by B. C. James
The two men rushed out of the room, leaving him alone with Lieutenant Arnold. Pierce smiled as he sat down next to him. Arnold looked him in the eyes and smiled back.
***
“Then we have an agreement, Lieutenant?” Pierce asked as he stood up from the table.
Arnold grinned up at him. “We sure do.”
Pierce looked over to the door as Commander Thompson entered the galley, holding his bruised head.
“What happened?” Pierce demanded, sliding his chair back violently. The chair went tumbling across the floor into a stack of cargo containers.
Thompson watched the chair as it clanged across the deck. It took him a moment to find his voice again. “Briggs… uh… ambushed me as I came out of the docking boom. Must of slipped his restraints after I left. He knocked me out cold. Baker and Daniels found him welding the airlock doors shut. They managed to tie him back up. He’s locked up in his quarters now, Sir.”
Arnold broke out into a laugh. Pierce silenced him with a glare, and he turned away, still chuckling to himself.
Pierce turned back to Thompson. “We cannot afford these kinds of simple mistakes, Commander,” he said in a steady voice, containing his anger.
“I know, Sir. I apologize, It won’t happen again,” Thompson stammered.
“Where is Baker and Daniels now?”
“They’re in the airlock, trying to get the doors open.”
“Good, I want no more delays,” Pierce said as he moved around the table to untie Arnold.
“Sir?” Thompson asked startled. “What are you doing?”
“Lieutenant Arnold has agreed to help us restore control of the ship,” Pierce said as the bonds fell to the floor.
Arnold stood up, stretching and rubbing his wrists where the restraints had dug into his skin. “That’s right Thompson. You’re working for me now,” he said with a wide grin.
Pierce ignored him. “You and Arnold get to the bridge and unlock the controls,” he ordered Thompson. “I want this ship fully operational by the time we get our cargo aboard. Understood?”
“Understood, Sir.”
“And, Thompson,” Pierce added. “No more mistakes.”
“Yes, Sir,” Thompson replied quietly, his shoulders slumping.
Arnold gave a short laugh and strode out the door. As Thompson turned to follow, Pierce caught him by the arm and pulled him close. “Keep an eye on Arnold,” he whispered. “I do not trust him.”
“Yes, Captain,” Thompson answered before he scampered out of the room, trying to catch up with Arnold.
Lewis entered the galley as Thompson was leaving. “The prisoners are locked up, Sir. That Ensign is a feisty one,” he said, smiling and rubbing his reddened knuckles.
“I hope you did not hurt her too badly,” Pierce frowned.
“Just enough to take the fight out of her,” Lewis replied.
“Go easy on the crew. We are just here for their ship,” Pierce said while rubbing his eyes. “Get down to the cargo section and clear out a space for the containment unit. I want it transferred on board as soon as Baker and Daniels get the airlock open. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir,” Lewis answered. He turned and walked out the door.
Pierce yawned and rubbed his temples. His head was aching from the lingering effects of cryostasis, and he wondered if a session in one of the med pods might help, but they were both currently occupied.
He left the galley and made his way to Captain Sharp’s quarters. After sliding the hatch open, he examined its spartan decor and furnishings. Sitting on the edge of the bunk, he tried to glean any clues about his opponent’s personality. There wasn’t much to go on. Sharp kept almost no personal effects. No family photos, no lucky trinkets, no souvenirs. The lack of clues was a clue in itself as if Sharp feared forming attachments to anything, or perhaps he was trying to distance himself from the past, or both.
Pierce laid back onto the narrow bunk, thinking as he stared up at the ruddy-brown ceiling. Was he doing the right thing? Did he really need to commandeer this ship? Maybe there was some other option. Maybe he should have trusted Sharp and confided in him about his cargo. Maybe he would have understood and allowed it to be brought aboard.
He could not have taken the risk, he decided. The cargo was too precious to be left at the mercy of a stranger he had only just met. It was too late to second guess his actions, anyway. They were committed to this course. There was no turning back.
He shook off his doubts and closed his weary eyes. He quickly fell asleep.
