by Martin Perry
He paused for a moment, assessing the slight movements of Langthorn to look for clues as to what the saboteur was inclined to think.
There was very little to go on, only a fidgeting that seemed like a nervous tick. Langthorn was rubbing his temple, using his forefinger to circle the indentation round and round. Again, Champion dismissed this, categorising it as nothing more than nervousness in the face of death. In truth, he was operating an implant that offered basic communications facilities, tapping into the Jump Cannon's own systems unbeknownst to those responsible for them.
“Maur, whatever actions have put a price on your head can only reasonably be expected to be in breach of your operating contract aboard this ship. No less, we have found evidence that you attempted to make contact with the Free Man Nation while we were grounded. Were our communications systems not disabled, I can only imagine the damage you might have done.”
“What?” shouted Maur. “What are you talking about?”
“I mean what I say. We have sufficient evidence for a legal execution.”
“This is bullshit Champion! He must have planted the evidence!”
Langthorn too, looked confused, although the contortion of his face lasted only a few moments.
“While it pains me to say this, you have made yourself a liability to me, my crew and my ship. I can not allow that to continue, and so I must cut out the cancer that threatens the life of so many. You are that cancer,” Champion said, “and your gross misconduct leaves me only one option. You are to be released into the vacuum of space.”
“Captain! Come on! You know me!” Maur shouted, launching himself against the pane of glass that separated him from the betrayers.
As he did, and as the looks of all present were diverted for a few seconds, Langthorn smacked the side of his head with brutal force. There was a ringing in his ears for a few moments, and his vision became blurry, but as it cleared a wicked grin spread across his face. Maur settled again too, his fists limply slapping against the glass as the intense gazes of the onlookers bore him into submission.
“I do Maur, you have always been a valuable member of my team,” Champion said, “but I can not have a man aboard who is the target of mad men, nor somebody who would attempt to court these people. I owe the others more than that.”
“For you however,” he continued, turning his head toward Langthorn, “I don’t believe that I need to offer much explanation. You know why...”
“Captain!” The audio systems in their locality kicked into life. “I understand you are busy, but...”
He was quickly cut off, and the communications systems announced an incoming emergency broadcast from Karson. The significance of this hit Maur, he expected only one potential caller. What was to follow struck him as both timely and entirely inappropriate.
“Maurice? Maurice Rosewell? Are you there?”
It was his mother, as he had expected, and it appeared that Margaret Rosewell was ready to make a scene. He thought it fortunate that she could not see the crisis that he was at the centre of, but struggled with the sheer humiliation of his full name being spoken so close to his death.
“Ah.” Champion coughed. “This is Captain Champion madam, could you please confirm who you are and how you have breached our communications systems...”
“Maurice? I want to speak to my son!”
“Our far-reach communications systems were not repaired...” Champion mused.
“Your systems seem barely functional! Now where it my son?”
“I’m here mom,” Maur sighed. “People don’t call me Maurice here. This is not a good time.”
“Maurice! I’m so happy to hear from you! You’ve been out of comms range for so long, and you know I get concerned when you don’t call me on a Sunday! What’s happened? Are you OK?”
“I’m fine mom,” Maur replied, looking up to the roof for mercy. “We had to crash land on a planet, a lot of the systems were broken. I wasn’t aware that we had spent time repairing the far-reach communications.”
“You didn’t,” said Langthorn. “I did.”
He was pressing his forehead against the window now, applying enough pressure to flatten the flesh and squeeze greasy residue onto the glass. There was a look of satisfaction on his face, a finger still tapping away on his temple.
“Maurice, who is that?” Margaret Rosewell questioned, speaking up in a silent audience.
“My name is Peter Langthorn, I am a member of the Free Man Nation, and I am currently broadcasting the position of this ship to my superiors. Thanks to your conveniently timed call I am also broadcasting the location of whatever family the subject has, or Maurice Rosewell as you call him. I’m sure that once the Nation threatens your life that his bravado will soon disappear and he will obediently leave us to the power.”
“Fuck you man!” Maur shouted around to him, slamming again into the window pane and thrashing away. “Whatever the fuck it is you want it’s going to be lost when they blast me out of this airlock with you!”
“Don’t be stupid, you were never to be executed, this crew treats you as family. This is all some ridiculous ruse, no doubt designed to scare me into divulging the secrets of the Nation in order to halt your supposed execution. Isn’t that right Champion?”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” Champion said. “It doesn't matter that you've seen through this plot, the end will be the same for you regardless.”
“Fortunately though, I have just identified something else for us to attack. I doubt that Maurice will hold out on us when a gun is pointed at his mother’s head,” said Langthorn.
“Fuck you! Fuck you man, I’ll kill every single one of you fucks!” Maur blared, thrashing against the compartment wall now.
“Well, you will not kill me, I have redeemed myself and will now martyr in the name of Earth. For the Nation!”
“Stop him!” Champion screamed. ““He'll take Maur with him!”
“Grab something Maur!” boomed Charles.
