USS Kepler Dawn

by Gerald Lane Summers

  Some of the officers are suggesting we kick it up a bit with the reserve engines. The logic is that if 186f is occupied by an intelligent species or even a significant non-intelligent one that has potential, it might be best if we by-passed it in favor of one of the other planets. To do that within the time schedule we have set for ourselves, we’d have to go to FTL five point five. And, of course, we don’t know how the ship will perform at that speed. Theoretically, the increase should not be noticeable because we’d still be in the bubble. Kicking in the reserve anti-gravity engines shouldn’t even make a bump.

  He looked up at me after wiping a bit of mustard sauce from his cheek with the napkin provided. No one, not even the captain could eat an old fashioned hamburger sandwich without having some of it drip or squirt out the side and get on his face, or worse, his uniform. That was the beauty of such traditional foods. Fortunately, our uniform material would not allow stains to set.

  In a lowered voice, he said, “What I’ve just told you about the signals must not be repeated. People have a tendency to worry excessively at odd news. When you get a chance after the graduation ceremony and have been commissioned as an ensign, go on up to the astronavigation compartment and tell them I’ve assigned you to work on the new signals. Have them call me if they doubt you. I’d like the benefit of your intuition. After that, keep it to yourself.”

  “If this is to remain secret, Captain … why tell me?”

  Again, he smiled in a sneaky sort of way. “Because, as time goes by we will need our best minds working on the problem and you appear to fall in that category. You might one day head a crew to determine just what is going on there, so the sooner you start putting your mind to it, the better.”

  “I see. Is that also the reason you came with me to the lunch room?”

  This time a big smile spread across the captain’s face and he leaned back in his chair, his fingers laced behind his head. “No,” he said. “I wanted your compatriots to know the respect with which you are held by the commanding officers. You may not know we’ve had our eye on you and most of the other top high school candidates for some time. You all represent the future of the ship and we want you to succeed. At the moment, you have proven with your performance and intuition that we were right to put you at the top of your class. Your comment about Lieutenant Herman confirmed it for me one more time. You see things many of the rest of us do not.”

  Chapter 7

  Buryl Boggs was smart, his judgment less so. He thought being a bully worked as a leadership tactic.

  My reaction to his bullying had not come naturally. Our conflict during kindergarten had ended the roughest part of our relationship and we’d had no serious conflicts since that time. I’d followed my father’s advice and it had worked. From that day, I knew instinctively I could not allow anyone to take from me, right or wrong, even if it might cost me a fat lip. While I’d whupped Buryl good, it was not in my nature to do that as a general practice.

  As we grew up, I discovered my true path. I wanted to be a leader and quickly discovered it was better to have friends than people to scare. A fat lip may make a person look funny for a few days without lasting damage to who you are. If you were seen as a scaredy cat, it would follow you.

  In time, my skinny body began to improve. More body mass appeared, as muscle became noticeable and my friends took to calling me “Stick” with a reverent tone.

  To Buryl, life was about being in charge and in control of everything. There could be only one rooster in his cage. If I was there, he would mellow out because he’d learned over time I would interfere if he was seen pushing one of my friends around. This demonstrated the strength in numbers for us all, made many friends for me and influenced a lot of others. Over time, it isolated Buryl and was an important lesson for him. Everyone noticed when he was trying harder to do well in class. His grades skyrocketed. My friends certainly appreciated it and gained in their own confidence when he was around.

  Buryl spent most of his spare time in the weight room and gained more and more confidence in his own strength. It was obvious to everyone who looked. When he was not pressing some ghastly weight from a bench, he was swaggering down the ship’s corridors, thighs bulging like those of an Olympic heavy weightlifter. Posing in the gym’s mirror was one of his favorite pastimes. His bicep muscles appeared likely to rip out his shirt sleeves at any moment and the stretchy cadet uniform material was frequently pushed to its limits. It was funny to watch him when a pretty girl approached. He would immediately go into a muscleman pose.

  When it came to his overall personality, the entire class knew he could not be trusted. To him, all was fair in love and war and he did not hesitate to say so. If there was a sneaky trick he could pull on another student to set him back in the general competition for ratings, he did not hesitate to use it. At least he had stopped his bullying.

  Such tactics did not work on those of us who were serious about the service. Our parents, who were themselves career military, drove the facts home to us daily. If you wanted to get ahead you must know and do your job well. It was paramount above all else. And that included the understanding that if a job required a break in some minor rule, the general order was to do the right thing for the overall good of the ship. Any bad mark on your record would stay with you forever for the simple reason there were too many service candidates on board and too few promotions to go around.

  When Buryl found out he had tied with me for overall grade point average and was not given the highest honor, his anger bloomed for all to see. It was palpable and classically paranoid. He stared people down if he caught their eye, demanded to know what they were looking at and physically threatened many of the younger students. Most people turned their back and walked away. In no time, everyone who had previously accepted him as a friend started shying away, and that made him even more difficult.

  One of the things he did was spread rumors that my father had intervened on my behalf for the valedictorian award. In fact, my father had disqualified himself from student affairs for my entire senior year and did not participate in any of the wardroom discussions about student honors.

