In the story so far: The captured ship, Stardiver Four, is drifting in space and occupied by pirates who cannot activate its computer. Julia, the deathbot has reoccupied a new body. The mad professor, Ratts, is obsessing over assembling the cargo of Starfighters, an advanced design attack craft. Whitey, a mercenary commander, is trying to maximize his gains in the situation. Tom is a passenger who is forced to work for the pirates.
At five AM Whitey walked the perimeter of the shuttle bay, inspecting and poking into everything. The cold was frosting his breath onto his unshaven beard. Looking at the men shivering in their sleep, he cursed and touched the radio in his collar, "Bill," he said, "Do we have any patrols or repair crews in the field?"
"What? No 'good morning' to your oldest comrade in arms?"
"Good morning Bill. Status."
"Well, Boss, the beta team is on night patrol in units of three. They have reported no problems or activities other than the usual drunkenness of the pirates."
"It's cold Bill, has life support collapsed?"
"It is cold. the ship is dying, but there is still air circulation."
"Do you think we are at the point of no return? Where the systems are so far gone they can't be brought back up?"
"The ship is acting like it, Boss. But it may be because it has not surrendered and is fighting with the hacker, or because O'bee has screwed things up with his hacking."
"Bill, get our tec team together, put Red on it too. Find a station where we can start our own hack into the ship. Maybe we can do what O'bee can't do."
"O'bee is the greatest hacker in the universe. There is no way we can do better."
"It is a stupid ship's computer, Bill! If he can't hack into that, he is either not trying or stalling on purpose. We have to get the systems up soon, or we never will."
Julia's robots had repaired the hole in the side of the ship left from the departing shuttle.
She spoke to them through her own private network. "Well done, my children. Now we need to bring in atmosphere and heat, or our servos are in danger from the cold."
Accompanied by her three robots, she entered the hall and approached the locked portals. Beside it was a communication center. She looked at her newly modified left hand and assessed the workmanship of her robot children. Her artificial ivory white skin thinly covered a silver metallic palm that was filled with sensors and receptors. She placed it against the black screen of the communications center.
Her words were an electronic burst, "Cesar, Dear, are you there?"
There was no response. She sensed nothing; at other times, the link to the computer was immediate, and his presence was instantly communicated but not now.
"Cesar. Are you there?"
She sensed only a faint pulse as if a breeze slightly lifted a curtain off a window. "Cesar, I am coming for you."
Whitey sat in the cockpit of the transport shuttle. Communications were frustratingly slow. A man in a smudged and ragged pirate uniform materialized through the snowy static on the screen. Whitey spoke first. "This is Whitey. I need to speak to the Supreme Commander now."
"Sorry, she is occupied and can't be bothered."
"Tell her it is Whitey," He said through clenched teeth, "and I've got an update she needs to hear."
The image of Ruby Graves filled on the screen. Her icy voice did not match her beautiful face. "I hope you have good news of the ship's immediate arrival at the rendezvous."
"I wish I could give you good news." Whitey leaned forward. "The ship is dying. Captian Stone has lost over a third of his men from infighting, drunken brawls, and his own stupidity. I feel I must assume command."
"Whitey," She said with the slow firmness of a mother scolding a child. "You will do no such thing. If Stone is not able to command, then my security officer is next in succession. You and your men are paid, agents. I will need your men to fill in Stone's ranks to replace the men he has lost."
"That is not our agreement. We were to keep Stone from going rogue or running amuck and doing something to destroy the ship. But it doesn't matter since the ship is still offline and non-operational. It is almost dead or at least near the point of no return."
"That is bad news for you. If Stone has lost a third of the men in his command, then you have failed in your mission."
Whitey's jaw tightened, he chewed his lip, and through gritted teeth, he growled, "Your Supremeness, I have never, never failed a mission."
"Then you will see that the ship arrives at the fleet."
"I said the ship is dying. It is drifting ten thousand clicks an hour."
