Infernum

SPACE FREIGHTER INFERNUM

SPACE PORT ACHILLES

EARTH ORBIT

DAY ONE

From the observation deck of the space freighter Infernum, Dr. Ian Taylor watched the last shuttle from the planet dock with the space bridge. Through panoramic windows, he saw the last of the crew disembark and begin the hundred-yard walk to the ship, each with a wheeled duffle in tow. Captain Nicholas Baumann emerged from the shuttle behind them. Ian tensed and leaned closer to the concave window. No one else. Please, no one else. Baumann paused and fixed his eyes upon Ian. A twisted smirk broke over Baumann’s stony stare when a woman and a boy entered the space bridge. Ian’s chest tightened, and Baumann’s words from six years ago replayed in his mind - I have certain appetites that I could more freely indulge with the cooperation of a medical professional like yourself. What happened here today can simply go away, assuming you agree to be that person. Or, I could send the report through. It’s your choice, Dr. Taylor.

Six years ago, one of Ian’s patients had died in surgery. Afterward, Ian had tested positive for narcotics, but he had taken no drugs. Not that day. Not ever. It was a lie. Ian didn’t know how Baumann did it, but he had arranged the patient’s death and tampered with the drug test, positioning Ian as a medical murderer, a crime punishable by death. With Baumann’s evidence, the case against Ian was airtight. That evidence resided in a digital file that would be released automatically if a countdown wasn’t reset every day – a dead man’s switch. Baumann alone had the code that would reset the clock.

Ian had asked Baumann that day, “What exactly do you expect of me?”

Baumann had answered, “Obedience unto death.”

After leaving the observation deck, Ian returned to his quarters. He pulled at his uniform’s collar, trying to breathe. At the bathroom sink, he splashed water on his face. He closed his eyes and saw the faces of Baumann’s victims; innocents whose deaths he had logged as accidents or natural causes, rather than strangulation and mutilation.

He hated what he had become; not the doctor he had dreamed of being, but instead an accomplice to murder. “First, do no harm.” He had failed in that primary instruction. Not by his own hands, but he enabled Baumann. The women and children were dead because of him. Dead because he feared Baumann. Dead because he feared his own death.

He thought of the woman and child who boarded today. They’ll be dead soon, too. The guilt and self-loathing rose inside him. He’d go talk to Baumann tomorrow. Tell him he couldn’t do it anymore. Right. That would work. Not. Grabbing a towel, he blotted his face dry and found the bourbon he kept to chase away the demons.

SPACE FREIGHTER INFERNUM

EN ROUTE TO THE PLANET SELARA

DAY 2

THE CAPTAIN’S OFFICE

0915 HOURS

Captain Baumann hadn’t offered him a seat. Instead, he sat behind his imposing ebony desk studying the ship’s manifest as Ian stood waiting. The desk made a statement. Expensive, daunting. It, like the rest of the captain’s office, was meant to intimidate. Leather sofa, coffee table, walls, and ceiling were all were black, Spartan, and unwelcoming. Above the sofa hung a painting of a bloody battle depicting men on horses killing and dying. The opposite wall displayed a collection of edged weapons—swords, knives, axes—glinting in the artificial light. The room embraced darkness and violence; a perfect reflection of its owner.

Ian waited to be acknowledged. He knew Baumann enjoyed this little game. Finally, he set aside the tablet. “What is it, Doctor?”

“The woman and child who boarded with you...”

Baumann’s face remained utterly devoid of expression. Dark unblinking eyes stared. His military-style haircut and close-cropped black beard put a distinct edge to his appearance.

Ian stumbled. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears. He took a breath. “I can’t do this again. I’m asking you. Let them go. Please.”

Without a word, Baumann pulled a knife from the top desk drawer. He stepped around the desk and came up behind Ian, leaning in close. Ian felt his breath on his ear.

“We have an agreement, doctor.” His voice came quiet and hard. “One I do not intend to release you from.” Ian felt the razor edge of the knife against his throat. “Decide now whether you will you honor it.” Ian inhaled sharply as the knife pressed into the soft flesh. Blood oozed from under the blade. His eyes darted, trying in vain to see behind him.

“Your answer, doctor?”

“I’ll keep our agreement,” he said, teeth clenched.

Baumann lifted the knife and stepped back. “It’s a long fourteen months to Selara. Watch yourself, doctor. You’re dismissed.”

DAY 2

SICKBAY

1430 HOURS

The captain had insisted on complete physicals for the woman and boy. Both Eva Hawks and her fourteen-year-old son, Michael, were slightly malnourished, but otherwise healthy.

“My husband, Michael’s father, was a docker,” said Eva. “He died five years ago in an accident at the port. We’ve been on our own since then.” She smiled at Michael who sat listening. “Captain Baumann was a customer at the diner where I waitressed. He took a liking to me. When he asked us to go to Selara with him I said yes. It all happened so fast, but Michael and I will have a new start in Selara. It’s a dream come true.” She smiled at the last part.

