Shock Diamonds

by E. R. Mason

  “I got to spell it out for you? Your ship, a ship designed to fly like an airplane. You know how governments track us when we’re moving illegal goods? Mostly they follow engine signatures or gravity repulse trails. Your ship was designed to glide into pickup points without leaving a trail. It was never put into service because idiot Blackwell got thrown in prison, but the point is, you’re flying a ship that was built from money for slaves. Still feeling holier than thou, Mr. Tarn?”

  “Look, I’m not after you. I just need to track down one person for a friend. That’s not such a big deal, is it? Can’t I make you a really sweet deal where we both come out ahead?”

  “Tarn, you don’t get it. You think we’re gonna turn you loose so you can report back on all this stuff? You were headed for a new life the minute you walked through that door. You’re lucky you got the body for physical labor. Otherwise you’d be six feet under, face down in gray sand right now. Your life’s gonna be down in the mines where the radioactivity makes your skin feel prickly. We’ll get a pretty penny for you.”

  “Come on, there must be some kind of deal we can make.”

  “That is the deal, Tarn.”

  “What about my crew? They don’t know anything. Leave them out of it.”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ll give you that much. Six of my guys were supposed to round those two up after you passed out. We knew that big guy was experienced. We were ready for that. But what’s the deal with that freakin’ bitch from hell you brought along? That bitch broke one of my guys' knees, gouged the eyes on another, and head-butted a third into dreamland before the marshal finally had to show up to stop the place from getting completely trashed. They’re all in lockdown right now. I gotta go buy my guys out. Yours should be able to buy out okay. So you get a free pass for your crew. Too much attention on them to bother now. It wouldn’t be cost-effective.”

  “About that deal. What if I had something you could really use?”

  “I got that, Tarn. You. Have a nice sleep.”

  Somebody stabbed me in the shoulder with a needle, and the world went black.

  I was aboard a spacecraft traveling at light, in a dingy, tiny closet with a small illuminated panel near the floor. There were no windows, and barely enough light given off to see anything. The air was cold and smelled like oil. I was in a sitting position, chained to a bench originally intended for use as a shelf. There was a similar shelf inches above my head. It was a cell of dark metallic walls with conduit running floor to ceiling. What little vision was possible cycled in and out of focus. There were shackles on my ankles. Similar shackles were attached to my wrists with the chain hooked around the overhead shelf support. My ears were ringing.

  You do not need gauges or view ports to tell you when traveling at light speeds. Just as ancient sailors could always tell when their ship was underway, there are many similar sensations associated with a starship. The hum within the cold steel, the subtle waves of vibrations that come and go, the minute sensations of continuous motion all around you are all familiar indicators of travel through warped space. Finding yourself traveling at such speeds, against your will, on an unknown starship with an unknown crew, is particularly disturbing. Any incompetence in balancing those light-speed engines, any unexpected erroneous diversion from a plotted course, can take the ship and crew to the wrong time and place, leaving you in a universe centuries older than it should be, your life a tiny fragment left behind in human history. Although unproven, it is theorized that when this happens, the victims live only a few days thereafter.

  Hours passed. My vision slowly returned to focus. No one came. The anger in me slowly simmered to new highs. Finally, there were indications we were dropping to normal space. I was jerked around against the walls of my compartment. The whine of sublight engines kicking in came from somewhere outside. Not long after, there was the squeal of the compartment door being unlatched and a seam of light so bright I had to shut my eyes.

  Four of them in makeshift combat garb came in to take me. They clamped a new chain on my wrists before unlocking the other one. They were human, seemed to know their job quite well, and were not taking any chances. They dragged me out into the piercing light of a long corridor. They pushed and dragged me along for quite a distance, two in front, two behind. It was a big ship.

  We came to a four-way corridor where others were waiting. They were not human. Lizard people with cattle prods. Little tails in back, sticky-looking three-fingered hands, lizard faces. Three of them. Some sort of monetary exchange took place. One lizard man grabbed the chain on my wrists. The other adjusted his cattle prod, and in one swift motion swung it up and stuck me. A loud bang went off in my head, my vision again blurred in and out, and they dragged me along into a different ship, a ship that seemed filled with all the amenities lizard people preferred.

