They were all in their bunks, awaiting the jump, as per standard regulations. The ship trembled, beginning its acceleration to near light-speed. The fields which prevented the ship from disintegrating during such devastating acceleration were sometimes known to affect the sensitive mind. So it was in this case.
A scream rent the air as they began their run up to the jump.
Hamilton clambered from his bunk, staggered to the door and looked out from their cabin. Even though the fields prevented the ship from breaking up there were still sizeable G-forces which filtered through to the crew. Hamilton fell to his knees for a minute or so. Behind him, he heard Jones struggling to get up.
“Stay where you are!” he called. Jones collapsed back onto his bunk gladly.
Hamilton half crawled, half dragged himself along the passageway. The scream came again, confirming that he was heading in the right direction.
Gritting his teeth, he reached the door from which the scream had emanated. He dragged himself upright and prodded the opening stud. The door slid open.
Inside, Hamilton noted that he was in the women’s cabin. He should have realised that was where he was heading but, undoubtedly, his brain was suffering from the field effects. Sharn Lutess, Cassandra Johnson, Wilhelmina Charlton (who preferred to be called Billy, apparently) and Liz Lewis occupied the cabin. It was from Johnson that the screaming was coming.
Her eyes were blank and staring, her mouth wide open, drooling. Her hands clutched the sides of the bunk with fierce intensity, knuckles white.
Another fluctuation in the gravity field sent Hamilton crashing to the floor. He dragged himself along the floor towards Johnson’s bunk. He saw that Charlton had attempted to go to her aid, but had fallen unconscious with the sudden gravity shifts. The other two had remained in their bunks. Lutess regarded him with concern. Lewis just sneered and watched, amusement all over her face.
Hamilton reached Johnson’s bunk and gripped her shoulders. She let out another piercing scream. Hamilton shook her, not sure what to do now that he had got here. He’d only ever experienced such an effect once before. A colleague had succumbed during a jump for the Corp. Hamilton had done nothing to help then. After all, he hadn’t been in charge of safety and security then. The fellow had recovered later, but had been in a coma for two days. He seemed none the worse afterwards but refused to make another jump after that. Fortunately, the effect had manifested itself on the mission’s return journey. The man had been fine on the outward jump. He was later assigned to planetside duties.
Hamilton considered what to do. It wasn’t easy to concentrate. The odd effects of the fluctuating fields were scrambling his thoughts, making it difficult to concentrate. The wild changes in gravitational force likewise did little to promote cohesive thinking. He was almost blacking out. He settled for shaking her again, then thought to check that she wasn’t about to swallow, or bite off, her tongue. Her jaws, however, had clamped firmly shut and he was unable to open them. He slapped her lightly about the face, eliciting another scream. If she was screaming like that, it was a fair bet she wasn’t swallowing her tongue, he reasoned. A little unnervingly and, perhaps, worryingly, her eyes were pointing in different directions. Not cross-eyed but almost the exact opposite.
Hamilton began to hear voices. His vision was dimming. He wondered whether he ought to lay down on the deck and rest. Instead, he forced himself to give Johnson another shake.
At that moment, the ship gave a great lurch and the field fluctuated wildly. Hamilton observed, somewhat detachedly, his vision fading to blackness. There was a roaring in his ears. He fell unconscious, sprawling atop Johnson.
Hamilton had a strange experience whilst he was unconscious.
He dreamed that he was flying high above a planet of sickly greenish clouds. The surface was far below him, out of sight beneath the clouds. Far off, he percieved a speck against the dull sky. He found that he could move towards the speck, though it seemed to take an age for the speck to resolve itself as a human form.
At that instant, Hamilton felt a sense of dread. In the way of dreams, he percieved the threat to be approaching from behind. Perversely though, he was unable to turn his head around to look at it. He could only fly forwards, toward the other form, knowing that something was coming after him. After them both. He saw that the other person was also flying away from him, so that he didn’t get any closer to him. The thing behind Hamilton was gaining steadily. Hamilton began to panic. He somehow knew that if the nameless, formless terror caught up with him he would die. He shifted and began to dive down toward the surface. His velocity increased, and continued to increase beyond all reasonable limits. The dread that followed also dove, gaining inexorably on Hamilton.
