by Martin Perry
Standing at the front of the ship, in the all-too-familiar brown cloak, was a human clutching an exact replica of the bayoneted pistol that Beta Crew had used to identify the Free Man Nation. His hood was down, his frightened face grimacing through the darkness as the entire crew of the Jump Cannon assembled in awe of the chaotic scene. Annie was still screaming, but so was Marc 14, the pistol pressed against his head and an arm gripping around his neck. His shirt, optimistically Hawaiian, was smeared with blood that most likely belonged to this attacker. The Nation man’s stubbled face was stained with the blood of cuts that scattered across it.
“Stand back,” he shouted. “Stand back or I execute this rancid creature! I mean it!”
Crew-men advanced, calling his bluff, but the click of the trigger being drawn back stopped them in their tracks.
“I mean it! I will fucking shoot this piece of shit right here!”
“No. You won’t.”
It was Yazram, his distinguishable gritty voice breaking the ranks of crew-men and coming forward to the edge of the deck’s perimeter level. A large forking crack was drawn down the right side of his hardened face, traditional dress torn and melted at the edges. His hand was held forward, and he limped toward the saboteur confidently. There was no resistance to his suggestion. He was under Yazram’s control.
“Yes! Yes, I will!” declared the saboteur, grunting with effort as he tried to restore control to his own muscles. Failing repeatedly, he panted in panic.
As if acting in unison with Yazram, Champion flanked the man from below. Seizing the opportunity, he bounded up the staircase that led to his quarters. One of Marc 14’s prized new ornaments was in his hand, a bulky blunt object, and it was brought down on the Free Man saboteur’s head with a crackling thud. He hit the ground, as did Yazram, the last trickle of energy expelled before his mental grip on the man was released.
There was only a moment of hesitant relief to spare, the streaks of stars through the front view-port signalling to all who were on the command deck that they were hurtling out of control. As Champion stepped over the unconscious robed man, striding toward his own station, the rest of the crew followed his lead and frantically ran to their roles.
Engineers and maintenance crew, including Maur, sprinted back to the wreckage of the engine rooms while systems staff rapidly ran diagnostics on Annie’s controlling protocols. It was the small team of navigation crew that were most troubled, tearing at their hair while trying to make sense of the constantly changing maps that lay in front of them. Annie was lurching through space at near-quantum, and it felt impossible to dictate a course to her.
While Charles, Kerra and Thom apprehended the saboteur’s lifeless body, the heroic Yazram left crumpled on the ground for the time being, Champion began barking orders of their plan.
“Navigation, we need to identify the nearest habitable surface,” he said, Marc 14 joining him at his side.
“Sir,” offered one of the team, “we can’t possibly land safely, the port engine has been completely disabled. We’re circling ourselves here! We’ve lost remote control over the remaining engines!”
It was true, Annie’s disabled port side meant that she was etching out arcing paths across space. It was fortunate that the odds were in her favour and that no solid objects had made contact.
“We’re not going to try a landing, we’re going to try and slingshot ourselves down. Cut the near-quantum now!”
A silence blanketed the still screaming internals of the ship, the suggested manoeuvre reminiscent of the one used to disable Los Piratas. It struck fear into the hearts of everybody who heard it.
“This needs to be done crewman, the life support systems are beginning to fail. We need to hit a habitable planet soon or we’re all going to die regardless,” Champion ordered, calm and confident in his command.
“Aye aye, Sir,” replied the crewman, and he and the rest of his team pinged options and calculations towards the Captain’s panel. Even in spite of their recent tragedy, these men and women trusted Champion implicitly.
Maur was working in the intact starboard engine room, hurriedly pulling and pushing hardware in an attempt to stabilise the most important elements of Annie’s movement mechanics. Other maintenance crew and engineers shunted around him, colliding with each other as the ship lurched. Even if they stabilised the performance of this single engine, Annie would still be lame on one side and unable to keep a steady course.
“Maur, you down there?” came the Captain’s voice over audio, he sounded emotionless.
