Spaceship medic

Chapter 13

In the shocked silence that followed this announcement the general and his followers pushed into the control-room. It was Chief Kurikka who reacted first, stepping forward, ignoring the gun that swung to cover him.

'What you are attempting is piracy,' he said, in a stern voice, used to command. 'By the ruling of the World Convention piracy in space is as vicious a crime as piracy on the high seas, and will be punished even more sternly. A life-sentence is the minimum penalty. You will not escape this. Lay down your weapons now, before you go too far. I'll take that revolver.'

It was almost successful. Some of the men behind Briggs lowered their improvised clubs and looked at each other worriedly. Kurikka strode forward determinedly his hand out for the gun. The general moved back before him.

'If you try to take this gun away I shall be forced to shoot you,' he said, no less positive than the Chief.

'Then you will face a charge of murder as well as piracy. You will spend the rest of your life in jail. Hand it over!'

Briggs stepped back again. 'Take him out, Doyle,' he ordered, without turning his head.

Doyle swung his bar, catching the Chief on the shoulder, knocking him to the deck.

'We are determined men,' Briggs said. 'We will not be stopped.'

The resistance was over. The Chief was on the deck, trying to rise. More armed passengers came in from the corridor.

'You won't get away with it,' Don said. 'You know nothing about the operation and navigation of this ship. And you can't count on the crew for any help.'

Briggs' mouth curved into cold smile. 'On the contrary, we have at least one man who knows a good deal about the operation of this vessel. The crewmen off duty will be locked up, and there will be at least two guards with every one on duty. They will not refuse to work, since that would endanger their own lives as well as ours. There will be no trouble, Doctor. Particularly with my first mate in command. You have met Dr Ugalde?'

Ugalde pushed through, holding a well-sharpened kitchen knife. He nodded curtly and went to sit in the captain's chair. Don was shocked, he had never thought that the Mexican mathematician would betray them. A sense of defeat overwhelmed him: he turned back to the general.

All right, Briggs, you have control of the ship for whatever good it will do you

'It will get us to Mars safely.'

'It will get you a certain jail term,' Kurikka said, struggling to his feet. 'Smuggling a weapon aboard a spaceship is a serious crime.'

'I am always armed, despite any petty regulations.'

'I don't care about your gun or even your stupid piracy,' Don called out angrily. 'But I care about the lives of everyone aboard. I must get that meteorite out...'

'No. Get to your patients, Doctor. I'll not tell you again.'

'You don't understand. I cannot cure them or even treat them. But if we can examine the meteorite I may be able to find a...'

'Take him out,' Briggs ordered, waving two men forward. 'I heard just enough of this harebrained theory to know that it is as mad as your other schemes. My first act when we reach Mars will be to propose that you be investigated by a lunacy commission. In the meantime - try to be a doctor, if you are still able to.'

Numbed by defeat, Don did not resist as two burly passengers pushed him into the corridor. They followed behind warily as he went up to the sick bay, then stayed on guard outside when he went in.

'What has happened?' Rama asked, frightened at the look on Don's face. He was even more frightened after Don had explained what had happened.

'We must resist, fight! You have saved all their lives and this is your reward. That such evil should exist in the world!' He began to throw open the cabinets, searching for the largest scalpels. Don tried to quiet him.

'That's not the way. These men are armed and ready. And they are frightened or they would never have allowed Briggs to bring them to this revolt. In fact it matters very little who is in command of the ship, as long as we get to Mars safely. What does matter is that I think I have found a way to manufacture a cure for this disease - but Briggs wont let me. We must do something!'

They could do nothing. The guards outside were changed at regular intervals and remained alert. For the first few hours the telephones would not work. The general had disconnected them while taking over the ship. Once he was securely in control he must have felt sure of his position, because the phone service was restored. Don tried calling the engine-room, but one of Briggs' men answered the phone. The same thing happened when he tried air technology, and all the other places where crewmen were on duty. The crew members were being kept apart from each other, and appeared to be outnumbered at least two to one by their captors when they were on duty. The ship could not be retaken.