Hamilton plunged through the green clouds, choking on their noxious content. The thing continued to draw nearer. Hamilton was close to panicking now. If it caught him, he would die, he knew it. He would die. The thing would kill him. Cruelly.
No, he told himself, it would not kill him. A sudden flash of intuition warned him that it had far more obscene intentions at heart than his mere death.
Strangely, it began to get dark. Hamilton plunged vertically now. Down and down he plummeted, till the wind tore at his face like a claw. To open his mouth would be to burst his lungs. It grew darker.
Suddenly, the nameless thing that pursued him slowed and the distance between them grew. Hamilton continued his plunge. The thing was almost gone, now. Almost. He had beaten it! He had escaped!
Abruptly, the clouds parted and Hamilton saw why the thing had given up.
Not further than a thousand feet away was the burning, sulphurous surface of the planet. Hamilton attempted to slow his headlong descent, but it was too late. The distance vanished in an instant. Hamilton opened his mouth to scream, inhaled the burning fumes rising from below, and choked.
Down he plunged, straight towards a sulphur lake. In the instant before impact, he managed to finally let loose with a deafening scream. The sulphur rushed upwards and everything went black.
Again.
When Hamilton regained his senses, he found he was still sprawled over Johnson’s inert form. Someone was pulling at his shoulders now. He allowed himself to be pulled back.
A sharp pain in his side made him wince. He flopped back onto the floor of the cabin and looked to see who his helper was.
Billy Charlton looked at him with concern. “Are you OK?”
Hamilton coughed weakly, and painfully. “I Busted a rib or two, I think. Otherwise I’m fine. Check her out.”
Charlton nodded and made him lean back against the bunk upright. She moved to examine Johnson.
Hamilton glanced over at Lewis’ bunk. The woman was glaring at him. Hamilton glared back.
“We’d best get her down to the medical bay.” Charlton was saying. “Looks like some kind of coma, plus one or two broken bones.”
“OK.” Hamilton agreed, struggling to his feet. The gravity fluctuations had ceased, indicating that they had entered hyperspace. The ship’s own artificial gravity fields, hopelessly inadequate against the forces that allowed entry to hyperspace, had reasserted their hold on the craft now that it was actually in that mysterious realm.
Hamilton offered his help in moving the injured woman. Now it was Charlton’s turn to glare at him. “Don’t be stupid. You’d only do yourself further injury. I’ll get Jack.”
Jack, Hamilton recalled, was the ship’s not-often-sober doctor. He nodded. Lutess, he saw, was still out cold.
“You wait here.” Charlton advised.
Hamilton nodded again, this time to her back as she left.
“The big hero.” Lewis sneered, once Charlton was out of the room.
Hamilton scowled at her. “I didn’t see you trying to help.”
“That’s because I wasn’t.”
“I don’t like you, Lewis.” said Hamilton, bluntly.
Lewis was silent for a moment. “You just stay out of my way Hamilton.”
Hamilton wasn’t in the mood for threats. “Or else.” he replied, childishly.
Lewis’ expression darkened even more. “Accidents are always happening on starships. Don’t you read the newspapers?”
“That’s right,” Hamilton agreed. “Accidents do happen. But my medical insurance is all paid up. How about you?”
“I’m sure that your next of kin will benefit greatly.”
“Don’t give me a hard time, Lewis. You’ll regret it, for a short while. A very short while.”
“Just keep out of my way, Hamilton. And keep your stupid friend away from me as well. I don’t like him, either.”
“We’ll do what we want.”
The conversation might have developed into a further bout of mutual threat exchanges, except that Charlton returned at that moment with the doctor. Both antagonists fell silent, though they continued to glare at one another.
