“Yes, I see it now. But can’t we land any closer? I think there’s a spot by the white buildings, right here.” He pointed at the screen to a point occupied by razor wire.
Robishaw shook her head. “The locals have put up a barrier for a reason. Whatever that reason is, I doubt if they’ll be willing to let down their defenses for the sake of our convenience.”
“Defenses? What are they defending against?”
“I’ve no idea, sir, but obviously the colony is divided. They may have had riots or be dealing with some kind of terrorist threat for all we know.”
“But that makes no sense,” VanDer protested. “The USS Isis was filled with Earth people from the same nation-state with the same language and culture. There were no ethnic or religious differences to speak of. They should all be getting along.”
Robishaw tried to keep her tone even. “Sir, people will find ways to divide themselves into in-groups and out-groups in every society. The differences could be class, economic power, or whatnot. Ancient Constantinople was divided by sports team affiliations of all things, and riots broke out between the ‘greens’ and the ‘blues’ frequently. But whatever the case, people don’t tend to put up razor wire and post armed guards unless there’s a problem.”
“You studied classical history?”
She sighed. “All the officers have. It’s part of the curriculum at the academy.”
“Hmm, interesting. Oh well, whatever their differences, they are all facing the same plague, right? That should unite them for their own survival at least. Still, I suppose we’ll land a shuttle on that spot two kilometers away, and the medical team can walk to the colony from there.”
“Sir, given the circumstances, I think we should also send an armed escort with the medical team.”
VanDer looked shocked. “Ms. Robishaw, we’re explorers, not soldiers.”
“We could draw personnel from the supply division. All aboard have basic firearms training, and we have twenty advanced combat rifles in the arms locker. Third Officer Manly could…”
“No.” VanDer interrupted. “If we go in looking like soldiers we will be seen as invaders. We come in peace, remember?”
Robishaw bristled at the rebuke. “Sir, with respect, what do you plan to do if things go wrong down there?”
“Wrong? We’re here to help.”
“Fine.” She let out a long breath. “Sir, in that case with your permission I’d like to accompany the medical team.”
The captain shrugged. “Sure, why not. I don’t see any harm in that, right? Give my best regards to Dr. Apple.”
“I will, sir.”
Robishaw went to her quarters and packed a bag with a few changes of underwear, a hygiene kit, and a data pad. Looking around she noticed the picture on her desk of John and the kids. She considered taking it with her as a comfort but in the end decided against it. If she’d learned anything in the military; distractions could be deadly.
Leaving her stateroom, she took a right down the beige and white passageway. Another right and a left brought her to the arms locker. “If shit goes south, I’m not going with it,” she mumbled to herself while hoping none of her medical crew went down either.
Punching her code into the keypad, she opened the door to reveal twenty advanced combat rifles, and ten snub pistols. Arming herself with two of the handguns, she procured enough ammunition to satisfy any soldier and concealed the whole lot under her green crew jacket.
Her next walk took her to the shuttle access tube. There, Mr. Manly was just heading into Shuttle One to begin his preflight check. “First Officer, to what do I owe the privilege?”
“Hello, Manly, I brought you a present.” She handed him a pistol and half of her ammo magazines.
“Gee, and it’s not even my birthday. What’s going on, ma’am?”
“It’s simple,” she answered. “We may have trouble with the locals. I want you to conceal that piece under your jacket. Indications are that the colonists have split themselves into two hostile groups.”
Manly raised an eyebrow. “The haves and the have-nots?”
“From our overflight of the colony, I’d say it’s something very like that. I’ll be up front, leading the medical team to meet the local officials and so forth. I want you to hang out in the rear of our little parade. If you see a hostile act directed against any member of the crew…”
“…to include myself.”
She nodded her head. “Yes, Manly, to include yourself. Anyway, you see any hostile act I want you to respond proportionately. If they throw garbage at you, try to duck, and we’ll get you a clean towel later. If, however, they pose a threat to life, shoot to kill.”
“Aye aye, ma’am.”
