Parker's Folly (29 page)

“Excellent. Maintain General Quarters. Helm, make our acceleration 20 Gs and vector for intercept. Mr. Medina, is the forward battery charged?”

“Yes, Sir. Both forward rail guns are charged at 100 percent. Do you wish to select warhead yield?”

“I'm not sure we will need anything but an inert slug. Mr. Vincent, how fast will we be traveling when we overtake the target?” Because the main battery was aimed by pointing the entire ship, the rail guns were fired from the helm.

“We will be going around 1.4 million kilometers per hour relative to Earth, Sir. We will be the fastest thing ever launched by humans. As for the target, we should be closing on it at approximately 98,000 m/sec—that's nearly 220,000 miles per hour.”

“As I said, Mr. Medina, I don't think adding a charge to the warheads will make much difference. With that much delta V the kinetic energy alone will destroy the target—assuming we can hit it moving that fast.”

“We can ease up on our acceleration and cut the delta V at intercept, Sir,” offered Billy Ray. “Of course it will take us longer to overtake the target.”

“No, helmsman. If we miss on the first pass we will decelerate and close on the target more slowly from the opposite direction.” Feeling that the pursuit of the enemy was well in hand, Jack's attention turned to the casualties suffered by the shore party.

“Sickbay, Bridge, this is the Captain. Do we have a casualty report for the shore party yet?”

“This is Dr. Tropsha, Captain. There are three reported wounded and we are waiting to receive them. I will let you know after I have examined them.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Bridge out.”

Two crew members carried the now conscious LCpl Washington into sickbay on a stretcher while JT followed under his own power. The third patient was proving more problematic. Lt. Curtis' voice could be heard from down the passageway, evidently yelling at Bear.

“Damn it, move your hairy backside, Mr. Bear. You are wounded and I'll not be explaining to the Captain how you died from your injuries when you were still moving when we reached the ship.”

“Hey, come on Lieutenant, its only a scratch. Nothing to bother about.” The large quadrupedal officer was limping noticeably, favoring his left foreleg. Bear hesitated at the sickbay door.

“Get in there, furball,” Gretchen ordered, kicking the polar bear in the rump to emphasize her point. Bear growled but shuffled through the door and into the ship's medical facility.

Inside, Dr. Tropsha and Betty were already working on Washington’s chest wound. JT, sitting on the next bed, spotted Bear and said “Come on in, Lieutenant. They got plenty of spare racks.”

This caused Dr. Tropsha to look up and frown. “What is that animal doing here?” she asked Gretchen.

“He's limping,” Gretchen replied. “I think he has a chest wound on the left side.”

“I'm a medical doctor, not a veterinarian. I am not trained to treat creatures like your polar bear.”

“See,” said Bear, “I should just go to my quarters.”

“Sit your ass down, Mister!” Gretchen's cheeks flushed red, a telltale sign of anger to any who knew her well. “Cut out the polar bear macho crap and let me help you out of your suit.” Bear hung his head and slid his ample hindquarters onto an empty examination table. The table barely creaked under the load, a testament to the ship's designers.

“And Doctor,” Lt. Curtis continued, “as for Lt. Bear's obvious anatomical differences, I'm sure that you are more than capable of figuring out how to treat his wounds. A crew member is a crew member, regardless of species.”

“Very well, get him striped down and I will see to him after I have treated these two. Both have rock fragments embedded in deep puncture wounds. I suspect the bear will have the same type of wound.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Now if you will excuse me I have alien samples to see to.” Gretchen turned and left the sickbay without waiting for a reply.

* * * * *

The medical team cleaned and dressed Washington's chest wound and JT's wounded shoulder. Both were given some painkillers and told to come back tomorrow to have the dressings changed. The men left, JT for the bridge and Washington for the crew's quarters to see the other expedition members. Following the age old traditions of warriors everywhere, he was anxious to talk about the battle they had just participated in.

“OK, Mr. Bear,” Ludmilla said, with some trepidation. “Let us see what trouble you have gotten into.” Bear sat stoically, looking away as the doctor parted the hair on his chest to get a better look at his wound. Betty hung back, a fearful look on her face.

“Do not worry, Betty. The Captain says he will not bite.”