"If you are hoping I could spare resources for a rescue or a tug boat to tow you to some safe harbor, then you are out of luck. It's just another casualty of war. Besides, Earth doesn't need to know it is not part of the attack; just the threat of Stardiver four loaded with a million angry spacers is enough to force Geneva to its knees."
Whitey raised his bushy eyebrows, "So are you giving up claim to the ship?"
"No. You greedy purse snatcher. Stardiver Four is claimed by the Liberation Brotherhood as a legitimate capture during a time of war. So keep your grubby hands and your two penny salvage license off of her."
"And Whitey, your orders and Stone's are the same. Join the fleet. If you miss the rendezvous, then proceed to the attack of earth." The screen went blank."
With a sigh, Whitey shook his head, grumbling. "I have never failed in a mission."
"No," Bill said from behind as he slipped into the cabin. "But you have been known to change the mission when necessary."
Whitey turned and smiled.
Tom was sleeping the sleep of the exhausted when Dr. Ratts woke him, "I need you to crawl inside the motors again like before. Remember punching out the small discs and pulling the power lines through? I need you to do that again. OK? Get up now, let's go."
"Can't I eat first?"
"No. We are at a standstill right now. You can eat in a few hours."
With continued reluctance, Tom helped assembled the starfighters in the weightless cargo bay. He still hurt from the day before but had no choice except to labor until every muscle he had felt burned. Soon, the cargo bay had two fully assembled star-fighters, and a third was almost done.
Ollie sat in the corridor where the gravity was still in effect. His wolf hearing caught the sound as it approached. It was steady and evil. He hated these robots. He began to growl.
“What's wrong with the dog?” one of the men asked.
Ollie faced the corridor with his head lowered and tail down. The low rumble in his throat was an unmistakable threat that gave men shivers.
“Someone bad is coming,” Tom said.
Ollie backed up as a black metal robot appeared at the door. Its magnetic boots held it to the floor as it blocked the exit.
The robot looked up at the floating workers, “Attention, Masters.” It said in a flat metallic voice. "I am obeying orders from Security officer Regga Aon”
Everyone froze. The men felt for their weapons in their holsters. Tom noticed several pushed themselves into a slow drift to different parts of the cargo bay seeking hiding places. Everyone knew the Security officer, and everyone viewed her with wary mistrust. Some thought she was a spy or agent employed to inform any suspected disloyalty to the Supreme Commander, so Regga Aon was hated by most and feared by all.
“I am to tell you,” The robot went on. “We are drifting near a communications satellite. No radio or transmitters are to be used for any reason until further notice, or it may alert the united worlds about our activities. Failure to comply will be treated with the severest punishment the Red Book allows.” The robot turned and left. All the men relaxed.
“Stupid Regga-Aon.” One of the men said.
“Hush up. Stupid yourself.” Another responded. “That thing can still hear you, you know. It is probably going to Raggedy Ann's face now and play the recording of what you said.”
"What is so funny, you lazy trash?” Came a voice from above. No one saw Captain Stone enter. He peered over a catwalk above them, holding on to the handrail with a white-knuckled grip. His eye patch was over the left eye now, and the ancient sailor's coat hung from his shoulders like a cape. His left hand rested on the hilt of a sword hanging from a red sash around his waist.
“Old Crumbrain just made a joke about Security.” One of the men said.
Stone’s one eye bulged out. “Really? A joke? Crumbrain, you have more guts than I gave you credit for.” Stone looked around. “Where is Ratts?”
“Behind the large container. He has a workbench set up.” Crumbrain said.
"Ratts!" The Captin yelled. "Get up here."
Dr. Ratts pushed himself away from his work area and floated up to the catwalk with ease. He caught a beam that stretched across the "ceiling" above Captain Stone. Looking down, he said, “Yes, Sir?”
“When are the engines going to come online? We are still drifting, man! We need those engines running now.”
