Ship of the Damned

by James F. David

  Born to older parents who thought they were long past childbearing age, Ralph had been their pride and joy. An easy, cheerful baby, he was the center of their lives, and they loved him all the more knowing they would have precious little time with him. His mother was nearly fifty when he was born, and his father even older. They were traditional parents; Ralph’s mother stayed home with her son, enjoying every minute of parenthood. She found playing with her son, pushing him in the stroller, and later walking hand in hand with him more satisfying than her thirty years as a legal secretary. His father also loved parenting; he played catch with Ralph, took him fishing, and used his carpenter’s skills to build him the best playhouse a boy could imagine. It was a pirate ship-shaped jungle gym, with a sand box and rope net for climbing.

  Ralph had been popular with the neighborhood kids, not just because of his special toys or the bottomless cookie jar in his kitchen, but because of his genial personality. Ralph went along to get along, and never held a grudge. A friend who threw sand in his face one day was welcomed back the next. Ralph and his parents couldn’t have been happier, until Ralph started school.

  By the end of first grade Ralph was behind his grade level. With a social promotion they pushed him into second grade, where he continued to fall behind. Because he was easy to work with, he was promoted again to the third grade, but it was clear by the end of that year that he could not keep up with his peers. It was painful for his parents when the school retained him to repeat the third grade, but Ralph took it in stride, climbing onto the bus each morning with a smile on his face and a Daffy Duck lunch box tucked into his backpack. Each day that year he waved goodbye to his mother from the bus window. It was Ralph’s last year in a regular class.

  The next year Ralph was assigned to special education and driven to school by his mother. Cheerful to a fault, he accepted his new situation though he was briefly saddened because he missed riding the bus with the other children. Quickly adapting, he was popular with the staff and his classmates, and was often a positive influence on emotionally unstable children.

  As early as age five Ralph began walking up and down his block, talking to anyone and everyone. By the time he was ten he was ranging several blocks from home and knew by name most of the residents in his neighborhood. By age twelve he was known far and wide; passersby called to him by name as he came down the street, and business owners greeting him warmly as he visited, often asking Ralph to run errands for them. When he was thirteen his father died, and over the next few years the pirate ship fell into disrepair. The paint peeled from the ship, the rope climbing net frayed and finally broke under Ralph’s weight. Three years later his mother died. With no relatives to take him in, Ralph was made a ward of the state and began moving from foster home to foster home, the only constants his wandering ways, his need to meet and greet people, and his always genial personality.

  Ralph was finishing his greeting routine now, checking with Nigel, who was sitting in the booth at the Chevron station taking money from the self-serve customers. Satisfied that Nigel didn’t need anything, he turned on Selby Street, headed for Dr. Birnbaum’s house, which was where he lived.

  Ralph walked into an old neighborhood which had been rejuvenated when the third-generation families put money into remodelling. Many of the original single-story homes now were two-story, others had room additions, still others had garages converted into family rooms. Mature trees lined the streets, and in the yards grew closely cropped grass outlined with large shrubs. In new neighborhoods gardening meant planting, seeding, and fencing. Here, gardening was pruning, clipping, and raking.

  Ralph greeted everyone he passed on Selby Street with a hearty “hihowyadoin,” stopping to shake hands with people he hadn’t met before—there were few of those. Ralph knew everyone and everyone knew him.

  He spotted the strange car in front of his house a block away, and his legs picked up their rhythm. His “hihowyadoins” were clipped now, and he finished with a quick “I gots to get home. I think we gots company.” Ralph was up his walk and in the door in six strides, pleased to see that they did indeed have visitors.

  A man and a woman sat on the couch opposite Dr. Birnbaum, who was in his motorized wheelchair. Severely injured in a traffic accident, Dr. Birnbaum had barely survived, and the accident had exacted a heavy toll on his body. His empty left pant leg was neatly folded and pinned, as was his left sleeve. His face was heavily scarred on the left and the eye on that side hung low, eyelid open over a blind eye. The right eye, however, was animated and bright with intelligence. Ralph walked directly to the visitors, extending his hand.

  “Hihowyadoin,” he said. “My name’s Ralph, what’s yours?”

  “Nathan Rand,” the man said, standing to take Ralph’s hand.