“Oh I won't bite, I might nibble a little,” Bear rumbled, smiling at the frightened medic who's eyes got even wider. “Come on, girl. I'm not going to hurt a crew mate.”

“Please hold still, you have a large puncture wound in your pectoral muscle. It has rock fragments in it just like the other two soldiers' wounds. It looks like the rock was hot when it struck as well, its like someone shoved a red hot poker into your chest.”

“Yeah, that's pretty much how it felt when it happened. Those fire-bolt things splattered molten rock everywhere when they hit. By the way, JT is a soldier, Washington is a Marine. For some reason human warriors find the distinction important.”

“Thank you for the insight. I was watching the firefight on the monitor screen. I saw Washington fall and the explosion that wounded JT, but I didn't see you get wounded.”

“It's the polar bear way.”

“Ignoring pain?”

“Not showing any sign of weakness.” Bear grimaced as Dr. Tropsha probed his wound. “Where I come from pretty much everything is looking for a meal. Bears may be at the top of the food chain but that doesn't mean a free ride. My kind has no ethical problem with killing and eating each other, so showing any infirmity just invites an attack. We bears learn from an early age to hide our wounds and not acknowledge pain.”

“You will not hide your wounds from me, I am your doctor,” Ludmilla told him bluntly, her tone making the statement an order.

“Sure thing, Doc,” came Bear's grumbled reply.

“Betty, I will need some local anesthetic and the clippers, the area around the wound will need to have the hair removed.”

“Yes, Doctor.” Betty went to fetch the indicated items, relieved to be leaving Bear's immediate vicinity.

“So tell me, Mr. Bear. How did you come to be in the company of the Captain? He is obviously quite fond of you, as is Lt. Curtis.”

“That, Doc, is a long story, better told over drinks—and I mean a lot of drinks—than across an exam table. But you're right, they are my oldest human friends.”

“Do you have any friends among your own kind?”

“Adult male polar bears have no friends. Just competitors and the occasional mate. That lack of social cooperation might be why you apes run the world and we don't.”

“You certainly seem intelligent enough—smarter than some humans I could name. Do you have any children?”

“I think so, lady polar bears don't let fathers hang around, afraid we might eat the cubs. That might be behavior that needs changing too. Jack has been trying to figure out how to help us talking bears. Of course, Jack's biggest problem is he's out to save the whole world.”

Ludmilla looked up and lifted one eyebrow questioningly. “From the deadly alien threat?”

“Hey, you watched the video. Those spider things didn't come from Earth and they fit my definition of hostile. You're not still angry with the Captain, are you?”

“Actually I sort of feel like a fool, now that the existence of aliens has been proven,” Ludmilla confessed, thinking,
why am I sharing secrets with a polar bear? I guess it is like talking to a favorite childhood stuffed toy—he's all big and cuddly and trustworthy.

“You know Jack was really upset that you didn't believe him,” Bear ventured, then adding in a lower, confidential tone, “I think he likes you.”

“Really?” Ludmilla looked up from working on Bear's wound. “I am at a loss over how to apologize to him.”

“Just go ask to talk with him in private. He takes that
‘
the captain's door is always open
’
stuff seriously. Then tell him you misjudged him and you're sorry. Trust me, that will be the end of it.”

“You think so?” Hope rose in the Doctor's voice.

“Absolutely. If you're sincere he'll forgive you in a heartbeat. Babe, you wouldn't believe how many times I've had to apologize to the man.”

Jolene was busy wiping down the bar and cleaning up the lounge area. Melissa, as the ship's horticulturist, had inherited the running of the main mess and bar since none of the normal food services staff had been on board when Folly took off. Since the fresh produce from the hydroponic gardens was intended to supply the mess it seemed like a reasonable expansion of her duties to put her in charge of the entire supply chain—from sprouts to plate. The bar was an added bonus.

The two women shared a cabin on the lower deck and they had naturally started talking. As a result, since Jolene had no real skills for any other shipboard duty, Melissa asked the chief to assign her as a combination waitress, bartender and cleanup person for the main dining area and lounge. Jolene had been happy to help and was actually feeling relieved—or at least less scared—until Tommy Wendover entered by the lower deck companionway.

