StarShip Down

by Darrell Bain

  “Well, besides that I did hear Captain Callahan saying something about getting the rest of the passengers and the colonists into his table of organization, as he called it. I don't know how that's going to work since we have lots more passengers than crew. He's called for volunteers for the farming classes. I guess you've heard that, huh?”

  “No, as a matter of fact I haven't. Hmm. What was the reaction?”

  “He seemed a bit dissatisfied at the response the way I heard it. A lot of the passengers don't know shit about farming and apparently have no desire to learn. Probably some of them are the ones thinking we'll find a way home eventually. Or thinking they're going to run things once we land. Dumb shits.”

  “What is the ratio of crew to passengers, Jimmy? Don't count the army.”

  “Oh...” He rubbed his chin then moved his hand over to her body and rubbed some interesting parts there while he added figures in his head. “There are a bit less than two hundred and fifty crew for a liner this size. If you count the convicts, I'd say we have about three passengers for each crew member. It's a guess but I think its pretty close.”

  “Really? Damn, I didn't realize there were so many. We're a light infantry company so there are about two hundred of us as. We stayed pretty well insulated from the other passengers and most of the crew, except for you, sweetie.” She tickled his ribs. “Training and that sort of thing kept us busy. What do all those other people do?”

  “I don't know about every one of them but we can add them up. There are the diplomatic people going and coming, then governors, auditors, and such, along with all kinds of other bureaucrats we have to drop off and pick up at every stop. And there are always lots of scientists studying the new planets so add a bunch of them going each way, too. I'm not sure about how many convicts we have aboard. That wasn't in my department.”

  “I know now,” Maria volunteered. “There's forty of them. About a dozen are real bastards. The others might possibly be rehabilitated but I'd watch my back around them. Well, I might trust a few but not many.”

  “Uh huh, same here. Okay, forty convicts. Then we have about ... oh, say a hundred or so business people either going out on assignments to corporations or surveying new markets in the colonies, that sort of thing. Maybe more than a hundred, now that I think of it. And we have some families on vacation who couldn't afford the luxury liners. Not too many of them, say thirty or forty.”

  “Families? Or people?”

  “Families. And there's always a few honeymooners who also couldn't afford the luxury liners but wanted to start married life in space. Fools, mostly, in my opinion.”

  “How about colonists?”

  “Yeah, a bunch of them, too. There are the rich ones who've bought into one of the better colony worlds. They're also mostly families and unless we hit the jackpot, they're going to be disappointed and claim they're not getting what they paid for. And we have a consignment of poor folks who volunteered for colonizing Wheeler's World. They're kind of rough trade but generally honest, I'd say. And last, we have the colonists who can afford a trip back to good old earth to visit relatives or maybe even go home permanently. Not many of them and even fewer going back. Hard to tell. I guess that's all, so ... no, there are students being sent to earth by their parents for advanced education. I'm not sure how many of them we have. They kind of stick to themselves.” He paused to think whether or not he'd missed a category.

  “You said something about scientists. What kind?”

  “That I don't know, other than a few I've met like Adelaine Smitherson, a xenobiologist. She's sweet on Brandon Masters, the logistics officer. He calls her Addie. And Chet Logman. He's a comparative paleontologist. I think that's what he said. You know, I bet we have close to a thousand people aboard, maybe even more than that. Brandon Masters would know for sure since he's the logistics officer. Or Shirley Eastman, the chief steward. She'd probably know, too.”

  “At least we have one xenobiologist,” Maria mused. “Oh heck, I bet we have lots of them. That might be helpful. And move your hand, I can't think straight with it there.”

  Jimmy complied by moving his hand to her other breast.

  “That...” she inhaled sharply. “That wasn't exactly what I meant, young man.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” He removed his hand and placed it somewhere else. “Is that better?”

  “Um. I didn't want to think anyway.”

  * * * *

  “I'll make the announcement right after we wrap this up,” Travis said to the assembled stewards. “We'll make it effective day after tomorrow to be sure everyone gets the word.” He doubted everyone would or would even want to. He had just finished explaining to the stewards that most of them would be assigned new duties, consisting of classes in useful crafts or farming for the most part.

  Shirley Eastman, the chief steward of Carlsbad laughed out loud. “I can tell you one group that'll take this the wrong way, Captain. The government people won't like having to walk to a dining room three times a day or having to carry their own laundry back and forth.”

  “They'll get used to it. We have more important things for them to do, just as you have. The colony won't start out with everyone having equal status but everyone will damn well work or they won't eat. And that includes studying if they're assigned to a class.”

  He was startled when the stewards began applauding. He hadn't expected anything like that. In fact he had thought he might have some dissension from the stewards, just as a matter of principle. He knew some people were resistant to change no matter what kind and no matter what the circumstances.

  “Thank you. I appreciate your confidence. In fact, I believe I'll use it as a standard for the other groups I have to give the same news to.”