“I wish I wasn’t,” Maur jested in return, trying to cheer himself through the fear that was pulsing through him, with little result.
“I need you to do something for me Maur, you need to get it right first time and I need you not to hesitate.”
Maur didn’t like the suggestion that he might hesitate, it gave the unmistakable impression that whatever command was about to follow would be questionable. Most likely dangerous too, and that was something in enough abundance to currently make every action a struggle through crushing cowardice.
“Just tell me what it is Captain,” he said, hands hovering at the system access hatch in front of him.
“When I tell you, you’re going to cut power to the remaining engine. We have no real control over it on the deck right now. You need to do it exactly when I tell you, no mistakes. Then on my next prompt you will engage the underside propulsion and steady our fall.”
“Steady our fall? Captain, what am I doing to us if I cut the power?” Maur questioned.
“You’ll be saving us all. No hesitation Maur, do not let me down.”
The plan was to disengage the engines as the Jump Cannon came close to the orbit of one of the habitable planets on its accelerated trajectory. With the engines switched off, the gravitational pull should be enough to pull them below the atmospheric limits. At this point it became a free-fall down to the surface. The planet in question did not have any human-level intelligence on the surface, but offered rich vegetation that would hopefully cushion their plummeting descent.
The most hopeful part of the plan being that the trees and shrubbery might cradle Annie as she hit the ground occurred to Champion as being terribly fatalist. He wished he had more time to come up with something that had an air of positivity about it. There was not, and it would have to do.
By now their erratic flight had circled them into a heavily occupied system, a variety of planets spread across a relatively narrow space. The target was in view of Annie’s short-range scanning equipment, and the navigation team made the final hesitant adjustments to the planned trajectory. They were all sweating, brain matter being stretched and exercised into delivering results that the adrenaline in their bodies was urging them to walk away from. There was nowhere to go anyway, they thought.
Marc 14 was gripping Champion’s hand, interlocking his fingers in a public display of affection that would have been noticed in any other situation. The gesture raised the Captain’s courage, and he brought the trajectory and the planetary body up in front of him on the sim platform. He watched as the representative dot of Annie rushed forward to the planet that he hoped would offer them sanctuary. He felt no betrayal this time, their situation the result of a stranger rather than a friend. At least the ship remained intact at current. The dot intersected a red block.
“Now Maur! Pull the engines now!” Champion cried.
Maur responded immediately, yanking free the emergency fuses that linked between the fuel systems to Annie’s engines. The girth of the rigid cables felt heavy in his hands, and the weight of pressure upon him pressed down on his shoulders as he waited for the second instruction.
He had either been successful, or sent them inaccurately into the path of a stellar object that may well throw them into one of its satellites. He had no way of knowing in the windowless engine room, the safety shutters fused down, until the command came through.
“Maur, hit the underside thrusters. We’re through, ju
st slow us as much as you can,” Champion ordered, relief shaking through Maur.
He crab walked over to the appropriate panel, his crew-mates still struggling to maintain functionality to allow the next step. Maur stumbled, tripping over a loose wire and coming down hard on his knee.
His hand stretched out, crashing into the engage button and powering up the thrusters. Maur clutched at his leg, but smiled, assuming success.
“We’re upside down Maur! Maur! Do something!” Champion bellowed, wiping the smile off his face and hitting Maur with a painful chunk of dread.
He tried to stand, but quickly came down again as his knee gave way. Maur extended every finger as far as he could but stood no hope of performing the necessary manoeuvre to flip Annie over, the appropriate panel out of reach. Right now the underside thrusters were speeding the descent, guaranteeing death, but Maur could do nothing to stop it. The others in the room realised this far too late.
Kerra cut through the air above, arms held high after vaulting over the overhead catwalks. She hit the ground with grace, before tucking her head down and rolling forward not only to kill her speed from the fall but to position herself in front of the panel. Quick fingers pulled the sliders down and disengaged the port side thrusters for just long enough for the Jump Cannon to right herself in the air. Maur looked up at her in awe, feeling the twist in his stomach even though the gravitational systems aboard had kept him upright at all times.
