StarShip Down

by Darrell Bain

  “I didn't do any such thing! Damn it, Fondez, you're—”

  The laser beam burned into his neck and on through it to his spine. Montingham dropped like a felled ox, kicked once and died.

  “The hell you didn't,” Fondez said, patting his weapon. “Now which of these others are untrustworthy, Crag? You're the one who ought to know.”

  “Jazz, Capeman! Grab that weenie Swathmore.”

  His two friends started toward the man indicated but he was too fast and knew what was coming. He broke for the jungle.

  Fondez aimed carefully and cut him down with his laser. He was glad now that he'd taken the course to become a licensed handgun carrier back on earth.

  The Smith twins and the other two males from the army guards had been separated from Esmeralda and June Sillers, the female corporal. June was crying and trembling with fright.

  Esmeralda grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “Stop that! Don't show them that you're afraid!”

  June tried but she couldn't stop the shaking.

  “Just follow my lead. It won't be too bad.”

  “Shut up until we tell you to talk,” Fondez warned, waving his laser at them in a threatening manner. “Now, who else, Crag? We want to make damn certain everyone is with us. Better to weed them out now.”

  Fondez actively participated in helping Morehill and several of his cronies dispose of three more of their fellow convicts, the ones he knew could never be trusted or who had been at the bottom of the convict pecking order for offenses even their fellow cons despised them for. He wanted them to begin not only thinking of him as one of them but as one of the leaders. Soon enough it would be only he and Morehill who had a say. Eventually, of course, Morehill would have to die but in the meantime his own brutality would go a long way toward cementing their leadership.

  Once the executions were over, Fondez said “Let's leave them all guarded for a minute while we talk.”

  “Okay,” Morehill said. He was beginning to like the politician.

  “Before we take the tender anywhere else, do you trust the ones carrying weapons?”

  “All but one of them. Cinch, the bald-headed guy with tattoos. We need to watch him.”

  “Got it. We'll handle him later. Right now let's get out of here before they send the other tender after us.”

  “Where to?”

  “Back to the big continent but not too close to the others yet. We'll get to them but first we need to get organized.” He eyed the females and smirked. He knew exactly what it would take to keep the convicts in line and he was looking right at them.

  * * * *

  Brandon was the only officer in the control room. A technician was listening futilely to the frequency the tender used for communication while also occupied with something on his console. They both stood up as Travis entered.

  He waved for them to sit down and wondered for a moment how much longer shipboard protocol would be in vogue. He took the command seat.

  “Anything else?”

  “No, sir. Not a sign. Emerson there is keeping a continuous monitoring of the tender frequency, but we've heard nothing since shortly after it landed on Little Con.”

  “And no word of mechanical problems from Jimmy?”

  He shook his head. “No word at all, sir.”

  “Do you have any idea of what might have happened?”

  “I think the convicts may have somehow gained control.”

  Travis started and sat forward. “Any reason for holding that opinion?”

  “No. It's just that I can't imagine anything else, not after a safe landing and not a word from Jimmy of anything wrong.”

  Travis tried to conceive of a possible circumstance other than that. “Perhaps the com blew a fuse?”

  “It's all a solid circuit board, sir,” the tech piped up.

  Travis glanced at him. “Thank you. Can you think of a reason for it to malfunction?”

  “No, sir. I've never even heard of a unit like that breaking. Unless it was from a crash or something like that.”

  Travis nodded his thanks and turned back to Brandon. “Have you notified anyone yet?”

  “No, sir. I thought I'd better talk to you first.”

  He rubbed his chin. “I suppose it's barely possible everyone who knows how to operate the com is away from the cabin.”

  Brandon shrugged. “It's been a long time and Jimmy is a conscientious young officer. He wouldn't leave us hanging like this if he could prevent it.”

  “You're right. Well—”

  “Captain! Someone's here!”

  At last! He touched his control. “Captain Callahan.”

  “Hello, motherfucker.”

  “Who is this?” Visual was coming through fine but the speaker was staying outside its range. He knew though, and his heart dropped.

  “This is the man in charge, shit ass. We've taken care of your fucking guards and we'll take care of you, too!”

  “Listen...” But he was talking to a dead circuit.

  “The convicts,” Brandon said softly.

  “Yes. They've taken the ship. Goddamn them!” He pounded his fist on the arm of his chair. He had an overwhelming sense of helplessness and futility. What could he do? Take the other tender and a rescue team? For a moment his spirits soared then fell even more rapidly. The ship carried only two tenders. Could he justify risking the other one even though there were many vital functions it was needed for?

  “Captain Callahan?”

  “What is it, Emerson?” He was trying to think, damn it!

  “Sir, the tender is moving!”

  “What?! Where?”

  “Back this way, sir, but I'm going to lose the signal soon. It's being relayed by the satellite and it'll be out of range soon.”

