“Tell them nothing,” Pa Kur said, “as they are doing their duty. We must escape in order to inform Strand of this new enemy tactic.”
“Escape how, Commander?” the warfare specialist asked.
“By using our single-ships,” Pa Kur said, heading for the exit.
“Where will you go, sir? The planet is no refuge.”
“Where will we go,” Pa Kur corrected.
The warfare specialist shook his head. “I will remain at my post, Commander, fighting until death claims me. I will not let the sub-men outperform me in battle.”
Pa Kur glanced at the comm specialist.
“I, too, shall remain at my post,” the New Man said. “I will kill the enemy. Long live the Throne World.”
Pa Kur gave the formal salute. Then, he hurried out the exit. He couldn’t understand what was wrong with those two. They had a chance to live. Maybe it was his prolonged study of the sub-men that allowed him his greater perception. Glorious death in battle was one thing. Living to fight again and winning in the end was another. He had to take his information to Strand.
First, he had to survive and reach the single-ships.
-25-
Easing near an open hatch to the hangar bay, Pa Kur peered through it. He wore a spacesuit because he hadn’t been able to reach a stealth suit. Chin space marines had been in his way to the armory. He’d been forced to detour around them.
The way seemed clear into the hangar bay.
Pa Kur propelled himself into the vast chamber. The dampeners no longer worked here. Thus, he floated toward the remaining single-ships. The outer bay door had been blown open. The stars shined outside along with a corner of New Venezuela III.
Pa Kur forced down thoughts of radiation poisoning. He would deal with that later when the time came. He could not believe how the situation had so dramatically changed against him. It was the sub-woman’s fault. Her mind had been too dull to properly hold onto its conditioning. That wouldn’t have happened if she’d had more wit. Instead of sneaking through his own ship, he would now be reporting to Strand about a job completed.
Thinking about the sub-woman’s failure almost enraged Pa Kur. He was too superior to let such an emotion grip him at an important moment like this, though. He must survive. It was imperative to the war effort. He served the Throne World best by surviving, not by throwing away his life in a futile gesture as the others of his sept did. Perhaps that was why he was Fifth Rank and they so much lower. A superior being saw his utility to the universe and worked hard to preserve it for future use.
A space marine pod shot through the bay door. Pa Kur’s lips drew back in a snarl. He raised his blaster, aiming for a fuel tank, and fired an intense beam.
Grabbing a stanchion, he yanked himself down behind a shuttle. An instant later, the pod crashed against the rear bulkhead. An explosion rained metal, heat and tumbling space marines. The shuttle Pa Kur hid behind moved, knocking him backward. He tumbled across the floor, holding himself limply to prevent self-injury.
Pa Kur hit an object and caromed upward. He blinked, trying to keep conscious.
Several space marines moved where they had landed. He clicked the blaster’s setting, narrowing the aperture. Then, he aimed at each struggling marine, breaching helmet after helmet. At the last moment, he looked back to see where he sailed. Terror squeezed his stomach. He released the blaster and reached as far as he could. Barely, he grabbed the edge of the outer hangar bay door, catching himself before tumbling out of the hammership and into space and oblivion.
Pa Kur yanked himself as hard as he could, hurling himself toward a single-ship. He caught his spinning blaster just in time. A space marine saw him, firing gyroc rounds.
Pa Kur beamed the three accelerating cones before they could hit him. Then, he beamed the marine in the faceplate, killing the sub-man.
By that time, he neared the single-ship. First holstering the blaster, he grabbed the stern of the single-ship. The momentum hurt his fingers and almost tore the gloves free of the metal. But he was a New Man, possessing superior strength.
By degrees, he worked his way to the front of the single-ship. This one lacked a canopy. Maybe they all did. That wasn’t going to matter now.
In less than a minute, Pa Kur strapped himself in. He pressed a switch, charging the engine so it thrummed with power. A last check showed him that none of the space marines lived. He manipulated the controls, lifting from the deck, turning the craft and heading toward the open bay door.