  Ralph pumped the man’s hand vigorously, grinning from ear to ear. Visitors were a treat to Ralph, exciting him more than Christmas mornings.

  After a score of hand pumps, Ralph turned to the woman, who took his hand in a limp grip.

  “I’m Karla Simon,” she said.

  “It’s okay to squeeze tight,” Ralph said. “You won’t hurt me or nothing.”

  Ralph felt Karla’s grip tighten, and he pumped her arm.

  “Glad to meet ya,” Ralph said. “Want to stay for lunch?”

  “Well …” the woman began.

  “We can’t,” the man said. “Thanks for the kind offer, though.”

  Ralph was still pumping the woman’s hand, and now she tried to pull away. Still grinning and pumping, Ralph finally released her hand, then sat next to her, his hip against hers. She scooted away.

  “These are FBI agents, Ralph,” Dr. Birnbaum said. “They were about to tell me what they came to see me about.”

  “Well okee-dokee then,” Ralph said.

  “Well, we really wanted to talk about Ralph,” the man said, hesitating.

  “You can talk in front of him,” Dr. Birnbaum said. “If it’s something he can’t hear, then I don’t want to hear it either.”

  Dr. Birnbaum watched the two agents look at each other, and then without a word the decision was made.

  “We’ve heard that Ralph has a special ability,” Agent Rand said.

  “Where did you hear that?” Dr. Birnbaum asked.

  “I don’t know the name of the person, but they work for the Kellum Foundation. I understand they’re funding some of your work.”

  “Ralph is special in many ways,” Birnbaum said cautiously. “He’s as gentle as a lamb, as strong as a gorilla, and you’ll never meet anyone with a sweeter temperament.”

  Ralph listened with a big smile on his face, the corners of his generous mouth curling up toward his ears, his thick lips thinning.

  “Most remarkable of all is his sense of position. Ralph never gets lost. He’s a human homing pigeon. We’ve dropped him off in random parts of the city and he’s found his way home every time. We’ve tried it in Cincinnati, Cleveland, Akron, and Circleville, and every time he turned toward home or any other place we designated. Isn’t that right, Ralph?”

  “Yep. I didn’t like that cave, though. It was scary. There were too many dark places.”

  “That’s right, he even found his way out of Mammoth Caves. We took him deep into the caves to screen out electromagnetic radiation. We thought he might be using it to orient. It didn’t matter. Ralph picked his way through the cave system to the tourist trails, then followed them out.”

  “I got a banana split at the Dairy Queen that time,” Ralph said.

  “I can’t imagine why the FBI would be interested in his homing ability,” Dr. Birnbaum said.

  Dr. Birnbaum studied their faces, but their steady eyes and neutral smiles revealed nothing.

  “Actually, it’s his other ability we’re interested in,” Agent Rand said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dr. Birnbaum lied.

  “His resistance to PK,” Rand said. “It’s in Doctor Martin’s reports as well as yours and Ms. Foxworth�
��s.”

  Dr. Birnbaum frowned, then turned to Ralph.

  “There’s gum in my dresser, Ralph, why don’t you get yourself some and then watch TV?”

  “It’s in your sock drawer. I already found it, but I didn’t take some.”

  Ralph stood and turned to the agents.

  “You want I should bring you some?”

  “No thank you, Ralph,” they said.

  “Well okee-dokee then,” he said and loped out of the room.

  “No one was to have access to those files,” Dr. Birnbaum said as soon as Ralph was gone.

  “We’re the FBI,” Agent Simon said.

  “We had permission,” Agent Rand added. “As we understand it, Ralph was immune to the psychokinetic power of a man calling himself Gil Masters.”

  “I knew him as Carl,” Dr. Birnbaum said, surprised at how much they knew. “We never knew who he really was or where he came from.”

  “This man could knock holes through walls using nothing but his mind?” Agent Rand continued.

  “Yes. He did horrible things. Many people died.”

  “Yet Ralph could walk right up to him and Gil couldn’t touch him,” Agent Rand said.

  “Yes.”

  “Could Ralph be resistant to other psychokinetic powers?” Agent Simon asked.

  “What power are you thinking of?” Dr. Birnbaum asked.

