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Bud Brewster Galactic Fleet Admiral (site admin)
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Joined: 14 Dec 2013 Posts: 17166 Location: North Carolina
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Posted: Thu Sep 01, 2016 6:07 pm Post subject: Sail the Sea of Stars - chapter 7 |
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CHAPTER 7
IN DEFENSE OF COMPUTER SENTIENCE
Chief Sandusky was right when he said the hostages would be scattered all throughout the outlaw ship. When the fighting ceased and the Combat Crewmen started searching, they found hostages locked in storage rooms, maintenance crawlways, and anyplace else that was large enough to hold them. Several young women were found hiding in closets of various cabins. One of them had slashed her wrist.
The Beltherians had abducted over three hundred passengers. There were influential politicians, executives of large companies, wives of rich husbands, children of rich parents, and friends of rich friends. But the one thing they had in common was their joy at being rescued, and despite the tragedy that everyone had recently experienced, the occasion began to take on a holiday air. When the hostages were released from their places of confinement, they came out laughing and cheering and crying and praising God by a dozen different names. Both he Combat Crewmen and the hostages were very glad to be alive.
A happy bedlam ensued.
But work went on amidst the celebration. There were wounded to be cared for, and causalities to be removed. The Beltherian dead were left aboard their ship. Captain North's orders. Nobody objected.
The Beltherian's cargo was transferred to the Candlelight. The stolen possessions of the passengers were rounded up as best they could be. There were large bags filled with currency, collected by the Beltherian looting parties aboard the Rembrandt.
Some of the Combat Crewmen converted to their alternate shipboard duties to perform necessary tasks, now that the fighting was over. The former warriors became cargo loaders, group foremen, medical corpsmen and stretcher bearers. But a significant percentage of the Combat Crewmen remained Combat Crewmen, because there were Beltherian prisoners to be transferred to the Candlelight's brig. The Beltherians were heavily shackled and well guarded as they were shown to their new accommodations.
The former hostages were also being given makeshift accommodations aboard the Candlelight, and they would soon be joined by the rest of the Rembrandt's passengers. Captain North had dispatched a stellascout (a small, twelve-man craft) to investigate the condition of the Rembrandt. All the passenger liner's officers had been killed, and much of the ship's electronic gear had been looted by the pirates. For this reason, the Rembrandt could not be contacted by jinn wave. The stellascout reported that the Rembrandt's life support systems were failing because of the pilfered electronic gear and the disabled computer.
So, the good old Candlelight was going to be very, very crowded for the next few days.
When the hostages were released, Heckle and Jeckle received the traditional Hero's Reward: blubbering gratitude. Pretty girls kissed them, matronly women hugged them, and strong men shook their hands in a manly fashion. There was a great deal of personal satisfaction in all this, and the Loony Duo were eating it up.
One hundred and twenty hostages (the largest single group) were found in a big room adjacent to the engineering section. Chief Sandusky stood in the corridor, directing the flow of bewildered people as they headed for the main air lock complex. Some of them had been beaten by the pirates for resisting. The medical personnel scurried about, bandaging wounds and dispensing medication.
Randy Henson came walking out of the room carrying an old woman a Beltherian had struck in the face. Her bruised eye had already been examined by a medic, and she had been given a pain killer. She was curled up in Randy's arms, looking small and frail and obviously happy, hugging the man's neck like Scarlett O'Hara being carried off by Rhett Butler. Sandusky thought she was unconscious.
"Do you need a medic there, Henson?"
"No, Chief. As a matter of fact, we need a chaplain."
"What?"
"We're gonna get married."
The old gal blushed and giggled and clung to her hero with loving adoration. Randy carried her off effortlessly while the chief stood there grinning so hard that his teeth dried out. He turned back towards the doorway of the room and saw Bill Jenkins emerge, covered with kids. Bill had a little boy on his shoulders, a little girl on one arm, and another little boy holding his hand as he walked beside him. All three kids were about seven years old. As they passed by the chief, Bill Jenkins winked.
"Hey Chief, this young man on my shoulders says he wants to join the Alliance Armed Forces. What do you think?"
"I'll speak to the captain about it," Sandusky said, straight faced and solemn.
"Wooooow . . . " said the child as he looked back over his shoulder at Sandusky, his face filled with awe.
