Read Ship of the Damned Online
Authors: James F. David
Ship of the Damned (13 page)
“Let’s stop at the rest room on the way and wash our hands,” she said, wondering what she had done to deserve this assignment.
“Good,” Ralph said. “Cause I gots to go. And when you gotta go, you gotta go!”
Then Ralph turned to look at Jett, and together they said, “And I really gots to go.”
Ralph snorted and grinned, and followed the woman out of the room. Jett realized that Woolman was staring at him.
“You two seem to be getting along,” Woolman commented.
Instantly, Jett’s smile was gone.
“I’m just kidding him along,” Jett said.
“It wouldn’t pay to get attached to him,” Woolman said. “You know what he’s here for.”
“I don’t get attached,” Jett responded firmly.
Woolman studied Jett’s face as if he was seeing him for the first time. Jett knew his behavior was disconcerting to Woolman, and his position as team leader was in jeopardy. Finally, Woolman turned to Compton.
“What about you? How do you feel about Ralph?”
“He’s irritating,” Compton said. “If I’d had to ride another mile in the car with him I would have sedated him.”
Satisfied with Compton’s hostility, Woolman sat down behind the desk. Unconsciously, his hand came up and began to drum on the table. There were chairs in the office, but Jett and Compton weren’t invited to sit.
“Dr. Lee reports that the field around Pot of Gold has been stable since the disappearance of the Nimitz, although it’s assumed a new shape,” Woolman said, fingers drumming a background beat.
Jett took that as evidence that the Nimitz was inside.
“Your primary objective is to determine if the Nimitz is inside. If it is, then signal us and we’ll send in the marines.”
Jett knew Woolman meant that literally, and that they would attempt to retake the Nimitz and clean out Pot of Gold one Special at a time.
“If the Nimitz is not in Pot of Gold, destroy the generators before exiting. Rainbow will then collapse Pot of Gold. Under no circumstances destroy the generators in Pot of Gold with the Nimitz inside.”
“I understand,” Jett said.
Dr. Lee had explained that they were uncertain of what would happen when Pot of Gold collapsed; the most likely scenario was that anything inside would be crushed, including the two nuclear reactors in the belly of the Nimitz and the carrier’s complement of nuclear warheads. While crushing was unlikely to detonate the warheads, it would release weaponsgrade plutonium, which was the most toxic substance known. Even then, the release of the radioactive material wouldn’t concern them if it remained inside Pot of Gold, but no one was sure what would happen to the contents of Pot of Gold once that little side pocket of the universe was eliminated.
“We insert you in one hour,” Woolman said. “The rest of the team is here and ready.”
Woolman dismissed them by nodding to the door, but Jett held his ground. Compton took a step, then stopped when Jett didn’t follow.
“We should leave Ralph here,” Jett said. “He won’t be any help.”
Woolman’s gray eyes came up to stare at him again, his fingers pausing mid-cadence.
“How do you figure that?” Woolman asked.
“He’s got the intelligence of a ten-year-old. At the first sign of trouble he’ll panic.”
Woolman held Jett’s gaze for a few seconds, then shuffled through the papers on his desk, picking out a sheaf stapled at the corner. Turning several pages, he paused as if reading before saying, “Dr. Martin’s report says Ralph remained cool even when under attack. He saw his friends hurt in front of him yet remained calm and walked right up to the Special that was attacking them. It doesn’t sound to me like he panics.”
Jett noticed that Woolman referred to the psychokinetic that had attacked Dr. Martin’s group as a Special. Had there been an escape from Pot of Gold in which the Special had not been found? Or did Woolman refer to everyone with psi power as a Special?
“Do you think he’ll panic, Compton?” Woolman said. His eyes were still on Jett, even as he spoke to Compton.
“He’s too stupid to panic.”
Jett knew Compton meant that Ralph wasn’t smart enough to know he should be afraid, but Jett doubted that was true. Intelligence overrode instinct; the lower the IQ, the more instinctual the person. Ralph’s willingness to risk his own life to protect his friends might be the most intelligent thing about him.
“If he gets in your way, kill him,” Woolman said.
“Yes, sir,” Compton said.
Jett said nothing and followed Compton out the door. Ralph was coming down the corridor, a can of orange pop in each hand.
“I gots you one, Nate. I didn’t get you one, Karla, cause I didn’t know what you liked. They got grape and they got Mountain Dew. You don’t have to put money in the machine or nothing. I already drank three cans.”
