TROPHY

by Paul M. Schofield

  Galen watched silently with a greedy smile, carefully observing Martin’s terror struck face as each pedestal’s hideous treasure was revealed. Martin looked at them all, and stared at Galen with outrage.

  “Why?” he said almost inaudibly as Galen continued to grin with an irritating smugness. “Why!” Martin screamed with all the hatred and rage he could summon. So intense was his outburst that the room fell silent. Even Galen stopped grinning and stepped back, but he quickly regained his mocking composure and moved closer to Martin’s face.

  “Why?” he said in a more serious tone. “You are asking me why, you of all people? You know why! I am a hunter, just like you. And you ask me why?” He shook his head as he looked at Martin. “I am just like you, only this time I won, which proves I am the superior hunter. Barely, I will humbly admit, you almost beat me with that rock slide – that was brilliant! But I won just the same,” he said, grinning again. “And now you are mine!”

  “I’m not like you,” Martin said with a growl. “I’m not like you at all. I hunt only for the meat. I’m not a cold blooded killer!”

  “Oh, no, I am sure you are not, and yet you love the hunt, don't you? You love the power of life and death in your hands, don't you? And don't you love the kill, that most visceral and intense feeling of all?” Galen glared at Martin. “Oh, you just kill for the meat, I have so misunderstood you.”

  Martin's face was blank, taken aback. He felt the acute impotence of his position. Before Martin could utter a sound, Galen screamed. “Liar! You love to kill! You are a hunter just like me!” Galen paused and then more quietly continued. “In one respect I am different, I admit, but in a superior way because I do not kill. You are the killer. I am the collector, a collector of living things. YOU are the killer, my young and worthy opponent!” He started to laugh, showing his complete satisfaction with the outcome of their verbal sparring. He laughed for a long time, and all the mixed orchestra of sounds seemed to join together in a great, hideous, overwhelming crescendo, bent on driving Martin to madness.

  But Galen composed himself and looked at Martin, a menacing twinkle in his eyes. “I have one more surprise for you, Martin Bucklann.” He turned Martin’s pedestal ninety degrees to the left where another pedestal of equal height was sitting, its trophy hidden by the sparkling iridescence.

  “Behold!” he said. Martin numbly watched, wondering what could possibly be worse than his present situation. The sparkling diminished as a man’s head began to form in front of Martin’s bulging and dismayed eyes. All he could do was gasp and blink his eyes. In total disbelief, he finally said in a breathless whisper: “Father...”

  Galen’s triumph was supreme. He was beside himself in the glory of the moment. “Father and son! A matched pair of hunters! And I took them both! Isn't it both ironic and wonderful?” he said, laughing long and hard, totally pleased with himself.

  “I will give you a few minutes to get reacquainted. Perhaps you can tell each other hunting stories.” He walked away continuing to laugh and gloat.

  Martin looked at his father in total disbelief. How could they ever get out of this situation? Who could ever help them? It was hopeless.

  “Son, we’re finally together,” his father said. “I’ve dreamed of seeing you and your mother again for a long time, but not like this. How long has it been? You look older. Somehow he shuts me off and I sleep almost constantly without dreaming. I have lost all track of time.”

  “Seventeen years, Dad. Seventeen long years. Now, we’re both gone. Mom’s heart must be broken again. I feel so helpless. We missed you so much. We searched for years to try and understand what happened. I wish this was a nightmare we could wake up from.”

  “I’m afraid it is a nightmare, but we can’t wake up. This maniac told me every detail of his plan to capture you, how he’d accomplish it. I hoped he would fail! He’s so evil. How could he just rip us away from our families, from the ones we love?” he said, his voice breaking. “He’s worse than an animal!”

  “Why did he pick us? Where did he come from – where are we going?”

  “He picked me at random. I was just like another animal in the forest. But he chose you. He forced me – he tortured me – to find out about you. He put all the details together so he could trap you. Now he gloats about having a matched pair of hunters.”