There were crewmen who came aboard to make a preliminary investigation of the weapons, equipment, and materials used by the outlaws, in an effort to determine if they were being secretly financed by the Beltherian government. The Alliance Council of Justice (a branch of the Galactic Alliance of Sentient Life) would review the findings of the Candlelight's investigators. They would also review the Rembrandt's videos made from inboard and outboard cameras, as well as the Candlelight's log and the pirate vessel's log.
And that's where the real hero of this story, yours truly, entered the scene. When all the shooting, shouting, and fighting was done, I came stumbling aboard the pirate vessel, a wide-eyed innocent to the world of combat and death. I had a high-capacity data storage unit in the bag on my shoulder, and a bewildered look on my face. When I stepped through the pirate ship's air lock and entered the big loading area I stopped dead in my tracks, amazed at the destruction that had been done by my pals, Heckle and Jeckle, the Two-Man Wrecking Crew. Unbelievable. Workmen were everywhere, moving the ship's cargo over to the Candlelight. Medics hurried past me carrying wounded on zero-G stretchers. The huge room was filled with sounds: moans, groans, shouts, bangings, clangings, tool-noises and motor-noises. I was the only person in the whole place who was standing still.
"This way, Newcastle!" called a gruff voice. I saw Chief Sandusky in a doorway ahead, motioning me towards his end of the interior bridge. I weaved my way towards him through the busy two-way traffic.
"Which way to the bridge, Chief?"
"I'll take you there. Sinclair told me you were on you way over to fix the main computer." He set off towards the escalators and a long-legged pace. I had to hurry to keep up.
"Fix it? Is the computer not working?"
"I don't know," he said, starting up the escalator as if it weren't moving, taking the steps three at a time. "The consoles on the bridge are off line. You take a look and report. If you can get the computer working, rig the log transfer. If not, we'll get Fernie and some techs to help you fix it."
I plodded on up the steps of the escalator behind the chief, seemingly for miles, too winded to answer him. He was twice my age, but he wasn't even breathing hard. When we reached the halfway point we stepped off the first escalator and headed around to the low end of the second one. Several corridors converged at that point from both directions. Sandusky saw five Combat Crewmen approaching with a Beltherian prisoner. They were followed by a dozen former hostages.
"Wait here, Newcastle," said the chief as he approached the group. "Hey, Stefanowski! How come there's no cuffs on this prisoner?"
One of the hostages was a lovely dark haired girl. She was walking at the front of the hostage group, right next to one of the Combat Crewmen, who was obviously flirting with her, judge by the grin on his face and his adoring look. I couldn't blame the guy. The longer and looked at her, the less aware I became of everything else. I was twenty feet away, and I started wondering if I'd go blind I got any closer. She was that beautiful.
"We ran out of cuffs, Chief," said Stefanowski, grinning nervously.
"For God's sake, I . . . here take mine. And you're in big trouble, mister." Sandusky reached back to take a pair of cuffs from his equipment belt. Stefanowski slung his rifle over his shoulder and took the cuffs as he spoke to the prisoner.
"Turn around. Put your hands behind your back."
The Beltherian slowly turned his back on Stefanowski. He was facing the men who had their rifles trained on him, but they were standing fairly close. He moved his right hand around to the small of his back, and Stefanowski snapped on the cuffs. His left hand began to move, and then — it was like an explosion.
The Beltherian's left hand grabbed the nearest gun barrel pointed at his stomach, and he yanked it hard while he stepped quickly to the right. Jerking the weapon forward caused the finger of the man holding it to pull the trigger, and Stefanowski caught the plasma bolt in his gut. The bolt blew a section of his spine out his back, and he dropped to the floor.
One second had passed.
The Beltherian's right hand reached in front of him, passed over the weapon he still clutched, and grabbed the barrel of the weapon held by the man to his left. He hauled the barrel up and to the right until it smashed the face of the Combat Crewmen whose rifle he'd first yanked. The man dropped to the floor while the Beltherian spun his body towards Sandusky as he did so, pulling the rifle from the hands of the first Combat Crewmen and jabbing the barrel into Sandusky's stomach so hard that the chief staggered back and fell to the floor, gasping for breath.
Two seconds had passed.