She slid down beside him, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He nestled his head into her neck briefly before looking into her deep eyes.
“I thought you might need some help,” she said softly.
“Yeah... thanks.”
They sat for the few minutes of the fall unaware as to whether or not they would survive. Sharing the close embrace released positive feelings into their minds, Maur became happiest just before his death.
The reaper did not come though, branches of towering, thick and ancient plant-life grasping at Annie to stop her from an untimely end. The thrusters continued to growl, and they came to a full stop with every breath of the ship held.
Kerra and Maur released each other as their safety sunk in.
There was no residual awkwardness from their actions, and fingers still touched as they rested on the floor. For the first time they had been physically honest with each other. The complicated feelings that called forward helped to quell the remaining fright. This planet was an unknown entity, and while they might be out of harm’s reach for now, neither could assess how long that might last. At least they had had each other for that brief moment.
CRITICAL SYSTEM DAMAGE REPORT... PORT FUEL_CORE1 = CORRUPT (0) PORT FUEL_CORE2 = CORRUPT (0) PORT FUEL_CORE3 = CORRUPT (0) STARBOARD_FUEL_CORE1 = DISENGAGED (1) …? STARBOARD_FUEL_CORE2 = DISENGAGED (1) …? STARBOARD_FUEL_CORE3 = DISENGAGED (1) ….? PORT_THRUSTER_SET = REDUCED FUNCTION (3) STARBOARD_THRUSTER_SET = CORRUPT (0) BOW_THRUSTER_SET = CORRUPT (0) MANOUVRE_ACTUATOR_SET = REDUCED FUNCTION (3) AIR_RECYCLE_SYS_CONTROL = LIMITED FUNCTION (4) GRAV_SYS_CONTROL = REDUCED FUNCTION (3) WASTE_RECYCLE_DUMP_SYS = REDUCED FUNCTION (3) NEAR_LIGHT_SYS_CONTROL = CORRUPT (0) NEAR_LIGHT_SYS_CORE = CORRUPT (0) HULL INTEGRITY....SIGNIFICANT DAMAGE (GRADE 2 of 3) PLEASE CONTACT YOUR SERVICING PROVIDER IMMEDIATELY.....
Damage report from the Jump Cannon, output taken from shortly after the crash landing.
Chapter Sixteen
Kerra acted as a crutch to allow Maur easier travel back to the command deck. Champion had ordered they meet in his quarters shortly after landing, giving instructions to all other crew members to set about assessing the damage done to Annie.
This allowed their embrace to continue, although not in the most romantic of senses, but it offered comfort to two people currently in shock regarding the events of the last hour. They did not hesitate to head away from the engine room, chunks of coating freed from Yazram’s face were still apparent on the floor, as were the remains of the bomb that might have left them completely stranded in space.
Maur debated to himself the parameters of what had happened, and what the Free Man Nation saboteur might have to say for himself. While the memories of his ordeal on Cirramorr were beginning to fade, the guilt surrounding the subsequent street fight was not. Within spitting distance of these two events the Nation had once again returned for him. Any consequences of their hunt, including their current predicament, were his to bear, and the emotions were debilitating.
The command deck was eerily quiet when they reached it, crew-members usually stationed there visiting other parts of the ship to offer support to the diagnostics. Limping down the flight of stairs into Champion’s quarters, Maur and Kerra quickly identified the saboteur.
The attacker had been stripped of his robes, left only with loose fitting navy trousers and his boots. Champion, 14, Charles and Thom were standing around him, looking down on a man already cuffed and bloodied. Champion had decided to disrobe himself too, his crisp white shirt lying in a heap. He was cracking his knuckles and bore no semblance of a calm man.
While he paced back and forth Kerra placed Maur down on one of the couches. He was still in clear sight of the man, no more than ten feet away, but he felt separated from the events unfolding. Maur rubbed his knee and suspected that the cap might have been fractured. He briefly wondered where Beatrice might be. Champion had far more immediate concerns to press on with.
“I’m going to give you one shot,” he opened, “to tell me who you are and why you want us dead.”
