A Taste Of Despair (The Humal Sequence) (19 page)

Hamilton shook his head. People could be idiots, but he could hardly blame them. It was a lot to take in.

Johnson leaned her head on his shoulder. “Do you really think we have a chance. Honestly?”

Hamilton nodded. “Yes. Not much of a chance, but a slim one. If I really thought we had no hope at all then I’d be advocating that we took the
Morebaeus
and all its supplies and disappear someplace like some of them are suggesting. But I think we do have a chance, however small.”

She put her arms around him and squeezed. They sat like that for a long time.

*****

Nobody came looking for them to tell them the decision because no decision was reached that day. People talked and talked, slowly dividing themselves into three camps. Those that wanted to take the fight to the enemy, those that favored running, and those that were undecided.

Since the
Ulysses
wasn’t designed to hold so many people, except in its brig, most of the crew that had been aboard the Hope’s Breath stayed aboard the
Morebaeus
. They already had their spot in the makeshift camp, so there was little point in moving.

Before he left to return to the
Ulysses
, Rames sought out Hamilton and took him to one side.

“You know that we’ll have to put it to a vote tomorrow. Find out who’s with us and who’s not.” Rames said.

Hamilton nodded. “I know. I have something else to try before that, to help sway the doubters. But after that, I agree, we’ll need to vote on it.”

Rames pursed his lips. “Unless it’s something special, I expect we’ll still have people who want no further part in this. They’ve gone this far because of loyalty to you and me. But even loyalty has its limits.”

“I know. I know. We have to decide what’s to be done with those who don’t want to be on our little crusade.” Hamilton told him.

Rames frowned. “I’m not going to lock people up or walk them out the airlock, if that’s what you were thinking!”

Hamilton shook his head. “I don’t mean that at all. But we can’t simply let them go. If they end up in Imperial hands, then they end up in Walsh’s hands. He’ll do whatever it takes to extract information from them on what we’re up to. If we return them to the Empire we might as well just shoot them.”

“So what do we do? Throw them in the brig?”

“No.” Hamilton mulled. “We have a colony freighter here. All the supplies and equipment needed to set up someplace. I suggest we find a nice planet, and leave them there with all of the supplies. They’re of little use to us at the present.”

“Maroon them?” Rames was still frowning.

“At least they’ll be alive, and with all of this stuff they’ll be fairly well off. They may hate us for it, but it beats the alternatives. Plus, some of them want that, anyhow.”

Rames sighed and nodded. “I guess it’s down to us to convince the doubters, then.”

Hamilton simply nodded in agreement.

CHAPTER TEN

In the morning, when everyone had assembled, Hamilton took his place on the box again. Everyone looked at him expectantly once more, as if hoping he had the answers they needed. He didn’t, but he did have something to show them.

“When we were aboard the Hope’s Breath, as I’m sure Carl has told you all, Walsh caused Vogerian to start shooting at people on the bridge. Before Carl overpowered him, he caused a lot of damage. When I later examined the bridge, I found this weapon under one of the seats, where it had fallen during the fight.”

Hamilton reached into a bag he’d carried and removed the alien pistol. It looked like some sort of holo-show ray-gun. He held it up so that everyone could see it.

“It was this weapon that Vogerian used to such effect on the bridge. Later on, I used it to fend off a robot that tried to kill me as I made my escape from the Hope’s Breath. If I had been given more time, I’m positive this weapon would have carved that robot up like a roast.

“I’m showing it to you, not because I want to brag about having it, nor even to show it to you as further proof that these aliens exist. I’m showing to you so that you know the scale of what we’re up against.”

Hamilton climbed off the box and began to wander off amid the crates and packages, beckoning everyone to follow him. As he walked, he continued to talk.

“I know you think you know what the aliens are capable of. Certainly you are aware of how thoroughly they have a grip on the electronic infrastructure of the Empire. But I wanted to show you some of the technology they can produce.

“This pistol, like the Hope’s Breath that we all traveled on, was made using knowledge that Walsh had. I expect he had a veritable army of controlled humans to do his bidding. Perhaps he even built the ship in secret, setting up an entire shipyard someplace. Who knows? But the thing is, he was just one alien, yet he managed to build, or have built, a very advanced spaceship. I suspect the only reason the ship wasn’t more advanced than it actually seemed was a desire by Walsh to not make anyone too suspicious.”