“Good.” The way he answered her reminded Robishaw of something. “I forgot that you’re military too. You’re on detached service from…”
“The Royal Australian People’s Navy.”
“Right, I probably read that in your file, but I read a lot of files before we launched. Anyway, I’m counting on you to watch our back.”
Manly smiled and gave a mock salute. “Back watched, ma’am. No worries.”
Giving him her bag, she asked Manly to stow it under her seat and left him to do his checks. Robishaw still had some gorilla-sized concerns and would have preferred an armed escort, but she couldn’t override the boss.
Yet the more she thought about the possible scenarios she’d face planetside, the more worries she had. But what do you do when you're suddenly neck-deep in water? She mumbled to herself, “Swim, baby, just swim.”
***
Hours later, the shuttle hatch opened to a bright afternoon on an alien world, Robishaw’s senses were overwhelmed with the aromas of nature. After weeks in artificial space compartments, the fresh air and scented breezes were a bit of a shock to her system. Still, within the space of a few breaths, she found it pleasant and breathed in deep of the fresh, natural air.
Turning to her little crew, she said, “Okay, people, let’s move it. Form a double column with the serum carried by those in the middle. We’re going to walk at a brisk pace, but not so fast as to leave anybody straggling.”
The medical team oohed and ahhed at the flora and fauna of this lush world as they shuffled down the gangway. But in the rear, Manly was alert and scanning behind them. This gave her the confidence she needed to focus on what threats may lay ahead, a task that would have been easier if not for Dr. Harrigan’s distraction.
“Excuse me, Ms. Robishaw, but it’s not a serum.”
She took a long cold look at Dr. Harrigan. “What?”
“It’s not a serum; we cannot cure the disease. We merely hope to prevent its spread.”
Shaking her head, she ventured, “So that’s why you call it an anti-mitotic?”
“Precisely.”
“Great, doctor, that’s just great. Now, keep that stuff in the middle of the column. I want it well protected, understood?”
“Yes, ma’am. But there’s no need to get bossy about it.”
Robishaw tried to remember what she’d read in Harrigan’s file. He’d never been military, but he was one of the finest physicians the Explorer Corps had. “My apologies, doctor.” The ten-man medical team formed up as ordered, and when she got a thumbs up from Manly in the back, she hiked up her travel bag and began the march down the muddy trail.
Naturally, it didn’t take them long to encounter the locals. A Gazelle Class shuttle isn’t exactly quiet or stealthy, and the colonists likely saw them arrive from kilometers away. One by one, half-starved people in homespun garb approached the strangers along the path. Robishaw noticed that most of them had lost all their hair, but there was something more curious than that. She saw a mother with a baby in her arms, and the baby looked strange. A curious pattern of spots like a leopard’s or a jaguar’s covered the child’s face. She was glad they all had been inoculated before they left but now wondered how effective Dr. Harrigan’s concoction actually was.
&nbs
p; Soon, questions came tumbling from the lips of the crowd. “Are you from Earth? Have you come to take us there? My son is sick, can you help him?”
Robishaw tried to keep her answers short and vague, afraid of overpromising before she knew the entire situation. As they drew nearer to the settlement, however, the crowd got ever thicker until she found herself elbowing her way forward. People were now tugging at her sleeve, pleading with her to help them in any way she could. “Do you have medicine?” many asked. “Do you have food?” others inquired.
Suddenly, the loud crack a gunshot rang out in the warm afternoon air. Robishaw drew her pistol from beneath her green jacket, but the shot wasn’t aimed at her. The crowd parted like the Red Sea, and as they did they revealed a troop of men in light blue uniforms toting old fashioned automatic rifles.
One such soldier stepped forward. “I’m Protector Quaid. Dr. Apple sent me and me boys to escort you to Central City. I hope these folks weren’t bothering you?”
“Are you the one who fired that shot?” Robishaw asked as she holstered her weapon.
“Yep.” Quaid spit some kind of brown juice upon the ground. “Had to get these bums attention somehow. Don’t worry; I didn’t shoot any of ‘em this time.”