  “Oh, Dad, I’ve wanted to tell you how much I've missed you for so long. And now it seems so hollow. What are we going to do? How can we help mother? How can we let her know the truth? We’re like animals in a zoo, controlled by this beast. It’s hopeless!”

  “It seems that way – but never give up. We don’t know what the future holds. Somehow, something might change. Never give up hope!”

  “I wish I could feel that way, Dad. I don’t know what we can do. He’s so cruel and wicked. I wish I could...”

  “Could what, my young opponent?” Bestmarke said as he walked toward them. “You have had enough time together. It's time to shut you off!” He walked to the pedestals and touched the side..

  “Son, I love...”

  Martin felt his energy drain away and quickly fell asleep.

  **********

  Galen locked the hatch door on the trophy room and walked forward through the central corridor that threaded the core of the long ship. The trophy room and cargo compartments comprised a third of the ship in the center, the engines were in the stern behind the massive thrust plate. He continued forward past his quarters, past weapons and engineering, and through the crew’s quarters to the bridge in the bow of the ship. The defense cube, buttressed in the heavy front shielding, was all that was forward of the bridge.

  Terran was at his console looking at the screens, rubbing his chin, deep in thought. He barely noticed Galen standing beside him, also studying the screens. Terran spoke first, not looking up. “Did the reunion go as you expected, Brother?” After a few seconds of silence he looked up at Galen.

  Galen caught his gaze and smiled a self satisfied grin. “It went very well, very well, indeed! I was just now contemplating my good fortune on acquiring a matched pair of hunters. They are truly unique! I cannot wait to see Izax again. I have beaten him this time! It is a resounding victory for me. He will be insanely jealous. What a pity,” he said, chuckling. He paused for a moment. “Are we ready to go back through the Keyhole?”

  “Louis is working on his preliminary computations. He needs an hour or two and wants to be left alone. He made a point of that,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Then it should be smooth sailing until we reach the Keyhole.”

  Galen just grinned. “I feel so good I’ll be generous with him. THREE hours of peace.” He laughed again, heading to the mess hall for a bowl of pretzels and a few Laconian Lagers.

  Chapter XII

  Earth Date: 475 N.V.A.

  Location: Kuiper Belt: trans-Neptunian region

  Star-Commander Abigail Vandevere was not an imposing figure at first glance: medium height, slender build, and smartly styled short blond hair with natural highlights of gray, giving her a dignity befitting her high rank. Her lightly purple-tinged eyes accented her modest, impeccably presented uniform. A single ten pointed star of pure platinum was near her left shoulder. Only that star and the platinum buttons, instead of brass, signaled her rank, the pinnacle an off-worlder could attain. A higher rank would land a desk job on Earth or on one of the big bases in the Solar System. She had what she wanted, command of the flagship Daniela, the most impressive Victorian Cruiser of the fleet.

  The Star-Commander’s self control was exemplary. She obviously didn’t achieve her position by flying off the handle when situations went awry, but her patience was nearly spent as she listened to the reports from the officers that had tried to disable Bestmarke’s ship.

  “What level did you have the probe-bombs set at, Lieutenant-Warden Kanopolis?”

  “They were at half strength, set at level five, Ma’am. We – we had concern for Franelli – we thought a higher setting might ruptu
re the hull of the ship. We did not want to take that risk.”

  “Let me worry about Franelli, Lieutenant. We are not nursing mothers here. This is battle. As long as Franelli is not dead, that is all that matters. He deserves to be roughed up. Bestmarke deserves even more. Someday we will get both of them.”

  “Yes, Ma’am!” Kanopolis said.

  “Lieutenant-Warden Rogerton,” VanDevere said, shifting her gaze. “You have oversight of Alpha Squadron. How would you rate their performance?”

  “They followed my orders and did all they reasonably could, Ma’am,” Rogerton said with a strong voice. “I gave those orders to reduce the probe-bomb intensity.”

