Willful Child: Wrath of Betty Page 9

  Sin-Dour’s voice came over the Comms. “Captain to the bridge! We’ve just received an emergency transmission! Captain to the bridge!”

  “Awesome!” said Hadrian. “We can run along the corridors! Well, me and Tammy and Spark, that is. The rest of you, back to your stations, pronto. Zulu, that was good work down there!”

  “Thank you, sir!” And he whipped out his saber. It went flying from his hand to stab the bulkhead just next to the technician’s head. “Oops! Sorry sir! I’ll just get that.”

  But Hadrian was already out of the room, with Spark at his heels and Tammy scampering in their wake.

  Adventure! Excitement! Parable Planet Number Two!

  THREE

  “Why, Adjutant Tighe, you never looked prettier!”

  “Captain, I have no hair.”

  “Really? Never noticed.” Hadrian flung himself back into his command chair. “All right, Sin-Dour, let’s have it!”

  “Sir?”

  “The emergency transmission!”

  “That was me,” said Tammy, flapping loudly back onto the armrest. “I faked it. Why? Because I felt like it. One more pontificating speech from you, Hadrian, and this tiny head of mine will explode.”

  “Will it? Let’s find out, shall we?” Hadrian rose to his feet.

  “Cut that out!” Tammy shrieked.

  “Captain,” said Lorrin Tighe. “I monitored the events that transpired down on the planet surface. I am recommending your arrest to be followed by a court-martial, for Breach of Oath and the Subversion of Affiliation Contact Protocol.” She straightened, eyes blazing in a most breathtaking fashion, various bridge lights reflecting from her shiny pate. “Captain Rabidinov should have been accorded all the assistance required to impose a balanced détente between the hostile parties. Even if that meant eradicating ninety-seven percent of one side in order to level the playing field. Indeed, every Engage Class vessel possesses onboard all the Reparation Contracts required to facilitate the immediate Intervention in the Name of Civilization by Reputable Corporations specializing in infrastructure repair, market rehabilitation, the divestment of all state-operated industries, and the rapid expansion into under-populated but resource-rich areas.”

  “Adjutant Tighe,” said Hadrian, “Since you were monitoring the events on the planet you will also understand that from the moment of our landing party’s contact with Rabidinov, he attempted to seize Affiliation assets, namely my ship and weapons, first by threats, then by imprisonment. He also threatened to kill my officers in order to extort cooperation from Second-in-Command Sin-Dour. What we had down there was a rogue initiating a hostage situation. In effect, Adjutant, Rabidinov committed an act of terrorism.”

  Tighe blinked, and then scowled. “Semantics!”

  “Well yes, that goes without saying. Here, let’s take a hypothetical and explore this some more, shall we? Say the genius of a certain man is extorted from him on the basis of his followers being held hostage. Now say he does all he’s asked to do, but finally sees his chance to escape, steal a state-of-the-art ship, and arrange to get his followers freed and brought to him. Is he the bad guy? I mean, what would you do in that scenario, Adjutant?”

  Her eyes darted, then she shrugged. “I’d hightail it out of there.”

  “Hmm, yes, who wouldn’t? But say the people he’s negotiating with promise to send him his followers, only instead they send him a slew of bombs that then explode, forcing the ship down into the atmosphere of a planet and then crashing that ship into a densely populated city, killing tens of thousands of people. Who are the heroes of this tale?”

  Now her scowl deepened. “This sounds like a bad holovid!”

  Hadrian smiled. “See, we can agree on something after all!”

  “None of that matters, Captain,” Tighe retorted. “I am demanding your arrest! You murdered Captain Rabidinov!”

  “No I didn’t.”

  “Your dog did the dirty work!”

  “Dirty work!” said Spark. “Scoop-Poops, Aisle 66! Dirty Work, Derivative, Cooked Books Before the Friggin’ Auditor Arrives, see Deep-Six Folder, Aisle 21! These are all the receipts I have, sir!”

  “Ensign Spark acted in defense of its captain,” said Hadrian, “whose life was in imminent danger.”

  “Oh yes,” snarled Tighe, “and I bet a jury of your peers will see it that way!” She laughed. “Fat chance of that, Captain! I now invoke the right to call Security to effect your arrest.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes!”