“Soon, sir. I have my best men working on it. It is just some interface between the computer and the relays. A little fine-tuning, and we will be ready for a cold start. Do we have the command code for the computer? It would make things easier.”
“The command code is none of your business. Get the engines running. We don’t have much time.”
"Captin, Should I stop working on the starfighters and put all my men on the engines. We have only two assembled, but one is almost ready."
"You thick-headed book bug. Don't you understand? I want the engines running, and all the starfighters assembled, armed, and fueled in time to join the fleet. Now no arguments." He pulled himself along the catwalk to an opening in the upper wall.
"Yes, sir," Ratts muttered under his breath. "You may not get what you want, but you will get what you deserve."
The engine room was below and aft. In its darkened control room, Dr. Ratts' rogue-bot was randomly pulling wires from the walls severing them as he did so. A speaker in his chest played classic rock music written in the 20th century, the beat giving rhythm and cadence to his dance of destruction. His strong arms forced their way behind metal walls and pried electronic units out of their places, which he cast across the room where they crashed with sparks. With unlimited energy, he worked his destructive way through the engine control room, doing silent damage more deadly than a bomb.
Tom was tired. His arms and legs felt like lead. He was not used to such nonstop physical work. Go get some rest, son.” Lieutenant Ratts said softly, “We’ll send a crewman to get you when we need you.”
"Yes, sir, Thank you."
After floating to the exit, Tom pulled himself down to the floor and entered the corridor that still had gravity. With a slow shuffle, he stumbled up the long corridors to his quarters.
He made a decision as he went. The idea came to him slowly. In his quarters, he locked the door and checked it to make sure. His pockets were filled with the small silver discs he had taken from inside the starfighter’s engines and put them on Ratts' cluttered work table. “Whoever thought my science homework would come in handy?” He thought. The salt shaker was still in his pocket. He drew it out and poured salt into Ollie’s water dish, then soaked torn bits of cleaning rag in it. Out of the bag of coins, he removed the old copper ones. He began to stack, first a coin, then salty cloth, then a silver disc, and salty cloth, then a coin, and so on until a small tower stood on the table. He looked at it doubtfully. A low volt wet cell battery. “I hope this works, Ollie old Pal.”
He removed Ollie’s electronic collar and set it on the table. He found some small wires in the boxes of junk parts, just enough to connect the collar to both the top and bottom of the wet cell battery. It made a perfect circuit. Carefully he touched the dot that set the collar to transmit. A faint green light glowed on the side.
Tom leaned close and spoke quickly, “S.O.S., Mayday, S.O.S. Mayday. Attention, Space Rangers. I can only say this once since I may get caught. I am using the communications satellite to boost my signal. Stardiver Four has been captured by a pirate fleet at cirrus 9. They have eight battleships and about a dozen attack craft. They plan to attack earth and take over the United Worlds. Star-fighters will be in the attack. Stardiver four is adrift and is just passing the communications satellite.”
Ollie began barking. He could hear them coming. He knew the distant sound of angry steps. His wolfish instinct inspired the response to go on the attack. He faced the door with head lowered and teeth barred.
Tom slipped the collar back on him. “Let’s hope it worked, boy." Taking apart the wet battery, He tossed the coins back in the bag and the silver discs into the boxes of spare parts.
Bam! Bam! Bam! Someone was pounding on the door.
“Come out of there you." The Captain yelled. "Kid, come out now.”
A bright red spot appeared on the door by the edge next to the touchpad. A laser was being used to cut the door open. They would be inside in seconds. Tom looked around the room, hoping there was an escape he had not noticed before. He saw none.
“Well, boy.” He said to Ollie. “We’ve done our best.”
Standing in the center of the cluttered room, Tom raised the taser and pointed it at the door. "I don't know if this is wrong, but this gun feels good in my hand right now." He felt less troubled about using it.
