Starweb Page 6

Surprised by the order and very curious, Dakol moved to the turbo-lift. His first reaction was to call the bridge and find out what was going on, but the chances were they would tell him nothing, other than to repeat the order. So, he took the transporter to the port engine room and tried to be patient. He'd felt no jolt, no vibration, which might hint at some damage or problem with the ship itself, and if he personally were being called, then the crisis must involve either a member of the crew, or a colonist.

  He didn't have to wait long to find out. The lift doors opened and he emerged in the corridor immediately outside the engine room, toward the rear and widest part of the wedge-shaped vessel. The blast doors to the engine room itself were closed, but a bridge officer and several armed crew-members were milling about in the corridor. One of them appeared to be working on the door release mechanism.

  The officer, a Dyason named Tagrik Gallan; if he remembered correctly, immediately noticed the brother and waved him over. Dakol eased his way through the armed crew until he stood opposite the bridge officer and immediately in front of the blast doors.

  'What's going on?' he asked. The officer was clearly agitated and the bald plate of his head gleamed with nervous perspiration.

  'One of the passengers has gone loony,' Gallan answered bluntly, 'She's locked herself in the control room and is threatening to blow it up.'

  'What? Dakol exclaimed. 'But how did she get hold of explosives in the first place?'

  'The woman's an agricultural scientist. She's had access to the nitrate fertilizers and other chemicals we're carrying in the hold. Apparently, she's created a nitrate explosive that in the close confines of the engine room, could do some serious damage. If the singularity fields are moved out of alignment whilst we're traveling though the sub-ether, the Shanoa is going to flit out of existence; never to be seen or heard of again,' the officer told him in no uncertain terms.

  Brother Dakol knew enough about quantum and sub-ether mechanics to understand the catastrophe that awaited them all if such an eventuality occurred, but he wondered what he could do to help.

  Gallan preempted his question by telling him, 'The reason I've called you down here is because the woman is asking for you.'

  'Specifically me?'

  'Specifically you,' was the firm response. 'Her name is Dighit Anrea. Does that ring a bell?'

  Brother Dakol thought back over the voyage and tried to put a face to the name. It was certainly familiar, but he'd seen so many people recently. Then he suddenly remembered; Dighit and he had met in the lounge one evening. They'd both been watching the multi-coloured sub-ether slip past the view-port and had struck up a conversation. The young agricultural scientist had declared herself as a convert to Triplanetary Church, and they'd spent some time discussing religion and philosophy. Dakol remembered finally making excuses and leaving for his bunk, thinking what a shame it was that the attractive colonist had been pulled into the cult religion.

  'We met some evenings ago in the observation lounge,' he told the bridge officer. 'We chatted for about an hour. I have to say though; she appeared to be an intelligent and very levelheaded young lady. Has she given any indication as to why she's threatening to blow herself up?'

  'No, not yet,' Gallan answered shaking his head in bewilderment. 'Somehow , she managed to smuggle a small caliber automatic onboard. She came down here with that device, strode into the control room and promptly ordered everybody out. When I arrived here with a security team, she'd sealed the bulkhead doors and demanded to see you. If you ask me Brother, she's gone space-crazy.'

  Dakol looked up at the monitor installed by the security team, which gave a view of the engine control-room. The colonist was sitting against the far bulkhead, hugging the explosive device to her chest. Her face was pale and clammy, whilst her eyes had taken on a wild, haunted look. There was no doubt in his mind that something had happened to Dighit Anrea, something that had pushed her over the edge of sanity. Well, his duty was clear; he would have to go in there and talk to her. Somehow, he had to persuade the colonist not to blow the ship to pieces.

  'Okay,' he said to the officer straightening his habit. 'Tell her I'm here and prepared to talk to her.'

  The officer spoke into his throat mike and the security team let him pass. On the monitor, the monk saw Dighit Anrea rise like a zombie and move to a panel. The bulkhead door opened and Dakol stepped through.

  As soon as the door had closed behind the monk Gallan turned to one of the crew and demanded, 'Have you done it?'