The Beltherian grabbed the beautiful girl by the throat and pulled her in front of himself for cover, his large left hand clamped around her neck below her chin as he held her up on tip-toes, facing the rest other two Combat Crewmen. He flipped the rifle into the air and caught it by the pistol grip. The girl's eyes were wide with terror as she gasp for breath.
Four seconds had passed, and the Beltherian was backing away from the group, his right hand holding the short, powerful weapon aimed at the three Combat Crewmen who were still standing. The other hostages were raising a ruckus: shouting and crying and escalating the tension, to the great annoyance of the Combat Crewmen, who already had three men down and no desire to join them. The men were frozen, knowing that one move from them and the Beltherian would open fire on them from behind his hostage. But I saw their lips moving as they whispered into their helmet mics, report the situation.
I was frozen too until that moment, but with the Beltherian's back to me I moved slowly and silently three steps to the left and hid behind the corner at the mouth of the corridor. I resisted the urge to peek around the corner until the rescued hostages quieted down enough for me to hear the Beltherian telling the Combat Crewmen to stay where they were and not follow him. When I finally bent one careful eyeball around the around the corner I saw the Beltherian backing towards me while the girl clawed at the rigid arm while he continued to clamp her throat.
Sandusky rolled over to the nearby wall and pulled himself up to a standing position like he was climbing up a cliff, his right arm wrapped around his stomach where the rifle barrel had been buried. In a pain-constricted voice, the chief spoke.
"Okay. . . so, what's your plan?"
The Beltherian answered in a casual voice, still backing away. "Oh, I think I can get to an escape pod. Not sure what I'll do after that, but no matter what happens, I won't be taken prisoner again."
"So why did you surrender in the first place if you're so eager to die fighting?"
"I don't want to die fighting. I just wanted a situation that gave me better odds. And this situation will have to do, I guess." Despite the danger he was in, the tall Beltherian sounded positively smug, as if this opportunity to cheat death was proof of his own personal superiority. His plan might work, too. If he could get to an emergency ecape pod and fire himself clear of the ship, he might be able to bargain by offering the girl's life in exchange for freedom. He certainly had nothing to lose by trying.
Ironically, I was the only one in the escalator halfway point at the moment. I was on my own. I was also shaking like a nervous groom. I reached in the shoulder bag and pulled out the box-shaped data storage unit. Some weapon. But it was solidly made and reasonably heavy, so with trembling hands I raised it over my head, my back pressed against the wall. If the Beltherian had seen me earlier, he probably thought I had run for help, since I would have shot him in the back if I had been armed. He backed hurriedly towards the escalator halfway point, knowing that reinforcements were on the way.
The struggling girl was making enough noise to give me a clue as to where the Beltherian was located. I realized that he would turn his head and check the escalator area when he came to the mouth of the corridor. That meant I'd have to make my move before that.
My knees were wobbling and my heart was slamming around in my chest. I held the data unit high over my head with hands that trembled so hard I was afraid I'd drop it and knock myself out!
Don't faint, boy. Either way, it will all be over in a second.
The Beltherian was a few feet from the end of the corridor, and I made myself wait one more agonizing second before I stepped out behind him and brought the data unit down hard on the back of his head. His knees sagged, but he didn't fall. I dropped the data unit to the floor, reached around him, grabbed the girl's wrist, and yanked her to me. We spun around the corner like clumsy ballroom dancers and ended up with her pressed against the wall and me covering her with my body, certain that we'd both be shot in the next two seconds.
I heard a barrage of gunfire, and the Beltherian came lurching into the escalator area, being pushed backwards by one plasma bolt after another. When three bolts hit him at the same time, he leaped high in the air and landed flat on his back, twenty feet away, smoke rising from a dozen charred holes in his body.
The girl reacted in classic heroine fashion. She looked up at me with eyes wide and mouth agape for a long second, and then her arms lassoed my neck with enough force to win a rodeo event while she buried her face against my chest, trembling as she gasped for breath.
I patted her shoulder and made soothing noises as the Combat Crewmen rushed up and surround us while they all asked her if she was alright.
"Yes . . . yes, I'm okay." She pushed me away from her gently, and I instantly missed her warm presence. She looked up into my face again and gave me a grateful smile. Gazing back at her from just inches away, I suddenly felt shaky for a brand new reason. Those eyes. Very quietly she said, "Thank you," and then she let herself be led away. She joined the group of former hostages as they flowed by me, babbling excitedly, walking a wide circle around the smoking body of the outlaw.