Stardiver four,
Chapter 67, Message Sent
At five AM Whitey walked the perimeter of the shuttle bay, inspecting and poking into everything. The cold was frosting his breath onto his unshaven beard. Looking at the men shivering in their sleep, he cursed and touched the radio in his collar, "Bill," he said, "Do we have any patrols or repair crews in the field?"
"What? No 'good morning' to your oldest comrade in arms?"
"Good morning Bill. Status."
"Well, Boss, the beta team is on night patrol in units of three. They have reported no problems or activities other than the usual drunkenness of the pirates."
"It's cold Bill, has life support collapsed?"
"It is cold. the ship is dying, but there is still air circulation."
"Do you think we are at the point of no return? Where the systems are so far gone they can't be brought back up?"
"The ship is acting like it, Boss. But it may be because it has not surrendered and is fighting with the hacker, or because O'bee has screwed things up with his hacking."
"Bill, get our tec team together, put Red on it too. Find a station where we can start our own hack into the ship. Maybe we can do what O'bee can't do."
"O'bee is the greatest hacker in the universe. There is no way we can do better."
"It is a stupid ship's computer, Bill! If he can't hack into that, he is either not trying or stalling on purpose. We have to get the systems up soon, or we never will."
* * * * *
Julia's robots had repaired the hole in the side of the ship left from the departing shuttle.
She spoke to them through her own private network. "Well done, my children. Now we need to bring in atmosphere and heat, or our servos are in danger from the cold."
Accompanied by her three robots, she entered the hall and approached the locked portals. Beside it was a communication center. She looked at her newly modified left hand and assessed the workmanship of her robot children. Her artificial ivory white skin thinly covered a silver metallic palm that was filled with sensors and receptors. She placed it against the black screen of the communications center.
Her words were an electronic burst, "Cesar, Dear, are you there?"
There was no response. She sensed nothing; at other times, the link to the computer was immediate, and his presence was instantly communicated but not now.
"Cesar. Are you there?"
She sensed only a faint pulse as if a breeze slightly lifted a curtain off a window. "Cesar, I am coming for you."
* * * * *
Whitey sat in the cockpit of the transport shuttle. Communications were frustratingly slow. A man in a smudged and ragged pirate uniform materialized through the snowy static on the screen. Whitey spoke first. "This is Whitey. I need to speak to the Supreme Commander now."
"Sorry, she is occupied and can't be bothered."
"Tell her it is Whitey," He said through clenched teeth, "and I've got an update she needs to hear."
The image of Ruby Graves filled on the screen. Her icy voice did not match her beautiful face. "I hope you have good news of the ship's immediate arrival at the rendezvous."
"I wish I could give you good news." Whitey leaned forward. "The ship is dying. Captian Stone has lost over a third of his men from infighting, drunken brawls, and his own stupidity. I feel I must assume command."
"Whitey," She said with the slow firmness of a mother scolding a child. "You will do no such thing. If Stone is not able to command, then my security officer is next in succession. You and your men are paid, agents. I will need your men to fill in Stone's ranks to replace the men he has lost."
"That is not our agreement. We were to keep Stone from going rogue or running amuck and doing something to destroy the ship. But it doesn't matter since the ship is still offline and non-operational. It is almost dead or at least near the point of no return."
"That is bad news for you. If Stone has lost a third of the men in his command, then you have failed in your mission."
Whitey's jaw tightened, he chewed his lip, and through gritted teeth, he growled, "Your Supremeness, I have never, never failed a mission."
"Then you will see that the ship arrives at the fleet."
"I said the ship is dying. It is drifting ten thousand clicks an hour."
"If you are hoping I could spare resources for a rescue or a tug boat to tow you to some safe harbor, then you are out of luck. It's just another casualty of war. Besides, Earth doesn't need to know it is not part of the attack; just the threat of Stardiver four loaded with a million angry spacers is enough to force Geneva to its knees."
Whitey raised his bushy eyebrows, "So are you giving up claim to the ship?"