This is how it begins, thought Ian. A vulnerable woman with a son, befriended by the captain. He gives them the hope and promise of a new life. They can’t resist. Like Eva said, “a dream come true,” but the last three women and their sons never made it to Selara. The nightmare had started again, and Ian could do nothing to stop it.

DAY 38

DR. TAYLOR’S QUARTERS

0510 HOURS

The device on Ian’s wrist beeped.

“It’s time, doctor. Come alone,” said Baumann.

“On my way.” The fear of what he’d find exploded in his gut. He went to the bathroom, vomited, then dressed. He grabbed his medkit, and raced from his quarters. Less than five minutes later he arrived. Knocked. The door hissed open. Baumann wore only a towel wrapped around his waist, his skin damp from a shower. He held a toothbrush and gestured with it, “She’s in the bedroom.”

Ian found Eva naked on the black sheets, lying on her back, her vacant eyes staring at some invisible point far away. One arm above her head, the other to the side, legs splayed, she looked like a rag doll. Ian checked for a pulse, knowing he’d find none. He closed her eyes with his palm, then touched the bruises on her neck. “You choked her.”

“Yes,” Baumann replied around his toothbrush and returned to the bathroom.

Ian placed her arms at her sides, straightened her legs, then pulled the sheet up to her neck. She looked peaceful. In a way, he felt envious of that peace. He touched her brow, smoothed her brown hair. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed, blinking away the mist. Another death on his conscience, but what could he have done? Baumann owned him.

Ian pulled the sheet over Eva’s head. It slid into the contours of her face, so that she resembled an ebony mannequin. An object to use up then cast aside. Anger rose alongside despair. Anger with Baumann, with the tragic loss of life. Despair over his own inability to stop this. He was a coward and another innocent woman was dead because of it.

“She slipped in the shower,” said Baumann.

Startled that Baumann had come back into the room, Ian said, “What?”

“Cause of death. Fell in the shower. Snap out of it, doctor.”

Baumann dropped his towel and began to dress. “With his mother gone, Michael and I are going to grow much closer. He’ll need someone, and I’ll be there to fill the void, and you, doctor, will be witness to the poetry of it all.”

Ian tensed.

Baumann stepped into his boots. “There’s something different about this boy. The others were special, but Michael is ripe, perfect. Soon, with a little coaching, he’ll willingly come to me.”

DAY 39

DR. TAYLOR’S QUARTERS

0217 HOURS

Ian held a framed photo of his wife and son, Ellen and James. He missed them, but he reasoned they’d be better off without him. The syringe that would end this madness lay on the table beside his empty bourbon glass. He held it up, looking between it and the photo. His eyes filled with tears then spilled over. He deserved this for going along with Baumann, for not doing something to stop it, for being so afraid to lose his own life that he let others die instead. He deserved to die alone.

He sat the photo on the table and brought the syringe to his arm. The needle touched his skin, sharp and cold. He pushed, and it sank its length into his forearm. His thumb hovered over the plunger. He closed his eyes.

A deep breath, then a thought occurred to him. One that seemed so obvious, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before. If he was ready to die, to kill himself, why not take Baumann with him? Baumann’s power over him only existed because he feared the executioner. If he died with Baumann, the dead man’s switch wouldn’t matter, and Michael would live.

He pulled the syringe out of his arm, plunger still retracted, and returned it to the table. Now he had to figure out how to take down Baumann.

DAY 40

SICKBAY

0840 HOURS

The euphoria of being free from Baumann’s trap, even though it meant dying himself, had subsided, so Ian sat at his desk thinking through possible scenarios for killing the man. Rifles and side arms were kept under lock and key, so shooting him wasn’t an option. Poison held promise, but how could he get close enough to inject him? Something drinkable? No. Baumann would never share a drink with him. Baumann was trained in many forms of martial arts. That meant a physical attack would only result in one death; Ian’s. He would have to outsmart Baumann, not overpower him. One possibility occurred to him, but it would require an accomplice.

“Good morning, Dr. Taylor.” Ian looked up from his desk into the solemn face of Michael Hawks.

“Good morning, Michael. Let me say how sorry I am about your mother.” Ian gestured to the chair across from his.

Michael sat and began right away, “My mother was scared of the captain, Dr. Taylor, but she said if we could make it to Selara we’d be okay. Until then, she said we should play along. That was a mistake. I don’t believe she slipped in the shower. I think he killed her. She told me that if something ever happened to her to come see you.” Tears brimmed Michael’s eyes, but he didn’t let them fall.

Ian searched Michael’s face. He had the inner strength that comes of living a hard life from an early age. He deserved to know the truth, and Ian was tired of hiding.

“Your mother was right. She was in danger, and now you are, too.”

“So, did he kill her?” Michael asked.

Ian nodded, “Yes.”

“He wants me, now. Where we lived, men offered to pay my mom for time with me. She never sold me, but she told me about it. She wanted me to know what people are like, how they use other people to get what they want. You don’t survive by being used. She taught me that. The captain wants me like the men who offered to pay my mom did, but he killed her to get me.

“I swear, if I can find a way to kill him, I will. Even if it means I die, too,” said Michael.

