Parker's Folly (20 page)

Three of the party were already dead, their shattered and bloodstained remains lying where they fell. They had been shot with something bigger than any of the party's hunting rifles. Something that caused heads to explode and could blow a man's chest out through his back with a single shot.

Peter Epoo was the first of the hunting party to die. The hunters were paralleling the pressure ridge on their snowmobiles, looking for a good place to cross it, when his head exploded, parka hood and all. A shot echoed across the empty ice as Peter's headless body fell off of his machine, which continued on a short ways and then stopped.

Tagak Uyarasuk jumped off of his sled and ran over to Peter's body, trying to figure out what had happened to his friend. The back of his sealskin parka suddenly erupted as bone, gristle, lungs and blood formed a red fountain spurting from Tagak's ruined body. The echo of the shot was heard as the lifeless hunter fell to the ice on top of his dead friend.

The remaining three hunters—Jobie Annahatak, Willie Kiatainaq and his son Noah—quickly took shelter behind the ridge. They remained still for twenty minutes, nothing moved but the wind blown snow. Then Jobie decided to look over the ridge to see if he could spot anyone. As he stuck his head up it exploded in a cloud of pink mist. Bits of bloody brain and shards of skull with skin and hair still attached rained down on the terrified father and son.

The only ones left now were Willie and Noah. It had been more than an hour since Jobie had been killed and both hunters were feeling the cold. “Poppa, what should we do?” asked the frightened boy, barely into his teens.

The feeble Arctic Sun was getting low on the horizon, soon the brief late winter day would end. They had yet to catch sight of their tormentor. “Stay down, Noah. Better to wait for darkness. Then we try to run.”

Laying prone on the next pressure ridge over was a large figure covered with white hair. He was intently peering through the Leupold 4.5×14 Mark 4 telescopic sight of a Barrett M107A1 semi-automatic, 50 caliber sniper rifle. Capable of lethal accuracy beyond 2,000 yards, the hunters could not have returned fire even if they knew where it was coming from.

The rifle itself had been painted white to blend in with Arctic conditions. The trigger guard had also been removed to better accommodate the shooter. The frigid conditions and howling wind didn't bother the marksman in the least because he was a large male polar bear.

As the great white bear patiently waited for his quarry to show itself another figure approached him from behind. It was a tall man in a fur parka. “I know you're back there,” the bear said, not looking up from the rifle scope.

“I wanted you to know that I was,” the man said evenly. “It's generally not a good idea to sneak up on someone holding a weapon.”

“I'll be with you in a minute, there's only two of them left,” the bear rumbled. He figured that if the man behind him intended to kill him he would have done so already—either that or he was unarmed. Either way, he would deal with the man after he finished off the hunting party.

“You know you really shouldn't kill all of them.”

“Not your business.”

“I'm guessing that you are trying to send the Inuit a message.”

“Yeah,
‘
I hate you little pricks and I'm going to kill you all.
’
”

“That's my point. If you kill all of the hunters there will be no one left to tell the others.”

“Tell 'em what?”

“That a great white bear with a rifle is out on the ice, hunting the hunters.”

“You know what?” There was a painfully loud report as the sniper rifle fired.

Across the ice, Willie was struck in the shoulder by a 661 gr bullet traveling in excess of 2,500 feet per second. His left arm was severed from his torso, but it was the shock that killed him.

“Ddwa! (father)” Noah cried and stood up. As he started toward his father's crumpled body he looked in the direction the shot had come from. There, on the next ridge, was a polar bear—a big male. The bear stood up on his hind legs and raised something over his head. It looked like a large white rifle.

The bear pointed the rifle in Noah's direction, sending the boy racing back to his snowmobile. He started the engine and without looking back he sped away to the south.

The bear dropped down to all fours and rolled around to face his interlocutor, rifle in paw. “What you said made sense. Now tell me why I'm not going to kill you.”

“Well, for a start you're curious.”

“About?”

“About how I found you, why I approached you alone and unarmed, and most importantly, why I was not surprised when you spoke to me.”

