Ship of the Damned

by James F. David

  “Hi Nate, hi Roger,” Ralph said. “I’d shake your hand but I can’t on account of mine being tied up. You too?”

  Then Ralph looked up to the woman on the platform.

  “Hi Karla. Whatcha doin up there? Are you gonna sing a song or something? Can I get on the stage too?”

  The man staring at Wes tried to stand.

  “Wes, it’s me!”

  Wes realized that it was Elizabeth in the body of Roger Dawson. He surged forward, but was shoved down next to the man in the silver suit. Once on his knees, he leaned out so that he could see the body that held the woman he loved.

  “Elizabeth, what are you doing here?”

  “I came to help, but I can’t get back. Anita’s here’too and she’s terrified.”

  “Dissolve the integration,” Wes said.

  “It was dissolved,” Elizabeth said.

  Shocked, Wes tried to understand what had happened. Elizabeth was still in the dream even without the integration, so she no longer needed to join with Anita and Wanda in order to be receptive. But why was Anita there? Somehow, by linking their minds, Wes had strengthened both the link to Dawson and the link between Anita and Elizabeth. Now Elizabeth and Anita were like two radios tuned to the same frequency; what one received, the other also received. Wes thought furiously for a solution. He could think of only one. If they increased the voltage of the signals that suppressed neural activity, and broadcast widely, they would create an electrical storm. The effect would imitate electroshock therapy and probably trigger a seizure, but it could temporarily suppress Elizabeth’s reception faculties.

  “Tell Len and Shamita to try scrambling your entire cortex,” Wes said.

  The man in the silver suit between Wes and Elizabeth took in the exchange, his face passive.

  “What?” Elizabeth said.

  “I said—” Wes was cuffed from behind, his ear stinging from the blow.

  “Scramble the cortex,” the man in the silver suit repeated.

  Then Prophet glanced at the man in the silver suit and nodded to Cobb. The air crackled behind the man and his hair stood on end. Cobb struck him, and he writhed on the deck as a hundred sparks danced over his body.

  “Stop it,” Elizabeth screamed through Dawson’s body.

  The punishment continued.

  “You shouldn’t do that, it hurts,” Ralph said to Cobb.

  Ralph started to rise, and Cobb turned on him, the air crackling around Ralph and then erupting in the bright blue of electric light. Ralph convulsed, but made no sound.

  “Enough,” Prophet’s voice sounded in Wes’s head.

  Cobb stopped immediately, and Ralph suddenly relaxed, his head hanging limp.

  “That hurts worser than anything,” Ralph said.

  “Jett, are you all right?” Elizabeth said.

  Wes looked down at the man Elizabeth called Jett. He was struggling back to his knees. He moved slowly, but confidently. Jett gave a quick nod, assuring him that he wasn’t badly injured.

  “Now, if we have everyone’s complete attention, I will continue,” Prophet said.

  “You’re a ventrilkist, aren’t you?” Ralph said. “Your lips don’t move, but I can hear you talking.”

  Prophet focussed on Ralph, and Cobb moved behind him.

  “I speak with the voice of God,” Prophet said. “Just as God speaks directly to our hearts, I speak directly to your mind. But it is not only the gift of godtalking that God has entrusted to me. I can look deep into a person’s soul and know whether Jesus is in their heart.”

  The crowd erupted into shouted “Amens” and started praising God as if they were at a Pentecostal camp meeting.

  “Sadly, your friends have turned their backs on the gift God has given us—the gift of eternal life,” Prophet said, switching to voice. “I ask you—no, I beg you—to repent and accept God’s gift. Be like this one,” he said, holding out his hand to the woman on the stage wearing the silver suit. “She opened her heart to God’s servant and she was put on the right path. Now she will live forever in this joyous fellowship.”

  Now Prophet stepped in front of Monica, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back. Monica’s face was taut with fear, and then her eyes went wide and her mouth opened in surprise. After a moment of concentration Prophet opened his eyes and shook his head sadly.

  “This one will not obey God.”

  “Burn her!” the crowd shouted.