  “I suggest you reconsider, Adjutant,” Hadrian said. “After all, that arrest would have to include Commander Sin-Dour, who refused Rabidinov’s demands. The truth is, we can make a fairly strong case for acting as necessary to ensure the safety of this ship and everyone on it.”

  Tighe looked over to where Sin-Dour sat at the Science Station. A complicated look passed between them, and then the Adjutant turned back to Hadrian. “This isn’t over,” she said.

  “I expect not.”

  “Captain!” said Sin-Dour, “the fifth planet in this system has just fired some kind of projectile at us!”

  “Oh? How quaint. Adjutant Tighe, we can resume this discussion later, hmm? Sin-Dour, estimated time of impact?”

  “One moment, sir.” She worked the console, flipping switches, turning dials, peering at readouts on pop-up screens. “Eleven days, nine hours, fifty-three minutes, six point four seconds.”

  “That gives us plenty of time to duck, then.”

  “Yes sir. Apologies, sir, I was startled by the sudden inexplicable launch. I am scanning that planet now.”

  Tighe hissed something inaudible and then marched from the bridge.

  When she’d left, Tammy snickered. “You won’t be rehabilitating her any time soon, oh Mighty Captain Hadrian. Her indoctrination levels are damned near epigenetic.”

  “Do exercise some patience, Tammy. As she said, this is anything but over with.”

  “Captain!” Sin-Dour swung her chair around. “On the smallest continent of the planet there is an automated launch facility, in a state of poor repair. It seems to employ a version of an electromagnetic rail impeller. Very powerful. Surrounding this installation are caves—”

  “Caves! Now we’re talking!”

  “Yes sir. Inhabited by primitive hominids. Sir, I have also run an active scan on the incoming missile. Length, approximately three meters. Diameter of shaft, varying between twelve and seventeen centimeters. Warhead: inert, composed of natural silicious material manually restructured into a triangular, delta-style penetrator.”

  “In other words,” said Hadrian, “a giant spear.”

  Sin-Dour blinked, and then squinted down at a pop-up monitor. “Uh, yes sir. A giant spear.”

  “Presumably,” said Hadrian, “The magrail launcher is in contact with a satellite capable of system-wide scanning and target acquisition.”

  “Yes sir! I have just found that satellite. Highly degraded orbit, Captain. In fact, it only has a year or two left, unless it possesses built-in propulsion and corrective programming. All of this technology, sir, appears to be ancient, evincing much wear and tear.”

  “Devolved savages,” mused Hadrian. “Worshipping the last surviving weapon launcher, posing a hazard to no one at all. Helm! Set a course for that planet!”

  “I am tempted to scream again,” said Tammy, “but what would be the point?”

  “Sir,” resumed Sin-Dour, “there are quantum fluctuations emanating from the core of that planet. I don’t believe standard displacement will be possible.”

  “You mean we’ll need to send a shuttle down? Outstanding! Sticks! When was the last time you piloted a shuttle?”

  Eden jumped in his seat.

  Jocelyn Sticks swung round in her chair, the motion eliciting waves of ineffable pleasure in Hadrian. “Sir?”

  “In fact,” continued Hadrian, “I think I’ll even sit this one out and give the mission over to my illustrious and eminently capable Second-in-C
ommand. Sin-Dour, assemble your team and inform Chief Engineer Buck DeFrank to see to prepping the shuttle—hmm, which one? Oh, take the Sagan, assuming it’s been fully repaired after its last mission—and wasn’t that a hairy one, hah hah!”

  Jimmy Eden suddenly shrieked and ran from the Comms station. The bridge entrance doors barely had time to hiss open before he was pelting down the corridor, still screaming.

  Sin-Dour cleared her throat. “I believe it best if Lieutenant Eden remain behind this time, sir.”

  “Nonsense! Back on the horse that bucked you, I always say. Let’s assume he’s heading straight to Printlip for some more meds. Oh, and you might as well take the doc, too, if only to comfort poor Eden. Who else comes to mind, 2IC?”

  She paused, frowning, and then said, “Buck DeFrank, sir, in case the shuttle breaks down. Combat Specialist Galk, to examine the weapon launcher. Lieutenant Nina Twice for Security Oversight, and Anthropologist Second Lieutenant Mendel Engels.”

  “Engels? Are you sure? The last Contact Mission—”

  “As you said, sir, the horse that bucked you.”

