The Lost Starship

by Vaughn Heppner

  “Baby, baby, baby,” Keith whispered under this breath. “Now we’re going to see.” He applied more power.

  The gravity generator shook the ship. Metal groaned.

  “Let up on the generator!” Lieutenant Noonan shouted.

  Keith did no such thing. This was the final approach. His panel shook before him. The gravity generator clacked with strain. It could break any second, and maybe the smart thing to do would be to let it rest. He kept it running.

  “Ensign!” shouted Maddox.

  The generator began to make even worse screeching sounds. Keith winced. His chest erupted with fear. If the gravity generator blew up—the game would be over. The others kept shouting at him. He ignored their pleas. This was just like strikefighter combat. The man with bigger balls won these. He continued to use the overburdened generator, dumping more gravity waves.

  “Sir!” Valerie pleaded with Maddox.

  Keith studied the approach. They still came down too hard. He tapped his board. The overburdened generator roared with complaint. The entire scout shook. So did Keith as he sat in his chair. He refused to stop, though. Either the generator lasted or— The Geronimo gently settled onto the snowball. A few ice particles broke off and drifted into space. That wasn’t good. But the comet held, and they had survived the landing.

  With another tap on the board, Keith turned off the gravity generator. It whined down the scales, at last going silent before it stopped running. The ace waited in his chair for his nerves to settle. Finally, he looked around and laughed heartily to show them he was the pilot extraordinaire.

  “Nothing to it, Chaps,” Keith said. “It was a lovely piece of fluff, just like I told you it would be.”

  ***

  They were down. Now they waited on the comet as the destroyer crossed the star system.

  For Keith, the waiting proved harder than the landing. Having something to do kept his thoughts from lingering on the staggering odds that always seemed to climb higher against them.

  Just like the others, Ensign Maker’s nerves had frayed throughout the past months of run, endless repair, hide and slip away down another wormhole. It didn’t help that they did this in a battered scout. The Saint Petersburg or the star cruiser always found them again. It was maddening and debilitating to shipboard morale.

  Keith wore a vacc-suit as he jumped out of Geronimo’s hatch. The stars blazed around him as he glided onto the dirty-white surface. He turned back, viewing his home for the last three months. He’d always had a good eye, able to tell where he’d welded, where the dents mashed inward and which hull parts were good.

  I can’t believe I gave up my pub for this. I must have been out of my bloody mind. We’re never going to survive the alien system. The idea of using the comet as a sheath—pure rotgut arrogance is what it is.

  He faced forward and began to glide across the surface. Keith had a knack for this. He was well aware that if he jumped too high, he would reach the comet’s escape velocity and float away. It was like ice-skating, something he used to do a lot of as a kid. He’d played hockey for a time. His small size meant he’d been a target for the bruisers trying to check him into the boards. His skating speed and slap shots had won more than one game for the team.

  He glided, feeling free as he never could cramped within the scout. Everyone was getting on one another’s nerves. Seeing the same faces every day, smelling the recycled air and eating the freeze-dried crap— I need a drink.

  In his helmet, Keith licked chapped lips. A good brew would help. Even better, would be a shot of Scotch sliding down his gullet.

  I wonder where the captain hid it.

  Keith had been good for longer than he believed he could. By the Rood, he hadn’t been this sober ever since Danny-boy’s…

  Keith licked his lips one more time. He didn’t want to recall his brother’s death. Oh, yes, he had taken the captain’s evil pills for a time. If he drank, he’d likely puke out his guts. Well, he would if he’d continued to pop the little traitor capsules every several days. Starting a week ago, he’d flushed the pills down the toilet. He remembered the captain’s threat. The baton smashing the bottle— That was a dirty trick. He had a scar on the back of his right hand because of it. Will one drink make any difference?

  In his heart, Keith suspected it would. He’d given the captain his word. The blighter had helped him remain sober. The abyss— Don’t be melodramatic, Keith, my boy. What abyss? That’s pure tommyrot.

