would not be smart on her part.
“If you move, you bastard, I’ll kill you.”
“Lady, take it easy. I’m doing what you asked.”
“Shut up,” she said. “Don’t talk to me unless I tell you to.”
He said nothing.
Kris approached him, the blaster held with both hands. She also studied him, noticing that he watched her. Would he kick out his feet?
“Oh,” she said, having an idea. “Take off your jacket. Then take off your boots, pants and shirt. Toss them away from you one at a time.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m not stripping for you.”
“You want to die?”
“Can you shoot me if I’m lying on the floor like this?”
“Maybe,” Kris said. “I know you came to kill me, or to make sure Spengler did his job.”
“Who is this Spengler?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Your boot camp buddy, I guess.”
“The idiot. Did he tell you that?”
“Oh, he spilled his guts. Told me everything. Start taking off your clothes. This is your last chance.”
“And then?” he asked. “What happens after that?”
“After that,” Kris said, “I’m taking you to the brig.”
Johan’s head twisted more so he could look at her better. Whatever he saw, he lay flatter on the floor and finally nodded. “Sure, lady, I can do that. You want to put me in the brig, huh?”
“Shut up,” she said. “Just do what I tell you.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re a tough broad. I got time, though, sister. You better remember that.”
“If you don’t strip fast enough, I’ll remember, but you’ll be dead.”
“You got the balls to kill me?” Johan asked. “I doubt it. But I’ll go with your bluff for now. By the way, what really happened to Spengler?”
“Uh-uh,” she said. “Do what I say. After you’re in the brig, I’ll tell you.”
“Promise?” he asked, with a hint of deceit in his voice.
“Yes,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t try anything stupid so she’d have to kill him and go through the Spengler routine with him. Johan looked heavier than Spengler, and she wasn’t sure she could drag his carcass onto another anti-gravity sled. Did they even have another one?
Pay attention, Kris. He thinks he’s tricky. She nodded, watching him closely, readying to fire if he did anything even slightly suspicious.
-5-
The truth was that Kris Guderian was afraid of Corporal Johan. He had pitiless little pig eyes, and she felt soiled whenever he looked at her. She was certain that he’d beaten more than a few inmates to death during the time of HMD ascendency. He would have used a baton as his fellow prison guards held the victim down.
Fortunately, Johan was presently locked away in one of the three tiny cells in the brig. She’d reset the code to the chamber so neither the engineer or computer tech could gain admittance. She hadn’t forbidden them to go there. She hadn’t told them about Spengler or Johan either.
In truth, she seldom saw the other two. The engineer remained in the lower deck, servicing and watching the main engine. The tech—she didn’t know what he did. He stayed in his quarters most of the time, likely playing video games. So far, she hadn’t questioned Johan, not even remotely through an intercom. She made sure he automatically received water and concentrates in his cell and that was it. He had a toilet and sink. If he committed suicide due to despair, fine. If he tried to escape, alarms would sound, and gas would flood the cells.
Kris spent most of her time on the bridge as the Bombay neared the 82 G. Eridani System. Maybe it was foolish to continue with the mission. Maybe Commodore Smits had been in on all this, but she didn’t know that. What she did know was that Smits had given her a mission because government people from Olmstead had come to the nearest star base with a problem. It was her kind of problem, too. If she could figure it out, might that help really reinstate her into a proper ship command?
The idea fired Kris’s imagination. It had been so many years now since she’d run a Star Watch ship. After Methuselah Man Strand had captured her…
She shook her head as she sat at the Bombay’s piloting board. She didn’t want to think about Strand or the years of psychiatric treatment. The doctors had finally given her a clean bill of mental health. Then the HMD had come along and torpedoed her. Now, though, in this new era—
“Stop,” she told herself. It was time to c
oncentrate on the mission. She could worry about the future later.
She got up and went to one of the two science stations on the bridge and downloaded the information the people from Olmstead had given Smits.
Kris studied the electronic readings from the asteroid belt that a battleship probe had picked up several weeks ago but could find nothing familiar about them. The signals were faint, odd and without a visible source, and definitely in the system’s main asteroid belt. Afterward, she looked at data concerning two missing asteroids. They were simply gone, and they were among the largest ten present in the belt.
Where could asteroids go? One could blow them up, or attach huge engines and theoretically drive them somewhere, but to simply disappear…no, that shouldn’t be possible.
She read the data three times but couldn’t conclude anything other than the obvious. The strange electronic readings had something to do with the disappeared asteroids. Well, there was also a scientific explanation for all this. It would be her task to find out what. Could she do it crippled as she was with a two-man crew and herself aboard a frigate?
***
Thirty-two hours later, Kris Guderian bent over a printed chart on the bridge as she examined a physical map of the 82 G. Eridani System Main Asteroid Belt. She found that using a physical map sometimes helped her see things she might otherwise miss.
The Bombay was in the star system, in the asteroid belt at the stated position where Asteroid Theta C/22 was supposed to be. Kris tapped the chart with a fingernail. Then, she looked out the polarized window. There was nothing out there, no Theta C/22 Asteroid with a 56-kilometer width and 92-kilometer length. All the laws of physics said the asteroid should be here or at least visible. So why wasn’t it?
Kris bit her lower lip, thinking.
The Lost Tech Page 3