  The crewman nodded, 'I slipped the canister over the threshold when her attention was distracted. Just give me the nod and it'll be detonated.'

  Gallan held up his hand. 'Not yet,' he ordered. 'Remember, she still has her finger on that nitrate bomb. We'll only use the knockout gas as a last resort. Let's see if the good brother can talk some sense into her first.'

  As soon as Dakol entered the room, the bomber scuttled back into a corner, hugging the homemade device to her chest. Sweat dripped from her flame-red hair into her eyes. Dighit Anrea was clearly terrified.

  'Do you want to tell me what this is all about?' the monk asked the cowering young woman. He held his arms palm upward indicating he carried nothing that could be construed as a threat. He took one step toward her, but the colonist immediately cried out in anguish.

  'Don't come any closer,' she screamed, 'I'll detonate it! I swear I will!'

  'Okay calm down child. I'm not going to hurt you!' brother Dakol responded in a soothing tone. 'Nobody here is going to hurt you. We're all your friends; this is your new family. Everyone is starting a new life, including you. Now please tell me, what troubles you?'

  The woman's face contorted and shifted, as if different aspects of her personality were battling to control her body. The monk recognised the symptoms of chronic schizophrenia, but asked himself how in God's name Dighit managed to get past the colonists medical board. She must surely have a record of mental illness?

  'Only through penance can we seek redemption,' she suddenly hissed at him.

  'What?' he blurted in surprise.

  'Only through penance can we seek redemption,' Dighit repeated in a strange monotone; she made it sound like a chant.

  'Does this have something to do with our discussion the other evening?' he asked her perceiving a connection.

  Once more, the young colonist’s face distorted due to some internal struggle and for a moment the wild, haunted look, left her eyes. Momentary sanity returned and with startling clarity Dighit held the monk with a steely glare and said, 'they're on their way monk and they'll be here soon. When they arrive only those who accept their sins and seek redemption will be spared…the rest will be cleansed and removed like a cancer from the universe!'

  'Who? Who's coming?' Dakol demanded alarmed at the pure intensity of Dighit's words. 'Who is arriving and what is the penance?'

  The insanity was already returning to the woman's eyes and her lips were curling back in a snarl as she hissed, 'you already know who is coming monk and you already know what the penance is. That's why I asked you to come, because I knew at least you would understand! Perhaps I can save us all with the penance! And the penance is…death! Only through penance can we seek redemption!'

  Watching and listening from the other side of the blast-doors, Gallan had heard enough. The woman was clearly completely space-crazy and preparing to blow them all to hell. The monk was a temporary diversion at best and Gallan knew he had to make his move now, whilst there was still time. He gave the nod to one of his security team and the gas canister surreptitiously placed inside the control room ignited with a hiss.

  To brother Dakol everything appeared to happen at once. As the knockout gas began to rapidly fill the compartment, he realised what was happening, took one last breath and dived toward Dighit with a burst of speed and adrenaline, which belied his age. The woman screamed as the monk's body fell onto her and she hurled the explosives into the air, the detonator depressed.

  The cylinder of co
mpressed nitrates fell between two consoles, before exploding with a flash of flame. Luckily for Dakol, the engineering consoles took most of the force, but he was still struck by red-hot shards of shrapnel as a ball of flame swept over his prone body.

  Dighit Anrea was less fortunate. A large piece of the metal flask she had used to contain the nitrates, embedded itself in her upper cranium. Brother Dakol's last memory before the gas drove him under, was of the crew entering through the forced-open blast-doors and of the accusing look on the woman's lifeless eyes.

  It was some hours later when he finally emerged from the woolen embrace of unconsciousness. For a brief moment, he felt disorientated and a feeling of panicky nausea swept through him. However, as the Shanoa's sickbay came into focus, the moment passed and he let out a low groan. He ached all over, feeling every one of his fifty-eight years. His head felt as if it had been placed in a huge hydraulic vice.

  'So you've finally awoken,' a firm but gentle voice stated. Dakol attempted to focus on the source of the voice and failed. He tried again, this time with more success and the dark-skinned face of Angelina de Gaccia; the Terran second-in-command swam into focus.