Hamilton had reached an open area that he had prepared the evening before with Klane’s help. In the center of the area was a large plasteel tank, open at the top. It was more than big enough to actually get into, being approximately ten feet by four feet and about four feet deep. It was filled with water. It was probably intended originally to sit atop a dwelling and be used as a water header tank, perhaps even to collect rainwater. Right now it was filled to the brim with water that Hamilton had pumped in from the ship’s own supply. Next to the tank was a set of rolling steps. Across the top of the tank was balanced a flat plate of metal, some four inches thick.

Hamilton clambered up the steps until he stood at the top. He held up the pistol again as everyone crowded around the tank, curious as to what was going on.

“This weapon was designed by Walsh. I have absolutely no idea how it works, what powers it, whether it has one shot left or hundreds. I know nothing about it. It has a firing stud, located where you’d expect and also this slider control which seems to vary the aperture of the muzzle.”

Hamilton thumbed the slider back and forth, turning so that everyone could see the iris at the business end opening and closing.

“I do know it was capable of bringing down the same robot that Klane, here, had trouble with when she was using a gauss pistol. My best guess is that it has a single power setting and that the aperture simply defines how that power is applied to a target. A thin, narrow beam to slice through armor and shielding. A wider beam to provide a certain knockdown value and ensure that as much of the energy is transferred to the target as possible.

“You might want to stand back a little from the tank.” He finished and pointed the weapon down at the metal plate. He dialed the slider back so that the aperture was at its widest.

Everyone scuttled away as they realized what he intended to do. It was risky, he knew, He could get hurt if the plate bounced up with the energy discharge, not to mention the inherent stupidity of discharging any weapon inside a spacecraft. But he wanted to make a point.

As he pressed the firing stud, there was a blinding flash and a loud crack. Whatever the beam was made of, it created a vacuum in the air in its wake. A wash of heat went past him followed swiftly by a cloud of hot steam.

The steam formed a billowing cloud that engulfed him. From beyond he heard calls asking if he was alright.

Like I’m going to draw a breath of scalding steam to answer!
He thought. He had only briefly touched the firing stud, yet it seemed to have had quite an effect on his makeshift firing tank.

As the steam cleared and he waved to the others to let them know he was fine, he examined the results of his shot.

The metal plate had a neat hole all the way through it. The edges glowed hotly, as if angry at the abuse. The tank of water had absorbed the rest of the shot’s energy, but the energy beam, whatever it was composed of, had been converted into heat. The entire tank was steaming.

At least it didn’t go through and down to the hull.
He thought. He and Klane had stacked additional plates beneath the tank, just in case, but he had the feeling that, if he had used the narrow beam setting it wouldn’t have made much of a difference.

As the others returned to look at the damage wrought he began talking again.

“As you can see, even on what you might argue was the ‘impact’ setting, the weapon has made short work of this plate. You’re probably wondering why I did this, what it proves.”

Eyes turned to him, some scared, some angry at the risk he’d just taken, other just confused.

“This is a small hand weapon, created by one alien. The implication is that the thousands that are now in our Empire have built their own vessels. You can imagine the scale of the weaponry those ships might be equipped with.

“I did this little demonstration so that there can be no doubt in anyone’s mind that the enemy we face is vastly superior to us in almost every way. We face a decision today. Who is going to continue on and fight against them, and who is not. I did this test not to impress, but to frighten. There’s no room in this for second thoughts. You fight with us or you do not.

“I’m not judging anyone. If you decide, today, that you cannot do this, no one will think less of you. Not everyone is cut out for this sort of work. If we’re to do this, then everyone involved has to be committed one hundred percent. Once we begin, they’ll be no turning back until it’s done, or we are all dead.”

The silence was deafening.

“I suggest that those of you who are undecided think very carefully today. Talk amongst yourselves. We’ll have a vote this evening as to who is with me and who isn’t.

“Until then,” Hamilton glanced back at the steaming tank. “I suggest you make use of the free hot tub!”