Jack Dyzwiecki was sober. Hamilton began to think that his dossier on the man might be out of date. He immediately went to Johnson’s side and gave her a quick check over. “Let’s get her to sickbay. Give me a hand, Billy.”
The two medics lifted Johnson between them and lugged her out of the cabin and down to the sickbay. With a parting glare at Lewis, Hamilton trailed along behind them, forgotten for the moment.
Johnson’s physical injuries were minor. She had suffered only bruises and one cracked rib. One of her fingers had been broken by the force with which she had gripped her bunk.
Dyzwiecki administered what aid was necessary in, Hamilton noted, a professional and competent manner.
Her mental condition was less readily diagnosable. She had slipped into a coma. Her brain-scan showed normal, if somewhat subdued brain activity. Again, Dyzwiecki administered all necessary medication and made her comfortable in the sickbay bed.
Hamilton’s injuries were then treated. The ribs were helped on their way to mending by an injection directly into the bone. Hamilton gritted his teeth during the procedure. He hated things like that. Tight strapping around his torso completed the repairs.
Hamilton bore it all patiently. He’d had far worse in his past.
By now, having entered hyperspace, people were moving around again. It didn’t take long for them to track down the source of the screams they had heard. A crowd gathered outside the medical bay.
When he left, Hamilton met a barrage of questions. He referred judgement on Johnson’s condition to Dyzwiecki, who was in the medical bay and therefore not about to complain. He briefly outlined the events of the transit. Then he made his way to report to Vogerian.
The old man listened sympathetically. “You seem to be having an eventful journey.” he observed, finally.
Hamilton nodded, thinking. “Yeah, and it’s going to get even more interesting, isn’t it?”
Hamilton then retired to his cabin to rest. The bone knitting injections caused a not inconsiderable amount of discomfort. He lay back and fell asleep.
The journey through hyperspace took only two days. Johnson failed to regain consciousness, though Dyzwiecki reported a steady increase in brain activity and her other injuries healed quickly. Lewis remained as surly as ever. Hamilton’s ribs began to mend rapidly. He allowed Jones to do most of the talking to the crew.
Jones was able to get anyone talking. Everyone, that was, except Lewis. Even so, he learned little that would point the finger of guilt at a potential traitor. Most of them were friendly enough, though a little reticent regarding talking to a stranger. The only person who talked freely was the pilot, Veltin O’Won.
He plunged into stories of his exploits with gusto. Most were improbable, some almost impossible. He had a seemingly endless supply of tales of heroism and derring-do, all featuring him as the star. All such tales contained at least one thrilling flight through space or a planet’s atmosphere, dodging enemy craft and, well, just about everything else. Jones thought it impolitic to ask about the enemy craft. There hadn’t been a proper war in over a hundred years. Since O’Won had been in the employ of the Empire it was unlikely he would have seen any conflict. The Empire studiously avoided getting involved in the few civil wars that had sprung up amongst the colonies. Not that that prevented them from funding one side or the other, though.
On the subject of his fellow crewmates, Veltin was equally open.
He saw most of them as hard working professionals, just like himself. He disliked Lewis and had words of commendation for Hamilton’s actions.
“I would have helped myself,” he stated modestly. “But I was flying the ship.”
He looked upon Mike Puckett, the co-pilot, as his protégé.
“The boy’s got talent,” he admitted reluctantly. “But he lacks my experience.”
He hadn’t formed opinions about too many of the others, though he pointed out that he hadn’t had quite so pretty an astrogator as Sharn Lutess for some time. Something in his voice told Jones that the pilot had designs of a less than professional nature towards the astrogator.
Hamilton listened to Jones’ report on the man with interest. He made a note to speak to the man himself, when he felt it was appropriate.
Hamilton had been laying low since the accident. It was not that he was badly hurt. He felt fine, in fact. Modern medicine was amazing. It was just that he wanted time to think about the crew now that he’d had time to meet them all.
