The Lost Starship

-12-

Tramlines granted humanity faster than light travel. This meant that news spread at the speed of starships, no faster. Like the old colonial days of wooden sailing ships, packet liners brought information that might be days, weeks or even months old. That meant a fast ship could outdistance the news, at least for a while.

As the SWS Scout Geronimo accelerated through the empty Karakas System, heading for the next jump point, Ensign Keith Maker tried to focus on that.

He told himself his shakiness was a case of nerves. He clicked a reader, studying yet another scout function manual. His gaze roved over text, but he forgot the words the second he looked at the next one.

Lifting a hand, he watched it quiver.

I need a drink. There has to be something aboard this speedster I can guzzle.

Like the other two, Keith now wore a Star Watch uniform. The captain had insisted each of them don one. Maddox must believe the clothes made a person. What horse manure. Yet… Keith felt different wearing his regs. It reminded him of Tau Ceti, and that was both good and bad.

He recalled the duty rules. That he was in a military again. It also reminded him of Danny Maker, his younger brother.

I miss you, boyo. I wish…

Keith made a fist, wanting to smash the reader. His throat convulsed, it was so dry. He needed to oil it with a beer, or preferably, several shots of whiskey.

They were two days out from the Solar System, from Earth, and this was the first time the scout ran on automated, without someone in the control room. Maddox slept, and who knew what the pretty lass did. Valerie could read three times faster than he could and pored over the scout’s manuals. The woman was a stickler for rules, and it was obvious she felt better in uniform.

Each of them had already spent considerable time learning the scout’s functions. It made better sense to Keith how they had escaped the destroyer. The Geronimo could boost like the devil. There at the end of the confrontation, that’s exactly what they had done. Maybe even as important, the ship had an impressive cloaking device and was constructed of antisensor material. After Valerie explained how the device worked, he had finally started to believe they could sneak into the Loki System without the monitor detecting them and blasting them to atoms. It would be tricky, but with Maddox and him— Keith slapped the reader onto the table. He sat in the wardroom. It could comfortably hold six people, nine if everyone squeezed together. He’d forgotten how much he hated tight places. It was different in the cockpit of a strikefighter. Then it felt as if the universe was his home. He could go anywhere in the fighter. But sitting inside a vessel with the bulkheads squeezing around him, without a wide-angle view of the stars…

I definitely need a sip of something. How is a man supposed to live in this tin coffin? It’s not as if I’m on the clock. It’s downtime, matey.

He stood, cracked his knuckles and stepped to the hatch.

A short walk down the corridor into the storeroom, that’s all it will take. Then I can rummage me a beer maybe find a bottle of good Scotch. The captain can’t deny me that, can he? Ha! I remember him guzzling in my bar. The chap can drink with the best of them. He’ll understand.

Keith opened the hatch. The scout thrummed softly all around him, a smooth ship for its small size. Still, he could hear the air recycling through the vents. It was cooler than he liked and there were hints of something off in the ship’s atmosphere.

He took several steps down the main corridor. The captain’s hatch was closed and probably locked. Maddox didn’t seem trustful of anyone. Behind the engine-room hatch, Keith could hear Valerie testing machinery. Did the lieutenant think she could repair damage if it came to that?

A tremor washed across Keith’s shoulders. He looked around. In strikefighter combat, he used to feel the same thing when an enemy snuck up behind him. Checking all around, he failed to spy any cameras. Soon, he chuckled. No one watched him. Yet, he wondered why it felt as if someone did.

I know why. I need a drink worse than I realized.

He reached for the storeroom hatch, but hesitated. He ached to open the door. His hands trembled, and he wanted to taste beer. Even more, he wanted that numbing to his mind. He needed to feel the intoxication begin to take hold. Then everything would be better with the world. Just a good buzz was all he wanted. That wasn’t too much to ask a man.

I saved their arses back there from the destroyer. They owe it to me, this little throat-wetter.

His hand inched closer to the hatch, and he stopped it again. Keith wondered on the wisdom of a drink.