  “Damn! Well, stay on it as long as you can and try to get a direction to its movement.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The tenders’ coms had been rigged to send a continuous signal to the ship. It had been set up originally as a safety precaution. In case one of them went down, they would have been able to eventually pick up the signal and find it. Now it was a vital link to eight of their own people, even though they might be dead. No, the convicts wouldn't kill the females, not unless they had to. And obviously, either Jimmy or Esmeralda was flying the tender. Probably Jimmy. Esmeralda was only a backup because she had experience in the military version of the same type flyer.

  He knew he couldn't send their remaining tender out on an aimless search. Even if and when the signal was picked up again, he didn't know whether or not to try for a rescue. The tenders had been designed to provide a secondary power source on colonized planets and he had intended to put them both to work providing energy for their farming equipment, to drill wells, to build a dam for hydroelectric power in the future, for irrigation if needed, for exploration and any number of other tasks. It was going to be a “damned if he did and damned if he didn't” type of decision. It was going to be unpopular no matter what, even though he could put it off until they were certain the convicts had settled in one spot. And the two persons who were probably going to like his decision the least were the young women he was going to have to talk to very shortly. He wasn't looking forward to it.

  On the way back to his cabin he began trying to think of alternatives to risking the other tender and its energy source. The only idea he came up with was to see if Terrell could jerry-rig some sort of converter and use the ship's power core. He didn't think it had ever been tried but then a liner like his had never landed on a planet, either.

  * * * *

  The roles were reversed. This time when the tender lifted off, the convicts were in the passenger seats and the former guards were strapped down in the cargo bay with their hands and feet tied. Esmeralda certainly wasn't happy with the arrangement and one of her charges was even more upset.

  She had finally quieted June Sillers down but she didn't like the way the twins or the other two male PFCs, Jehanta, and Sonnier were reacting.
She could see their point. She remembered clearly how that bastard Fondez had said, Don't kill them yet. Yet! Every one of the men had heard it as well. Besides the guilt from allowing the convicts to take over the tender, they were despondent from knowing they would be killed the moment their usefulness was finished. She had no idea of what Fondez had in mind for them but it couldn't be good.

  “Listen, guys, buck up,” she said softly. “This isn't over yet.”

  “The hell it isn't,” Sonnier said. “They'll kill us just like they burned down those other poor bastards.”

  “Ronald, those so-called poor bastards were the scum of the earth. And Fondez is worse than all of them. Now you listen up and listen good. We're going to get out of this one way or another. You just hang tight and be ready when I tell you to jump. You got that?”

  “All right, but...”

  “No buts about it. Tom, Jerry, Pedro, you all hear me?”

  “We hear you, Sarge,” Tom said, answering for all of them.

  “All right. Good. Now start thinking about how you can make yourself useful besides whatever that fucker Fondez has in mind for you. That may be what saves your young asses.”

  That and my holdout weapon, she thought. During the takeover the one thing the cons had overlooked was searching them. They were so happy to be on top and so enraptured over being allowed to kill the ones in their ranks they had no use for that it hadn't occurred to them. After all, they now held every weapon they had seen their guards carrying. There was one other thing she knew that no one else but Jimmy did and that was the cache in the pilot's compartment where a pair of handguns were secreted. She knew the cons would never find those because it took a pilot's thumbprint to key the latch. Since she had been the co-pilot on this trip, hers were imprinted there as well as his, done during the routine check list while preparing for launch. Her silent smile was hidden from sight as she thought of the earnest young officer who hadn't overlooked even that item. Of course the problem would be how to use the cache and her little holdout pistol.

  In the meantime she had to figure out a way to keep her and the other women from being raped, if possible. She doubted it was achievable but anything was worth a try so long as it didn't get her or someone else killed for nothing. There is one woman who won't be raped though, she thought grimly. Not so long as it's Morehill. She had seen the way Sarah stayed close to him since the takeover and how her eyes followed him every step he took. She had also seen the hurt look in her eyes when Morehill began eyeing Sillers and herself. That told her all she really needed to know. Somehow Morehill had gotten to her, made her into a willing accomplice. It wasn't unheard of for guards to fall in love with their captors, she knew. There was a sob story of such happenings almost every year in the human interest section of the news. That sent her thoughts on to another somewhat similar situation. For a moment it eluded her but then she had it. The Stockholm Syndrome, where prisoners begin to sympathize with their captors.

  The syndrome got its name from a city where hostages had been held if she remembered correctly from the psychology course she'd taken in college on the army's time. Modern armies had no use for uneducated soldiers. Even senior enlisted personnel had to have a degree to reach that rank. Now how could she make that work for her? As disgusting as the thought was she decided Fondez was more likely to know about it than any of the convicts. Maybe she could convince him that was what was happening without them being too obvious about it. She'd have to get the others in on the scheme, though and somehow make sure at least a few of the convicts learned about the syndrome and believed it enough to convince the others it was happening with their captives.

  She knew it was a dubious scheme at best but it was a start and if it didn't work, another ploy might. She would think of something. She didn't get to be a tech sergeant at her age by being a dumbass, nor by crying over what couldn't be helped.

  * * * *

  “Damn it, Sissy, it's my fault. I should never have let Jimmy and the twins go, not when they were already paired off. They were as good as married. Grindstaff asked me about marrying Maria and Jimmy and I agreed. We both thought it was a good idea.”