The man looked up at him and grinned, mocking stupidity on Champion’s behalf. He rolled his jaw as if ready to speak but instead chewed a loose tooth out of his mouth, spitting it across the floor in defiance of the Captain’s proposal.
It was enough to warrant retaliation from the crew surrounding him, Charles swinging a meaty fist into the side of the saboteur’s face like a club. The hit was hard enough to send him slumping onto his side, a thunder-crack blow but not the soldier’s most powerful. The man coughed and spluttered, more blood seeping from his mouth into a pool on the floor. It congealed together in the fibres of the rug that lay under him, the fabric soaking up the evidence of Charles’ actions.
“My name is of no significance,” growled the man with his head still buried in the soft, stained carpet, gritted voice failing to properly disguise his growing angst. “All you need to know is that I had a mission to complete in the name of Earth. I have not completed that mission entirely, but I suspect the fatal punishment I will receive for that will not impair the eventual outcome.” "You're right you didn't succeed, we still stand alive!" Champion shouted.
“I had no intention of killing you. I represent the Free Man Nation, and we have a swell in our ranks sufficient to disable the negligible crew that you currently have on board.”
Champion did not take this dictatorial statement well, jabbing his body forward and gripping the man by the neck. He applied thick pressure, impressing his thumbs down hard enough to turn the man a pale shade of blue within a few moments. Blood squeezed out, spattered from burst lips and other cuts, decorating Champion’s ferocious face and flexing barrel chest.
“Firstly,” Champion said, still gripping tightly, “I do not appreciate your tone. Secondly, I have no quarrel with Earth nor the Nation that you propose to represent. This is incoherent babble, and you will answer my questions properly.”
“Oh but you do, the Nation knows of your ship, it knows of your crew and it knows that both stand in the way of our triumph.” He spat and spluttered through the last of his air.
The grip remained tight. Eyes threatening to roll back, the saboteur wildly slapped at Champion as the last dregs struggled to keep his system awake. The disquietude in his movements was no longer a concern in the name of pending pain, but now a plea for his life.
“Captain, please...” Kerra pleaded.
“Why? Why should I grant this man any reprieve?”
“Captain...”
“I believe we may have quarrel with the Nation
he speaks of Captain, please free the man so we might explain,” Charles said, with complete composure, bringing consternation to his colleagues.
The Captain’s fingers were still cutting into the saboteur’s throat. Carefully trimmed nails had now ruptured the skin, tiny leaks of red running along the digits responsible for their expulsion from the man’s body. Contemplation complete, seeing the sincerity in the eyes of his crew, Champion released the man, dropping him to the floor. Deep gasps of air were sucked in as he clutched at his throat, willing the return of vital gasses to his organs.
“You should explain yourself hastily then Charles,” Champion said while steadying to his feet, “as your statement suggests you have kept secrets from me; something which I no longer have a tolerance for.”
“Do not see treachery where it does not lie Champion,” Charles responded.
The two men were at a stand-off, Champion’s qualm prompting a silent stare from Charles following his initial retort. The air was razor-sharp, the saboteur apparently forgotten for a few minutes as the two men decided to go at each other. Maur’s personal guilt bubbled with his concern that two friends might come to blows, it was enough to warrant him speaking up.
“Enough guys,” he said as if pleading. “Charles, I need to be the one who confesses about Pura, not you.”
Kerra came away from the huddle and flanked Maur on the couch, offering her support to his speech. Thom merely slumped down in the nearest seat, cupping his hands around his face.
“Fine,” said Charles, stepping away from the bloodied man on the floor and a now more perplexed Champion.
He didn’t say anything, choosing instead to stand in silence, head slightly twisted over his shoulder to look at Maur. He had suspicions, Champion always had suspicions about these four, but had chosen to attribute recently unusual behaviour to post-alcoholic embarrassment, harmless extracurricular mischief or both. They had been stuck on Pura for a long time, and at least one of them was bound to have caused some sort of trouble. While in the past they had proven themselves capable of handling any such concerns, the concerns had never made their way aboard with bombs before.