  He knew that wasn’t true, but he wanted to lie to himself. Despite the cramped quarters aboard Geronimo, he’d felt alive these past weeks. It had been like that at Tau Ceti. The threat, the excitement, the pressures fed his sense of adventure. He’d saved the crew a time or two. That had been the best part of all.

  I haven’t lost anything flying a craft.

  In his helmet, Keith grinned. He glided over a ridge and saw a red flare out there. It was time to go to work.

  He reached Meta with her jackhammer. She was almost indistinguishable in her silver vacc-suit. She’d made a huge hole already. Frozen down at the bottom was supposed to be Professor Ludendorff’s cache: engines and fuel.

  They had short-speakers between them to communicate. He hailed her. She lifted a gloved hand to acknowledge him. Afterward, she pointed at the second item, a spacetorch.

  Keith went to it, clicking it on. In seconds, he had a hot tongue of flame on the end. He put the blue flame against the ice, burning it away. He helped her uncover the cache. The Saint Petersburg was coming fast. He didn’t see how they could possibly make the comet-sheath ready in time.

  One more drink for old time’s sake. The captain can’t deny that if we’re about to die because we couldn’t push our lead far enough. I tried. The least I can do is go out with style.

  Yes, he’d have to start looking for the bottles. The captain was cunning, but Keith bet he could beat him if they both piloted strikefighters. The captain might know how to hide whiskey, but Keith trusted his nose and instincts. Of course, he didn’t want to let the crew down, but the nearing destroyer—didn’t that change the equation?

  Bloody yes it does.

  Meta raised her head. “What was that?” she asked. The words crackled over his headphones.

  “Down there, love,” he said, pointing. “Do you want me to start there?”

  She considered it and finally nodded, and the work continued.

  ***

  Two days later, the destroyer began to slow its tremendous velocity. The Saint Petersburg neared the massive T dwarf. At its speed, it would soon reach back here among the comet cloud.

  Meta and Keith had sent up passive sensors on the star-side of the comet, linking it by cables to the “hidden” Geronimo. The scout rested on the other side of the comet as the approaching Saint Petersburg.

  As the ensign sat in the control room, he watched Valerie’s view-screen. The destroyer was easily visible with its intense burn.

  “Why are they slowing near the planet?” Valerie asked.

  The two of them were alone in the control room.

  “They don’t want to enter the next Laumer-Point the way we have,” Keith said. “It’s not considered safe going through a jump point too fast.”

  Valerie looked up at him.

  “Did I say something wrong?” he asked.

  “I know the procedures,” she said. “I’m the one who’s been suggesting we take a more cautious approach through the tramlines.”

  “Right you are,” he said. “I’m just nervous, love, talking too much. That destroyer—do you think it can sniff us out?”

  She’d returned to studying her screen. “I don’t like this waiting game any more than you do.”

  Keith made a soft sound. More than ever, he wanted a drink. Waiting was the worst. “There’s no reason they should know we’re hiding back here,” he said.

  “There’s no way they should have been able to follow us this far into the Beyond either,” Valerie said. “Yet, they have.”
<
br />   “Do you think there’s an emitter aboard we haven’t been able to find? Do you think it’s been helping them track us?”

  “No,” Valerie said. “We’ve gone through the ship too many times. If there were an emitter, we would have found it by now.”

  They waited and watched the destroyer slow down enough to lock into the T dwarf’s orbit. The day passed as Saint Petersburg circled the brown dwarf twice, their sensors washing the system with electronics. Finally, the destroyer escaped the planet’s orbit and headed for the unstable Laumer-Point beyond the comet.

  In the control room, Keith kept watch with Valerie and sometimes with Maddox or Sergeant Riker. The crew endured.

  “Maybe they’ll go through the wormhole for us,” Keith said.

  Captain Maddox was in the control room. He didn’t say a word.

  Later, Keith stood in the corridor, trying to psyche himself up to go into the captain’s quarters. He told himself that he no longer needed the drink. It had become the principle of the thing. Finally, he stalked off to his quarters to play another game of Solitaire.