  “Ah, true enough. But is he out of the Psych Ward yet?”

  “I will check that with Dr. Printlip.”

  “Very good, Sin-Dour. The Sagan Seven! Off you go now, and good luck!”

  * * *

  The Sagan eased from the hangar bay, squirted its starboard thrusters to bring it around, and then engaged its antimatter engines and set off at speed toward the cloud-wrapped planet.

  Sin-Dour said, “It occurs to me that this is our first planet-side mission undertaken without the presence of our captain. Of course, in keeping with your training, I have the utmost confidence in all of you.”

  “I don’t like small spaces,” Buck DeFrank said. “This shuttle’s not big enough. Look at how these armrests pinch in, like the chair is trying to crush me.”

  “Do relax,” Sin-Dour murmured. “Everything will be fine.”

  “I was like,” said Sticks, “whoah! Pilot a shuttle! And he was, hey, why not? Even though he must’ve known I crashed six in a row during training! And I was, and then he—but what’s this toggle do?”

  The Sagan shuddered.

  Sin-Dour gasped and looked across to Buck DeFrank, whose flat, blockish face was now whiter than the shuttle’s hull.

  “That,” said Buck, lower lip trembling, “was the antimatter emergency ejection toggle, Lieutenant Sticks.”

  “Was it? And I was like, what’s this? Flip! Oh and look, it says right there, ‘Emergency Antimatter Ejection Toggle, Activate Only to Override All Safety Protocols in Face of Imminent Death.’ Oh! Well, if they’d written that last bit bigger, duh!”

  “We now have no fuel,” Buck said in a dull voice. “We’re going to crash and die.”

  Sin-Dour turned to Jimmy Eden. “Hail the Willful Child. We need retrieval.”

  “I can’t! The quantum fluctuation interference! It’s all static! I didn’t want to come! I don’t do good with pressure. I mean, I ace simulations no problem. Give me simulations and I’ve got it down.” He rubbed at his face. “He said I’d never have to go on a mission! He lied! The captain lied! Doc! Give me an overdose! Or one of those inhalers you gave Polaski! Let me pass out and just, just slip away!”

  “Calm down, Mister Eden,” said Sin-Dour. “Buck, please take over on Manual Control.”

  “Manual Control?” Buck barked a nasty laugh. “This thing’s a brick with mosquito wings!”

  “That’s a soupy atmosphere down there, Buck. Make use of it.”

  “Stop looking at me, Eden!” cried Sticks. “It wasn’t my fault! That toggle was just sitting there! And that label! Who reads labels, for cripes sake! I was just sitting here, right, like, PILOTING, and there was that toggle! And I said what’s this and nobody said anything so I flipped it, well thanks Mr. Chief Engineer for not warning me!”

  The Sagan began rocking back and forth as it clawed its way down into the upper atmosphere. Swearing, Buck fought the controls. “Doc! My anti-claustrophobia meds are wearing off real fast right now!”

  “Accelerated heartrates!” Printlip announced. “All shuttle crew members barring Induced Comatose anthropologist!” The Belkri’s many hands scrambled to prepare a jumbled array of shots that started stabbing out in all directions.

  “Ow!”

  “Ow!”

  “Ow!”

  “Ow!”

  “Ow!” Then Buck said, “Hey, why did I get two shots?”

  “Pain assists in concentration! Progress!”

  The shuttle’s front window showed raging plasma and then impenetrable brown clouds.

  “Query,” ventured Printlip. “Breathable atmosphere below?”

  Sin-Dour sighed. “How optimistic of you, Doctor. But yes, somewhat breathable.”

  “I’m going to try and bring us down near that installation,” said Buck, still fighting the controls as the shuttle pitched and yawed. “But it won’t be a soft landing! In fact, we’re likely to break into a thousand pieces, our limbs torn away, our bodies shredded by jagged metal, scorched by billowing flames, our brains mashed against the insides of our cracked skulls—”

  “Chief Engineer,” cut in Sin-Dour, “please concentrate on piloting.”

  “Sure thing, you cold-hearted—”

  “Mister DeFrank!”

  “If the captain was here,” hissed Sticks, “he’d have saved us by now!”

  Sighing yet again, Sin-Dour said, “Everyone strap in nice and tight.”