Ralph burped long and loud. Jett smiled briefly, then remembered where they were going with Ralph. He held the smile on the outside, but inside he was remembering Agent Steele. His face had been blackened by the flames and the roasted skin pulled away from the meat underneath. Even when Steele writhed on the ground, screaming, Jett hadn’t felt a thing for him. Now he hoped that Ralph wouldn’t end up like Steele.
T
he dreamers were gathered in Wes’s lab, ready for the integration. The team had integrated five minds in the original experiment, but when that experiment ended tragically, Wes had dismantled the equipment. Fortunately, most of the equipment was still functional, and since they would only integrate four minds this time, they could piece together the necessary components. Fiber optic cabling, electroencephalographic transducer helmets, couplings to join the fiber optics to the supercooled computer, and miscellaneous pieces of cooling and power equipment were put together by Len, who did the engineering using Shamita’s designs.
he dreamers were gathered in Wes’s lab, ready for the integration. The team had integrated five minds in the original experiment, but when that experiment ended tragically, Wes had dismantled the equipment. Fortunately, most of the equipment was still functional, and since they would only integrate four minds this time, they could piece together the necessary components. Fiber optic cabling, electroencephalographic transducer helmets, couplings to join the fiber optics to the supercooled computer, and miscellaneous pieces of cooling and power equipment were put together by Len, who did the engineering using Shamita’s designs.
Cots were placed in the center of the room, heads toward the computer that would intercept their brain waves, with the fiber optic lines kept as short as possible. Three computer stations were set up in a half circle outside the cots. Len monitored physiological functions from sensors taped to the dreamers’ chests, wrists, and the corners of their eyes, and sensors built into the EET helmets. Shamita controlled the intercept of brain waves, correlating brain function with brain region, and then intercepting selected functions and, on command, inhibiting others. From his station Wes monitored the integration using the software he had developed, directing Shamita in the creation of a synthesized consciousness. This time their goal
was to bring the minds of Anita, Margi, Wanda, and Elizabeth together to share a dream. With his program up and running, Wes watched the final preparations of the dreamers. Len worked with Wanda; he was bothered by her smoking.
was to bring the minds of Anita, Margi, Wanda, and Elizabeth together to share a dream. With his program up and running, Wes watched the final preparations of the dreamers. Len worked with Wanda; he was bothered by her smoking.
“You can’t smoke in here,” Len said, fanning Wanda’s smoke from his face.
“Says you,” Wanda replied, sucking long and hard on her cigarette, then blowing the smoke from her nose.
Len was fitting her with an EET helmet, making sure the cap fit tight so the sensors could pick up the minute electrical activity of her brain waves. She blew more smoke in his face.
“You see those gas tanks over there?” Len said. “We use liquid gas to cool the computers. You can’t smoke around that stuff. You could blow this whole place up.”
“What kind of gas?” Wanda asked, flicking ash on the floor.
“Liquid nitrogen,” Len said.
“Who you trying to fool? Air is mostly nitrogen,” Wanda said, her cigarette hanging from the side of her mouth. The tip moved up and down as she spoke, dislodging small amounts of ash with each syllable. “This whole damn room is filled with nitrogen and you don’t see any flames do you? I’m not stupid, young man, and I would take it kindly if you wouldn’t treat me like a doddering old fool. If you’re bothered by my smoking, then just come out and tell me the truth. Don’t make up lies about setting the place on fire.”
“You’re right, I should have been honest,” Len said. “I don’t like your cigarette smoke. Would you mind not smoking in here?”
“Hell yes, I mind,” Wanda said. “They knew I was a smoker when they asked me here, and if you don’t like it then it’s just too damn bad.”
Wanda stubbed out her cigarette and then shook another one from the Lucky Strike package, lighting it with a Bic lighter. Len finished fitting her with the helmet but lingered, watching her defiant smoking.
“Wanda, you remind me of my mother.”
“Is that so?” Wanda said.
“She died last year, and when the funeral director asked how I wanted her body handled, I said ‘Embalm, cremate, and bury her. Take no chances.’”
Wanda guffawed, then went into a fit that was half coughing and half laughing. When she recovered she looked at Len with a smile.
“You’re all right, Lenny,” Wanda said.
“Does that mean you’ll stop smoking?” Len asked.
“No.”
Monica was with Margi. Margi wore a flowered shirt over blue shorts, and her legs were so thin the shorts gaped around her thighs. She twitched occasionally, and her eyes were in constant motion, flicking from side to side at even slight movements. They were mapping Margi’s motor cortex; she moved her legs and arms as Monica directed, while Shamita recorded from her station.