Robishaw nodded while taking in the full measure of what Quaid said and what he implied. The people who had been pleading with her a moment ago now stood meters away, silent and obviously afraid, but their fear was not her problem just then.
“Fine,” she said, “Let’s meet Dr. Apple.”
With the blue-clad goon squad all around them, passage through the shanty town proved relatively easy. People seemed generally terrified of Quaid and his “protectors,” and Robishaw wondered just how bad things had gotten since the USS Isis first orbited this miserable little rock.
Winding their way along muddy streets, the little column soon found itself being waved through razor wire and into the complex of white buildings called Central City. Here was a world of order and cleanliness. Sturdy white buildings, some as high as three stories tall, lined paved avenues. And on those streets, neatly dressed pedestrians in white lab coats paraded before her eyes. The contrast with the shantytown and its denizens could not have been sharper, and Robishaw made a conscious effort to tap down the rage that such injustice bread in her heart.
Finally, Quaid and his bully boys took them to one of those three-story buildings. Over the entrance, a sign read “Central Services.” Blocking the door, Quaid held out his hand. “Ma’am, I’ll be taking that gun from you now.”
She instantly regretted drawing it earlier, but that had been instinctive and what was done was done. “Why?” she asked.
“Dr. Apple don’t like guns in here.”
Robishaw nodded. “I see, and will I be getting my sidearm back?”
Quaid seemed to think about it for a bit. Her weapon was more advanced than the antique rifle he carried, and perhaps he was thinking about claiming it as his own. “I guess. If you don’t be giving Dr. Apple any reason to say ‘no.’ I can give it to you when you leave.”
“Fine.” She said while surrendering her weapon. “But I want a receipt.”
“A what?”
“A note from you stating that you have my pistol.”
Scratching his head, Quaid replied, “Uh, sure. I got a notebook in my pocket.” He scratched out a barely legible receipt and handed it to her, then led the little troop of Earthlings into the Central Services building. Robishaw suppressed a smile when she noticed Manly wasn’t even checked for a weapon, and she wondered just what kind of training these uniformed thugs had received.
The Yang-He’s crew were led through a maze of glass-walled offices and laboratories until they came to a door with an armed guard in blue. Quaid addressed the sentry saying, “It’s okay, Ed. Dr. Apple is expecting this lot.”
“Sure thing, boss.” And the door opened, revealing a tall, skinny man with a black goatee in a white suit seated behind a massive wooden desk.
The man stood up. “Hello, I’m Dr. Apple, the surgeon general on this planet. I’m afraid my office is rather small. Have your senior people come in, and we can chat.”
Robishaw signaled for Dr. Harrigan to join her and stepped into the room with Quaid following close behind. The Surgeon General of Isis was a thing man, perhaps in his fifties, with a graying goatee, and a perpetual scowl. Apple didn’t offer them a seat and remained standing himself behind his massive desk that took up too much of the office. All eyes turned to Robishaw, so she gave the introductions. “I’m Helen Robishaw, first officer of the CEC Yang-He, and this is Dr. Jack Harrigan, chief of our medical staff. Captain Hobart VanDer sends his regards.”
“Please to meet you.” Dr. Apple replied and then let out a cough. “I’m told you may have a cure for our pandemic?”
“Not a cure, Dr. Apple,” Harrigan answered, “an anti-mitotic. Unfortunately, we haven’t found a way to eradicate the disease. However, we may be able to arrest its spread throughout your colony.”
Eyebrow raised, Dr. Apple asked, “May I see your notes, doctor?”
“Certainly.” Dr. Harrigan reached into his jacket to hand a datapad across the desk. “Select the heading IVC1, and you will find our studies and conclusions based on the data you sent to the Yang-He.”
Dr. Apple took his own sweet time to read the report and Robishaw’s felt her knees start to buckle. I’d been a long time since she was a cadet standing in formation, and she wished their host would’ve given them leave to sit in one of the rough wooden chairs in the room.