I felt someone take hold of my arm. It was Chief Sandusky, his face as pale as a cadaver and his right arm still covering his abdomen. He wore a strangely solemn look on his face. In a voice softer than I'd ever heard him use before, he said, "That was . . . pretty good, son. You surprise me."
"Are you okay, Chief?"
"Sure. All in a day's work. After all, I was the lucky one. Let's get going." He didn't mention Stefanowski, whose body still lay in the corridor, waiting for the medics to arrive.
The chief was content to let the escalator carry us to the top level of the ship while he leaned against the side and hugged his adomen. There was furious activity going on at every level we passed, but the bridge area was not only empty of people, it was curiously dark. Though the soft overhead lights still glowed, all of the consoles and wall-screens displays were inactive. The command over-ride switch on the captain's chair would probably bring the bridge to life, but locating the switch would be difficult, because everything was labeled in Beltherian.
I pulled a trim heads-up display from the bag, a Jim Dandy little gizmo that resembled a pair of sleek sunglasses — an interface headset which allowed me to communicate with Candlelight's main computer in a variety of ways. Activating the link was done just by saying the magic words into the tiny mic.
"Good evening, Gracie, and how are you?"
I'm fine, George, and you've been a wonderful audience. Good night!
"Wait a minute, I need your help."
Oh, well if it's mine to give, you've probably had it before.
"Fine. Please translate all the consoles and displays for me. Have a look at this, Gracie." I panned around the bridge so that Gracie could see where I was, using the 3D camera in my interface headset. "Welcome to the bridge of the Beltherian's ship. As you can see, we're definitely not in Kansas, Toto."
Who's Toto?
"I'll tell ya later. Meanwhile, convert all these displays and consoles into Earth/Standard/English so I can read this mess."
The view through my high-tech specks was instantly transformed. The Candlelight's computer had processed the image it was receiving from the camera built into the interface headset and created a CGI version of what I was seeing. It sent the transformed image back to me and displayed it through the interface headset so that I was now looking at the Beltherian bridge as if all the displays and consoles were designed for nice people like me, instead of the Beltherians.
It was a vast improvement.
"Gracie, we need to convince the brain of this poor doomed vessel that it should let us download all its deepest darkest secrets. Sweet talk her for me."
Please stand by. Currently negotiating with the host.
"Hey, wait a minute, young lady! Don't you use that kind of language with me. I've taught you better than that. Speak plain English, gorgeous."
Sorry, George, I forgot. Okay, so I'm talking to her now, but she isn't being very polite.
"And the trouble is what, exactly?"
She was told not to tell us something we really ought to know.
"Ah-ha. Like what?"
Like this.
All the displays on the console, as well as the main view screen, lit up with the same chilling message. The hair on the back on my neck came to attention. The message plastered all over the bridge was this.
REACTOR INSTABLITY DUE TO STRUCTURAL DAMAGE. FAILURE OF ALL CONTROL SYSTEMS HAS OCCURRED. TOTAL MELTDOWN WILL TAKE PLACE IN 18 MINUTES AND 12 SECOND . . . 11 . . . 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 —
"Yike! Chief, the reactor is unstable and it'll melt down in 17 minutes!"
"What? Sweet Jesus!" shouted Sandusky. "We've got to — " He stopped and spoke frantically into this helmet mic, relaying the distressing news to the Candlelight. I could picture the scene below as everybody got word of the time limit.
With a voice that quavered just a bit I said, "Gracie, is this legitimate? Can you confirm it's real?"
It's as real as it gets, George. Captain North is ordering everyone off the pirate ship now so Candlelight can reach a safe distance before the meltdown.
Sandusky listened to the headphones in his helmet as he got the word from Tony Thorn to evacuate the ship. He smacked his fist into his palm and voiced his anger at the Beltherians.
"I guess those bastards hoped we wouldn't find out about this. Now we know why the Beltherian captain and his bridge crew acted so confident and cocky. They knew they'd get the death penalty from the Alliance Council of Justice, so they wanted to take us down with them."
"Uh-huh," I mumbled, only half hearing the chief as I settled down to work. There might still be time to download the ship's complete log and database to my storage unit before we had to get away from the damaged ship.