  “Your orders? I see,” said VanDevere. She began to pace slowly along the line of officers. “Is it not standard procedure to set them at seven, if not full strength, Lieutenant? Do you, perhaps, know more than the designers of these devices?”

  “I do not pretend to know more,” Rogerton said. “But with all due respect, Ma’am, we are not in the lab now. We are on the battlefield. Bestmarke’s engines and shields were damaged. We needed to compensate to keep Franelli safe.” She continued at attention, her eyes straight ahead.

  “Oh, yes, our dear Mr. Franelli,” VanDevere said, continuing to pace. She stopped suddenly in front of Rogerton and turned to her, standing close. “Tell me, Lieutenant, what did you discern about the performance of Bestmarke’s ship when he dropped his cloak and made a run toward the Keyhole?”

  “He has a – a very fast ship,” Rogerton said, momentarily looking down. “It is – very maneuverable.”

  “And that is your description?” VanDevere said, staring at her. “Very fast, very maneuverable? What do you think that would indicate, Lieutenant? As you said, we are not in the lab now.”

  “I – I am not sure if I know what you mean, Ma’am,” she said, looking straight ahead.”

  VanDevere looked into her eyes for a long moment, a faint smile forming on her lips. “Never mind, Lieutenant.”

  The bridge was quiet. VanDevere again began to pace, and slowly moved her unflinching gaze from one officer to another as they stood rigidly at attention, eyes straight ahead. Finally she spoke, exasperation heavy in her voice.

  “I really thought we had them this time. They were in our grasp but for Franelli!” she said, spitting out his name. “We had them – we had them,” she said as if murmuring to herself, shifting her gaze downwards.

  She raised her eyes and said: “You all are to be commended. Under the circumstances you could not have realistically done more. Thankfully, the Laurel suffered no loss of life and only moderate damage. She will be back in action soon. Ship Three of Alpha Squadron was nearly destroyed, however. Two crew members were critically injured but have been stabilized. The rest are in fair condition, receiving treatment for their burns. Now we must prepare for Bestmarke’s return. We can only assume that he will soon bring his ship back through the Keyhole. It may be the next time the Keyhole appears, it may be farther in the future, we do not know. But we must be ready!” She paused momentarily before giving her final order. “There is time before the Keyhole’s next appearance. Get some rest and give your crews time off on the Daniela. Strategy briefing tomorrow at 14:00 hours. Dismissed.”

  The officers saluted with their left fists over their hearts and a crisp, “Yes, Ma’am!” They began filing off the bridge.

  “Lieutenant-Warden Rogerton,” VanDevere said as almost an after-thought. “Would you accompany me to my office, please?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” Rogerton’s heart rate increased and she wondered what other difficult questions awaited her. The slumping shoulders of her fellow officers revealed their relief as they quickened their pace to leave, gratified their names weren’t mentioned.

  A brief walk brought them to the austere but comfortable private office of the Star-Commander. As was usual on a battle-ship, there was no loose furniture. Everything was built-in or firmly anchored and secured. The muted pastel colors were comforting and tastefully coordinated with VanDevere’s personal preferences. A single ten pointed star was the only decoration on the wall behind the desk. At the side wall was a single picture of a fashionably dressed and younger Abigail VanDevere standing beside another young woman, obviously her sister, similar in age. On the opposite wall were two pictures, the same younger Abigail VanDevere in a simple cadet’s uniform, fresh out of the Planetary Control Corps Academy, and a similar looking young woman with dark walnut-colored hair, also in a simple, more updated cadet’s uniform. It was her daughter Elizabeth, still in her last year at the Academy, and VanDevere was very proud of her. School officials said she was well on her way to becoming a fine officer.

  “At ease, Lieutenant, and make yourself comfortable. I want you to tell me everything you haven’t told me yet. I felt during the debriefing that you were holding something back. I assume you felt it necessary and had good reason,” she said as she sat at her desk. “Oh, I’m sorry, I meant to offer you some refreshment. I would like some coffee. Would you like some, too?” she touched the control of the intercom.