7
Wake up Call
Arnold slunk into the command chair on the bridge. “Ah, this feels good,” he gasped.
“Don’t get used to it,” Thompson responded.
Arnold grinned at him. “Your Captain promised me command of the ship.”
“I don’t care what he promised you,” Thompson shot back as he leaned over into Arnold’s face. “This ship is under Captain Pierce’s command until we get to our destination.”
Arnold laughed in his face. “Okay bud, but why Alpha Centauri? I know much nicer places to go. There’s this moon around Cortlas III. The women there—”
Thompson sighed, cutting him off. “Because that’s our mission.”
“Was your mission,” Arnold came back. “You were going to colonize the system, but it’s already been colonized. You’re a little late, don’t ya think?”
Thompson considered for a moment. “I don’t know. It’s what the Captain thinks is best, so that’s what we’re gonna do.”
“Okay, Tommy Boy, way to think for yourself,” Arnold replied sarcastically.
Thompson was becoming impatient. “Just shut up and unlock the controls.”
Arnold swiveled the chair and started punching away at the command console. Thompson hovered over him as he worked, watching him. “Do you mind?” Arnold complained, twisting his neck to glare at him.
Thompson scowled and backed off a little. “Just hurry it up already,” he huffed.
Arnold turned back to the console. He randomly scrolled through command windows and submenus to pacify his guard as he considered his next step. How was he going to get rid of this oaf? A thin smile flashed across his lips as an idea came to him. He brought up the ship’s mission logs and set the controls to scroll automatically down the screen. “Alright,” he said, leaning back as the logs began rolling down the monitor. “Should only take a few minutes now.”
Thompson squinted at the screen trying to decipher what he was seeing.
“I’ve got to take a piss,” Arnold said as he stood up.
Thompson jerked his eyes away from the monitor and glared at him.
“What?” Arnold said, holding up his hands. “Your buddies Baker and Daniels had me tied up and wouldn’t let me go. The program’s running. Nothing to do but wait.”
Arnold turned away from the console. Thompson came around to block his path. “Oh come on. It’s right there,” Arnold said, pointing at the small alcove behind them. “You wanna come help? You can hold it for me.”
Thompson scoffed and moved back, shaking his head. “Just go, but make it quick.”
Arnold winked at him and moved into the lavatory, closing the door behind him. The tiny room contained a compact toilet/sink combo that slid out from the rear bulkhead. Arnold ignored the toilet, pushing it closed to give himself more room. He turned back to the door and opened a small cabinet with a red cross that hung beside it. The cabinet was a cramped jumble of medical supplies, but he found what he was looking for. He grinned as he pulled out a small pneumatic syringe. He loaded it with a thin vial of clear liquid and cocked back the charge handle. With great care, he tucked the syringe into his waistband.
Thompson greeted him with a blank stare as he exited the lavatory. Arnold winked at him again and gently sat back down in the command chair, making sure not to set off the charged syringe. He leaned forward and slipped the syringe from his waistband, hiding it in his palm. With the other hand, he click
ed a few keys on the console and brought up the home screen. “Ah, here we are. All unlocked for ya,” he said as he sat back in the chair.
Thompson came forward and leaned over the monitor, turning his back to Arnold as he tried to get a better view.
“Where?” Thompson questioned. “I don’t see it, still seems the same to me.”
“It’s right here,” Arnold replied as he reached forward and jammed the syringe against the exposed flesh on Thompson’s neck before clicking the release button.
Thompson shot up straight, grasping at his neck. He half turned, and Arnold saw the puzzled look on his face as the injected sedative coursed through his bloodstream. His mouth opened as if to say something, but before he could, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto the floor.
“Idiot,” Arnold said to himself as he pushed Thompson’s limp body out of the way with his foot. He turned back to the command console and started doing some real work. First, he made sure the command lockouts were still in place then he remotely locked all the crew quarters. Knowing Baker and Daniels were still in the airlock, he closed and locked the hatch on the ship’s side of the docking boom.
He stood and looked down at Thompson’s limp form. Better hide this sorry lump of shit, he thought as he nudged him with his toe. He dragged him over to the lavatory and shoved him in, making sure to lock it from the outside.