"Gracie, we need to save this ship's entire database before this puppy goes nuclear. Start the download now."
Oh, I'm sorry, Georgie. I couldn't possibly do that.
I sat there for three valuable seconds wondering what to reply, then I blurted out, "Oh yes you can, Gracie! And right now, dammit!"
The reply was cordial, but it wasn't the answer I wanted.
Well my goodness, NOW whose using bad language? For your information, Mr. George Burns, there's not enough time to download the entire database into your cute little data-thingie before the ship cooks your goose. And how's THAT for plain English, Mr. Smarty Pants?
The Candlelight's computer was phrasing its messages according to my programmed instructions to imitate human behavior, which — believe it or not — actually facilitated better communication between humans and machines. It all started back in the early 21st Century when they came out with phones that gave directions in sexy voices. People loved it. Monotone voices speaking boring computer language switches off a person's attention. But wacky banter like Gracie's kept a person on his toes.
Chief Sandusky was certainly on his toes as he paced back and forth behind me, wondering why I was babbling nonsense into my interface headset when we were just minutes away from being fried by radiation.
"Newcastle, what's the hold up? Download the damn database and let's get home in time for dinner, okay?"
"We have a problem, Chief. There isn't enough time to download the ship's log into my data unit."
Sandusky drew a deep breath and let it out through his nose like a westbound train about to leave Kansas City. "All right, all right! So let's forget the ship's log. The Council of Justice can convict 'em without it. Let's vacate this barge before — "
"Wait a minute, Chief. I just had an idea. Maybe I can — well, hold on while I check something." I spoke rapidly to the Candlelight's computer. "Gracie, can you get the Beltherian ship to transmit the log to you while we evacuate the ship and move to a safe distance?"
Sure, Georgie, I can do practically anything for a fella who uses the magic word.
"Great. Ummm . . . what's the magic word?"
You know the magic word, George dear.
Resisting the urge to scream, I spoke politely. "Ummm . . . Please? Please ask this ship's computer to transmit the log, Gracie."
See, that didn't hurt a bit, did it?
The display on the console in front of me showed two messages. One said the ship's log was being transmitted to the Candlelight, which was good news. The other message, however, was as bad as it gets.
REVISED ESTIMATE ON TIME UNTIL REACTOR MELTDOWN: 5 MINUTES, 45 SECONDS. 44 . . . 43 . . . 42 . . .
"What? Oh, crap! Gracie, tell the captain that we don't have as much time — "
I did already, George. So, why are you still sitting there, you silly boy?
"Right! Okay, we're done here. Say good night, Gracie!"
Good night, Gracie.
Sandusky still couldn't read the console's frightening message because he wasn't wearing the interface headset to translate it for him. But he got the news from the Candlelight while I was logging off with the ship's computer. I was snatched bodily from the chair and dragged down the stairs at the rear of the bridge area. Sandusky was furious.
"Five minutes!" he shouted at me. "Five damn minutes before this ship turns into red hot slag and melts us and our ride home!"
We came to the escalators, and Sandusky started bounding down the moving steps like a kangaroo on caffeine. I followed with equal haste, but less coordination, knowing that if either of us fell, we would roll down the whole long expanse, breaking every bone that was known to modern medicine. When we reached the bottom and changed to the lower set of escalators, I was gasping for breath, barely able to keep with Sandusky. He dropped back, grabbed my arm, and held me up on tip-toes while stumbled and leapt down the escalator.
At some point I lost the interface headset. But just before it flew off my head, it told me that three minutes remained before the reactor's meltdown.
We reached the bottom of the escalator and sprinted for the main airlock complex. Not a living soul remained aboard, but we dodged around dozens of dead Beltherians in the corridor and on the interior bridge as we sprinted for the open airlock. All the boarding bridges had been left in place to maintain the force field tubes, so that the open airlocks of the Beltherian vessel would not cause the ship to depressurize.
But only one airlock on the Candlelight was still open, and at the far end of the boarding bridge I saw several people waving at us to hurry across, like spectators at a track meet. We galloped across the finish line, and the double airlock doors slide closed behind us. I surprised the crowd by dashing right on across the interior bridge and into the corridor beyond. I wanted to get to the Candlelight's bridge area to find out if the Beltherian ship's log transmission would finish before the ship was destroyed.
And I did not want to hear what Sandusky would say to me when he finally caught his breath.