With a feeling of intense despair Don tried to aid his patients. There were fourteen of them now, and the first ones to be stricken were sinking fast. He tried every combination of antibiotics and medicines in the vain hope that he might accidentally stumble on a cure. Nothing worked.

Exhausted by strain and fatigue, he finally lay down, fully dressed, and tried to sleep. It was the middle of the ships night. Though the spacer was in continuous day, with the sun shining all the time, a regular cycle of day and night was followed. Not only did this permit the meals and social affairs to occur at set times, but it was essential for the health of the people aboard. The human body has a circadian rhythm, regular times for waking and sleeping, that causes difficulties if upset. Therefore the ship slept at night' and only the crewmen on duty were normally awake at this time.

Don slept, but was awakened at 04-00 hours, shiptime, by the repeated ringing of the telephone. He fumbled for it and the screen lit up with the image of Doyle, the general's secretary.

'Tell the guards to come in,' he ordered. 'I want to talk to them.'

Don's first thought was to slam the phone down. Let them carry their own messages - he didn't want to help them! But there was nothing to be gained by this, much as he would enjoy doing it, so he went to the door. The guards were suspicious and one of them watched Don closely while the other answered the phone. He listened, then hung up.

'They want the doctor in the control-room,' he said. 'I'm to bring him down while you stay here.'

'Did they say why?' the other man asked.

'Someone is sick. Grab your little black bag, Doc, and let's go.'

Don washed the sleep from his eyes and took an emergency kit from the locker. Another case of fever? He wondered who it was and, knowing the feeling was most unprofessional, he hoped that it was the general. The rebellion would undoubtedly fall apart if he were out of the way. He started for the control-room with the guard following close behind.

A guard outside nodded as they came up, then opened the door for them. The first thing Don saw when they entered was Sparks lying on the deck. His eyes were closed and he moaned and clutched at his stomach. Dr Ugalde was in the captains chair while Doyle was on the other side of the room holding the gun.

'Take care of him,' Doyle ordered. 'He's sick. He just folded up and collapsed. We need him on the radio.'

'I touched his head and it was most warm,' Ugalde said.

This was not the way the fever usually began, but anything was possible with a new disease. Don knelt by Sparks and snapped open his case. As he took out the recording telltale he laid the back of his hand against the man's forehead. His skin was cool, his temperature perfectly normal.

Before Don could say anything Sparks opened his eyes - then closed one again in a long, deliberate wink.

At this same moment the door to the corridor opened and he recognized Kurikka's voice.

'Drop that gun, Doyle, and no one will get hurt.'

Don spun about and saw that the scene had changed dramatically. Kurikka stood in the open doorway, pushing the disarmed hall guard before him. He held a large automatic pistol which he levelled steadily at Doyle. Dr Ugalde now stood behind the other guard and had the point of his knife pressed into the side of the man's neck.

'Drop the weapon,' Ugalde snarled, in a voice quite different from his normal one, 'or I will drive this knife deep into your throat and kill you instantly.'

The bar clanged to the deck.

Doyle hesitated, confused, looking from one to the other of them - then brought up his pistol.

Kurikka's gun fired just once and Doyle howled in pain. His pistol dropped from his fingers and he clutched at his arm. Slow blood oozed between his fingers.

Sparks rose to his feet and cheered, then picked up the fallen gun. Don was dazed.

'Kurikka,' he asked, 'how did you manage it?'

The Chief smiled and lowered his automatic. 'Thank Dr Ugalde. He arranged the whole thing and masterminded the plot.'

Ugalde beamed with pleasure and bowed slightly when they all looked towards him.

'There is much precedent, in my country, for this sort of thing. The misguided General Briggs approached me for aid, knowing of the revolutionary background of my ancestors. I accepted at once, because he had neglected to remember the counter-revolutionary history of my land. It is far easier to work from inside an evil organization. I joined, entered his highest councils, then waited until the night. It must always be considered that movements are easier to destroy early, before they have become established. At this time, if you will excuse my saying so, it was just a matter of waiting for an opportunity. As soon as the general retired, and left his creature, Doyle, with the gun, I knew we must strike. A telephone call to Chief Kurikka alerted him for his part, and he was kind enough to inform me that he knew where a weapon was concealed in the captains cabin. The information is not commonly known, but there is always a gun aboard every craft for emergencies, madmen and the like. A most foresighted conception. Then, one, two, three, Sparks collapses on cue, you are sent for, Chief Kurikka arrives, and the matter is over...