He was going to have a fighting chance at survival. For the first time in his life, Pa Kur almost smiled.
***
Pa Kur built up velocity, fleeing from the stricken hammership. He didn’t have much time left. The warfare specialist was getting ready to self-destruct, taking the space marines, decelerating destroyer and landing strikefighters with him.
Within his bubble-helmet, Pa Kur stared intently at his controls. A warning bleep alerted him.
He looked up from where he lay. Through the windshield, he saw a strikefighter’s exhaust. The craft headed straight at him.
The unit beeped again and then blinked red. The strikefighter had radar lock-on. Another bright streak showed outside. It was the first launching missile. A second one meant the pilot wanted a certain kill.
Pa Kur’s gloved fingers typed madly over the single-ship’s controls. He had seconds left. The missiles streaked straight at him.
The strikefighter pilot began firing exploding bullets at his craft.
“No,” Pa Kur said. The procedure wasn’t quite ready, but he stabbed the fold switch. The engine knocked, the missile ignited and then everything disappeared from his sight.
***
Pa Kur woke to another warning beep. Groggily, he opened his eyes. He still lay in his single-ship. Red lights flashed everywhere on it, indicating many problems.
The warning beeps in his helmet were the most important. He was almost out of air.
How long had he been unconscious? No. The better question was: did he have more oxygen containers? His present one was almost out of air. He unbuckled and twisted around. The helmet beeps made it difficult to search. So, he turned off the warning.
There were no new air containers in the single-ship. He was doomed. Pa Kur looked around. He saw New Venezuela III but none of the warships or strikefighters. He had no idea if they survived or had all blown up.
A small part of him sneered at his dilemma. He had been the hammership’s commander. He should have gone down with it fighting to the end. Wasn’t his data more important than such a futile gesture, though?
Did it matter now?
As Pa Kur thought of these things, the last of his air dissipated. At the very end, he believed he saw a star cruiser appear nearby. Death must be certain, as he had already begun to hallucinate.
***
By slow degrees, Pa Kur came to in a white room. He didn’t understand it at first.
Am I alive or dead?
He shuddered at a horrifying idea.
Maybe the sub-men were right about an afterlife. No New Man subscribed to the ancient cult. He’d discovered the concept through studying subhuman psychology. Heaven and Hell were primitive beliefs, thus, they could not possibly be true. What if it turned out to be true? Did that mean he was destined for Hell?
A frown touched his features. He inhaled through his nostrils. The sterile environment caused Pa Kur to change his assessment. This was a hospital chamber. That would logically mean he had survived running out of oxygen. That in turn meant the star cruiser had really been there.
Of course, this was the Methuselah Man’s ship.
It would seem natural that Pa Kur would have been elated with this revelation. Instead, he knew despair. He had failed to annihilate the enemy vessels while retaining his own. Strand had further uses for the Resolute. Now, the captured hammership was gone.
With a groan, Pa Kur sat up. He wore a silver suit without any insignia. Something felt wrong, but he coul
dn’t place it.
He studied the white environment. It was seamless. The wrongness didn’t come from there. No, it was…a cool sensation. It came from his scalp.
Pa Kur felt his head. He was bald. Someone had shaven his hair. A sinking feeling hit him then. There were hairline scars across his scalp. Who had cut him and why?
Gingerly, Pa Kur slid off the cot, standing unsteadily on his feet.
A hatch slid up. A New Man walked into the chamber, setting a chair on the floor.
“Excuse me,” Pa Kur said.
The New Man ignored him, exiting the chamber so the hatch slid shut.
Pa Kur blinked at the chair. Was that for him? He pushed off the cot and began to stagger for it.
The hatch slid up again. Pa Kur halted, looking up as he swayed where he stood.
An old man wearing an Earth suit walked into the chamber. He had wrinkled hands and his large head seemed too heavy for his frame. The facial skin looked waxy as if it belonged to a mannequin. The blue eyes burned with power, though.
“Get away from my chair,” the old man said.