Margi had deteriorated noticeably since they had visited her in Tulsa. Her eyes were set in even deeper hollows, and her cheeks had become concave. Her lips were cracked as if she were dehydrated, and her short blonde hair was oily and tangled. Emaciated, tense, and often confused, she was dying in a balanced fashion; psychological death and physical death perfectly synchronized.
Elizabeth entered with Anita, her mother letting go of her hand only when they reached the door to the laboratory. Anita had deteriorated, too, Wes realized; she looked tired and had dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was again fixed in two pigtails, and she wore jeans and a sweatshirt with Bugs Bunny on the front. She still needed new front teeth, but most noticeable was her lack of energy—a little more life had been drained from her. She shuffled her feet, hung her head morosely, and didn’t speak until spoken to. Elizabeth fussed over her like a mother, carefully fitting her EET helmet, talking to her constantly, reminding her of when she had worn it before. After placing the sensors at the corners of Anita’s eyes, Elizabeth took the cot next to hers, putting on her own helmet and adjusting it until Shamita signalled that she had good contact. Margi’s and Wanda’s cortexes were already mapped, and since they had used Elizabeth and Anita before, Wes called up their stored cognitive maps. They were ready.
“It’s time to relax,” Wes said. “I know it will be difficult in a strange situation, but try to go to sleep.”
The lights were dimmed and they lay in silence. Anita, Margi, and Elizabeth closed their eyes and began breathing deeply, following Wes’s instructions. Wanda still held a cigarette between her lips; she lay with her eyes open, blowing smoke rings into the air which Len systematically destroyed with waves of his hand. Wanda chuckled the first time he did that, enjoying Len’s irritation. Wes worried that she would keep the others awake, but Anita relaxed almost immediately, first showing Alpha waves on Len’s monitor and then the sharp bursts of electrical activity called sleep spindles.
“Anita’s passing through stage four sleep,” Len whispered. “We’ve gone
from two cps to four cps with spindles of fourteen to sixteen cps.” Then a few seconds later he said, “Here comes REM.”
from two cps to four cps with spindles of fourteen to sixteen cps.” Then a few seconds later he said, “Here comes REM.”
“We won’t wait for the others to sleep,” Wes said, knowing it wasn’t necessary. “Put them under.”
One by one, Shamita intercepted their brain waves, then sent interference signals that shut down parts of their motor cortex.
Margi lost her nervous shakes and lay still, eyes slowly closing. Wanda was still smoking when she was relaxed; Len snatched the cigarette from her lips before it fell, crushing it out violently. Elizabeth went under last. Wes watched on his monitor as their minds ceased to function independently, slowly coming to match brain wave activity. They were becoming one mind, and sharing one dream.
S
ix agents would enter Pot of Gold to scout for the Nimitz. Jett had declined Woolman’s offer of more. If it came to a fight, and it could, they would be fighting in narrow corridors, and under those conditions even six might be too many.
ix agents would enter Pot of Gold to scout for the Nimitz. Jett had declined Woolman’s offer of more. If it came to a fight, and it could, they would be fighting in narrow corridors, and under those conditions even six might be too many.
Jett’s team was preparing in a series of cubicles along one wall, where each team member dressed and was fitted with equipment. Each agent was given a hip unit to be used for returning, and a weapon specially designed to operate in Pot of Gold. They had trained with the weapons before picking up Ralph, and been briefed on the layout of the ship.
Jim Peters was in the first cubicle. He was nearly as tall as Jett, but leaner, with a lanky figure and white-blonde hair. His eyebrows were so light, they were nearly invisible, giving his face an open, expressionless look. He might have been skinny in high school, but now he had enough bulk to make him useful. A technician tightened the straps to his unit, and Peters looked up and winked. Jett nodded a greeting in response. Jett disliked people who communicated with various facial expressions. Peters was a reliable agent, however, and Jett had worked with him before.
Billy Thompson was suiting next to Peters. Thompson was a black man,
and Jett had strong feelings about people of color. Minorities were either a plus or a minus in his line of work, and rarely a wash. Black men like Thompson stood out in white communities, drawing unwanted attention; in mixed-race communities they gave you an advantage. This was one of those times when it wouldn’t matter what color Thompson was.
and Jett had strong feelings about people of color. Minorities were either a plus or a minus in his line of work, and rarely a wash. Black men like Thompson stood out in white communities, drawing unwanted attention; in mixed-race communities they gave you an advantage. This was one of those times when it wouldn’t matter what color Thompson was.