  'How're you feeling?' she asked.

  'Like I've been drinking far too much bad-land ale,' he replied through dried, cracked lips. 'How long have I been unconscious?'

  'About six hours.'

  'Urrggh…'

  The monk struggled to sit up, but couldn't manage it on his own. The well-built bridge officer had to give him a helping hand. He reached for a glass of water took a sip and once he'd wet his parched lips asked, 'what about the colonist Dighit? How is she?'

  De Gaccia shook her head and looked at him somberly. 'I'm sorry brother, she didn't make it,' she told him. 'A piece of her home-made bomb lodged in her skull and killed her outright.'

  'God forgive her,' he sighed heavily. 'The poor wretch didn't deserve that.'

  'Well, we're all indebted to you brother Dakol. What you did in there was very brave.'

  The monk looked at her with hope in his eyes. 'So the engine controls weren't damaged?' he asked. 'The ship is safe?'

  'Not exactly,' the bridge officer told him evasively. Now that he was more with it, Dakol could see the stress in her eyes, and she constantly played with the zip of her fatigues.

  'What do you mean—not exactly?' he demanded.

  She stopped playing with the suit and faced him, her broad face deadly serious.

  'The force of the explosion was confined by the two workstations the cylinder fell between. However, it did cause a power surge and there was considerable disruption to the status fields. The singularities began to move out of alignment,' she told him honestly. 'It was touch and go for a while. It looked as if we were going to lose the ship, but the engineers managed to dampen the status fields down. Eventually, the singularities were brought back into alignment.'

  Once again, brother Dakol's knowledge of quantum mechanics was sufficient for him to read between the lines of what was being said.

  'But, if the singularities were out of alignment, even for only a short time, our progress through the sub-ether will have been thrown hopelessly off-course,' he stated, not really wanting to hear confirmation of his worst fears.

  'That, my friend is exactly the problem we're facing,' De Gaccia told him.

  Dakol blanched as the enormity of what had occurred struck home. 'My God,' he blurted. 'Do you have any idea where we are, or where we're going?'

  The bridge officer slowly shook her head, the anguish and fear clearly visible in her eyes.

  'None at all brother,' she answered, 'none at all…'

  CHAPTER THREE

  The 'Pissed Pilot'.

  Starship Excalibur. In orbit around the planet Heligsion.

  Once again, Han Sandpiper pulled on the tall pump handle, filling the traditional pint pot full of frothy ale, which was brewed in vats on Excalibur's hydroponics deck. It was tradition that at times of occasion or celebration it was the short, stocky, and roguish Flyship pilot who acted as barman.

  The 'Pissed Pilot' was very much the centre of the star ship’s social life. Skilfully fitted to have all the appearance; including traditional heavy oak beams and roaring log fire, of a traditional English pub; it was a place for the legendary Excalibur pilots and crew to let off steam.

  Sandpiper passed the full pots to Group Captain Jenson, fighter leader and long-term friend of Jennifer and Moss. He then passed the drinks to the gathered ensemble of officers, pilots, scientists and crew. When he was sure everybody had been furnished with alcohol he rapped loudly on the bar's long brass counter.

  'Okay everybody, listen up!' he demanded. 'Can I have your attention please! I've got an important announcement to make!'

  The hubbub of conversation died down and the crowd of men and women obligingly turned their attention to him.

  'Thank you,' Jenson said in a more measured tone. 'Now we're all gathered here to celebrate a particularly pleasurable event which has only just occurred!' he told them all. 'Now, we all know what the couple in question have been through. At some stage or other, we've all been witness to their moods and quibbles during conception and pregnancy. However, we can all rest a little easier as the happy couple have finally achieved their goal!'

  There was a cheer and some raising of pint pots, but Jenson, held out his hands to calm the group down.

  'I know you're all desperate to get the new batch of ale down your throats, but I haven't quite finished.'

  The noise level dropped once more, as the group tuned into what he had to say.

  'The proud mother would like to be here in person,' he told them with a grin, 'but unfortunately, she has a new bundle who needs her immediate attention. However, we do have the father here!'

