Vaughn Heppner: The Lost Starship

Dropping his viper stick so it hissed and writhed against the ground, Maddox approached the sergeant. He didn’t worry about Nerva’s security personnel, not with the marines landing.

“Sir?” the old man said helplessly. “I didn’t mean for his viper stick to strike him. I was just trying to stop him from crippling you. Anyone could see there was a pause in the duel. He took unfair advantage of the air-cars.”

“I’ll get you out of this, Sergeant. Not to worry.”

Riker reversed the grip of the stunner, handing it to Maddox. Tired resignation filled the sergeant’s voice. “I don’t know how you could possibly help me, sir. I just killed Octavian Nerva’s heir. I’m doomed.”

Riker was right. The sergeant was doomed. But Maddox refused to leave Riker to his fate. The problem was that he had no idea how to save the man.

Captain Maddox fought the urge to shift uncomfortably on his chair. He had been sitting here, anticipating the worst, for what felt like hours. Instead, he maintained his rigid posture before the large desk.

He was in Star Watch Headquarters in Geneva, Switzerland. The air-car had rushed him here. All the Star Watch marines knew was that the so-called New Men had struck again, hard. The Fleet was on high alert.

Maddox frowned. The marines had taken Sergeant Riker to a detention center deep underground. Likely, that was for Riker’s immediate protection.

The Nerva security personnel would have already informed Octavian Nerva about his son’s death. The tycoon might demand a trial. It was more likely his magnificence would want a bloodier solution.

The Methuselah Treatment was greatly extending the age of those who took it. Some recipients had already reached three hundred years of age. Such elders were rare, as the process was ongoing and incredibly expensive. The treatment had its drawbacks, as well, at least according to certain psychologists.

Those who reached such extended ages often experienced stagnation and magnification of character traits and behaviors. In Octavian Nerva’s case, he’d been punishing those who angered him for so long that nothing short of torture satisfied him. Thus, to avenge his son’s murder, he would undoubtedly hire man-hunters to kidnap Sergeant Riker, and the magnate would probably come after Maddox, as well.

He and the sergeant could conceivably face a prolonged existence on a hidden habitat orbiting Saturn or Neptune. Certainly, Octavian Nerva would visit them to test new forms of agony against their persons.

Because of this, Sergeant Riker was in the deepest cell possible. The marine guards were supposedly incorruptible, but Nerva might go to considerable lengths to investigate the truth of this belief.

Captain Maddox could not afford to consider these details as he waited before the desk. Instead, his mind had fixated upon news of the New Men.

Behind the large synthi-wood furniture, Brigadier Mary O’Hara of Star Watch Intelligence massaged her forehead. Many called her the Iron Lady. She had gray hair, a matronly image and never lost her temper. It was possible Maddox’s duel had tested her famous calm. A sigh escaped from her compressed lips.

Believing it was time to explain, Maddox cleared his throat.

Brigadier O’Hara looked up sharply, her glare like whips.

The words died on Maddox’s lips.

She blinked several times. Each flicker of her eyelids seemed to lessen the intensity of her stare. Finally, she appeared to have regained the composure of the Iron Lady.

“This is a fine mess you’ve dumped into my lap,” she said.

Maddox nodded, saying, “I take full responsibility for it, ma’am.”

“First, Captain, let me say that your words are meaningless. Like it or not, Sergeant Riker will soon be leaving for Loki Prime.”

The extreme jungle world was the worst of the prison planets. Sentencing to such a habitat had replaced the old-fashioned death penalty.

“Given that,” the brigadier continued, “I fail to see how your so-called responsibility comes into play.”

“Sent into exile? Ma’am, that is ridiculous.”

“Is it, Captain?”

“Quite,” Maddox said. “Caius Nerva had a prosthetic arm.”

“No,” the brigadier said. “Now, you’re being ridiculous.”

Maddox appeared not to hear. “During the duel, I struck the top of his right hand with the viper stick, ma’am. The discharge had no visible effect.”

“Captain, I expect my people to maintain greater awareness during a mission. I would also appreciate more mental acuity than you’re currently showing.”

The faintest of frowns appeared on Maddox’s face.

“Caius Nerva had huge muscles,” the brigadier said, “did he not?”

“He did indeed, ma’am. In truth, that surprised me. Nerva didn’t seem like the type to train rigorously. It’s clear he ingested muscle-enhancers, but he would have still needed to lift several hours a day.”

“Those taking the Methuselah Treatment do not have their limbs lopped off to attach bionic appendages,” the brigadier said. “They have regrows… like a lizard developing a new tail.”

“The top of his hand—”

“Captain,” the brigadier said in a warning tone.

Maddox fell silent.

“I expect my people to listen when I speak,” she said.

He stared at her.

“Caius Nerva had big muscles. You admit as much.” When the captain refrained from commenting, the brigadier said, “Look at this.” She lifted a clicker from the desk and pressed a switch.

A holoimage appeared between them. It showed Caius Nerva in a swimsuit at what must have been a beach party.

Maddox frowned. The man looked much slimmer than he remembered. He glanced around the image at the brigadier.

“For your duel,” O’Hara said, “for the entire night, he more a bodysuit.”

Maddox’s frown deepened.

“If you look closely enough,” she said, “there are certain telltale signs.”

“But—”

The brigadier held up a single hand.

Maddox ignored it. “Ma’am, I’ve seen bodysuits. He wasn’t wearing one.”

“I don’t believe you’ve seen the newest model from Tojo 5, the Samurai Deluxe. It hasn’t hit the market yet. It is totally lifelike, as you can attest.”

“The stunner shot proves you wrong, ma’am. Such a bodysuit as you’re implying would protect the wearer from the stun.”

“It did,” she said.

“I saw the man fall.”

“Yes, because Sergeant Riker wisely set his weapon at the kill setting. The stunner hit didn’t injure Caius Nerva. The force of it knocked him down. The viper stick did the rest when it struck his face.”

“Why would Sergeant Riker set his stunner for kill?”

“For the best of reasons,” the brigadier said. “He suspected that Nerva wore a bodysuit. Realizing that, the sergeant knew the stun wouldn’t harm your opponent. Your man was trying to knock Nerva away from you. Rest assured, none of this is conjecture. I’ve already spoken to Riker. He has admitted everything.”

Captain Maddox drummed his fingers on the armrests. “The sergeant didn’t say anything to me about this.”

“Don’t blame him for that. Your man deduced it during the duel. Your impetuousness uncovered that much, I suppose.”

“The suit sweated,” Maddox said.

Brigadier O’Hara sighed.

“Ah,” Maddox said, realizing that was part of the deception. He turned his head, staring at a model starship inside a glass case. “The sweat fooled me, as it was meant to do. The designers intentionally made a skin-perfect bodysuit.”

“That it fooled you, Captain, is a testament to the designers. Usually, you are more observant. This time, your emotions blinded you.”