  That brought a mixture of laughs and more clapping and he was able to end the meeting with a feeling of real accomplishment. He hadn't been trained in taking a liner and turning its crew and passengers into colonists, but if the other special groups aboard reacted the same way, he would feel much more confident about their chances of success.

  * * * *

  “Come in,” Travis said.

  Grindstaff entered his cabin carrying a packet. Travis escorted him over to the office alcove and pointed.

  “Just put them there.”

  Grindstaff placed a stack of printouts in one of the few free spaces on Travis’ desk.

  “Thanks. Is that all of them?”

  “Yes, sir, that's the crop. I've read over each one of them and had my first sergeant go over them as well. A mean bunch, but I believe some of them are salvageable.”

  “That's good news for a change. We'll interview those to be sure.”

  “The bad news is that most of them aren't.”

  “I was afraid of that. Coffee?”

  Grindstaff seemed to consider for a moment then smiled. “May as well. It'll be gone pretty quick anyway.”

  “That will be a calamity but I suppose we'll survive.” Having dismissed his steward he poured for them both then sat back down. He saw the military commander eyeing him as he sipped at the coffee, grateful for the stimulant. He knew what Grindstaff must be thinking. How do I deal with the convicts? He decided it was as good a time as any to bring the matter up with him.

  “Bill, supposing we grant conditional pardons to the convicts you think we can integrate into our ship's company. Have you any ideas on what we should do with the others?”

  “I know what I'd like to do with a few of them but I doubt I could execute a man or woman in cold blood.”

  “No and I wouldn't allow it in any case. What would you think of the idea of dropping them off with minimal supplies on the other side of the world from where we set down?” It was the best idea he had been able to come up with.

  Grindstaff smiled dourly. “Now that's showing some good thinking. They wouldn't bother us and their numbers would be too few for them to present a danger in future years.”

  “That was what I thought. Give them some food, some se
eds, a few weapons and enough power packs and ammo to last until they can fashion hand weapons and leave them to survive or die as they will. Have you separated out the ones you think we can salvage?” He indicated the stack of printouts with a wave of his hand.

  “Yes, sir. There's an even dozen I believe have the potential to make good citizens. The rest...” He pointed to the deck with his thumb.

  “Okay, we'll consider that issue settled. Now let's take up another one. I don't believe we need a whole army company to serve as policemen but I also don't like the idea of breaking up a unit that's so well trained in combat and survival tactics, even if the enemy in this case may turn out to be the local fauna. On the other hand, we're going to need every hand, if you'll pardon the pun, so what I envision is keeping one platoon for permanent guard, exploration and such constabulary duties as are necessary. The rest of your company will be in reserve while they fill other slots, mostly getting some crops going.”

  “Do we have seeds?”

  “A limited supply. Very limited, and some of it is hybrid stuff. It may not even go to seed or be worth anything if it does, according to one of our scientists. We were lucky in one sense, though. We were delivering a consignment of newly developed corn and sorghum for planting on Bonnport. But back to the question of what to do with your men. Other than the one platoon I spoke of, I'd like you to begin classes for the civilians in small arms. I believe we will be able to fabricate slug throwers fairly easily, given some ore deposits. I know you have a small surplus of arms and COESS liners always carry some for various reasons. That's good in both cases because I don't see us manufacturing lasers or power packs any time soon.”

  “I can do that. What about the rest of my company that's in reserve? If we don't provide some training, they'll lose their edge.”

  “How about if I leave it up to you as to how much training they need? Bear in mind you'll have to balance that need against those of the colony and we can't really predict that until we find a planet that's decent.”

  “Understood. One more thing, though. Some of my men are highly trained or educated in specialties we may be able to use. Would you like a list?”

  “Absolutely! Any with talents you think we can utilize on a colony world, by all means let me know.”

  “Will do, sir. How soon can we expect a landing?”

  Travis grimaced. “A minimum of two weeks but that's not very likely. I'd say closer to six weeks or two months unless we get lucky. We have to hope we not only find a planet where we can grow crops but one that has meat animals we can kill for food. Otherwise we're probably going to get very hungry.”

  “I guess I'd better get busy then,” Grindstaff said wryly and drained the last of his coffee.

  “Good man.”

  * * * *

  Travis found that he could run the ship better from the captain's cabin than the control room but very quickly decided he couldn't seclude himself. Several of the ship's passengers knew him but many more didn't. He began touring the ship every morning after he had finished addressing all the groups in the ship where he felt the need, such as the scientists and food service workers. Those meetings had gone fairly well other than a few difficulties with prima donnas and with some government employees who insisted an election should be held immediately. They appeared to think such elections should involve only them as candidates. He dismissed the idea with some force behind his words.

  He began each day with breakfast in the general mess, sitting with a different group each time. That brought some problems with questions but not as many as he had feared. He had already announced everything he thought the general population needed to know and he made sure his conversations stuck to those items. He spent the afternoons in his cabin other than one or two brief visits to the control room each day and to the officers’ mess for evening meals. He liked working from the captain's cabin. That was where he was when Timothy Effers commed him.