  “Nothing in particular,” Agent Rand said.

  “In your report you suggest that Ralph might be the evolutionary answer to a mutant like this psychic,” Agent Rand said.

  “I hypothesized that if psychokinetic power could evolve, then resistance to it could coevolve. Nature always provides a balance. If the tyrannosaur has a fearsome set of jaws, then the herbivores must have armor plate and defensive horns like the triceratops. In response to the lion’s claws and teeth, the gazelle has speed. To control the rabbit population, the fox and the hawk evolved. To control insects there are birds. If the next step in evolution is psychokinesis, then there must be compensating abilities.”

  “Seems reasonable,” Agent Rand said. “However, immunity to psychokinesis is a passive defense, like the white fur of the snowshoe rabbit. It’s only effective until the hawk spots the rabbit.”

  “I won’t let you take him,” Dr. Birnbaum said suddenly.

  Agent Simon raised her eyebrows in surprise. Agent Rand looked bewildered.

  “Excuse me?” Agent Rand said.

  “The only reason you would need someone with Ralph’s resistance to PK is to stop another psychokinetic like Gil Masters.”

  Dr. Birnbaum studied the agents. Agent Simon’s face was pink, but Agent Rand remained emotionally opaque.

  “Nothing of the kind,” Agent Rand said “We’re just gathering data for a new training program. The computer is supposed to simulate every conceivable scenario and solution. Using someone with Ralph’s abilities will become a part of one of those scenarios.”

  “There is another psychokinetic,” Dr. Birnbaum insisted.

  “We’re just doing research,” Agent Rand said, standing. “Say goodbye to Ralph for us.”

  Dr. Birnbaum followed the agents to the door, making sure that they got into their car and left. Even after they drove up the block and out of sight, he sat watching. He knew they were lying, and that worried him, because if they needed the help of a retarded man, the situation must be dire indeed.

  PICKUP

  Six blocks from Dr. Birnbaum’s house, Jett and Compton transferred to a van and then drove back and parked down the street. Sitting in the back of the van they watched the house through mirrored windows, waiting for Ralph. They had watched the house before visiting, and knew his routine. Dr. Birnbaum couldn’t keep him penned up for long.

  Two hours later Ralph came out, turning toward the business district.

  “More Slurpees,” Compton said. “He’s insatiable.”

  Jett studied Ralph as he passed the van. Most people noticed Ralph’s loose lips, overhanging brow, and peculiar posture, but Jett saw his broad shoulders, narrow hips, and muscular legs. There was good raw material in that body, but it was undeveloped. Ralph had the power but not the skills. Jett was sure he could make short work of Ralph if it came to a fight.

  “How do you want to do this?” Compton asked.

  “The easy way,” Jett said, reaching into his coat and pulling out a large pack of gum.

  They caught Ralph a block before he reached High Street. Jett stepped out of the passenger side of the van, reaching out with his hand.

  “Ralph, I’m glad we found you. Dr. Birnbaum said you might be going this way.”

  “Hihowyadoin” flowed out of Ralph. Walking down the sidewalk, Ralph had looked serious, like a man on a quest. Now, his face reshaped into a big, sloppy grin, and he pumped Jett’s hand.

  “Hi Nathan,” Ralph said through a wet smile.

  “Ralph, I wonder if you would mind helping us with something.”

  Jett opened the sliding door, motioning to Ralph to get in.

  “I’m not supposed to go places with strangers,” Ralph said, concerned.

  “We’re not strangers,” Jett said. “Doctor Birnbaum introduced us, remember?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Ralph said, smiling again.

  “Besides, Doctor Birnbaum said it would be all right if you came with us.”

  “I don’t know, Nathan,” Ralph said.

  “You can call me Nate,” Jett said.

  “I don’t know, Nate,” Ralph said. “I was gonna get me a Slurpee and I’m kinda thirsty.”

  “Karla and I were just about to go to the A & W for root beer floats. Would that be okay?”

  “Well okee-dokee, then,” Ralph said.

  Ralph climbed into the back of the van.

  “Got any gum?” he said.

  Jett was handing it over the seat before Ralph finished asking.