  “Just water for me, please, Ma’am,” Rogerton said, sitting down on the edge of a wall couch.

  VanDevere called for the beverages. They sat in an awkward silence as her Personal Specialist quickly brought them and quietly disappeared. The redolence of the coffee filled the room as VanDevere poured a cup from the carafe and savored the first sip. Then with a gentle smile, she looked directly at Lieutenant-Warden Rogerton.

  Rogerton felt the power of command keenly focused on her. It was intimidating, to say the least. She swallowed, put her drink down, and collected her thoughts. She looked straight into the eyes of the Star-Commander. “I thought we had a chance against Bestmarke’s ship with our mines, especially the new issue SPM-3’s. We deployed the five we had. He took out the first two before they unloaded, but the last three had time to unload, nine projectiles in standard “C” formation. Nothing should have escaped, but his ship seemed alive. I am thinking a guider/pouncer team and suspecting Victorian trained.”

  The Star-Commander’s widening eyes signaled the Lieutenant had gained her interest.

  “Using the micro-shield, I had the computer search for any renegade Victorian officers specifically trained as guiders. It found one back three standard years. I searched back five more years – nothing. Only one in eight years.”

  Lost in thought, the Star-Commander wasn’t looking at her anymore.

  “I asked for everything in the data-bank on the officer and here is what it gave me: Code name – “Star Point”, renegade 2.75 standard years.”

  It took several moments before the Star-Commander looked up at the Lieutenant. “Is that all? What is the Priority Rating?”

  “Priority 50-C1. No more information was available.”

  With a deep sigh the Star-Commander seemed to age in the Lieutenant’s eyes. She looked absently to the picture of her sister and quietly said: “Now I am beginning to understand...”

  Rogerton kept respectfully silent. She also had questions that demanded answers, but now was not the time to ask.

  Heaving another sigh, the Star-Commander stood, signaling the end of their meeting. The Lieutenant-Warden quickly stood.

  “Lieutenant, keep this confidential,” VanDevere said in a low voice. “Speak to no one about this, no matter their rank. I cannot explain more at this time. You are one of my most discerning officers. You possess a keen and observant mind and will understand this situation more distinctly as time and circumstances unfold. Thank you for your discernment in not disclosing this information at the debriefing. Dismissed, get some well deserved rest.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am,” Rogerton said. She had never seen the Star-Commander in such a mood. She was always the model of self-control, logic, and finality in her command. Yet she had revealed to her, a junior officer, strong emotions about some hidden situation that was deeply troubling. Why now and why her? These thoughts raced through her mind as she smartly
saluted with her left fist over her heart and quickly walked through the door.

  Rogerton was tired, exhausted from hours of continuous duty, but not ready to sleep just yet. Not now. She needed to walk and think. Usually confined to her small ship, walking for any distance was a luxury to her. But a Victorian Cruiser, especially the Daniela, was immense, six hundred meters long. Walking without repeating the scenery was possible, although all the decks and corridors were essentially the same. Still, to walk and think, oblivious to your surroundings, was something to savor in the depths of space.

  As a commanding officer most of the ship was open to her and she walked for some distance. Finally she came to one of the canteens near her ship’s docking port. The smell of food combined with the sounds of laughter and conversation drew her in. Walking through the door automatically set one “at ease” with no distinction of rank observed. Everyone was equal here, although discipline, order, graciousness, and the dignity of the service were always required.

  Glancing around she noticed her pilot, Kolanna Montoombo, seated at one of the booths, enjoying a plate full of food.

  “Hi Kolanna, do you mind if I join you?”

  She looked up with an inviting smile, revealing white, perfect teeth that seemed to stretch from ear to ear. She was tall and willowy with smooth, mahogany skin, and a regal elegance about her reminiscent of an ancient African princess. Her large, almond shaped, dark brown eyes had a light purple tinge. Closely cropped black hair gave her a professional and athletic appearance. Gold jewelry, not worn on duty, often completed her look.