  Next Prophet stepped in front of Wes, again closing his eyes. Instantly, Wes could feel him in his mind, rifling his memories, feeling his thoughts and emotions. Wes felt as if he was being sexually molested, and he was sickened by the personal intrusion. Memories were triggered randomly, flashing through Wes’s head in a confusing buzz. His childhood was there, his first day of school, a spanking he’d received, being teased for being a nerd, high school graduation, scholarship offers coming in the mail—his entire life flickered past, all his personal memories exposed for a stranger. Worse was Prophet’s manipulation of his emotions. Wes had always tightly controlled these, but Prophet unlocked Pandora’s box, releasing Wes’s feelings. He was flooded with one emotion after another.

  Wes was at the mercy of Prophet, who pulled memories and emotions from him at will. He was suddenly a sad little child standing at the edge of the playground watching the other boys choose up sides for baseball, knowing he would never be asked. Then he was a happy teenager crossing the auditorium stage for his diploma a year before his peers. The next instant he was terrified, seeing Len lying in a bloody pile after his chest had been crushed by a psychokinetic whom Wes had accidentally created—Prophet dwelled on this memory. Then Elizabeth was in his mind’s eye, and Prophet was sharing the lust Wes felt for her but kept buried. Memories of kissing her, holding her and touching her filled him, his body responding as if she were in his arms now. In their link, he felt Prophet’s own lust for Elizabeth. But Prophet had sampled the wrong memory, and Wes fought Prophet’s presence with a flurry of angry emotions: disgust, rage, and hate flooded him, pushing on Prophet’s intruding mind, cornering it, and battering it into a smaller and smaller space.

  Realizing his mistake, Prophet retreated from the Elizabeth memories and reached for loyalty and devotion, pulling them from Wes’s emotional pool with images of his father and mother, teachers who had mentored him, and a grandfather who had doted on him; all of these Prophet tried to attach to his own image. Wes knew that if he succeeded, Wes would become a devoted follower. Wes resisted, closing his eyes and nurturing the hate that came from Prophet’s psychic molestation of Elizabeth.

  “Give in and live,” Prophet said in Wes’s mind.

  “Never,” Wes thought back.

  “Then die,” Prophet said, and released Wes, who recoiled as if he had been physically struck.

  “This one has chosen the fire over life,” Prophet said.

  “Burn him!” the crowd roared.

  Prophet gave Wes a thin smile and then stepped to Ralph and repeated his routine.

  “Stop that, it tickles,” Ralph said suddenly.

  Prophet opened his eyes and studied Ralph, puzzled. Then he closed his eyes and probed again.

  “You’re going to make me laugh,” Ralph said, smiling broadly.

  Prophet squatted on the stage, looking at Ralph quizzically. With his fringe of graying hair and his chestnut-brown eyes, Prophet looked fatherly, and spoke kindly.

  “You have a most unusual mind, Ralph,” Prophet said.

  “Thanks,” Ralph said as if he had been complimented.

  “This one has turned his back on God’s gift, too.”

  “Burn him!” the crowd shouted.

  Now Prophet raised his hands, quieting the crowd on the deck of the carrier. Prophet waited for complete silence. Then he spoke to the captives, but in a voice loud enough for all those gathered on the deck to hear.

  “You could have joined our fellowship, but you turned your back on God and the mission God has given us—the mission we are about to
undertake.”

  The crowd murmured excitedly, but then quieted without Prophet’s urging, anxious to hear his words.

  “God brought us here and gave us eternal life so that we would prepare ourselves to serve him as his chosen people. He established a covenant with us just as he did with Abraham, and freed us from hunger, disease, and death, and gave to us abilities like those spiritual beings who share heaven with God. But just like with the children of Israel, there were those who were weak, who denied God, and we drove them from our fellowship. Then the world sent its agents—people like you—to destroy us, and we repulsed them as well, becoming stronger in our faithfulness, trusting God that he would make his plan clear to us.

  “Only when the heretic Kellum came to us with his plan to destroy this world God created for us, did God reveal his final plan for us. Kellum wanted us to go back to the world to resume our sinful ways, but God wanted more for us. So we let Kellum build his machines, and when I saw what they could do I knew God was pleased with us and ready to make his chosen a mighty people again. God brought this ship’s weapons to us so that we might return to the world and build a new Israel.”