  That was the traditional thing to do. Even Buryl’s father, the ship’s chief engineer, had done the same. If anyone’s interference was going to be accepted by the staff, it would have been his. In addition to being the ship’s top engineer, he was first officer, second only to Captain Hollenbeck. They’d both worked on the building of the ship and the two of them were the last of the genuine plank owners on board. Most of the people who had worked on building the ship had stayed on Earth to continue at the docks, building new ships. New crew had been brought in to run Kepler Dawn during its first voyage.

  My father told me that the senior Boggs, known as Charlie to everyone who knew him, had commanded every section of the ship at one time and was nobody’s fool. My father, along with Captain Hollenbeck and Commander Boggs had been steadfast friends since the beginning of the voyage.

  I’d heard of Buryl’s rumor mongering the same day he started it. Within a few weeks I discovered he’d been adding to his lies daily. The more he did it, the less his own crowd of friends liked him and not long afterward they began refusing his company. He blamed that on me and told several people I would regret it. Anyone who had not heard of the impending conflict between us had not been paying attention.

  Fighting among the cadets was prohibited except on approved occasions and I knew one of those occasions was fast approaching. Sooner or later I was going to have to stand up to him.

  A few weeks after graduation, he went too far when he started insulting Miki, calling her a slut who had been cheating on me with every colonist on the ship. She tearfully told me he had done it because she’d turned him down when he’d made a pass at her the week before ascension.

  Even if this rumor mongering on her had been true, it would not have been cause for him to talk slut about her. Once we’d passed the age of Ascension, we were all free to do as we chose when
it came to sex. So, I decided I’d had enough.

  The next time I chanced to meet him, I closed on him nose to nose and told him I was tired of his foul mouth. We stared at each other for a moment and I noted a flicker of fear in his eyes. I challenged him to a boxing match, thinking he might refuse. It was the only way we could legitimately get away with fighting on board.

  He backed up slightly and then tried to bluff me by bumping his chest against mine. I pushed him back. “Shut your mouth about Miki or accept my challenge, you yellow back bastard.”

  “Anytime,” he said, “You limp dick pimp.”

  I considered punching him out right there and then decided to play it straight. “I’ll inform Lieutenant Lee and he will set it up.” With one last glare, I turned and walked away.

  Lieutenant Richard Lee was our physical training instructor who taught all cadets the basics of hand to hand combat.

  Such fights were acceptable as part of the athletic curriculum, strictly regulated, especially since we were still on break before the opening of the academy. It could have meant only one thing to the officers. There was a serious reason behind the challenge.

  Chapter 8

  Itold my father about the upcoming fight and while he tried to dissuade me from going through with the challenge, he finally gave up. He would not come to the match, thinking it would be inappropriate. I was pretty sure he would watch it on the ship-wide monitors available only to the officers.

  Word of the match spread like wildfire and when the day for it arrived, the entire junior and senior classes, as well as the recent graduates were present in the gymnasium where a ring had been set up. It was to be a simple, traditional boxing match. Lieutenant Lee would be the referee. He made sure our gloves were properly seated, not loaded with illegal weights and our headgear secure. Two of our friends were allowed in our respective corners, to provide water and repair any damage that might have been inflicted during each round. My friends, Dirk Mahoney and Charlie Forrestal were only too happy to work my corner. No one stood with Buryl.

  Lieutenant Lee noticed the lack of corner men for Buryl and asked him where they were.

  “I don’t need any help,” he growled. “This punk fight will be over before it begins.”

  Lee shook his head. “More idiocy,” he said. “What’s the matter with you?”

  Buryl said nothing. He just stared forward. Finally, Lieutenant Lee turned back to center ring, clearly determined to get it over with.

  Miki sat in the front row of spectator seats, her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. She did not like the idea of a fight over her honor and had said so to anyone who would listen. I was not one of them. I knew what this fight was about and so did Buryl. She didn’t have anything to do with it. Yes, Buryl had maligned her and had been asking for the fight because of the damage to his reputation and the loss of virtually all of his friends. In the final analysis though, it was not about his slander, because no one believed his lies. It was about my honor. How could I in good conscience allow him to continue attacking her because she’d chosen me over him? I figured to tell her after the fight so she would not continue to mope about it.

  I knew her decision to come to the event was intended solely to let me know how she felt, and I did know. Her disapproval was real and based on an understanding of the facts not precisely correct. I knew better and it was important to me that she knew it as well.

  It was to be a six round fight of three minutes each. All rules would be followed and violations of them would be dealt with harshly. In other words, it was in all respects to be carried out in an honorable fashion. Fights like it had been going on for hundreds of years. In fact, regular competitions took place at the Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland. So, while we were doing this in anger, it was not uncommon or considered evil for two cadets to have it out as long as it was in the ring.

  After calling us both to the center of the canvas square, Lieutenant Lee gave his instructions.

  “Alright, gentlemen, a challenge has been made and accepted in accordance with the ship’s rules. It has been approved by the ship’s staff, although for the life of me I don’t know why. Nothing I’ve heard about the dispute between you two would justify doing this. Perhaps the big chiefs think a gladiatorial event will keep the troops happy. If so, someone is going to have to explain it to me when it is all over.