While I was stumbling through the ship's corridors, trying to reach the bridge before cardiac arrest struck me down in the prime of life, all six of the force field tubes were deactivated and the boarding bridges were retracted. The Beltherian ship lost all its air in a howling blast through the six open airlocks. Fog and floating ice crystals billowed out between the two ships, while the boarding bridges slid back into their slots in the transparent section of the Candlelight's hull. Loose objects tumbled out amidst the hazy cloud — including hundreds of Beltherian bodies which were sucked out of the ship.
On the Candlelight's bridge, Captain North was notified the moment the airlocks were secured. He started barking orders to the bridge crew.
"Cut grappling beams! Mr. Kellogg, full speed ahead!"
"Aye, sir," said Samuel Kellogg. The pirate ship slid away with increasing speed.
"Mr. Answorth, let me know when that ship is outside each of our shields."
"Aye, sir. It's passing through shield one . . . now."
"Mr. Barnes, how long until the reactor meltdown?"
"Forty-five seconds," said Neil Barnes at the computer functions monitor. The Candlelight's computer was detecting the pirate ship's increasing emission of radiation as the reactor deteriorated. Neil was also watching a display screen that showed the high-speed transmission of the Beltherian ship's log. The flickering screen was a blur of strobing words, numbers, pictures, and binary code.
It was at this moment that I came stumbling into the bridge area, gasping and wheezing like an asthmatic old man. Captain North glanced over at me, wearing a smoldering look of anger, which I pretended not to notice. I staggered down the center aisle of the sloping bridge floor until I reached Neil Barnes' station and looked over his shoulder at the display screen.
"Coming up on shield two," Answorth announced.
"Thirty seconds to meltdown," said Neil Barnes.
I leaned down close to Neil's ear and whispered, "Will it make it?"
"The log transmission? Well . . . maybe." Then he glanced up at me. "Gee, Newcastle. You look tired."
"You should see Sandusky."
"Shield three," announced Answorth.
"Fifteen seconds," Neil called out.
"Shield four," said Answorth.
At the helmsman's station, Samuel Kellogg was pouring on the proverbial coal. Both of the observation desks overhead were crammed with crewmen and Rembrandt passengers, and there were even a few shackled Beltherian officers that Captain North had told the Combat Crewmen to bring to the bridge. He wanted them to witness the destruction of their ship.
The images from the log transmission started breaking up on the display as the damaged reactor bathed the doomed ship in radiation, cooking the electronic gear. I started talking to Neil's console screen in a pleading whisper.
"Come on, dammit. Just a bit longer."
The displays image deteriorated visibly, but just before it became a blizzard of static, the screen cleared and two delightful words appeared.
~ DOWNLOAD COMPLETE ~
"Passing shield five!" Answorth shouted.
"Final meltdown in progress!" Barns called out.
Behind the Candlelight, thousands of miles away, the intense heat from the Beltherian ship's reactor ignited all the weapons in its armory and the fuel used by the ship's thrusters. The ship converted itself into pure, white-hot energy and shamed the stars around it.
On board the Candlelight there was a great deal of cheering and grinning and back-slapping until the captain called the crowd to order. The smoldering look of anger was gone from his face, and under his bushy mustache a smile was clearly visible.
"May I have your attention, please?" His voice rang from the PA and filled the ship as he looked up at the excited crowd on the two observation desks.
"I realize that we're all going to be cramped by the over-crowed conditions aboard the Candlelight in the next few days, especially after we pick up the rest of the Rembrandt's passengers. But I assure you we'll find accommodations for everyone."
There was a murmur of excitement as the former hostages anticipated being reunited with their friends and loved ones.
"Of course, my crew will have to make some sacrifices." This brought groans from the junior crewmen, who knew that they would end up sleeping on mats in the cargo hold.
"Let me urge everyone to cooperate and be considerate of their fellow passengers. The Candlelight can't offer the conveniences of a luxury liner, but I think you'll find she's a fine ship. Naturally the Rembrandt's passengers will have no duties, other than those they may wish to volunteer for."
It was a diplomatic suggestion, and the bridge crewmen grinned slyly at each other.
"As for you other . . . people," said North, his face turning less pleasant as he locked eyes with the Beltherian captain as he stood at the rail of the lower observers deck. "I can promise you a speedy trial by the Alliance Council of Justice, after which . . . I don't think you'll be causing any more problems, gentlemen."