He was on the adventure of his life. This was greater than going to Tau Ceti. A terrible threat menaced humanity. Blokes with god-complexes with heightened abilities and racist theories of their superiority told regular Joes to surrender or die. The enemy acted with fierce arrogance, taking on entire battle groups with three warships, and winning those fights.

If I start drinking again, I might endanger the mission. I need to think this through.

Keith stood like that for ten seconds, then twenty, then thirty. He grimaced and made a fist. He wanted a drink, but he also wanted to escape the need for whiskey. He’d been falling into a deeper abyss for some time now. He remembered looking down at that hole when he’d still been standing on the ledge.

He would sit on the edge of his bed, holding a whiskey bottle, knowing that if he started drinking, things would only get worse. A few times, he had set the bottle on his nightstand and had gone and done something else. A different part of his brain had told him to pour the liquor down the sink, get rid of the stuff. He had done that once, watching the amber fluid drain away. Then he had berated himself for a week afterward about wasting good booze. That stuff cost money.

For a time, fear of the abyss, of going down into drunkenness, had halted his mad binges. Then a day came—he wasn’t sure of the exact date—when he’d finally given in and plunged into the abyss. He’d been falling ever since, wondering when he would hit rock bottom.

No, no, he told himself. I’m free of drink now. That’s why I left my pub. I have to save the Earth. To do that, I have to stay sober.

Keith closed his eyes and willed himself to leave. He wanted to walk away, but he stood there instead, battling against his better judgment. When he opened his eyes, he found that his hands were on the storeroom hatch.

With a terrible feeling of resignation, he turned the wheel and opened the hatch. He climbed through into the storeroom. A quick study showed him a carton that looked as if it might contain drink.

Clicking the carton’s locks, he opened it, and a Danny-boy grin spread across Keith’s face. Look at those green bottles. Saliva moistened his mouth, and his thirst raged.

With trembling hands, he reached in, removed one of the lovely bottles and worked out the cork. A last moment of doubt filled him. Guilt made him lower the flagon.

“I’ll just take one sip,” he said quietly. “How can a sip, a mere taste, hurt anyone?”

Keith shook his head. It couldn’t hurt. That meant it would be okay. As he brought the bottle to his lips, he knew that he was lying to himself. He had waged such interior arguments many times. In his heart, he wanted to drink, so he didn’t mind lying to himself. That helped ease his conscience just enough to get the opening to his lips. Then it wouldn’t matter anymore. His need for booze would take over.

He upended the bottle, and precious whiskey filled his mouth. He allowed sip after sip of the fiery substance to slide down his throat. Oh, but that was good. The warmth going down his throat, and then the heat in his stomach—there was nothing better in the world.

Soon, the buzz would hit his mind, and everything would be cozy. Keith laughed, a bubbly sound, and lifted the flagon again.

He noticed a slight movement to his left. Then, something hard struck, and the green bottle shattered in his hand. Glass flew everywhere. Some gashed his hand. One piece cut his lip. Whiskey soaked the front of his uniform, and the rest rained onto the floor.

Blinking in shock, Keith turned.

Captain Maddox stood there with a baton in his grip.

Keith opened his mouth, too stunned to speak. He wanted to curse the man. Blood dripped from his hand. A look into the captain’s eyes killed any accusation.

“Ensign Maker,” Maddox said, speaking calmly as if nothing had happened. “Several days ago, you suggested I was tossing you a rope and hauling you out of the abyss. Am I correct in saying that?”

Keith licked his lips, and tasted blood. His brain throbbed with indignation.

“I’m addressing you, Ensign. I’m asking you a question. I expect an answer.”

Keith touched his lip. He stared at the blood on his fingers. Then he looked at Maddox again.

“I am your rope, Ensign. I am going to help you break the habit. I need a pilot with a clear mind and perfect reflexes.”

“Are you going to beat me with your baton?” Keith asked.

“Negative. I respect you too much to thrash you as if you’re a convict.”