  The clouds suddenly cleared, revealing a landscape of buttes, cliffs, chasms, crevices, and fissures as unreal as a matte painting in the heavy, smeary atmosphere.

  “We’re going in!” bellowed Buck DeFrank.

  “Well,” said Sticks peevishly, “where else would we be going?”

  * * *

  “On the basis of our limited abilities to observe without instrumentation,” said Tammy, “I’d say they ejected their antimatter fuel pods for some reason and then plummeted mostly out of control into the atmosphere. For all we know, they all elected suicide over one more day onboard this ship.” The chicken paused to prune some feathers under one wing. “Fiery death, seven crewmembers—a severe blot on your record, Captain. Enough to get you busted down. Loss of command, shunted to some desk on Jupiter Hub, all your aspirations reduced to a stale beer, peanuts in a bowl, and a bartender so sick of your endless whining he’s ready to shoot you himself.”

  Hadrian sighed. “You lack faith, Tammy.”

  “With Sticks piloting, Captain, I had no faith to begin with!”

  Polaski at Comms said, “Captain! Priority Message from Fleet HQ! A shipment of lubricant needs to be delivered to Planet Women-Only, System Liberty-At-Last-Men-Can-Just-Piss-Off!”

  “Lubricant? Oh—”

  “They have extensive bauxite mining operations, sir. It seems the latest batch of lubricant was faulty and all the compellers burned out.”

  “Ah,” said Hadrian.

  “We’re to pick up the shipment from a nearby transport that’s broken down.”

  “Right.”

  Polaski turned. “Sir, this has a Fleet Command Override attached to it. No delays permissible.”

  Tammy snorted. “Tighe’s been monitoring again, Hadrian. They’re jumping at this to ensure no chance of you ever retrieving your officers. Thus ending your career.”

  “What’s my window here, Tammy?”

  “Eight hours, provided we override the delimiters all the way, without dropping out of T-Space the entire voyage, and if you recall, Captain, the psychological risk to such a long journey in T-Space could well result in—”

  “To an average starship crew, perhaps,” Hadrian cut in. He rose from the command seat. “Fortunately, I have the finest crew ever assembled. We can handle it.”

  “Oh here we go,” Tammy said. “Pull off another damned miracle!”

  “And what if I do?”

  “I might cry.”

  * * *

/>   The tiny computer on the Sagan decided, at the last moment, that its human pilot was incompetent, and so deployed its massive external airbags 1.8 seconds before impact. The shuttle craft bounced off a cliff wall, caromed along the talus slope of a hillside in a spray of gravel, rattled wildly through a field of boulders at the base and rolled up against another ragged cliffside until it came to a rocking halt, where a small thorn punctured the bag, initiating sudden loss of air pressure, and the Sagan settled onto its belly with a loud farting sound.

  Within the shuttlecraft, Sin-Dour drew a deep breath, then said, “Well done, Buck. Damage report?”

  “Dam—are you mad?” Buck demanded, tearing at his harness buckles. “We’re venting from a hundred micro-ruptures to the hull! One of the two drive engines has completely dismounted and crushed itself against its own housing, and this effing buckle’s jammed, dammit!”

  “Just push that toggle,” Sticks said. “That’s the auto-release, duh!”

  Buck jolted in his seat, both hands endeavoring to reach Sticks’ throat, but the straps held him fast. He began frothing at the mouth.

  Whimpering, Jocelyn Sticks shrank back.

  “Calm down, everyone,” said Sin-Dour. “Buck, Lieutenant Sticks is correct. If you wait a moment, I can assist you. In the meantime, Doc?”

  “Yes, Commander?”

  “Can you break open that storage compartment? We need to don environment suits, if only to maintain anti-contamination protocol. Despite the somewhat breathable atmosphere, I will insist on using the re-breathers and scrubbers for now. Oh, and Doc, can you wake up Mendel Engels, please? We have a proximity alert blinking on the console.”

  “Savages!” moaned Jimmy Eden. “They’re going to tear us apart! Cook us in giant pots!”

  Something big and heavy clanged against the side of the hull.

  “Spears!” shrieked Jimmy. “Break out the MasterBlasters!”

  “In a moment, Jimmy,” said Sin-Dour. “Suits first.”

  Buck DeFrank began stabbing controls. “I’m shunting an electrostatic charge to the hull of this—”