  “What is it, Tim?”

  “Sir, may I come up for a moment? I believe I've found the reason our main computer went down.”

  “By all means, Tim. Come right up. I'll be waiting.”

  A few minutes later he was listening to the electronics officer. He was glad the man had come to him in person rather than speaking over an open system or putting it into the normal flow of the ship's communications.

  “That is very difficult to believe, Tim. Sabotage?” It had been the last thing he would have suspected.

  “I know, sir, but that's what happened. I have no doubt at all. During servicing in earth orbit, a main board was removed and replaced with one guaranteed to overload and burn out sometime during our run. I checked the serial numbers and it's a lead pipe cinch. What's more, a circuit blocker was tied into the connection from the board to the backups. When the quadrant board went down, the block prevented the backups from kicking in and also kept the alarm from sounding. I assume it was inserted at the same time the faulty board was substituted for the one that originally came with the computer. As to how it happened, I believe it almost had to have been a technician actually doing the servicing and also some bastards back down the supply line as well. The packs the boards come in have to appear new or the people dispensing them would have suspected something right off. It was sabotage, plain and simple. Captain, I'm sorry. I should have discovered it sooner but I wasn't thinking along those lines when I tried to find out what went wrong. What's more, putting that whole faulty board in there made it certain we'd go way, way off course almost immediately after it went down. It wouldn't have mattered much when we took sightings. From the moment it burned out, we were lost.”

  “Damn. I wonder ... Tim, have you told anyone else of your discovery?”

  “No, Captain, not a soul other than Mister Terrell.”

  “Good. Let's keep it quiet for the time being.”

  “If you say so, sir, but why?” Effers looked puzzled.

  “Think about it for a moment,” Travis told him. “Who would gain from sabotaging a ship in a way almost guaranteed to see that it never returned?”

  “I don't ... the Islamic Empire?”

  Travis nodded. “A possibility, but it could be any of the other powers. And that's the reason I don't want it known. Just because we all speak English as our primary language doesn't mean we don't have people aboard with origins in other countries. If it became common knowledge that the sabotage originated with any of the major powers, how do you think people would react toward them?”

  “They wouldn't like it. Hell, I don't like it now.”

  “Exactly, and it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference to some people in the ship whether they were innocent or not. They'd be blamed by association. The last thing we need is dissent in a colony that is completely on its own like we're going to be, so keep it to yourself. That's an order.”

  “Yes, sir. I can see it now. I won't say a thing.”

  “Good man.”

  After Effers had left he began thinking of the deeper implications. Theirs was only one ship. Considering how simple the sabotage had been, it was almost a certainty that every COESS liner docking at the service satellite orbiting earth had been tampered with in the same fashion. And as soon as it became apparent that ships were not returning an investigation would begin, starting right at the satellite. He thought it was a pretty good bet that COESS intelligence agents would find the culprit or more likely, culprits, and that they would prove to be directed by controllers from the one of the major powers. That in turn would probably mean war. The situation on earth had become increasingly dicey the last few years. Perhaps one of the other empires intended for war to start in just this fashion, with almost every liner servicing the COESS colonies most likely lost, giving them free rein to send their own ships and take over running those worlds. It wouldn't be hard since there would be no way to support the colonies that were yet unable to survive on their own and they would have no way to report that the COESS liners hadn't arrived. The fastest means of communication
between stars were the ships, either military warships or civilian liners such as they were traveling in. A military craft might be the first to report the lost ships but it was possible that an interval consistent with a complete circuit of the colonies would pass before they were missed. For that matter, it was possible their military ships had been sabotaged.

  He hoped Effers would indeed keep his silence. It was a huge burden to put on the young man. Hell, it was a huge burden to put on him, he thought sardonically. For a moment he rested his head in his hands, wondering why he had ever wanted to command a starship. And he knew it wasn't going to get any easier. He found himself wishing for Sissy's company. He had never felt so alone in his life.

  * * * *

  “Hi, guys. How goes it with us farmers?” Sandy sat down between the twins. The others in the class hadn't attempted to take that seat because they knew who it was saved it for.

  “It isn't anything like charging machine guns, that's for sure,” Tom said.

  “Nor like close order drill, either. I'd be happy if I never had to stand at attention again,” Jerry added.

  Sandy nodded at one twin then the other. “Something tells me farming isn't going to be anything like servicing laser cannons either. In fact, I sort of doubt the captain will keep the lasers operative for long. Mister Terrell is trying to figure out a way to use the ship's power source for machinery once we land.”

  “Well, hell, Sandy, aren't our machines using it for power sources now?” Tom asked.

  “I meant away from the ship, like for charging the tractors and such. As it is, we'll have to use the tenders. They're built for it but that would mean less power for exploring.”

  “Oh. Gotcha. We use the army version of the tenders in the field like that sometimes.”

  “What's the captain going to do with the lasers then?” The twin on her right asked. She looked at his name tag. J. Smith, it read. She still couldn't tell them apart all the time.