It surprised Pa Kur that he lurched backward, almost falling, as he hurried to comply with the order.
The old man moved briskly, coming to the chair, plopping into it.
Pa Kur realized he knew the man. It was Strand. He wanted to ask what the Methuselah Man had done to him. Instead, he waited quietly, respectfully.
Strand settled himself, stretching his lips in an ugly smile. “How do you feel?”
Pa Kur blinked several times. “I’m tired.”
“That’s to be expected.”
“And I’m concerned.”
“Indeed,” Strand said. “What concerns you?”
Pa Kur touched his head. “These scars indicate a surgical procedure.”
“Correct,” Strand said. “The doctor used a scalpel and then a saw.”
“Are you suggesting the doctor removed part of my skull?”
“Exactly,” Strand said. “I do not allow anyone on my ship without first going under the knife. It makes everything much simpler that way, preserving my sense of ease.”
Pa Kur rubbed his skull again. The Methuselah Man’s words implied the doctor had done something to his brain to…to modify him.
“It’s beginning to sink in, I see,” Strand said.
“Did you implant a control unit in me?”
“I call it an obedience chip,” Strand said. “Don’t you think that’s more accurate?”
Pa Kur shuddered. This was inconceivable. His horror loosened his lips. “Do you distrust us to such a degree?”
“You’re right, of course,” Strand said. “Distrust lies at the root of my longevity. It’s why the others perished. They let their guard down once too many times. I never let my guard down. Thus, I will be the last one to die.”
Pa Kur thought about that. “May I ask why you saved me?”
“Oh, it’s because I like you,” Strand said. “And because you’re different, quite different from the others. It must be why you fled your hammership and they remained at their posts.”
Pa Kur kept his features emotionless, blank. “I did not flee.”
“No?” Strand asked, with humor in his voice.
“I came bearing data I believed you needed.”
“Oh, well, a noble New Man,” Strand said. “One who thinks about others before his own precious hide. That is a vast improvement.”
“You are mocking me.”
“Quite right,” Strand said. “I detest liars and fools. Those who lie to themselves are the biggest fools of all. Don’t you realize why you fled the hammership?”
“To bring you valuable data,” Pa Kur said.
“I already told you that’s a lie.”
“No,” Pa Kur said.
Strand laughed in an ugly manner. “Is it so wrong to desire to live?”
“You desire to live,” Pa Kur said.
“That’s it. Throw it back in my teeth. See how well that does aboard my star cruiser with an obedience chip in your brain. I could make you strangle yourself. That’s always a hoot to watch.”
“Do you seek to lie to yourself?” Pa Kur said, refusing to truckle in fear.
The old man seemed to freeze in his chair. Only the eyes moved, and they burned with menace. “Well, well, well, the coward has teeth, does he? Maybe I can use you after all. A proud man who loves his skin above all else is one I can trust to the fullest. It lets me know your motivation.”
“You are attempting to demoralize me.”
“No. I’m teaching you the true nature of yourself. You’re a New Man. Thus, you think you’re the prize of life. You think there’s nothing better under the sun than one of your kind. Well, you’re wrong. I’m the best. What do you think of that?”
“You’re too old and slow to be the best.”
Strand laughed, nodding.
“I do not think you would have escaped the hammership as I did,” Pa Kur said.
“Yes, you’re a prize, Pa Kur, a genuine rarity among New Men. Even better, you can blend in with the others as long as the situation isn’t too perilous. You’re going to be a positive addition to my crew.”
Pa Kur felt a wave of weakness come over him. He rubbed the scars on his head and leaned against the cot. He frowned, thinking, and finally studied Strand.
“I have a drug in my system,” Pa Kur announced.
“Quite true,” Strand said.
“It has made me talkative.”
“That’s right.”
“I have spoken my mind too freely.”
“Not too freely,” Strand said, “but honestly. It lets me know that you still think you’re special. You are, but not in the manner that you believe. Don’t fret over it. You have a lot to learn. Now, quickly, what data did you wish to give me?”