'Not quite. You still have to deal with me.'

General Briggs stood in the door, his face white with anger. He stepped into the room, looking about him coldly.

'You will not be able to get away with this pathetic little plot,' he said. 'I was informed as soon as the doctor left the sick bay. There was always a chance that this madman, in desperation, might attempt to regain the ship. That is not to be.'

He pointed back to the door where a number of men armed with clubs and bludgeons waited.

'Now lay down your weapons and there will be no violence.' Briggs even smiled, condescendingly. 'Do it at once and there will be no reprisals or bloodshed. Now - hand over that gun!'

He raised his hand and started towards Kurikka. The Chief slowly lifted his weapon and centred it between the general's eyes.

'Come any closer and you are dead.'

The general stopped.

I want to avoid bloodshed,' he said. 'This is your last chance to surrender. You do not have enough bullets in that gun to kill us all - and we are desperate men.'

There was a paralysing silence in the control-room as the two men faced each other. No one moved.

'It won't do, Briggs,' Don said, his voice stern with authority. 'You're a fake and you know it. A bitter, evil little man, and a bungling pirate as well. No one is going to die for you. I am the captain of this ship, and I promise leniency to you men if you drop your weapons at once...'

'Don't listen to him!' Briggs shouted, his voice cracking with rage, his face flushed red. 'Attack! Get them!'

But the spell had been broken by Don's words, and the armed men wavered. They would fight for their lives if they thought they had something to win. But they could not face the black eye of certain death in the muzzle of the Chiefs unwavering automatic. They moved restlessly, looking at each other - but they did not advance.

'Cowards!' General Briggs screeched. He bent and grabbed up the steel bar that the guard had dropped. 'Not a man among you. Follow me - this one won't shoot, kill in cold blood. He's a bigger coward than all of you.' He started forward.

I wouldn't if I were you,' Kurikka said. Then he cocked the heavy hammer and the clack was loud in the silence. The gun was steady.

'You won't shoot,' Briggs sneered, raising his weapon.

'Anyone else I would, but not you,' the Chief said, lowering the gun. 'I want to see you on trial.'

Shouting victoriously, the general swung the bar at the Chief's head.

For a big man the Chief moved as swiftly as a cat. He stepped forward a single pace and blocked the rush of the blow with his upraised arm - letting the general's forearm strike against the metal pistol butt. There was a gasp of agony and the bar slipped from Briggs' paralysed fingers. Pivoting on his toes, Kurikka brought his left fist up in a short, wicked jab to the other man's midriff.

The general folded, curled up, falling down and out upon the deck. Kurikka ignored him and pointed the weapon at the men in the doorway.

I will now shoot any man who does not drop his weapon. Drop it!'

There was no doubt that he meant it. The bars and clubs clanged to the floor and the piracy was over. Kurikka looked down at the still form of the general and his bleak face broke into a humourless smile.

'You have no idea what pleasure that gave me,' he said.

Don went to Doyle who had collapsed, green-faced, in his chair, and examined the neat bullet-hole in his forearm.

'National Pistol Champion,' Kurikka said. 'I never miss.'

Don shook antibiotic powder on the wound and snapped open a pressure bandage. He looked up abruptly when his fingers touched Doyle's skin: he pushed a telltale against the arm.

'Doyle has it,' he said. 'A temperature of 103.'

'I am not surprised,' Dr Ugalde said. 'I did not wish to mention it earlier, it would just have caused confusion, but I am forced to admit that my own temperature has been above normal for the past few hours, and that I am feeling distinct pains of an uncomfortable sort.'

'Kurikka,' Don said, 'we have to find that meteorite, as quickly as we can. We've run out of time.'

They looked at each other, and each man saw his own cold fear reflected in the other's eyes.