  It was very early in the morning and they were sitting together in the living area of his cabin. Sissy had brewed some rationed coffee for him and Travis told himself he needed it before going to notify Sandy Johnson and Sergeant Maria Mirando. He had stayed in the control room most of the night hoping for a further contact from the tender's new owners but there had been none. When the satellite came into range, he had the tech send a query for it to ping the tender and photograph the landing site at its closest approach. He was waiting on that report now and berating himself in the meantime.

  “Travis, please don't say it's your fault. You had no idea this would happen.”

  “You know the mantra as well as I do, Sissy. Everything that goes wrong in a ship is ultimately the captain's fault.” He sighed. “I don't know what I could have done to prevent it from happening, though. I approved the preparations Grindstaff and Brandon put together for the transport of the convicts and they looked good to all of us. I don't understand how this could have happened.”

  “We may never know, dear. Unless we use the other tender and try to rescue them.”

  “I've already thought of that,” he said heavily. “First we have to see if they're still at the site. If they're smart, they won't be. And second, I don't see how I could justify risking it right now. There are seven of our people missing and possibly already dead versus almost a thousand of the rest of us. We need the tender for powering equipment, exploring, hauling goods, transporting people and all kinds of other tasks. And yet ... Damn, I hate the thought of those bastards getting away with this. There were three women aboard, too. Just imagine what's going to happen to them.”

  “Oh, Lord. I hadn't thought of that.” She hugged herself in an instinctive defensive motion.

  Travis went to her, as much for his own comfort as hers. He was still holding her when the com chimed. He turned her loose and went to it.

  “Captain Callahan.”

  “Sir, it's Borg Johannsen. We just downloaded the satellite data. As near as we can tell, the tender is not where it was when it landed. We haven't picked up its signal, either.”

  He cursed silently until he got himself under control. He had just about talked himself into sending the tender and a platoon from the army on a hurried rescue mission and damn the costs and risk. Now it was too late, if he'd ever had time at all.

  “Captain?”

  “I'm here. Sorry. Is there a possibility it's been camouflaged?”

  “I thought of the same thing, sir, but before Mister Brandon went off duty he pointed out that we ordered a complete sweep in the query. Radar, visual, and infrared. There was nothing. They've moved.”

  “Alright, Borg. Thank you.”

  He killed the connection and squared his shoulders. “Someone has to tell Sandy and Sergeant Mirando. I suppose I had better get it over with before they hear it from someone else.”

  “I'll go with you but let me wipe my face, first.” Sissy stood up and went into the bathroom.

  * * * *

  “I'm sorry,” Travis said. “I wish I hadn't had to tell you this.”

  “But ... you don't know they're dead, do you?” Sandy stood helplessly in the middle of her stateroom glancing back and forth from Travis to Sissy as if one might contradict the other.

  “No, I can't say that. For the time being, we're simply listing them as missing.”

  “We can search for them, can't we?” she asked hopefully.

  “We're searching now with the satellite. But...” As gently as he could, he told her the reasons he didn't want to risk the other tender. He'd rather her hear it from him because he had put down the emotional storm that had provoked him into wanting to try a rescue immediately. “At a later time, once the satellite manages to locate them, we'll certainly try. That's after the crucial tasks we need the tender for have been accomplis
hed. For now there's simply nothing we can do. Even if I was willing to risk the other tender to hunt for the convicts, we could use its entire power supply and still not even come close to finding them. Even after the satellite gets a ping, it will take a good amount of time to pinpoint its location. There are thousands upon thousands, no millions of square miles where they might have hid, and that's just on Little Con. If they decided to come back to Big Con, the area is twice as great. Or more.”

  Sandy began crying and Sissy enveloped the tech in her arms. She patted Sandy's back and let her cry until she had few tears left. Eventually, Travis stepped close to the two women and touched Sandy's shoulder.

  “There are other people we need to notify. Is there anyone you want to stay with you? I can get them here if you like.”

  “No, I just want to be alone.” She turned her back and went into her bedroom.

  As soon as they were outside Travis commed the surgeon and asked him to stop by and check on her. “And take along a little medicinal brandy or a tranquilizer, whichever you think best.”

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Chapter Ten

  “You said there wouldn't be any killing, Crag,” Sarah remonstrated with Morehill as they sat together in the VIP seats at the front of the tender. The hatch to the cabin was braced open so Jimmy's piloting could be watched and a convict who could read the displays sat next to him to be certain they were being taken to the right place.

  “Get off my case, woman. A man does what he has to. You did your part and I did mine.” He saw the unhappy look on her face and started to slap some sense into her but held his hand. There weren't enough women to make enemies of any of them. Unfortunately, he doubted many of the other cons would think that way. That was one reason he had followed Fondez's advice about getting rid of the worst of the bunch. There was this one's looks, too. The only thing she really had going for her was a good set of knockers. On the other hand, if she were more of a fox she wouldn't have had to settle for his homely, scarred mug and he wouldn't be calling the shots now.