The problem was that there were just too many to be manageable. There were fifteen unknowns. Hamilton decided to amend that to fourteen upon reflection. Lewis was obviously deranged. Their childish threat exchange had proved that. She was not, to Hamilton’s mind, the kind of person whom Vogerian would trust with his plans. He doubted that she was connected to the old man, other than in her capacity as an employee, but was just around to keep him busy. She appeared to be doing that admirably.
Still, he reflected, Klane would be aboard soon. She would help immeasurably. He didn’t fancy Lewis’ chances against Klane.
Hamilton decided that the best way to uncover any traitors was to divide and conquer. They would each take five of the crew as their special assignments. Discovering the truth about five people was a hell of a lot easier than discovering it about fifteen.
Drawing up a list, Hamilton put Lewis, LeGault, Puckett, Johnson and Simmonds in his column. He decided to let Jones continue his efforts with O’Won, adding also Philbin, Jackson, Tong and Charlton. That left Lutess, Smith, McDonald, Walsh and Dyzwiecki for Klane to deal with on her arrival.
Hamilton decided this made the problem much more manageable. He decided that they would have to keep an eye on Vogerian and Carl between them.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Their arrival at the rendezvous with Klane went smoothly. Coming out of hyperspace was a much simpler task than entering it. Johnson, heavily sedated, was blissfully unaware of proceedings.
Upon their arrival, Walsh was detailed to take the launch down to meet Klane. Hamilton had decided, grudgingly, that his ribs could do without the stresses of a landing and take-off, and stayed aboard. In response to Jones worried look, he told him that Klane could look after herself.
Instead, he decided to go and talk to “Fluke” LeGault.
The survey captain was reading in the mess. There was no one else about. Hamilton walked over and sat down. LeGault did not notice him at first, intent upon the book he held. Hamilton imagined that it was some sort of pulp fiction of the tacky sort. He cleared his throat.
“Oh.” LeGault said. “Sorry. I was miles away, then.”
“That’s OK.” Hamilton replied. “A good book is hard to put down, I know. What is it, anyway?”
LeGault marked his place carefully and closed the book, showing it to Hamilton. It was entitled “Humalien Artefacts: An Insight Into The Race Themselves?”
Hamilton raised his eyebrows. “An interesting topic, all things considered.”
LeGault nodded. “Well, after we discovered the ship, and Mr Vogerian asked us to go on this mission, I thought I better try to learn as
much as possible about them.”
“Sound logic.” Hamilton agreed. “So you were the ones that discovered the information that has brought us together on this mission?”
LeGault nodded. Hamilton, of course, already knew this from Vogerian’s information.
“Must be really exciting,” Hamilton said. “Discovering alien artefacts.”
LeGault nodded again. “Yeah, it was. Kind of scary, too.”
“I suppose so. Can’t say it’s ever happened to me.”
“Ah!” LeGault smiled. “It’s not something you forget easily.”
“I guess not. Sure wish I had memories like that.”
“It’s not all pleasant dreams.”
Hamilton frowned. “What do you mean?”
LeGault looked off into the distance. “People get hurt on such missions.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
LeGault scowled, instantly suspicious. “What are you? My counsellor?”
Hamilton shrugged. “Just trying to be friendly.”
“I’ll bet.” LeGault muttered, cooling down.
Hamilton was silent.
LeGault shook his head. “Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it. God knows I did enough of that after the mission.”
“Fair enough.” Hamilton said. “But if you change your mind, give me a shout. I’d be interested to hear it.”
LeGault gave him a truculent look, then rose and left the mess.
Hamilton sighed. If only LeGault’s mission had been for the regular Corp he could have searched the official records. Working for Vogerian, however, meant that the records, if any existed, would be what Vogerian wanted people to find out. Given the secretive nature of their mission, that information was likely to be entirely false. Also, he’d had almost no time to do any searching.
Hamilton returned to his cabin. Tong was there, asleep. Hamilton checked his watch. It would be almost two hours before Walsh returned with Klane. He decided to get some sleep as well.
Humal Sequence 1: A Breath of Hope Page 10