Thompson had played professional football for two years, never getting into a regular season game. He was cut the third year and not picked up by another team. He had the size of a lineman, and near NFL speed. Those who had seen him in action said he would be a good match for Jett. Now Thompson was suited up, checking his weapon. He nodded to Jett as he passed.
Compton was in the next cubicle, stepping into the fire-resistant coveralls Dr. Lee had provided. She wore snug-fitting underwear, designed by the same person who had created the fire suits they would wear. Thompson or Peters might have appreciated Compton’s figure, but Jett noticed only the lack of muscle mass. She wouldn’t last long against him despite her fancy Asian fighting skills. Compton saw him looking and turned, pulling her coverall on and zipping the front.
The survivor of the second entry into Pot of Gold was in the next cubicle. He was dressed, but his burn scars grew out of his coveralls and onto his face like some hideous ivy climbing the wall of a building. The scars were thick ropes along his neck, spreading into overlapping plates of scar tissue that covered most of his face. His eyes peered through hollows bored in the scar tissue, and Jett thought it a miracle that he had kept his sight. The flames had licked up to his eyebrows before being extinguished. There was hair on the right side of his head, but on the left side were merely patches of hair among the scars.
When Jett had first met Robin Evans, he had not been impressed. Evans was retired from active duty and living on a disability pension, and Jett thought he would be soft, his skills atrophied. Instead, he found him in excellent physical condition; also, his fighting skills had honed quickly. He wasn’t in Jett’s league, but he was an acceptable team member. Evans was a survivor who had spent years undergoing skin grafts and reconstructive surgery. He was tough physically—all scar tissue—and had a will to live that had kept him alive through an experience most people begged not to survive. Evans lived for the chance to get revenge on those who had roasted him alive. Jett knew he might be reckless, but recklessness can be managed, and it can be used.
Ralph was in the final cubicle, waiting for Jett. He was wearing one of
the silvery coveralls and admiring himself. When Jett came in, he was staring at his arm while a technician finished putting on his hip unit, and holding a can of orange pop in his hand.
the silvery coveralls and admiring himself. When Jett came in, he was staring at his arm while a technician finished putting on his hip unit, and holding a can of orange pop in his hand.
“Hi, Nate,” Ralph said. “This thing is so shiny I can see myself. Can I keep it? Can I? I want to show it to Doctor Binham.”
“We’ll see, Ralph,” Jett said.
Jett undressed, slipping on the same undergarments he had seen Compton wearing, and then stepped into the coverall. Ralph watched—to Jett it felt like having a dog watch you undress. It’s not embarrassing, only disconcerting. The technician switched his attention to Jett, helping him into the harness holding the power pack, and the hip unit, which wrapped around his waist and literally sat on his hip. Dr. Lee had explained that the unit circling his waist was a coil designed to generate an intense magnetic field. They wouldn’t use it to enter Pot of Gold, but once inside they could use it to exit.
The technician checked Jett’s hip unit and then switched it to standby, a yellow light glowing on the belt in front of Jett. Finally he handed Jett his weapon, an oversized black pistol with an armored hose that attached to cylinders of gas in the lower part of his pack. The tank was pressurized, and the gun fired a .222 caliber Teflon bullet. The bullets were fed down the pressurized armored hose so there was never a need to reload.
“Is that a gun, Nate? It looks like a gun sort of,” Ralph said. “Guns are bad, Nate. You shouldn’t play with them.”
“I’m allowed to, Ralph. I have a license to carry a gun.”
Ralph folded his arms across his chest and leaned back, hips pushed out, lips puckered.
“I don’t know, Nate, I don’t like guns much. You could hurt somebody with a gun.”
“It’s not a real gun, Ralph,” Jett said. “It’s an air gun.”
“A Daisy? It’s a BB gun?”
“Yeah, sort of a BB gun.”
Now Ralph’s face reformed into a smile. “Well okee-dokee then.”
Next, the technician placed the special bomb in the top half of Jett’s pack. Chemical explosives wouldn’t work inside Pot of Gold; nor would nuclear devices, Jett had been assured. So Dr. Lee had designed a different kind of bomb suited for Pot of Gold. Evans carried an identical bomb, and Peters and Thompson each carried a signalling device to be used to contact Rainbow.
Now Jett looked Ralph over from head to foot, making sure his suit was
sealed tight, his harness secured, his hip unit functional. As he was finishing, the others gathered outside the cubicle. When Ralph saw Evans, his face reshaped into concern.
sealed tight, his harness secured, his hip unit functional. As he was finishing, the others gathered outside the cubicle. When Ralph saw Evans, his face reshaped into concern.