  Cheers erupted from the crowd.

  “Set my people free!”

  The crowed roared approval, shaking their medieval weapons in the air. They wouldn’t be quieted now and continued to shout praises at Prophet. Walking up and down the platform, Prophet fed off their adulation. His ego finally satiated, he quieted them by raising his arms above his head and bringing them down slowly. Prophet played his flock like an organ, using arm motions to stir them up and quiet them down.

  “They will shut down their machine that traps us in here, or they will be punished with the nuclear fire of their own evil creation.”

  Wes was horrified by what he was hearing. The madman on the platform had access to the Nimitz’s nuclear weapons and was threatening to use them against the world. Wes didn’t doubt that he would carry out his threat.

  “When we have finished moving the rest of the nuclear weapons to the Norfolk, we will be ready to return to the world.”

  Again the crowd erupted in deafening roars of approval. Prophet quieted his flock with another dramatic arm motion. Then he strutted across his stage, looking down at his kneeling captives.

  “Before we can finish God’s work, we must once again purify his flock.”

  “Burn them!” the Crazies shouted.

  With a dramatic turn and a point he stopped in front of the wounded sailor.

  “Bring that one,” Prophet said.

  Even half conscious the sailor knew what was coming, and struggled vainly as he was dragged roughly up onto the stage. A metal post was brought to the platform and fitted into a hole. Then the sailor was tied to the post.

  “Mr. Rust, do God’s work,” Prophet said.

  “Burn him, burn him, burn him!” the crowd chanted.

  A bearded man in a brown leisure suit climbed onto the stage. He wore a cruel smile, clearly enjoying his work. Wes struggled against his bonds to no avail. Even if he broke free, he was powerless to stop what was about to happen. With the crowd shouting encouragement Rust bowed his head, his chin nearly touching his chest. Instantly, Wes could feel the heat. Then the air around the sailor began to glow.

  “Don’t look, Anita,” Elizabeth said with Dawson’s voice.

  The sailor was panting and begging for mercy, his face beaded with sweat. Suddenly his pants burst into flame and the screaming began. The mob erupted in cheers and applause as the flames licked up the legs of the sailor. The agony of the sailor chilled Wes’s blood, and his eyes teared in sympathy. The sailor was hoarse by the time the flames reached his waist, his throat producing only scratchy wails. Suddenly he collapsed, unconscious. Weak from blood loss, he died before the torture was over.

  Rust stopped abruptly, the flames dying quickly, leaving the sailor’s flesh and clothes smoldering. The flames couldn’t be sustained without Rust’s psi influence. The crowd booed and shouted their disappointment. Prophet stepped back to the center of the stage.

  “This is my fault,” Prophet shouted. “I should have given the life-sustaining field a chance to heal him, but I was loathe to waste God’s gift of healing on one condemned to the fire.”

  “It was right,” a woman shouted from the mob. Others shouted agreement.

  “Never mind, we have others who will suffer God’s full punishment,” Prophet said.

  Now Prophet walked slowly in front of the kneeling captives.

  “Who shall go next?” Prophet said. “Roberto, who has refused God many times before? How many of the faithful have you killed, Roberto?”

  The Hispanic man glared defiantly. Prophet moved on to Monica.

  “Perhaps Monica should go next. Ladies before gentlemen?”

  “Burn the Jap,” a sailor shouted.

  “I’m not Japanese, I’m Korean-American,” Monica protested.

  “The newcomers tell me we went to war with the Koreans,” Prophet said.

  “That was North Korea,” Monica said. “I was born in America.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you are. The wars with the Germans, the Japanese, the Koreans—those are of the old world. Evil against evil, heretic against heretic. Here, the war is between the followers of God and the followers of Satan.”

  Then Prophet turned to Ralph.

  “Ralph has a simple mind, but still I cannot reach him. It’s a shame, but he is strong and will last a long time in the fire.”

  “It’s not nice to hurt people,” Ralph said.

  Ignoring Ralph, Prophet stopped in front of Wes.