It was too late, Langthorn swung his head hard into the airlock glass. It cracked, and his forehead began to leak blood.
“Implant command. Implant open airlock one.”
The compartments inside immediately collapsed, Langthorn's control of more than just the communications systems made clear. Maur had a few moments to anchor himself, gripping tight a rail that vertically up the right hand panel built into the airlock. He breathed deeply and looked over as Langthorn rose his arms to the sky. The outside door opened, and with a violent slam the vacuum brought Langthorn to the ground and threw him up into the air-less void, pulling his feet from under him. Maur gripped as tightly as he could, but he could feel his eyes begin to bulge.
Within the safety of Annie’s sealed hull those present for the whole débâcle hastily moved to panels and tried to over-ride the unexpected emergency release. Commands and code-words were offered up as sacrifice in exchange for Maur’s safety. It was only as his lungs burned and his face began to turn purple that the outside door closed and once again the force of artificial gravity and the comfort of breathable air was returned. Champion alone moved up to the panting body that lay in the restored airlock. The vacuum had claimed Langthorn’s life long before.
“I am sorry Maur,” he said while offering out a hand to help him up, “but we had to try. Yazram had been unable to discern why they wanted you, I assumed putting your life on the line might prompt him to share your significance. It appears that I have only made things worse.”
Maur looked up at him in disbelief before taking the hand offered and standing face-to-face with Champion.
“He almost killed me Champion,” Maur spat quietly, disrespect in every word, “and now they are going to go after my mother. How did nobody notice what he was doing with the systems? And he had a fucking implant? I strongly suggest, Captain, that you set our course for her farm, otherwise I may be inclined to throw you in a fucking airlock.”
The stand off that followed was tense, and despite the low volume
of Maur’s threat, everybody present could read the body language well enough to understand the intent of the whispered words. Champion stood, staring into Maur’s eyes with anger, but ultimately he was aware of the transgression.
“This is Captain Champion to the command deck,” he said, not shifting his eyes away from Maur’s. “Adjust our course to land at the origin of Ms. Rosewell’s broadcast. That is an order.”
Maur broke away and headed from the crowd, brushing past Charles as he apologetically held his hands up. He strode away from them all with anger in his heart and a conviction in his mind.
“Maurice? Are you still there?” His mother’s voice asked over the audio channel.
“Yeah, I’m here,” he replied, “and I’m coming to get you.”
Dearest Margaret,
We have been trekking through the planet’s jungle for the past two weeks. Yunopial is an unforgiving planet, and while there is plenty of drinkable water we are struggling to find suitable sources of food. I would do anything for your apple pie.
The enemy caught sight of the ship landing, but have not been bold enough to attack it. They are a rag-tag group, but vicious and fuelled by thoughts of revenge.
At times I can understand why; we took everything they had in the name of humanity.
I think about you every minute of every day, and long to be back on the farm. Say hello to Maurice for me, tell him I am safe.
With deepest love,
Jack
A love letter sent by Maur’s father to his mother during his international service. He would return from Yunopial after the successful completion of this mission. The local forces were wiped out.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Mom, I need to be honest with you,” Maur said.
They were on the command deck, all of those present when Langthorn had killed himself, and now the visual representation of Margaret too, standing with a cooking apron on in the middle of the sim platform. She wore a look of anger and worry, the type that only a mother wears when she is concerned for the lives of her children.
She was not a slight woman nor a physically weak one. Margaret had broad shoulders and a back to match, cultured through years of farm work. There was very little fat on her body, and age seemed to only have weathered her looks rather than ruined them. Instead of the sagging arms of most older women, she had toned biceps without the unpleasantness of prominent muscle. After Maur’s father had died, she had a fair share of suitors, most turned away by the protective son at the front door, the more persistent gentlemen graciously declined by the lady herself.
Her hair was curled and dyed blonde. There were a few gray hairs to contend with, but she left a couple there on purpose as badges of honour. She was proud of the life she had lived, even the difficult times, and was equally proud of bearing the badges of old age. Beneath the floral apron, infrequently excluded from her outfits, she would wear similarly pretty dresses. They reflected her sunny features, and the small heel she wore gave her enough height to be just shorter than Maur – he appreciated that, it meant she could still look him directly in the eyes whenever sincere reassurance was required. As she stood in front of him he realised how much he had missed her in the many months since he had last visited Earth. It gave him no pleasure then to have the conversation commanded by the Free Man Nation threat.
“Oh, you’re always honest with me Maurice,” replied Margaret. “I’m sure you wouldn’t change a habit of a lifetime.”
“Mom, I’m being serious, you need to listen.” His words were strained a little, just enough to convince her of his sincerity. She nodded her head and conceded silence.
“I’m in trouble mom,” Maur continued, keeping constant eye-contact with her, “we’re all in trouble. We’ve been marooned because the man you saw kill himself attempted to sabotage the ship.”
“Surely you mean he succeeded? If he marooned you?” Margaret questioned with playful irreverence, still trying to shake off some of the dread building as Maur spoke.