Arnold left the bridge and made his way down the corridor to the crew quarters. He stopped in front of Commander Cormac’s door and hesitated for a moment as he considered leaving her locked up. He decided against it and keyed in his override code. The door slid open, and he poked his head into the dark room. “Anyone home?” he asked. The lights came on, and he spotted Cormac sitting on the edge of her bunk.
“What the hell do you want, traitor?” she snapped.
“I’m here to rescue you. Seems you went and got yourself captured,” he teased. “But I guess you can stay here if you’d like.”
Her face looked puzzled. “I thought you joined up with Pierce.”
“I did. He made me Captain,” he replied smiling. “But then as my first action as Captain of the Rojo, I relieved him of duty. The man seems… unhinged.”
“Ha,” she laughed. “Good work, Lieutenant.”
“Captain,” he corrected.
She ignored him. “Come on. Let’s free the rest of the crew.”
They crept down the corridor and stopped in front of Morales’ door. “I’ll get Morales and Briggs,” Arnold said. “You get down to the med bay and wake up Sharp and Franklin.” She turned to leave. “Be careful, Commander,” he added. “I think I got everyone locked up, but I’m not sure where Lewis is. He could still be free.”
She nodded and left as Arnold opened Morales’ door. A soft crying came forth out of the darkness. The whimpering ceased as the lights came on. He scanned the room looking for the source of the noise. There was a slight movement from the pile of blankets on the bunk. “Morales?” he asked, almost whispering. “It’s me, Arnold. You okay?”
A small hand curled out from under the covers and pulled down the blankets. Arnold gasped. Her once pretty young face was now a swollen unrecognizable mass of bruises and dried blood. Both her eyes were blackened and nearly swollen shut. She peeked out at him through narrow slits.
He went to her and pulled back the covers, revealing her torn and bloody clothes. She yanked the blankets back up to hide herself. “Who did this to you?” he asked coldly.
“Le… Lewis,” she mumbled through two fat lips.
“That son of a—” he broke off, bottling his anger as he stared at her battered face. “Can you walk?”
Tears welled up in her swollen eyes as she nodded. Arnold’s cheeks flushed red with rage. He stood and left her curled in her bunk as he walked to the closet. “Come on,” he said, pulling out a clean flight suit and taking it to her. “Let’s get you to the med bay.”
He stood by the door, standing guard as she stripped off her tattered rags and slipped the new suit over her bruised body.
Arnold put her arm over his shoulders and helped her limp out of her cabin. Together they freed Briggs from his quarters. Briggs reaction at seeing Morales was similar to Arnold’s, and tears moistened her eyes again as she spoke Lewis’s name once more.
They made their way down the corridor, the two men on either side of Morales, nearly carrying her as she limped along.
Cormac didn’t look up as they entered the med bay. She stood next to one of the pods, punching commands into the control panel. “They should be awake in a few min—” she cut off as she finally looked up and discovered Morales’ brutalized face. Both of her hands shot up to cover her mouth, stifling a gasp. She jumped to Morales’ side. Taking her by the arm, she helped her to the bench at the back of the room. “Hold on, Ensign. We’ll get you into a pod as soon as Sharp and Franklin are up,” she said as she cradled her under her arms.
***
The lid of Sharp’s med pod unlatched with a click and slowly raised. The cloud of confusion began to subside as the anesthesia wore off. He rocked his head to the side and cracked his eyes open. His foggy vision cleared, and his crewmates came into focus. He tried to raise himself to a sitting position and promptly fell back to the bed as his wobbly arms gave out under his weight. Arnold came over to assist him as Briggs went to check on Franklin in the other pod.
“You all right, Captain?” Arnold asked. “Looks like you took a blow to the head.”
Sharp raised his hand and cautiously probed where the spanner had struck his temple. The spot was healed but remained tender to the touch. “Pierce attacked me in the cargo corridor,” he rasped as he looked around the med bay. Franklin was emerging from his pod, and Morales was huddled under Cormac’s arms on the bench between the units. “What’s our status, Commander?”