  I was guided to a small, wet, green room with shower nozzles and drains in the floor where other lizard men were waiting. My shackles were dropped to the floor under the watchful stare of six of them. The lead lizard man poked at my boots with his cattle prod. I had no choice but to kneel and remove them. He then poked at my flight suit, and when I resisted, pulled the trigger on his cattle prod and made blue arcs in front of my face. When all clothing items had been removed, I stood naked as the spray nozzles began showering me in yellow liquid. A lizard man pulled a fire hose out of a wall fixture and blasted me with even more high pressure. There was a strange yucking sound from them. Lizard laughter. When they were done, they threw my flight suit back at me and shoved my boots close. I was made to carry those things naked down their lizard corridor as they planted weak bursts of cattle prod on my buttocks. All along the corridors yellow lights were pulsing on and off. It was easy to guess. Caution, preparing for jump to light speed.

  I was shoved into a gray lizard cell, much more plush than the one I had been in. There was a hard, formed bed built against one wall with a flimsy silver blanket piled on it. There was a waist-high water tap above a drain in the floor. A metal half-cup sat on its side near the drain. A knee-high bucket with a small seat atop it sat in one corner. I was kicked into the room with the intention of being thrown to the floor. I managed to drag along one wall and stay upright. The door slammed shut. No knobs, levers, or locks, only an oval-shaped viewing window not made to open.

  A change came over me. A frightening change. With the first blast from the high pressure hose in the shower, a circuit breaker in my mind had blown. I had become pathological. Rational thinking was no longer required. No further consequences were of any concern at all. They call it right-brain in stallions. You confine a stallion and if something frightens him badly enough, he switches to a right-brain mentality. At that point, everything around him is kicked, crushed, slammed, or run into repeatedly. The assault continues until the barriers are broken and the horse is free or the horse dies.

  I would be leaving this place soon. I would wreak havoc upon this place and its occupants until the barriers were broken or I was dead. I pulled my flight suit back on, stomped my feet back into my boots and laced them, sat on the hard composite bed, and began. The flashing yellow glow of the ship’s warning lights filtered through the viewing window and changed suddenly to red. A loud hum rose up from the gray walls and abruptly broke into a whine. I slid back along my new bed and was pressed up against the wall as we went to light. Quickly, the acceleration equalized, releasing me back to equilibrium. I stood and went to the door, peering out the window. Nothing but a portion of gray conduit-filled hallway could be seen. A green three-fingered hand suddenly slapped the window heavily. My lizard-faced guard stared from behind it, telling me to get back. I nodded thanks to him and backed away. He had given me my answer. There was only one. In a ship used for delivering slaves, no one slave is all that important.

  Sitting on the bed again, leaning back against the hard, cold wall, I began my scan. The room was probably ten by ten. Bare walls. Low, bare ceiling. Nothing for a prisoner to use. Four twelve-inch rectangular opaque lamps
built into the wall near the floor. One on each wall.

  There was no need to wait. This was a good time, actually. The bridge crew would be busy checking systems. Engineering would be doing the same. Everyone else getting settled in.

  I went to the footlight nearest me, took a front stance position and kicked the thing as hard as I could. The light cover was something akin to plastic. It shattered into four pieces. One of the pieces was perfect. It was triangular, ending in a point, and had a very nice twelve-inch jagged edge. I couldn’t have shaped it better. I pulled off a boot and sock, cut off the top of the sock, fashioned it appropriately and wrapped it around the handle end of my new plastic knife. I put the rest of my sock back on, pulled the boot over it, and tucked my knife into the thigh side pocket of my flight suit.

  If I lay on the bed moaning that I was sick, there was no way he would come. These people were seasoned killers. They didn’t care if you were sick or in pain. This was not a meal and movie flight. But, there were two things people like this could not ignore.

  Death and greed.