When he finished, Dr. Apple said, “It looks promising, Dr. Harrington…”
“Harrigan,” the doctor corrected.
Bristling at the interruption, Dr. Apple continued. “But I’ll want to test it on our volunteers first. Do you have doses ready to administer?”
“Yes, quite a few.” Dr. Harrigan nodded.
“Good. My man Quaid will escort you to the volunteers, and we can get started right away.” Then, with an arrogant wave of his hand, he dismissed his far traveling visitors. “That will be all.”
Quaid opened the door behind them. There was an awkward moment where Robishaw and Harrigan exchanged glances as if to say “Was that it?” before allowing themselves to be led from the office. When Robishaw considered VanDer’s scientific detachment she viewed it as mostly benign, but Dr. Apple was cut from a different clothe. Deep underneath his nerdy awkwardness, Robishaw felt that VanDer did actually care about his people—a trait Dr. Apple seemed to lack entirely.
Manly stepped up as they exited and asked, “Everything all right?”
“Yes, I suppose. This guy Quaid is going to take us to some volunteer test subjects to see if the vaccine works.”
Quaid, who clearly overheard that exchange grunted, “This way,” and led them out of Central Services and to a nondescript, one story, white building a few blocks away. The sign over its entrance read “Detentions.” Once inside, they passed through a room full of more blue-clad guards and into a cellblock where about twenty scared looking, bald men milled about crude wooden tables in a large room lined with cells.
“Here’s your volunteers, doctor,” Quaid said as he spat more brown juice into a trash can.
“Volunteers?” Harrigan protested. “By what definition are these men volunteers?”
“By the definition that they was condemned to death until they volunteered to be guinea pigs for Dr. Apple’s plague serums.”
Robishaw whispered in Harrigan’s ear, “Doctor, we already gave it to everybody on this landing party, and none of us has suffered any ill effects so far, and…” she lowered her voice, “and I don’t think this is a situation where we have much choice.”
Without considering the apparent threat posed by Quaid's men, Harrigan pontificated, “Medical ethical guidelines clearly state that test subjects must be made aware of the risks and be actual volunteers. I can tell them the risks, but I don’t think a death threat qualifies any of them as a true volunt
eer.”
In the background, they heard Quaid spit into the trash can again while Robishaw looked pleadingly at her chief medical officer.
Harrigan took a long look at the inmates. “Well, I’ll only test the ones who agree.”
The inmates were invited to take a seat at a table with Dr. Harrigan who took the time to explain the new drug and the risks associated with it. Of the twenty or so men, fifteen agreed to be test subjects and received the vaccine. Once the drug had time to be absorbed by their bodies, the doctor took blood samples and said to Robishaw, “Now, I need to get back to our lab on the Yang-He and test to see if this vaccinated, infected blood will spread the disease to healthy blood when brought into contact. If the disease does not spread from sample to sample we have a winner.”
“Fine.” Robishaw said, and then announced, “Okay, people, we’re going back to the shuttle.”
“Not so fast,” said Quaid. “You’re all guests of Dr. Apple, and he says when you can leave.”
Robishaw saw Manly’s hand move under his jacket, and she gave him a subtle head shake. His hand returned to his side, but his eyes said he was ready to use violence if need be to get them out of this mess.
“All right Mr. Quaid,” Robishaw replied, “Take us to your leader.”
As they once again walked the paved streets, sporadic gunfire could be heard in the distance. Although she lacked a full understanding of the security situation, Robishaw felt she already knew as much as she needed to. This world was a hell pit, and she needed to find a ladder to get her people out of it as soon as possible.
Returning to Dr. Apple’s office, they stood once again before the large wooden desk to face the skinny man in the white suit. Dr. Apple stroked his goatee as he considered their request to leave. “You don’t need to bother. We have lab facilities right here in this building at your disposal. You can stay in our Temporary Housing Unit for the few days it will take to conduct your experiments and eat at our Central Cafeteria. That will save you rocket fuel at least. Once we have your test results, we can allow you to return to your ship.”
Star Runners Page 3