Cormac looked up at him. “Lewis and Daniels rushed the bridge just after I got your message, Sir. I locked out most of the main systems before they overpowered us. Then Lewis dragged us to our cabins and beat the shit out of Morales.”
Sharp saw Morales’ battered face for the first time. “What the fuck,” he gasped as he slid down to the bench. She buried her face into his chest as he wrapped his arms around her protectively. “Don’t worry, Morales, you’re safe now. I won’t let that sadistic fuck get away with this.”
Still cradling her, he looked up with hard eyes and nodded for them to continue.
Briggs spoke up as he helped Franklin out of the pod. “I was in the airlock with Thompson when he knocked me out cold. He left me there tied up, but I was able to escape and weld the airlock doors shut.”
Franklin gave him a queer look. “You did what?” he exclaimed.
Briggs shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. Whatever their plan is, they really wanted to get back to their ship. So, I figured I’d try to slow ‘em down a bit. I got the doors welded shut before Baker and Daniels jumped me and locked me in my quarters.”
“Good thinking, Briggs,” Sharp said. “Pierce seems obsessed with some sort of cargo he has over there. He was trying to convince me to bring it aboard right before he attacked me.”
“Yeah, they wanted to bring the cargo over and then head to Alpha Centauri,” Arnold chimed in. “Pierce tried to convince me to help him. Offered me command of the ship,” he laughed. “I pretended to accept his offer then freed the crew the first chance I got. The crazy bastard seems hell-bent on getting to the Alpha Centauri system. I tried telling him It’s already been colonized, but he wouldn’t listen. The man’s gone mad if you ask me. Too long in cryostasis, must’ve got freezer burn on his brain. I’ve got him locked up in your quarters for now.”
“How about the others?” Sharp asked.
“Daniels and Baker are locked up in the docking boom, and I got Thompson drugged up in the bridge lavatory. Not sure where Lewis is.”
“All right,” Sharp said, still groggy. “Arnold, take Briggs and Franklin and find Lewis. Feel free to rough him u
p a little. Cormac, get Morales into the med pod and then meet me on the bridge.”
Franklin gained his footing, although still somewhat wobbly, and moved to the doorway. He grasped the door frame for support and turned back toward them. “Probably ought to start in the carg—” he cut off mid-sentence. His eyes went wide, and he fell forward, landing face down on the deck. A crimson stream of blood oozed from a wound on the back of his neck. Lewis stood in the doorway, staring at them with a thin cruel smile and cold eyes. At his side, his hand grasped a short knife. Blood dripped from its blade and splattered on the deck next to his foot.
Briggs let out a shrill cry of horror and lunged at Lewis. He slipped in the pool of blood forming next to Franklin and fell forward. He caught Lewis around the legs, and the two of them fell to the floor. The knife skidded away as Lewis’ back smashed into the deck. Briggs held him down against the floor while Lewis struggled to escape from his grasp.
Sharp sprang up to help and promptly fell to his knees due to his weakened legs. A streak of color flashed past his eyes, followed by a high-pitched scream as Morales rushed toward the wrestling men. She leapt over Franklin, sailing through the open door, and brought her knee down square into Lewis’ face. Her momentum carried her forward after the blow, and she rolled head over heels, slamming into the corridor wall. She scrambled to regain her footing and came up with the knife clutched in her hand. In one swift arcing movement, she brought the point of the blade down into Lewis’ left eye, burying it to the hilt.
The fight was over. Lewis went limp, and he lay prostrate in the middle of the corridor, his arms and legs spread eagle, the knife handle protruding from his skull. Blood trickled down the side of his face, disappearing into his dark hair then reemerging to puddle in the small squares of the deck grating beneath his head. Briggs rolled off him, his eyes wide with shock. Morales sat leaning against the corridor wall, breathing heavily and looking like she was about to burst into tears.
Sharp jumped into action. “Get him in the pod,” he yelled, stumbling over to Franklin’s still body. Briggs shot up and together they carried him to the med pod and slammed the lid. Sharp furiously punched at the control panel. A red light flashed on the screen. “No!” he cried out as he smashed his balled fist against the smooth white shell of the pod.