  Anyway, whatever I think, this fight is going to happen and I’m going to make sure you both follow the rules. I have been assigned to referee this madness and intend to do so with all the gusto I can manage. You know the rules, so keep it clean and don’t do anything you might regret. Conduct yourself with honor, or be assured severe punishment will follow.”

  For an instant I understood how Lee felt. It was stupid. I’d chosen this method of settling our dispute because it was the only legal way our issues could be resolved to our satisfaction. I knew Buryl felt the same. It had to be settled. Our egos were both too big to do otherwise.

  I knew Buryl was better than me at most physical combat fighting methods, though he’d never been a much of a boxer. He thought it was for pussies and had said so many times. Nevertheless, it was the only form of fighting allowed in earnest. The various Asian methods, Kung Fu, Karate, Muay Thai, etc. were banned except for practice where direct contact was limited.

  I looked out across the ring at Buryl. He was glaring at me. Good, I thought. He was trying to intimidate me and would likely come out swinging. I did not intend to be where he thought I would be.

  When I turned to step into the rosin box and paw it with my boxing shoes, I looked around and noted the gymnasium was packed. Many of the spectators were colonists or students; the rest low level ensigns just admitted to the academy or enlisted personnel. When I realized this, I looked in earnest for a high ranking military officer. None were present. Clearly, there was a collective mind at work here. They must not have wanted to be seen as encouraging such events. If so, why were they allowing it at all? Was Lieutenant Lee right? Were they detecting dissatisfaction aboard and trying to provide an outlet for high emotions? I did not know. Like Lee, I intended to look into it. My dad would know.

  My strategy was simple. I wanted to make Buryl pay for his insults without doing serious harm or allowing him to do it to me. There was no ring judge keeping score and no one to decide who had won. So what difference would it make?

  I stood up and started bouncing and shuffling my feet to relax my calf muscles. So did Buryl. Lieutenant Lee rang a makeshift bell and sure enough, Buryl charged out trying to bury me in a flurry of wild swings. None of them landed because he was too slow.

  Contrary to popular opinion, big muscles do not enhance coordination or rapid neural response. They might help do serious damage if a blow landed squarely. The main idea was not to let a musclebound opponent get that close. You must either stay out of his reach, or stay so close into him that he could not use his full strength against you.

  The ring used was more or less standard size, which gave me plenty of room to dance around and stay out of Buryl’s reach. I could hear and feel the shoosh of my boxing shoes over the canvas deck, smell the sweat on Buryl as he passed by and noted the swell of his bicep muscles as he strained to reach me with a death blow. Any time I hit him he tried to hug me down. It was a gagging sort of thing that smelled horrible. I now knew how Miki felt when I tried to give her a smooch after gym class.

  I did not intend to allow Buryl to get inside my defenses. My tactic would be one of surprise. I would wait for him to make a mistake and then take advantage of it. This clearly pissed him off.

  Unable to force me into a corner, Buryl started stalking me, bobbing and weaving all the while. I couldn’t play the fool for the entire fight, so I occasionally snuck in a hard left jab. Every time I did, he tried to counterpunch with arms that were just a half inch too short to catch me as I backed up or ducked. We did the same for two more rounds and I noticed the right side of Buryl’s face getting red. It might have been anger or
the result of my jabs. Whatever, he was definitely losing control and angry about it.

  My jabs had been landing and doing damage. As long as that was working I was satisfied. I had not used my right hand at all. Perhaps it was time.

  Buryl stepped in as before and this time led with his left hand in what could only be called a half-hook disguised as a jab. He missed and I landed a sharp right to his left cheek over the top of his arm. His left eye immediately swelled closed and the next thing I knew, I was on the floor. He’d caught me with a hard right counter hook on my forehead and the shock drove me down. Damn.

  Lee counted over me as I got up and asked if I was hurt. I told him I was not. My ears were ringing and my knee had been scraped bloody by the canvas. It made no difference. I was not about to admit to any pain.

  Buryl charged in again and this time I did not back up. I planted my feet wide, leaned forward and stuck my right arm out at full length, stiff as a board. He ran right into it. I could feel the shock of its impact all the way through my shoulder and knew he was as hurt as I had been. He staggered back, recovered and then felt the full impact of a well-planned left hook to his liver. His eyes went wide and he curled downward on his right side. The body blow was more than he could take and as he stumbled backward, he fell over his own feet. I felt sure he was finished and was amazed as he wobbled back up and stood, shaky while holding on to the top rope. Lee looked him over, pronounced him fit to continue and we went at it again.

  “What’s the matter, Buryl,” I whispered as we circled the ring. “Is the floor not soft enough for you? You want your mama’s boob for a suck and a snooze?”

  Now he was beside himself, his face contorted in anger, twisted beyond recognition. He was ready to kill. I’d always known he was easy to bait, though I’d never considered his anger might rip away his veneer of sanity. As he came in, he dropped to one knee and swept me off my feet with his other leg. It was a classic karate leg sweep and a clear foul. He’d lost all reason and in his state was not about to quit.