“Yeah, I was wondering about that. Most humans shit themselves when I say something to them.”
He's standing there totally calm and unafraid,
the bear thought,
this guy is either crazy or knows something I don't.
“So what do you want?”

“Have you ever wondered why only some polar bears can talk? And how that came to be?”

“Hey, we ain't all the same. Anymore than all you apes are the same. Most polar bears are just big dumb brutes. Only a few of us can talk, only a few of us are smart enough to even know what talking is.”

“Would you like to know more about where your kind came from and why you are different?”

“You're saying you got all the answers?” There was a threatening edge to the white bear's question.

“Hardly, but I do have some of the answers and I know were we can find out more. You see, my ursine friend, both talking bears and talking apes have something in common—we have both been messed with by parties unknown.”

“Really? And what are you going to do about that?”

“I'm going to go find those who did the messing and ask them why. Want to come along?”

The 1,300 pound predator cocked his head to one side as he considered what the man had just said to him. He had never really had a conversation with a human before, at least not one that didn't involve screaming and then a meal. The man had said he was unarmed and the bear figured he could always kill him and eat him later. “OK, you're on.”

“Excellent! I have an aircraft near by. You can call me Jack, by the way. What should I call you?”

“Bear seems to cover it.”

“OK, Bear. Let's get moving before the Sun sets. Just one more question.”

“Yes?”

“I've been following you for several days. Why were you hunting those Eskimos?”

“They hunt us, don't they?”

Betty followed the Russian doctor down the passageway aft to sickbay. Events had been moving so quickly since they exited the Osprey next to the old hangar, she was still trying to accept that this wasn't all a dream. If it was, it was a very detailed and lifelike dream. “Sickbay is on your left, Ma'am,” Betty said to Dr. Tropsha as then neared the door.

“Yes, thank you,” Ludmilla replied. “Lieutenant Curtis pointed out the medical facility when she took us to see the Captain.”

Entering the sickbay, Ludmilla stopped and stared.
Look at all that equipment!
State of the art monitoring—heart beat, blood pressure, body temperature, respiration—with color displays above each patient's bed. Forward there were what looked like MRI and portable CAT Scan machines. To the right there was a separate OR with robotic-assisted surgery equipment,
incredible!

“How does one man afford something like this?” the Russian Doctor wondered out loud. “This clinic has more and better equipment than some full sized hospitals.”

“Yes, Doctor,” replied Betty. “There is a fully equipped lab as well for blood and tissue work, there's even a DNA sequencer. The hardest question here is not if they have something but where to find it.”

“Amazing,” Ludmilla said, shaking her head. “Well, let's get to work. Corpsman, what should I call you? I know that you are not a nurse.”

“No, Ma'am. A hospital corpsman is more like a combination physician assistant and emergency medical technician. I've been trained in first aid, emergency medicine and some basic surgical procedures.”

“What kind of surgery?”

“Removal of shrapnel, stitching up wounds, severed arteries and such. Things that won't wait for a trip to the hospital. I performed an emergency appendectomy once in the field. We were in a remote village in Afghanistan and the weather had shut down air evac.”

“Have you ever assisted during surgery?”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

“Good. You still did not answer my question, what should I call you?”

“Corpsman is too long, the Marines usually call us
‘
medic
’
or
‘
Doc,
’
but that might be confusing. Could you just call me Betty?”

“That would be fine. You can call me Ludmilla, but only when we are not on duty.”

“Yes, Doctor.” Experience had taught Betty that not calling an MD
‘d
octor
’
was like failing to call a judge
‘
your honor.
’

“So which of our patients is in the worst condition?”

“Overall I would say Lt. Merryweather is most critical. He was crushed by a crate during takeoff and has multiple fractures. The worst was an open fracture of his left femur. I cleaned the skin
puncture area of debris and immobilized the break with splints and traction. I'm not qualified to immobilize the break internally. I also started him on antibiotics
.”

“Which antibiotics and the dosage?”