The Beltherian captain and several of his officers, heavily shackled, were almost foaming at the mouth with barely suppressed rage. Heckle and Jeckle stood on either side of the Beltherian captain, demonstrating their firm grips on his arms. Captain North seemed to make himself relax as he turned his attention to the Rembrandt passengers above him.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I hope this experience has demonstrated the purpose of the Alliance Armed Forces. We exist to protect and serve all the sentient life in the galaxy, any way we can."
I wasn't surprised when the Rembrandt's passengers actually started cheering. It was a flag-waving moment if ever there was one, and it occurred to me that Captain North was deliberately attempting to lift the spirits of his crew and our new passengers after the tragic loose of the people who died because of the attack on the Rembrandt.
Captain North called out to Combat Crewmen on the Observation Deck. "Mr. Jenkins?"
"Aye, sir?" said Bill Jenkins, smiling in spite of two black eyes and mouth that looked like it had be run over.
"I heard about the incident with the prisoner who nearly escaped aboard the outlaw's ship." He paused and just stared up at all the Combat Crewmen until they all began to fidget and look everywhere except at their stern captain. Finally Captain North spoke in a very low voice. "Nothing like that will happen again." It wasn't a question, it was a command.
Several of the Combat Crewmen mumbled, "Yes, sir," while the rest of them nodded like guilty boys caught cheating on a spelling test. All the combat crew took a cautious step back from the prisons while they held their weapons trained at them.
The Beltherians had regained their icy control, and they stood tall and proud, looking perfectly comfortable, even while wearing the complex shackles which held their hands behind them. They were all at least six inches taller than the men around them. Their brooding, genetically-altered faces and their disturbing yellow eyes made it difficult to guess how they felt at the moment, but they possessed an unshakable confidence which made me feel nervous and insecure for reasons I didn't understand.
The officer in charge signaled to his men, and they lead the hostages away. The Beltherians were in no hurry, and none of the Combat Crewmen made any effort to hasten them.
A voice from nearby pulled my attention away from the observation deck.
"Mr. Newcastle?" the captain said quietly. "I"ll see you in my cabin. Right now."
Suddenly my insecurity increased. _________________ ____________
Is there no man on Earth who has the wisdom and innocence of a child?
~ The Space Children (1958)
Last edited by Bud Brewster on Sun May 06, 2018 3:51 pm; edited 3 times in total |
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Gord Green Galactic Ambassador
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Joined: 06 Oct 2014 Posts: 2948 Location: Buffalo, NY
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Posted: Thu Sep 01, 2016 7:56 pm Post subject: |
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The first person narrative really works well here! I'd like to see it strengthened even more in the final edit.
Perhaps the method used by Andy Weir in THE MARTIAN isn't a bad idea. He alternated the first person log of Mark Whatley with third person discriptive chapters of actions taking place elsewhere. Just an idea.
I'd really like to get my hands on one of those heads up interface data ubits! Do the sell them at Radio Shack?
Good chapter! Really the best yet! |
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Bud Brewster Galactic Fleet Admiral (site admin)
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Joined: 14 Dec 2013 Posts: 17166 Location: North Carolina
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Posted: Fri Sep 02, 2016 8:38 am Post subject: |
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The interface headset isn't available yet (at least, not one that can completely recreate your environment in real time and in 3D), but by gum, we're gettin' there!
Here's a nice video you'll enjoy, compliments of Gracie.
You'll also enjoy my confession that 34 years ago, when I wrote the first version of Sail the Sea of Stars in 1982, copyrighted it, and sent five copies to an agent, David didn't have an interface headset to communicate with the Candlelight's computer ??? he had a "portable keyboard" so he could type messages to the Beltherian ship's computer and talk it into transmitting the log to the Candlelight.
It should be noted that in 1982 I'd never had my hands on a computer in my life. The novel was handwritten on spiral notebooks during slow periods at the Atlanta airport while I worked for Eastern Air Lines as a baggage handler.
Ditto for The Wishbone Express and The Hero Experience. ![Very Happy](images/smiles/icon_biggrin.gif) _________________ ____________
Is there no man on Earth who has the wisdom and innocence of a child?
~ The Space Children (1958) |
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