Pa Kur tried to keep silent.
“Speak,” Strand said, as if talking to a parrot.
Pa Kur told him about the sub-men’s suicidal fury, explaining how it was wrong at this point in their demoralization process.
Strand pinched his lower lip. “That is interesting. I think you do have a handle on…” The Methuselah Man smiled. “On the sub-men’s psychology.”
“They should not have attacked with such fury.”
“You’re right,” Strand said. “This will take some thought. I’d hoped to use the hammership again, but no matter, it’s gone. Hmm, I suppose this means I’ll have to drop a few hell-burners onto New Venezuela III.”
Pa Kur cocked his head. “I do not think any sub-men were on the planet.”
“You’re wrong. There’s around a thousand, but that isn’t the only reason I’ll use the hell-burners.”
“Why else then?”
Strand studied Pa Kur. He did not care for the Methuselah Man’s vile smirk.
“I’ll do it because it will make Fletcher wonder why I did it,” Strand said. “That will drive him crazy, as he won’t be able to come up with a reason.”
“I can’t think of a reason, either.”
“And that is the reason,” Strand said. “It’s called sowing confusion. I’m better at it than anyone, well, anyone other than that damned Ludendorff.”
“Your alter ego,” Pa Kur mumbled.
Strand’s head snapped up.
Pa Kur almost shrank back in fear. Such a maneuver would have sullied him, however. He straightened, awaiting the worst.
“Go back to sleep,” Strand said. “I need to think about you a little longer. You’re a strange combination for a New Man. I wonder what happened to make you that way.”
Pa Kur would have like to think about the last statement. Instead, without conscious thought, he climbed back onto the cot, laid his head on the pillow, closed his eyes and fell asleep.
-26-
Maddox settled gingerly into the command chair on the bridge. The journey from the infirmary had tired him out. It was awful being so weak. He despised it.
Seeing that Valerie and Keit
h watched their panels, the captain pulled out a rag and wiped sweat off his face.
He shifted on the chair so the wound didn’t rest against fabric. He had stopped taking pain inhibitors some time ago. It surprised him how well they had worked. Now, his joints ached and he had a flu-like sensation. Thinking about it caused him to wipe his face again.
He tucked away the rag. It wouldn’t do for the others to see him so incapacitated.
“We’re approaching the Jovian planet,” Keith said.
Maddox studied the main screen. A huge gas giant with seething storms raging across its surface showed the nearness of the final Laumer-Point.
Some time ago, Meta had written a journal about her period with Kane, an agent for the New Men who had kidnapped her from New York City. Kane had brought her here the first time, racing to Wolf Prime afterward.
“The gas giant is massive,” Keith said while studying his board. “Its tug on us is greater than I’d anticipated.”
“We’ll almost have to skim its surface to reach the Laumer-Point,” Valerie added.
Maddox might have nodded, but it felt as if that would have taken too much energy.
“Are you sure it’s wise for you to be on the bridge, sir?” Valerie asked.
Maddox didn’t bother answering such a question. He was better already. A few aches, some chills, it didn’t mean anything.
Valerie and Keith traded glances. Maddox noticed, but he refrained from commenting.
“I’m switching on the Laumer Drive,” Keith said, tapping his board.
What he meant was that the ship’s special Laumer sensors began hunting for the often-elusive wormhole entrance. According to Meta’s notes, this Laumer-Point was small. Was it too small for Victory to use? They would have to catalog its size before trying.
The Xerxes System had a bad reputation, much like that of the Bermuda Triangle on Earth before the Space Age. Like in the triangle, ships had disappeared under unusual circumstances. The worst story had occurred over thirty years ago. The Boron Company had set up a mining colony on a metal-heavy moon of the third planet. The colony had vanished, leaving no traces of the buildings or landing zones. Until Victory had passed through a year ago, no military or commercial routes had gone through the Xerxes System Laumer-Points.
The Lost Colony (Lost Starship Series Book 4) Page 21