  I gathered up the tin cup on the floor by the drain, then pulled out my plastic knife. The forearm just below the elbow was a good place. I sat on the floor in the lotus position and began working the tip of the knife into my forearm. If you rock it back and forth it doesn’t hurt as much.

  The red began to show. A fairly good flow was needed. As soon as the red stream began to run down my arm, I dropped the knife and positioned the cup beneath the flow. I had to work the cut to keep it open. Ever so slowly, the tin cup began to fill with blood. Three quarters of the cup would be plenty.

  When I had what I thought was enough, I used the sock end of my knife to stop the bleeding. It was more persistent than expected. I had to unwrap the knife and use the sock as a bandage. Guarding my cup of blood carefully, I pulled off the other boot and sock, cut a second piece, and rewrapped the knife handle. A powerful grip on the knife would be prudent.

  With my boot still removed, I twisted open the heel and pulled out my Nasebian crystal. The colors within it were so brilliant, and swirling so rapidly, I had to quickly hide it in a pocket for fear of attracting attention. With sock and boot back on, I shimmied around to make it look as though I had fallen from the bed, then set my cup of blood nearby. I pulled up both flight suit sleeves so that the wrists were plainly visible. With great care, I used the knife to visibly scar up both wrists, but not so much as to draw blood. Laying back to test my position, I took the cup and poured just enough on each wrist, then spread the rest out to make it look like very large puddles.

  With my knife tucked behind my waist where it could be drawn quickly, I drew the Nasebian crystal from my pocket and lay back in my puddles of blood, the crystal glowing brightly in one dead, open hand. I kept my eyes open just a slit in my best death stare.

  It was much closer than I had expected. He must have seen crystal reflection on the window. I had expected to lie there twenty minutes or more as the blood dried around me. It only took about three minutes.

  Had it been just the bloody death of a prisoner, he would have called in immediately. But, in this case, there was an unusual crystal involved, possibly one of great value. Calling in to headquarters would blow any chance of acquiring it. A quick inspection of the suicide would allow him to pocket the treasure and no one would be the wiser.

  The cell door creaked open. The large puddles of blood could not have come from anywhere else. He tromped quickly to the body and immediately reached over for the stone. I swiped up the knife and drove it into his throat and up into his brain as deeply as it would go and twisted it in a final knee-jerk reaction.

  His eyes glazed instantly and lizard man fell dead beside me.

  Chapter 14

  Busy, busy, busy. Up on the feet quickly, bloody knife withdrawn and stored in thigh pocket. Might need it some more. Crystal placed carefully back in heel compartment without getting bloodied. Drag the guard’s body up onto the bed. There was a wide black belt with a nasty-looking hand weapon attached. The belt tore off at the front like Velcro. I strapped it on. A badge attached to a strip of cloth around the neck came off with a yank. I tucked it into my breast pocket, then covered the body with the silly little tin blanket. I did not bother about the blood on the floor.

  The cell door was half open, waiting for the guard’s quick exit. The hallway was clear in both directions. The crew alert lights were not lit. Cruise had been achieved.

  Which way? The slide on my bed had told me which was forward and which was aft. Lots of crew forward. Not so many aft, and some real important stuff back there. Maybe escape modules along the way? Too soon to think about that. You can’t just pop off a healthy ship, after all. Even if there was a way to, they’d just turn around and come back for you all pissed off. Besides, you should only bail out if there’s someplace nearby to go. On the other hand, a slow death in an escape pod would be better than staying aboard this hell hole. Next thing on my list; it’s pretty difficult to keep a ship running in top notch shape. It’s not too hard at all to screw it up royally.

  I stomped along the grated corridor like a bull elephant that had escaped the circus. I drew the hand weapon and studied it as I went.

  Contrary to popular belief, there is no fundamental layout for starships. On any given craft, you may be required to climb decks three, four, and five to get to deck two. That’s depending how forward or aft you happen to be. Spacecraft are laid out solely based on the necessities of the systems they house. For that reason, a stranger on board a ship cannot possibly know how to get from point A to point B unless corridor maps have been provided, or a personal guide is proffered. In the case of someone wishing only to cause hatred and destruction, this navigational constraint is of no concern at all.