"No. You greedy purse snatcher. Stardiver Four is claimed by the Liberation Brotherhood as a legitimate capture during a time of war. So keep your grubby hands and your two penny salvage license off of her."
"And Whitey, your orders and Stone's are the same. Join the fleet. If you miss the rendezvous, then proceed to the attack of earth." The screen went blank."
With a sigh, Whitey shook his head, grumbling. "I have never failed in a mission."
"No," Bill said from behind as he slipped into the cabin. "But you have been known to change the mission when necessary."
Whitey turned and smiled.
* * * * *
Tom was sleeping the sleep of the exhausted when Dr. Ratts woke him, "I need you to crawl inside the motors again like before. Remember punching out the small discs and pulling the power lines through? I need you to do that again. OK? Get up now, let's go."
"Can't I eat first?"
"No. We are at a standstill right now. You can eat in a few hours."
With continued reluctance, Tom helped assembled the starfighters in the weightless cargo bay. He still hurt from the day before but had no choice except to labor until every muscle he had felt burned. Soon, the cargo bay had two fully assembled star-fighters, and a third was almost done.
Ollie sat in the corridor where the gravity was still in effect. His wolf hearing caught the sound as it approached. It was steady and evil. He hated these robots. He began to growl.
“What's wrong with the dog?” one of the men asked.
Ollie faced the corridor with his head lowered and tail down. The low rumble in his throat was an unmistakable threat that gave men shivers.
“Someone bad is coming,” Tom said.
Ollie backed up as a black metal robot appeared at the door. Its magnetic boots held it to the floor as it blocked the exit.
The robot looked up at the floating workers, “Attention, Masters.” It said in a flat metallic voice. "I am obeying orders from Security officer Regga Aon”
Everyone froze. The men felt for their weapons in their holsters. Tom noticed several pushed themselves into a slow drift to different parts of the cargo bay seeking hiding places. Everyone knew the Security officer, and everyone viewed her with wary mistrust. Some thought she was a spy or agent employed to inform any suspected disloyalty to the Supreme Commander, so Regga Aon was hated by most and feared by all.
“I am to tell you,” The robot went on. “We are drifting near a communications satellite. No radio or transmitters are to be used for any reason until further notice, or it may alert the united worlds about our activities. Failure to comply will be treated with the severest punishment the Red Book allows.” The robot turned and left. All the men relaxed.
“Stupid Regga-Aon.” One of the men said.
“Hush up. Stupid yourself.” Another responded. “That thing can still hear you, you know. It is probably going to Raggedy Ann's face now and play the recording of what you said.”
"What is so funny, you lazy trash?” Came a voice from above. No one saw Captain Stone enter. He peered over a catwalk above them, holding on to the handrail with a white-knuckled grip. His eye patch was over the left eye now, and the ancient sailor's coat hung from his shoulders like a cape. His left hand rested on the hilt of a sword hanging from a red sash around his waist.
“Old Crumbrain just made a joke about Security.” One of the men said.
Stone’s one eye bulged out. “Really? A joke? Crumbrain, you have more guts than I gave you credit for.” Stone looked around. “Where is Ratts?”
“Behind the large container. He has a workbench set up.” Crumbrain said.
"Ratts!" The Captin yelled. "Get up here."
Dr. Ratts pushed himself away from his work area and floated up to the catwalk with ease. He caught a beam that stretched across the "ceiling" above Captain Stone. Looking down, he said, “Yes, Sir?”
“When are the engines going to come online? We are still drifting, man! We need those engines running now.”
“Soon, sir. I have my best men working on it. It is just some interface between the computer and the relays. A little fine-tuning, and we will be ready for a cold start. Do we have the command code for the computer? It would make things easier.”
“The command code is none of your business. Get the engines running. We don’t have much time.”
"Captin, Should I stop working on the starfighters and put all my men on the engines. We have only two assembled, but one is almost ready."