Ian sat back, feeling the weight of the fourteen-year-old’s stare. The tears were gone now, and a hardness came over the boy’s features that made him appear much older. “You’re right about everything, Michael, and the two of you are not Baumann’s first victims. I’ve stood by and watched, enabled, for too long. I don’t care what happens to me anymore, but I have to stop him. There’s only one way to do that.”

“He has to die,” said Michael.

“Yes. He has to die, and if you really mean what you say, that you’d kill him if you could, then I think I know a way we can do it. It’s risky, and it could backfire, but if it works, we’ll get him. There’s only one drawback. I have to die, too.”

DAY 43

INFERNUM’S GYMNASIUM

2230 HOURS

Ian entered the ship’s gym as planned and found Baumann and Michael already there, settled into their rowing machine workout. Baumann was right where he was supposed to be.

The pair ignored Ian as he walked past them pretending to go the shoulder press station beside the rowing machines. Instead, he pulled a syringe from his pocket, pivoted on his heel, and lunged. He executed a planned stumble and crashed onto the gym mat. As he fell, Baumann rolled hard to his left off the rowing machine and came up in one swift move. When Ian turned over, he stared down the barrel of Bauman’s pistol. So far, so good. This might work after all.

Baumann wore the smug expression of a man infinitely pleased with himself. “Michael told me about your plan to inject me with Pentothal, render me unconscious, then expel me into space.”

Ian smiled to himself. Michael had played his role perfectly. Baumann had bought every word. Good boy.

“This is mutiny, doctor. If this were a sailing ship from Earth’s nineteenth century, you’d be forced to walk the plank. Unfortunately, we have no plank, but we do have the twenty-third-century equivalent: an airlock.”

Baumann wrenched the syringe from Ian and jabbed it into his neck. Ian let his body go limp, feigning unconsciousness. Michael had led Baumann to believe the syringe contained Pentothal. In reality, it only contained water. Baumann returned his pistol to its ankle holster and hefted Ian onto his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. “Let’s go, Michael.”

The ship’s corridors were empty at this hour, so their trip to the airlock went unnoticed. Baumann touched the control panel and the door slid open with a hiss. “Wait here,” he said to Michael and entered the airlock with Ian on his shoulders.

Once inside Ian twisted an arm around Baumann’s neck and fought to trap the larger man in a headlock. He knew he couldn’t hope to win a fight against Baumann. He only had to keep him occupied for a few seconds.

The door hissed closed as the two men struggled. Baumann shouted, “Michael, no!” and slammed an elbow into Ian’s face. Ian fell to his knees, dazed.

Through the window in the door, Baumann could see Michael. “Open the door, Michael,” he said, his voice even. Michael didn’t respond.

Ian struggled to his feet, blood streaming from his nose. Baumann grabbed him by the shirt and brought him close. “What have you done to him?”

“I had to stop you,” Ian gasped. “We had to stop you.”

Baumann flung Ian hard against the wall. Anger flashed, then control returned. “I’m impressed, doctor. I didn’t think you had it in you. You even subverted Michael.” He smoothed his hair, then gut-punched Ian. “The game is over now. Open the door, Michael.”

Michael’s words came between sobs. “You killed my mother.”

Baumann screamed in rage, slamming both fists against the window.

Ian pushed himself into a sitting position, back against the wall. “I should have stopped you a long time ago, Baumann. Michael, vent the airlock into space.”

“What? No. You’ll die, too,” said Baumann.

“I’m dead already. Remember? Dead man’s switch. Whether I die here or by the executioner, it’s all the same. Open it, Michael.”

“No!” said Baumann. He pulled his pistol from its ankle holster. A shot rang out and Ian’s knee exploded in a red mist of blood and bone.

Ian howled, rolling onto his side clutching at his destroyed knee.

“Let me back in, Michael, or I’ll shoot him again,” yelled Baumann.

Through clenched teeth, Ian said, “Vent the airlock, now.”

“Shut up!” Baumann raged and fired a shot into Ian’s other knee. “Shut up!” He fired again into Ian’s chest. “Shut up!” He kept firing until his pistol clicked empty. His breath came in ragged gasps as he fought for control. “Open the door and all will be forgiven,” he said, his voice strained and raspy.

Michael’s voice fell to a whisper. “No captain. All will never be forgotten.” He slammed his palm down on the control panel, and the warning claxon sounded. A rush of air escaped into space, then nothing. Nicholas Baumann and Ian Taylor were gone.

DAY 44

PLANET SELARA

HOME OF IAN AND ELLEN TAYLOR

Ellen Taylor sat reading the day’s communications on her tablet when one from her husband arrived.

Ellen, my love. How I wish I could see you again, hold you in my arms, love you. But, if you’re reading this letter, that won’t be possible. I won’t be coming home, but I’m sending a young man, Michael Hawks, who will explain everything. He’s recently orphaned, and he needs a home. I knew you’d want him in ours.

Doing the right thing comes with a price, Ellen. Above all, know that I finally did the right thing.

Love,

Ian