  HOSPITAL

  Elizabeth spent the night in the hospital, sensors taped to her chest, leads connecting to a heart monitor by her bed and to another at the nurses’ station. A nurse was always on duty at the station, watching the bank of monitors, each of which was labelled with the room number where the signal originated. It was an impressive technological array, but impersonal. The only humanizing touches were pieces of tape stuck next to each display with the handwritten names of the patients. The designers of the state-of-the-art cardiac wing hadn’t thought to leave spaces for the names of the patients, and that disturbed Wes. It was the kind of mistake he would make.

  Wes stopped at the nurses’ station and studied Elizabeth’s cardiac rhythm. He had read hundreds of physiographs as part of his research. The monitor under the tape labeled “Elizabeth Foxworth” showed a normal rhythm. Wes was relieved, although he noticed that the monitor next to Elizabeth’s, labeled “Norman Greene,” showed a man in serious trouble.

  Elizabeth was sitting up in bed, wearing a hospital gown, leaning over the tray table in front of her and drawing. Discarded sketches littered her bed. Even in hospital garb, she was beautiful. Wes wanted to say something clever, but all he could muster was a weak “Hi.” She looked up and smiled. Wes returned her smile, embarrassed by the size of his grin. Wes wasn’t comfortable with anything he couldn’t control, and his emotions had always been bigger than he was.

  “How are you feeling?” Wes asked.

  “I’m wasting a hospital bed,” Elizabeth said. “They’re releasing me after lunch.”

  “The arhythmia didn’t return?”

  “They monitored me through the night and I’m back to a normal rhythm.”

  “I never should have put you in Anita’s dream. We’d never tested the technique.”

  “Who would you have tested it on?” Elizabeth asked.

  “A volunteer.”

  “I volunteered,” she reminded him. “You did the right thing, and we learned a lot from Anita’s dream.”

  “It almost killed you, Elizabeth.”

  “You’re exaggerating,” Elizabeth said
, reaching out to take Wes’s hand.

  “It wasn’t a simple dream,” Wes said. “Your heart was stopped! You had all the signs of severe electric shock except the burns.”

  “Maybe Wanda Johnson was right. Maybe if you die in your dreams, you really do die.”

  “I can’t believe that,” Wes said.

  “I agree. What Anita and the others are experiencing isn’t a dream. It’s something real. We need to find out more about it.”

  “It’s too dangerous. I won’t risk you again. Not anyone.”

  “If we don’t do something, Anita and Margi will die. They have to dream normally again, Wes. No medicine or psychotherapy has helped them. You are their only hope.”

  Wes sat on Elizabeth’s bed, thinking of little Anita wasting away like Margi, being drained little by little, night after night. Instead of sleeping snugly, dreaming kid dreams, she was being dragged away in the dark, forced into an endless walk down the corridors of a ghost ship. Uncomfortable, Wes shifted his weight, crumpling one of Elizabeth’s sketches. It was a crude floor plan.

  “I was trying to remember the layout of the ship,” Elizabeth said. “I thought if I had a map I could get around better the next time, but Anita and the others are right. The corridors don’t connect in a consistent or logical way.”

  “I won’t put you back in that dream,” Wes said.

  Elizabeth rubbed his back, then leaned her head on his shoulder.

  “I won’t jump off the ship this time.”

  “There could be other dangers.”

  “If we integrate all the dreamers, the ship might make more sense. It’s probably fragmented the way it is because each of them are only getting bits and pieces. Together we might get clarity, and I might be able to see those faces in the mirror.”

  Wes was weakening, but before he could give in his cell phone rang. It was Dr. Birnbaum.

  “They’ve taken Ralph,” Dr. Birnbaum blurted.

  Wes knew Ralph from his first experiments with mind integration. Ralph had been a friend of one of the autistic savants that Wes had used for the integration, and had turned out to be a thorn in Wes’s side. A large man with a powerful physique, Ralph was educable but mentally retarded, as gentle as one of Anita’s bunnies, and the most annoying person Wes had ever met. With an unquenchable thirst for Slurpees and a lumberjack’s appetite for ice cream, he had mooched money from Wes constantly, at a time when Wes needed to be concentrating on the experiment. Wes had gradually grown to tolerate him. On the other hand, Elizabeth cared deeply for Ralph.