“Did something happen to you?” Ralph asked.
Evans stared back, mute. Jett knew Ralph wouldn’t give up until he had his questions answered.
“He was burned,” Jett said.
“I bet it hurt. I burned my arm on a stove one time. I gots a scar too. You want to see it?”
“No!” Evans said, then rested his hand on his gun. “Shut him up, Jett, or I will.”
Evans’s threat brought back a memory from Jett’s childhood. He was playing basketball in the school yard when a neighbor girl came to tell him that Jason was in trouble. Jett found his brother in an alley, three older boys on top of him, pulling his clothes off. Nose bloody, dirty face streaked with tears, he was clinging desperately to his underpants while the older boys laughed. Barely slowing, Jett scooped up a hand-sized rock. He broke the nose of the first boy with his weighted fist, knocking him out of the fight. When the other boys stood to face him, Jett threw the rock at the head of the biggest one, and when the boy’s hands came up to protect his face, Jett kicked him in the groin, then pounded his head when he bent over from the pain. The third boy ran while Jett beat the second boy into a fetal position.
Jett had been mother, father, and guardian angel to Jason, but after his brother stepped in front of the train, Jett had repressed those protective instincts. Now he found himself facing off with another bully, that buried protective feeling digging its way out of its grave. Silently cursing himself for caring, Jett stepped in front of Evans, his face inches from the mat of scars.
“No one touches Ralph,” Jett said.
Evans stared long and hard before looking away. Jett turned to each of the others in turn. Thompson was checking his straps, disinterested. Peters winked at Jett, which Jett took as acquiescence. Compton merely looked at him quizzically. Then Jett introduced the others before Ralph asked. Ralph shook hands with Peters and Thompson, but Evans turned away. As usual, Ralph took the rebuff good-naturedly.
“Let’s get to the portal,” Jett said.
“I gots to go to the bathroom,” Ralph said. “And when you gotta go, you gotta go. And I really gots to go.”
Ralph smiled, but Jett didn’t join in their routine.
“For real, Ralph?” Jett said.
“For reals!” Ralph said.
The others groaned as Jett began helping Ralph out of his harness and coverall.
After the bathroom trip, Jett hurried Ralph into his equipment. He had to get the mission underway before Ralph could irritate them any more. All agents were government killers, and while they wouldn’t kill Ralph at Rainbow, he wanted to be sure that Ralph left Pot of Gold alive.
Jett herded Ralph toward the back of the facility and up the stairs to the platform leading to the three large black rings. The rest of the team waited on the platform. Jett checked Ralph’s, hip unit again, and then his own. They were both glowing yellow. When the others had their weapons ready, Jett shouted down to Dr. Lee.
“We’re ready!”
Dr. Lee was leaning over a technician’s shoulder, his glasses balanced precariously on the end of his nose.
“Yes, yes. The door will open soon.”
“I don’t see a door, Nate,” Ralph said. “Do you see a door?”
“Shut him up,” Evans said.
Evans was tense, and needed silence to prepare for what was ahead.
“Here we go,” Dr. Lee shouted.
It started with a low hum, just above threshold. The hum built quickly, getting proportionally louder and higher in frequency. Jett’s skin prickled and his hair felt as if it were alive.
“You look funny,” Ralph said. “Your hair’s sticking up, Nate.”
“It’s static electricity,” Jett said.
“Neat,” Ralph said, then reached out with his finger toward the railing. A blue spark an inch long arced between his finger and the rail. “Ouch,” Ralph yelled, shaking his hand.
“I forgot to tell you,” Dr. Lee yelled. “There is danger of shock! Don’t touch anything metal.”
“Don’t touch the rail,” Ralph said. “It hurt.”
Now the air was crackling, and Jett felt as if his body was carrying a charge that could stun an elephant.
“Don’t touch each other,” Jett said.
They all moved apart, except for Ralph, who was holding his hand out in front of him, palm up. His hand was glowing. Jett’s were glowing too.
“This is it,” Dr. Lee said. “Go as soon as you see the opening.”
The buzz was all around them; then suddenly the air sizzled. Jett
looked down the platform through the archways created by the half doughnuts and saw a shimmery wave. Quickly it became a green oval.
looked down the platform through the archways created by the half doughnuts and saw a shimmery wave. Quickly it became a green oval.
“That’s it, let’s move,” Jett ordered.
He hurried forward, Ralph and the others following. Slowing just before he reached the oval, Jett put a leg in first. It disappeared, but he felt nothing. With Ralph and his team right behind him, Jett stepped all the way into the green light and vanished.
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