Keith raised his hand, the one with the gash where blood dripped. “This is some way of showing your respect, mate.”

“That is incorrect,” Maddox said. “My respect compels me to act. If I didn’t respect you, I would let you drink to your heart’s delight and leave you on one of the planets we’re passing.”

“Leave me with what I know about the mission?” Keith asked.

“Yes.”

Keith couldn’t help it. He believed the man. This Captain Maddox was as hard as nails. He meant to defeat the New Men. Keith liked that about Maddox. In fact, he realized he respected the man, and he felt shame for this encounter.

“I want you to pay attention to me,” Maddox said.

Keith nodded.

Maddox set the baton aside. Then he held out his hand. In the middle of the palm sat a dull black pill.

“The mission is everything,” Maddox said. “We don’t have time to rehabilitate you the old way. I need you now, Ensign. I wondered if you had the willpower to desist for the length of the operation. I’m afraid the allure of intoxication has a stronger grip on you than you realize. Therefore, it’s time for stronger medicine. This time, literally.”

“You mean that pill?” Keith asked.

“Take it,” Maddox said.

With his left hand, Keith plucked the pill out of the captain’s palm.

“You have a choice,” Maddox said. “This pill, the first of several, will begin to react inside you. After a few days, it will have reconditioned your body. If you drink alcohol after that, you will become very sick, as in vomiting.”

“What,” Keith said. “Are you crazy? I’m not taking this.” He held up the pill.

“Ah. Well, then you leave me no choice. Good-bye, Mr. Maker.” Maddox turned and headed for the hatch.

“That’s it?” Keith asked. “That’s the end of your talk?”

Maddox halted, but he didn’t turn around. “I believe I made myself clear some time ago.”

“About what, sir?”

“Ship discipline,” Maddox said.

Keith scowled. He needed to get his hand bandaged, maybe even have it stitched. “So where does this leave us?”

“Once you clean up, you can leave your uniform on your cot. You won’t need it anymore.”

“Wait a minute. You’re saying I’m finished here?”

“Precisely,” Maddox said.

“But you need me. You need a fantastic pilot. You said so yourself.”

“True,” Maddox said. “Yet, the rest of us can’t rely on a crewmember that won’t follow orders. We must function as a team, or this won’t work.”

“So if I want to stay on this crazy mission, I have to take your bloody pill?”

Maddox stood silently with his back to Keith.

The small ace weighed the black pill in his hand. He shook his head. Part of him hated Maddox. Part of him didn’t want to let the man down. He’d seen the officer in operation. If anyone could see this mission through to the end— “I don’t believe this,” Keith said. He popped the pill into his mouth and forced himself to swallow it. When he looked up, Captain Maddox was facing him.

“We should attend to your hand,” Maddox said. “If you’ll follow me into medical, I’ll have the robo-doctor stitch it.”

Keith held his ground. Now that he’d taken the bloody pill—

“Why do it this way, sir?” Keith asked.

“Lack of time,” Maddox said.

“Did you have bottles in here to test me, sir?”

Maddox hesitated before saying, “You’re an elite pilot, Ensign. But, like most of us, you have weaknesses. We must steel ourselves for the great venture. Humanity’s survival depends on it.”

“You have a weakness?” Keith asked.

“You can count on it. I’m human, after all.”

Keith was beginning to have his doubts.

“Come with me,” Maddox said. “Let’s attend to your hand.”

Keith smelled the whiskey in his uniform, and a touch of nausea hit. Could the pill have worked that fast on him? He couldn’t believe this—no liquor in his immediate future. The thought made him tremble. Another part of him wondered if this was the best thing that had happened to him in the last several years.

Can I stop drinking? As Keith followed the captain, a real ray of hope rose up. Yet, he knew the thirst for alcohol would return. What if Captain Maddox wasn’t there to stop him next time?

Keith didn’t want to let the man down. He’d take the rest of the pills, too, but he didn’t see how a little vomiting could stop him for good. He put it from his mind as he hurried after Maddox to the robo-doctor.