"You thick-headed book bug. Don't you understand? I want the engines running, and all the starfighters assembled, armed, and fueled in time to join the fleet. Now no arguments." He pulled himself along the catwalk to an opening in the upper wall.
"Yes, sir," Ratts muttered under his breath. "You may not get what you want, but you will get what you deserve."
* * * * *
The engine room was below and aft. In its darkened control room, Dr. Ratts' rogue-bot was randomly pulling wires from the walls severing them as he did so. A speaker in his chest played classic rock music written in the 20th century, the beat giving rhythm and cadence to his dance of destruction. His strong arms forced their way behind metal walls and pried electronic units out of their places, which he cast across the room where they crashed with sparks. With unlimited energy, he worked his destructive way through the engine control room, doing silent damage more deadly than a bomb.
* * * * *
Tom was tired. His arms and legs felt like lead. He was not used to such nonstop physical work. Go get some rest, son.” Lieutenant Ratts said softly, “We’ll send a crewman to get you when we need you.”
"Yes, sir, Thank you."
After floating to the exit, Tom pulled himself down to the floor and entered the corridor that still had gravity. With a slow shuffle, he stumbled up the long corridors to his quarters.
He made a decision as he went. The idea came to him slowly. In his quarters, he locked the door and checked it to make sure. His pockets were filled with the small silver discs he had taken from inside the starfighter’s engines and put them on Ratts' cluttered work table. “Whoever thought my science homework would come in handy?” He thought. The salt shaker was still in his pocket. He drew it out and poured salt into Ollie’s water dish, then soaked torn bits of cleaning rag in it. Out of the bag of coins, he removed the old copper ones. He began to stack, first a coin, then salty cloth, then a silver disc, and salty cloth, then a coin, and so on until a small tower stood on the table. He looked at it doubtfully. A low volt wet cell battery. “I hope this works, Ollie old Pal.”
He removed Ollie’s electronic collar and set it on the table. He found some small wires in the boxes of junk parts, just enough to connect the collar to both the top and bottom of the wet cell battery. It made a perfect circuit. Carefully he touched the dot that set the collar to transmit. A faint green light glowed on the side.
Tom leaned close and spoke quickly, “S.O.S., Mayday, S.O.S. Mayday. Attention, Space Rangers. I can only say this once since I may get caught. I am using the communications satellite to boost my signal. Stardiver Four has been captured by a pirate fleet at cirrus 9. They have eight battleships and about a dozen attack craft. They plan to attack earth and take over the United Worlds. Star-fighters will be in the attack. Stardiver four is adrift and is just passing the communications satellite.”
Ollie began barking. He could hear them coming. He knew the distant sound of angry steps. His wolfish instinct inspired the response to go on the attack. He faced the door with head lowered and teeth barred.
Tom slipped the collar back on him. “Let’s hope it worked, boy." Taking apart the wet battery, He tossed the coins back in the bag and the silver discs into the boxes of spare parts.
Bam! Bam! Bam! Someone was pounding on the door.
“Come out of there you." The Captain yelled. "Kid, come out now.”
A bright red spot appeared on the door by the edge next to the touchpad. A laser was being used to cut the door open. They would be inside in seconds. Tom looked around the room, hoping there was an escape he had not noticed before. He saw none.
“Well, boy.” He said to Ollie. “We’ve done our best.”
Standing in the center of the cluttered room, Tom raised the taser and pointed it at the door. "I don't know if this is wrong, but this gun feels good in my hand right now." He felt less troubled about using it.
He knew it was wrong in the back of his mind, and it was wrong to not be bothered by his use of the weapon. Something was happening to his beliefs. "I think my actions are changing my beliefs," he thought. His thumb rested on the button that would change the setting to maximum power, but he decided to leave it on stun.
With a white flash and spray of sparks, the door lock exploded. No more time to think about right or wrong.
(c) Adron To proceed to the next chapter, click here or choose from the table of contents at the sidebar.
With a white flash and spray of sparks, the door lock exploded. No more time to think about right or wrong.