“Before the debridement I administered  2 g ceftriaxone IV and immediately after gentamicin, 1.5 mg per each kilogram of body weight. His medical tag shows that his tetanus shots are current.”

“Very good, Betty. And he is stable?”

“Yes, Doctor. But he is heavily sedated.”

“Is there anyone who needs more immediate attention?”

“LCpl Reagan, Doctor. He was clawed by Lt. Bear. There are significant lacerations on his right arm, from shoulder to wrist. I cleaned and dressed the wounds but I didn't want to stitch him up myself—he'd end up looking like Frankenstein's Monster.”

“Well, let's have a look and see what I can do to close his wounds.”

“Excuse me, Dr. Tropsha,” a third voice said.

“Who is that?” Ludmilla demanded.

“This is the ship's computer, Doctor. I wanted to inform you that there are appropriate supplies, including surgical glue and staples, in the third cabinet on the left behind you.”

“You monitor the entire ship? Even the sickbay?”

“Yes Dr. Tropsha. Now that you and Corpsman White are part of the crew I will respond to your verbal queries.”

“So Computer, what drugs do we have on hand?”

“Please address me as
‘
Folly,
’
Doctor. There are several hundred in inventory and I can synthesize many more, would you like to hear them all?”

“No, that is fine, Folly. Betty, could you fetch the supplies out of the cabinet? We will unwrap the unfortunate Mr. Reagan's arm and take a look. There is probably damage to the deep muscle structure that will require stitching. We can use surgical glue to close the skin. Come, let us get to work.”

The Captain surveyed his newly expanded bridge crew approvingly.
Now this is more like it, all the major stations manned and things looking ship shape.
Susan and Ivan were at the wing stations on either side of the two helmsmen, both looking natty in their new dark blue jumpsuits. On the upper level, JT, also in blue, was manning the navigator's station on the starboard side. Jo Jo, who wore the orange jumpsuit of the science and engineering staff, was at the engineer's station on the port side.

“What's the ship's status, Mr. Medina?”

“All systems are nominal, the engineering board is green, Captain.”

“Helm, is our course to the Moon laid in?”

“Yes, Sir,” Replied Billy Ray.

Jack activated the ship's PA, 1MC in Navy parlance, and announced: “Attention all hands, if you are near a porthole you might wish to look outside for the next few minutes. Earth is off the port side and the ISS off starboard. We will leaving both behind in approximately one minute.”

Jack noticed the Russian Colonel staring, mesmerized by the view out Folly's transparent bow. “Rather breathtaking, eh Colonel?”

“Yes, Captain. I thought the view from the tranquility module cupola was impressive but this, this is like walking in space without need of a suit.”

“Well, departure should be even more impressive. Mr. Danner, maneuver well clear of the station before we power up the main drives. I have no desire to shred the ISS as we depart.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Engineering, Bridge. Dr. Gupta I will need main engines in 20 seconds.”

“Aye, Captain. They are all online and ready.”

“Thank you, Engineering. Mr. Vincent, set us on course to the Moon.”

“Aye aye, Captain!”

The ISS slipped behind the ship then diminished in size, slowly at first, then more rapidly. No movement could be felt on board, no change in background noise was heard. The day-night terminator swept past as the Moon rose from behind its parent planet, pale and beckoning. For the first time, Parker's Folly left low Earth orbit for deep space.

Parker's Folly was falling toward the Moon, having passed the gravitational crossover point during the night. It was going to take the ship only about half the time it took the old Apollo capsules to voyage to the Moon. E
arth and its Moon travel along curved paths through space, but the distance between them remains the same on average, about 384,000 km center to center. The point at which the gravitational pull of the Moon is equal to Earth's is roughly 58,000 km from the Moon.

Captain Jack had taken the night watch and Jo Jo Medina was currently officer of the deck. Under way, when the Captain or First Officer were not on the bridge, the Captain designates an OOD to be in charge of the ship. With Jo Jo in charge on the bridge, the Captain was in the owner's cabin sleeping and Lt. Curtis was in the cargo hold working out.