“No, that wasn’t his plan. He was supposed to disable us in space, so that the men and women who sent him could seize the ship. They wanted to seize me mom, they think I have something that they want...”
“And do you?” Margaret asked.
“Honestly...” Maur rubbed his face with both hands, wiping away only a minute portion of stress, “I don’t know. This feels like it has been going on for forever.”
“You don’t know?”
“No. Fuck. The saboteur would talk about a power that I was supposed to lead them to, but these people are twisted, its confusing. They think that humans should separate from the rest of the universe, that they have the right to return the world to the way it was before the Collapse. I wouldn’t ever help them. They despise anything that isn’t human.”
“Do you know about the power? Do you remember any time in your life when you might have come into contact with something?”
“No, nothing of any importance anyway,” Maur said, thinking of the illicit stash still hidden underneath his bed mere feet away from her.
“Well...”, she said, “maybe they don’t mean it literally Maurice.”
“Huh?” He was still trapped in the thought of the brown box.
“Maybe they don’t mean it literally, maybe you are just a missing puzzle piece.”
Maur thought about it for a moment, slotting the idea into his understanding of the situation. She had always possessed the ability to answer the most difficult questions in his mind with unwavering ease. He considered himself as a missing piece of some grander conundrum. It made more sense than any of the other theories he had about why the Free Man Nation was so interested in him.
They were getting side-tracked, Maur thought, and he shook his head before returning to the topic he considered the most important. He believed now that the Free Man Nation was making tracks towards the one member of his family he still had, and she needed to be protected.
“Look, it doesn’t matter what they want from me. It doesn’t matter if my sweat fuels a death cannon the size of Utah, what matters is that these people are going to come to you in order to get to me. We think we can beat them to the farm, but you have to be prepared.”
“Hah,” she laughed. “I am always prepared Maurice. I’ve even made some additions to the gun cabinet recently.”
Margaret Rosewell’s hobby was quite an unusual one for a woman of her age and attitude. When his father had returned from his service, he brought his standard issue pistol with him. It was intended as a gift for Maur, the intention being to teach him how to shoot with it. Instead, Margaret confiscated it, deeming it unsuitable for her only child.
The confiscation had a surprising consequence. Instead of disposing of the gun she took to cleaning it on a weekly basis. After a month his father decided to test the water, and brought home a second pistol, and she cared for it in the same manner. The third was purchased by Margaret herself, and it was the first one she fired before a burgeoning interest in firearms truly took hold.
The last time that Maur had seen the gun cabinet, it put the arms available on the Jump Cannon to shame. An incredible array of projectile and laser weapons that ranged in colour, size and deadliness. It wasn’t an interest that Maur shared, but it gave him an easy option for Mother’s Day.
“If I might interject,” said Champion, his first words since returning to the command deck, “I am unsure that a single woman will be able to effectively hold off an assault with nothing more than side arms.”
Maur could still feel hate gargling in his stomach, a consequence of the incident in the sim but agreed with Champion.
“Well, Captain, my collection now goes far beyond side arms. I have recently acquired a number of more explosive items. I had the walls of the house reinforced a few years back too, although I doubt Maurice was observant enough to notice.”
Maur hadn’t noticed, and was only slightly reassured by the idea of his mother packing shells and rockets, possibly worse,
within a reinforced shell. The possibilities for fatal error were magnified significantly by both revelations.
“It doesn’t matter mom, we’re coming for you and you need to make yourself safe. We’ll keep in touch, but you need to get ready for lock-down. It’ll take us maybe a week, if we’re lucky, and the people chasing us won’t be more than a day or two behind. I need to go for now, you going to be OK?”
“It’s you we should be worrying about!”
“Yeah, right, see you later.”
“Love you Maurice!” she cooed in reply before her projection disappeared. The words emanated a blissful ignorance.
“Hah, Maurice? Are you serious?”
The chuckle came from Kerra, who had just entered the room with freshly healed skin. She was happy, medically so, and it showed as she swaggered down towards Maur without any indication of understanding the danger that they were all in. An arm was slung around his shoulder, cajoling him like they were two members of an athletics team.
“Maurice? No wonder you shortened it, loser.”
He was happy to hear her voice, although a pang of worry hit his chest when he noticed the fresh tele-suture scars where there had been wounds just a short while ago. Maur could tell she was drugged up, Dr. Beat generous as always with the pain-killers.
“Very good, I’m not sure this is the time for jokes,” Maur said, feigning aggravation at her presence.
“Hah, Maurice though? Seriously?” Kerra was still jostling her arm over his shoulder.
“Maurice. Yes, long for Maur, which is what you usually call me, so lets just keep it that way...”
“Your name is certainly one of our least priorities at the moment. We don't have time to mock it,” Yazram said, stepping forward from the shadowy corner he had been standing in. Maur didn’t have much tolerance for fuss at the moment, too concerned for his mother’s safety, and so this melodrama didn’t sit well.