  The destroyer finally reached the unstable Laumer-Point, nosing around the area. After several hours, the Saint Petersburg accelerated, heading back toward the T dwarf.

  The destroyer passed their comet by two hundred thousand kilometers. Keith felt as if he stopped breathing. The enemy ship didn’t decelerate nor did it fire its lasers at them. The destroyer kept a steady velocity as it neared the T dwarf. Then, its exhaust tail lengthened as Saint Petersburg accelerated back toward the distant star over four billion kilometers away. The other Laumer-Point was there in the inner system.

  As tensions eased throughout the scout, Captain Maddox called a meeting. Dana was still laid out in medical. She was the only one to miss the get-together.

  Keith sat down in the wardroom. Meta, Valerie, Sergeant Riker and the captain all entered, taking their places.

  Keith kept thinking about those bottles of beautiful Scotch. They had to be in the captain’s quarters. Given Maddox’s methods and distrust, it would be difficult to break in and search—difficult and possibly dangerous. That had helped to dampen the thirst for a time. Now it had returned stronger than ever. Keith debated pleading illness, leaving the meeting and then hurrying to the man’s room.

  If they found him, though, how could he live with himself? He had some of his old pride again. He’d saved the team more than once. To throw that all away— I wish I could get drunk in secret. Then I could come back better than ever. I’m due for a drink. It’s killing me to say sober.

  Captain Maddox cleared his throat.

  Keith decided to worry about whiskey later. He didn’t like the captain’s rigid features. Ever since Dana’s attempted mutiny, Maddox had seemed tenser than ever. Even his skin seem to stretch tighter across his cheekbones.

  The waiting is getting to him just like the rest of us. I guess he’s human after all.

  “It’s time to make a decision,” Maddox said. “I’m uncertain about the correct choice. The destroyer’s latest behavior troubles me.”

  “This is different for you,” Valerie said.

  “How so?” asked Maddox.

  “You usually just snap out orders without explaining the situation.”

  Keith watched Maddox. The captain’s skin tightened a little more for a moment. Then he smiled. It was an infectious thing. The man was part highhandedness and part mischievous prankster. So far, his extreme effectiveness had carried him through whatever trouble the captain managed to bring upon himself.

  “Lieutenant,” Maddox said. “I have a confession to make.”

  Keith felt it. Everyone perked up. What was the captain going to tell them?

  “I am a spy by trade,” Maddox said. “Commanding a starship is new. I’ve been learning the craft as I go. I’ve felt lately that I should trust my crew more. That doesn’t come easily. It’s my nature and training to distrust. I must thank you for bearing with me.”

  Valerie laughed. “Well, I’ll be, sir. Yes, thank you.”

  Keith got it. That was the best apology any of them were going to get for some of the man’s imperious actions throughout the past months. Lieutenant Noonan had recognized it was an apology. At that moment, Keith had what he considered as an unworthy thought. Had Maddox just said those things because he meant them, or had the man said them to help put the lieutenant at ease?

  “In any case,” Maddox said, “the point of the meeting is the Saint Petersburg’s latest actions. I’m referring to its orbit around the T dwarf and its slow approach and time spent at the unstable Laumer-Point. Why didn’t the destroyer jump through the point into the next system to see if we were there?”

  “That would have solved our problems,” Valerie said.

  “Nothing is going to be easy,” Maddox said. “We must remember that.”

  “I have an idea,” Meta said, “about the destroyer, I mean.”

  “We’re listening,” Maddox told her.

  “They must be able to directly trail our passage,” Meta said. “Maybe they sense our exhaust particles even after we’ve passed through an area.”

  “I’ve wondered the same thing,” Valerie said. “But if you’re right about that, they would have trailed us to the comet.”

  “Not necessarily,” Keith said. “We used the gravity generator at the end. It doesn’t leave particles to trace.”

  Valerie tapped her head with the flat of her hand. “That’s right. But I have a different theory. Instead of tracking, I wonder if they have a device that can tell if a Laumer-Point has just been opened or not.”

  “Ah,” Maddox said. “That might explain their behavior. If that’s true, they’ll know we entered the star system, and that we haven’t left yet.”