  The particular corridor I was traversing ended at a closed pressure door. I checked the blaster in my hand, found a small circular knob on one side which seemed like a power level control, and turned it to what looked like full. With the weapon in one hand, I listened for a moment against the heavy door, then cranked its handle down and watched the locking mechanism clank down and out of the way. It pulled open easily.

  Weapon ready, I peered into the next chamber. It was a huge storage area with a high ceiling. Car–sized crates created alleys to get around. A gantry crane waited overhead. There did not seem to be anyone in attendance.

  I wove my way aft, pausing at each crate intersection, glancing around corners for lizard men. At the back of the hold, there were three more pressure doors, one on either side of the room, one dead center. These were much more official looking. Signs above them in unreadable lizard left no doubt that you should not enter these doors for fear of whatever punishment is meted out to lizard crewmen. The center door looked like the most serious, so there I went.

  With one hand on the door release latch, I paused to ask myself what was going on. Had I just killed someone without a second thought? Reality was seeping back into my inner rage. I looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings of a slave trade ship. The rage resumed.

  It was important now not to become a simple nuisance to these people. I could take a position, strike them, and then retreat to a new vantage point and wait to strike again. With that tactic, I could raise hell on this ship probably for days or even weeks, but eventually they would run me down. That was not what was needed. I needed to cripple this ship, and cripple it badly enough that it could not get underway for a week or more, if ever. I needed to find my way to one of their critical systems. Main power, light speed propulsion, or even navigation and guidance would do nicely.

  With a last look around, I carefully lowered the locking bar so that it would not clank. I opened the door and looked inside. It was an important place. Bays of computer consoles lined the room. The place was kept in pristine condition, another indicator of criticality. I stepped inside so as not to be visible in two areas at once. As carefully as possible, I sealed the door, keeping the weapon ready in my right hand.
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  Moving with stealth along the back row of consoles, I spotted two lizard men on the opposite side of the room. They were talking in lizard chatter, a heated exchange. I was too far away for the translators to translate. They wore green and brown uniforms that looked like Jujitsu outfits. The colors and patterns complemented their skin tone. They had high black boots to cover the big lizard feet. They were arguing as though both wanted to be in charge. Finally, one turned and stomped away. A door swished open and closed. That left just the one.

  A wide cutaway in the wall near lizard man opened to a control room for the towers of computer racks surrounding me. Lizard man turned and went into the control room to a console against the far wall. Cable conduits the size of roman pillars were scattered around the area near him. This was a place of special importance, though I could not tell exactly what kind. There was emergency gear affixed to the walls, and too many unreadable signs bearing too many red warnings.

  Keeping a close eye on him, I moved along the racks and stood just outside the control room, occasionally stealing glances around the corner. Too late I noticed the mirrors attached to the ceiling in each corner. I dared one more glance around, hoping to keep tabs on him, and instead met lizard man staring back at me from a foot away. He had a frozen, inquisitive stare on his scaled face.

  All hell broke loose.

  My quick draw was not quick enough. To make matters worse, I had set the blaster on full and it discharged all of its energy in less than a second off to the right. It made a hell of a boom, blew two-foot holes in two of the fat cable stanchions, knocked down one small console and exploded a hole the size of a beach ball in a larger one. The little blue charge light on the side of the gun immediately turned red and began to flash. Charging in progress.

  Lizard man was furious. He opened that huge protruding mouth to reveal spiked teeth, and let out a roar. He slapped a sticky three-fingered hand around my neck, forcing me to let go of the gun, both hands needed to save the tracheal tube. Despite his apparent evolution, he was also not above tearing his adversaries apart with those spiked teeth. He lunged repeatedly at my face, snapping jaws missing by millimeters, as I flailed wildly trying to gain some semblance of a defense. In the fury of battle, I managed to notice the small flapper holes on each side of his head, and on a wild gamble I gave up my grip on his upper arms and clapped those as hard as I could.