He had begun walking away when Rames caught up with him and whispered urgently. “I thought you were going to try and sway them to join! Not frighten the crap out of them!”

Hamilton shrugged. “We can’t have any doubters coming with us then changing their minds when it gets too hairy for them. I’d rather have the semi-serious ones change their minds now and cost us nothing but manpower, than change them mid-mission and get us all killed.”

Rames swore quietly. “I know. What you’re saying is right. It just seems like we have few enough as it is, without scaring them all away.”

“Most of these people aren’t military. And not all of the military are soldiers. What do you think most of them will do when they get shot at?” Hamilton asked.

Rames had no real answer for that.

*****

The evening vote was a simple affair. Not even a vote really, more a choice of which side of the fence to stand on. A line was drawn on the floor of the cargo module and those who wanted to fight were asked to stand on one side, those who wanted another option stood on the other.

Some of the people made obvious choices, considering who they were. Klane, naturally, wanted to fight. Jones also. Johnson and Rames. Major Harvan. Those against also had some fairly obvious people. Two of the techs from Rames crew, Charlton, the Hope’s Breath medic, who had looked out of her depth all along.

But there were surprises too.

Puckett decided to go, as did four of the Marines. The loss of four fighting men, however inexperienced they might look, along with the pilot, was a blow that Hamilton had not foreseen. It left the Marines with just Major Harvan, Corporal Malik and Privates Alvin and Torin. Similarly, the only real pilot they had left was now Veltin.

Most of the leavers were from Rames crew, Hamilton noted with some satisfaction. However, there were more leavers than he had hoped for. It left the fighters just sixteen people to carry the fight to the enemy. That was not so good.

There was then some argument about what to do with the non-combatants. Hamilton and Rames had come up with an idea to make the non-combatants feel like they were still being useful.

The idea was to set them up on an uninhabited planet with all the colony supplies they needed from the
Morebaeus
. That much was the same. However, both Hamilton and Rames had decided that essentially marooning them there wasn’t good for morale, either theirs, or those going on to battle against Walsh.

So the fledgling colony was described as a base of operations. In truth, it made good sense. If they did manage to capture an alien they’d need somewhere to work on him, to study him. Giving the non-combatants something to do that contributed to the fight, without being involved in the actual fighting, was an obvious route to take.

The idea was that they’d set up the base whilst the others were off taking risks. It also gave the fighters the prospect of somewhere to call home, now that every human-occupied world was barred to them.

All in all, it went down rather better than they had feared. Despite the disappointment, hands were shaken, and goodbyes said. There were no pleas to be taken home, for loved ones to be fetched for them. They accepted it. The only thing they asked was that they were given a decent world to be placed.

That much had already been looked into. The
Ulysses
database also contained the data that had been collected by the Survey Corps that Hamilton himself had once been part of. A world had been selected, well beyond the Rim territories, in an area not scheduled for colonization for at least another ten years. By then, either Hamilton and the others would have succeeded, or humanity would have fallen and there would be no colonization.

The mood was, understandably subdued, but they made the best of it, throwing an impromptu party. Hamilton saw Johnson and Charlton talking. Later, Johnson told him that she had been trying to change Charlton’s mind, even pointing out that she’d be the only female in the ‘colony’. But it had not swayed the medic.

Rames once again found Hamilton and bemoaned the loss of the Marines.

“Not to worry. We’ve lost thirty percent of not many at all. We’ll manage, somehow.” Hamilton told him.

“What happens now?”

“Now,” Hamilton told him, spotting Carl wending his way through from the back of the cargo module, a large crate in his arms. “We party. We forget about the aliens for tonight and just have fun. Tomorrow, the real work begins for all of us.”

Carl deposited the crate in the middle of the floor and wrenched open the lid, revealing the alcoholic contents inside. An appreciative cheer went up as people helped themselves from the crate. During their earlier time aboard the
Morebaeus
, fixing it up, Carl had proven surprisingly adept at finding the caches of alcohol, cigars and other luxuries hidden amongst the colony supplies. When Hamilton had asked him about it, he said he had developed a taste for such things after working for Vogerian for so long. The old billionaire had, apparently, been quite generous to his employees.