“Hey Jolene, what ya doing?” said Tommy in a smarmy, ingratiating tone. He wanted something for sure.

“What are you doing here, Tommy? Crew ain't allowed in the main lounge unless the Captain says.”

“That's no way to treat an old friend. And besides, the Captain ain't here.”

“I said, what are you doing here?” Jolene looked around nervously for Melissa, or anyone else.

“Give me a drink, I been doing thirsty work for Colonel Ivan.”

“I told you, the bar ain't open. You're not allowed up here.”

Tommy reached across the bar and grabbed Jolene's wrist. “I said give me a drink, bitch!” he snarled. Snooping for the Colonel had given him some of his swagger back, however unwarranted.

“Let go of me you creep. I'll scream!”

“Go ahead, you can scre... ung” Tommy's remark was cut short by the impact of JT's right forearm at the base of his skull. Tommy  released Jolene's wrist and slumped to the floor, on the edge of unconsciousness.

“Was this little gutter snipe bothering you Miss?” JT asked. He was on his way to the bridge from sickbay and happened to overhear the exchange of words between the two former stowaways. JT had pegged Tommy as a worthless shit from the performance he gave during the Captain's meeting a few days back.

“I told him he shouldn't be up here, but he wouldn't go away,” the frightened girl said, on the edge of tears.

“Don't worry, we'll take care of this.” Then addressing his collar mike, “GySgt Rodriguez, this is JT in the lounge. Could you send a couple of your Marines up here? We have some two-legged garbage that needs to be taken out.”

“Roger that, Army,” came the reply. “I can guess the human refuse you're referring to. Sanchez says he owes you one and I think I'll come along myself.”

JT had reclaimed his seat at the navigator's station just minutes before the alien ship was scheduled to come in range. Susan scooted aside and gave him a little hug. “Glad you made it back, you had us all worried up here.”

“Good to be back, Miss Susan,” he replied, as though they were still in the KWTEX News van. “As firefights go, that one wasn't so bad.”

The bridge fairly crackled with tension as all stations were manned and ready for Folly's first ship to ship engagement. Even LCpl Reagan, who had finally been released from sickbay, was on deck, sitting in one of the observers' chairs behind the Captain.

“Helm, the target is coming into range, reduce acceleration to zero. That should give us a bit more targeting time.”

“Aye Sir. Reducing engines to zero acceleration.”

“Mr. Vincent, prepare to fire on the enemy craft. Navigation, put the alien vessel on the forward display.” The transparent nose of the ship was overlain with a view of a distant object. That object was growing noticeably larger with each passing second.

“Yes, Sir. We are locked on, Captain.” The rate of closure was so high that human reflexes would not suffice. The ship's computer would actually fire the two forward rail guns when it deemed conditions optimal.

“Sir, it's gone!” cried JT from his console. He had zoomed in using the 20 cm telescope and just sent the live image to the big forward video display. Seconds later, the image wavered and the ship was gone.

“I've lost weapon lock, Sir!” reported Billy Ray.

“Captain, we just picked up a burst of radiation and now the alien vessel is gone from the sensors as well,” added Jo Jo Medina.

“What the hell?” the Captain said softly, more to himself than anyone in particular.

“Captain, do you wish to pursue that craft?” It was the voice of the ship's computer.

“What just happened?”

“No time to explain. Your decision, Captain?”

“Yes, pursue it!” Captain Jack was not one to dither over decisions during combat.

“Roger, initiating,” came the computer's unruffled reply.

The stars around the ship shimmered and then fled both fore and aft, leaving streaks like spilled watercolors. The ship itself shuddered, the way a horse's back twitches when a fly bites. Through the transparent bow, the watercolor streaks formed a ring of light that then swept through the visible spectrum from red to blue, to violet and beyond, expanding and dissipating as it did. Within the ring there was nothing at all.

Directly ahead, the nothing beckoned. It was not mat black, or shiny black, but absolute soul sucking black. It so voraciously devoured any remaining trace of light that it appeared to almost glow black. Several members of the bridge crew were mesmerized, unable to look away from the yawning nothingness before them.

“Folly, opaque all viewports, shut off the video from the nav station. Now!”