  “If the destroyer jumps elsewhere from the inner system tramline,” Valerie said, “that will trash the theory. But if they stay in this star system—they’ll soon be out here again hunting for us.”

  Maddox scanned the others’ faces. “It’s time to bury the Geronimo.”

  “The destroyer might spot us doing that,” Valerie said.

  “They’re returning to the inner system,” Maddox said. “Now is the time to make a cave. Afterward, we seal up and make a run for it.”

  “We’ll be crawling with the comet surrounding us,” Valerie said.

  “I know,” the captain said. “But I’m convinced this is our last opportunity. If anyone has a different suggestion, now is the time to make it.”

  Keith swallowed with a parched throat. He desperately wanted a drink. He wanted to make an excuse, leave and ransack the captain’s quarters. They owed him. Yet…he also wanted to stay sober. The abyss of drunkenness was real, and he wanted to stay far away from it.

  Feeling worthless and dirty, the ensign raised a hand.

  “Yes?” asked Maddox.

  “Sir,” Keith whispered, knowing he had to confess. “I want a drink so badly I’m ready to do anything for it. I stopped taking the pills some time ago.”

  The wardroom turned silent.

  Maddox eyed him. Keith hated the look. He felt like dirt, knowing he’d let them down. Finally, the captain stood. “Come with me, Ensign.”

  Feeling like a whipped cur, with his gaze downcast, Keith followed the captain. The man headed straight for his quarters. Shuffling his feet, Keith entered the Spartan room.

  Maddox went to a drawer and pulled it open. He picked up a bottle of Scotch, pried out the cork and brought it to a small table. With a clunk, Maddox set the bottle onto the surface.

  “Come here, Ensign, have a drink, if you wish.”

  Keith swallowed and shuffled nearer. The desire for drink pulsated through him. Why was the captain doing this? Did Maddox wish to humiliate him even more? Did it matter why the man did what he did? Keith reached for the bottle, expecting Maddox to swat his hand away. The captain did no such thing. The man watched coldly.

  Trembling with desire, raising the bottle to his lips, Keith co
uld smell the beautiful whiskey. He expected a last warning. It never came.

  With a cry of horror, Keith lifted the bottle above his head and hurled it down. The thing smashed against the deck. Glass flew everywhere and Scotch rained.

  “No,” Keith said, hanging his head. “I can’t drink. I want to, sir. You have no idea how much. But I can’t let any of you down.”

  When no words came, Keith looked up. Maddox still watched him, but it was no longer with cold indifference. The captain put a hand on Keith’s shoulder and patted it twice.

  “I’m proud of you, Ensign. Now tell me. What should I do with the other bottles?”

  “Pour them down the disposal unit, sir,” Keith said in a thick voice. “Please, get rid of them. I-I want to remain on your team.”

  Maddox smiled with approval in his eyes. “Come,” he said. “Let’s finish our briefing. With a man like you in my crew, we’re either going to beat the New Men, or they’re going to know they’ve been in the fight of their lives.”

  Keith squared his shoulders. “Yes, sir, Captain, sir,” he said, saluting crisply.

  -29-

  Captain Maddox watched from outside the scout as he stood on the comet. Ensign Maker maneuvered the Geronimo into the vast cavern he and Meta had carved out of the dirty ice-ball.

  It had been two days since the meeting in the wardroom. Since then, the crew had fixed the professor’s engines to the outer comet and positioned the fuel for consumption. Only once the scout was embedded within and the entrance frozen over would they pilot the comet to the unstable Laumer-Point.

  Despite their best efforts, the destroyer must have detected something suspicious. Before reaching the inner star system, the Saint Petersburg had braked hard. After the vessel came to a halt, it started accelerating for the outer, unstable Laumer-Point.

  Valerie wondered why the destroyer hadn’t gone toward the inner system at full acceleration to circle the star and whip back out here.

  “They’re doing it faster this way,” Maddox had told her.

  “Yes, but the fuel consumption is enormous the way they did it.”