  Jenson pointed to Moss, who had been trying to make himself invisible by standing behind a post. His emotions were still in turmoil and it was a shy, but sheepishly grinning, new father who stepped out to face his friends. There was an immediate roar and a raising of glasses.

  Jenson had to yell to be heard when he said, 'The Pendragon clan has a new member, so watch out universe!'

  This encouraged an even bigger roar of approval and Moss could only grin inanely as numerous hands thumped him on the back in congratulation.

  Some time and copious amounts of good beer later, Jenson and his pilot prodigy; Moss, sat in a corner of the bar, next to the fire, talking in the slurred and brutally honest manner that alcohol induces. Sandpiper had already given up the battle to remain conscious, and his head lay on the oak table snoring loudly.

  Jenson kicked his partner in crime ineffectually before continuing, 'Like I shedd belore I wsh so ruddly inter…interrr…thingy, I'm soooo glad you two have finally achiev…ik…ed your dremmms!'

  Moss attempted to focus on just one of the several Group Captain Jensons’, which were talking to him. 'Tank-you Buss!' he slurred in reply, 'Shat minns a jot to me…'

  'Shss okay…' the fighter leader continued the ridiculous conversation. His arm went around the young father's shoulders and he gave a companionable bear hug. 'Ju know…I'v always thought jof you as luck a stum to jme.'

  Moss attempted to analyse this statement and came to the conclusion, 'Ju can't!'

  'Why jot?'

  'Cause I'm tooo ild toooo gee your stum!'

  'Ju kneee what I jean…'

  'Oki, jokey…' Moss agreed amicably.

  It was then that the alarm klaxon sounded and the ship's address system announced, 'Intruder alert! Intruder alert! There is an unauthorised intruder on the medical deck! Intruder alert!'

  To the drunken occupants of the Pissed Pilot, the klaxon was like a hammer slamming against the sides of their heads. There was a collective groan and a flurry of hands clamping against painful eardrums.

  Sandpiper raised his head off the table and uttered, 'Whatttt?'

  Jenson and Moss were just as confused as the rest of the revelers until a familiar presence entered their minds. It took c
ontrol of the motor centres of their brains and with a surge of adrenaline, immediately suppressed the effects of the alcohol.

  'Moss, Jenson, Sandpiper…,' the presence spoke to them. 'I'm sorry to have to do this to you, but you must cease your festivities.'

  Moss was the first to become sober with a painful jolt, and an immediate headache.

  'What's going on Excalibur?' he demanded mentally, suddenly fully alert. The adrenaline had kicked in big-time. 'What's the crisis?'

  'My sensors have detected an unknown intruder on the medical deck. Security teams are on their way, but I perceive a threat.'

  Moss immediately realised the danger; shouting, 'Jennifer!' he stood up, scattering half-empty beer pots and dashed for the door. Jenson and Sandpiper automatically ran after their friend.

  They reached the turbo-lift in record time, which sped them toward the medical deck. Moss pounded impatiently on the sides of the lift whilst Sandpiper, nurturing a screaming headache, did his best to calm the new father.

  Jenson addressed the ship's computer verbally. 'Excalibur, do you have an ident on who the intruder is?' he asked. 'Are you sure it's not one of the medical staff? Has one of the nurses left her security pass in her locker?'

  'I don't believe so,' the female tones of Excalibur's sentient computer responded. 'The medical staff are all absent at present. The life sign I am registering is also non-human. I have run a self-diagnostic on my sensors and find no fault. The intruder is definitely non-human.'

  'What the hell's going on…?' Jenson stuttered in surprise and alarm.

  The lift doors opened and the three found themselves outside the ship's medical centre. Their alarm was increased by the absence of any security teams. It had taken precious minutes for them to sober-up and leave the Pissed Pilot. The ship's security officer and one of his squads should have been there long before them.

  'Maybe they've gone inside?' Sandpiper thought aloud, concern creasing his brow.

  'Yeah, and maybe they haven't,' Moss retorted, ploughing through the double glass doors and heading for the room where Jennifer and his son were resting. 'Where the hell is everybody? There's something very wrong going on here!'