  “Perhaps this one. I thought you would join us, Dr. Wes Martin, but you are too full of yourself to make room for God.”

  Then Prophet moved on to Jett.

  “Nathan Jett, professional killer. God would have even you in his flock, but you refuse him.”

  “I refuse you, Layton McNab, not God,” Jett said.

  Prophet’s face flushed.

  “Here I speak for God,” he said with grand arm gestures.

  “Here you play God,” Jett said.

  Teeth clenched, face purple, Prophet broadcast widely so that all heard.

  “Blasphemy will be punished.”

  Sparks arced from Cobb’s fingers into Jett’s back, knocking him to the ground where he squirmed silently like a worm on a hot sidewalk. After a minute of torture, Prophet ordered Cobb to stop. Immediately, Jett relaxed, his face serene, inscrutable.

  “Has the evil one given you anything else to say?” Prophet said.

  Jett’s mouth opened, but Ralph spoke first.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea to say anything, Nate.”

  “Out of the mouths of babes,” Prophet said. “Take his advice or taste Cobb’s gift again.”

  “Electrocution or fire? If that’s my choice, I’ll take electrocution,” Jett said.

  Prophet reddened, angry at the way Jett knew his thoughts. Prophet did want to burn him. Slowly, his smug grin returned.

  “You will be saved for last,” Prophet said. “We’ll see what kind of tongue you have after you’ve seen the flesh cooked from the bones of your friends.”

  “I have no friends,” Jett said.

  The woman in the silver suit stepped next to Prophet.

  “He’s right. He has no feelings for anyone.”

  “I’ve seen his heart,” Prophet said. “He loves Ralph.”

  The woman in the silver suit looked surprised, while Ralph beamed.

  “Ralph reminds him of his brother,” Prophet said. “His brother Jason killed himself, didn’t he, Nathan? You saw your brother’s mangled body, and it made you cry. Now you’ll watch Ralph die and we’ll see if there’s enough humanity left in you to muster another tear.”

  Jett started to speak, but Prophet hushed him.

  “If you say another word I’ll have your tongue cut out.”

  Jett kept silent, and Prophet smiled in satisfaction. Then Prophet turned
to Dawson.

  “Roger, I honestly hoped you would never be brought before me. We were friends.”

  “I’m not Roger,” Elizabeth protested.

  “I know what you are, demon. You have possessed him and turned him against his best friend, and his savior.”

  “I’m not a demon, I’m a social worker.”

  “What’s the difference?” Prophet said, the mob laughing. “I have decided. The sooner we cleanse our fellowship, the sooner we can finish transferring the bombs.”

  Taking center stage again, Prophet raised his arms and assumed a low and pretentious voice.

  “Roger Dawson, we send you to the fire to purify you of the demon that has possessed you. May God have mercy on your soul.”

  Dawson was dragged to his feet.

  “No!” Wes shouted. “Elizabeth!”

  “Anita, get away from me,” Elizabeth shouted.

  Wes knew that wasn’t possible. What Elizabeth saw and felt, Anita would, too.

  The smoldering carcass of the first victim was dragged away, and the man who was part Dawson and part Elizabeth was tied to the stake. Then Prophet raised his hands to quiet the mob.

  “Mr. Rust, make this temple pure again.”

  With a smile, Rust stepped forward, and the air around Dawson’s body began to glow.

  ACID BOMB

  Evans reached the nearest of the twin generators safely and squatted behind it, looking and listening. It was a game of hide and seek. Even with two of the Norfolk’s boilers removed, the compartment was still filled with piping. There were many hiding places. The guards knew that he was after the generators, and they would protect them with their lives.

  Evans’s pack had two compartments. The bottom held the compressed air canisters that powered his gun. The top portion of the pack was detachable; he released the catches, pulling it free. He was unzipping the top when he heard the attack. Evans lunged left, a spear creasing his side. He fumbled for his gun as the Crazy pulled the spear back, ready to plunge it into his chest. Evans kicked at the spear. The sailor hesitated, waiting for the clear path to a vital organ. The two-second delay was all Evans needed. Three quick shots struck chest, neck, and jaw; the Crazy collapsed in a heap.