Ruby is returned to earth to 'face the music' while Beverly departs for space again with possible suicidal tendancies.

NEW SPACETRAN 6

Part 6.

After stepping onto the aircraft carrier deck, I turned angrily upon the crowd of gaping crewmen and snapped out an order.

“What are you all bloody gawking at? - And leave that container alone.”

The only sound was the stuttering wind stumbling around the flight deck as the ship
increased speed and steered to rejoin the rest of the fleet. Suddenly I was doused by a spraying ‘cats-paw’ and I realised my lightweight summer frock had become transparent. If I had given the crewmembers a splendid view as I descended the ladder I was now adding to that view as the cold damp spray erected my nipples. To add insult to injury there were dozens of video cameras to bear witness to my immodesty. Fortunately a three-ringer arrived and smartly saluted me.

“Compliments of the captain ma-am, and may I escort you to the -“

“Bridge.” I finished for him as his eyes fell on my freezing erect nipples.

“Lead on Mac Duff.” ‘This is going to be interesting.’ I thought to myself.

The lift spewed me out right beside the captain’s cabin and I was hastily ushered in
without a trace of formality. The Captain stood up as I entered and offered me a comfortable armchair. I looked around and couldn’t help comparing its generous spacious proportions with the crude metallic squalor of Cold Albatross (Mark 1). By comparison however, Cold Albatross (Mark 2) was a much more intimate and comfortable little craft. The captain caught my curious gaze and raised a questioning eyebrow. I pulled a wry expression and introduced myself.

“Miss Ruby Denby, United States Citizen and Biological correspondent for the Free Thinker’s Magazine.”

“Captain Rawlin Ma-am, Her Britannic Majesty’s navy at your service. Do you wish to talk?”

“Now’s as good a time as any.” I replied.

“Thank you ma-am. Might I invite my technical officers and some of your compatriots? technical experts who are attending some flight trials we are running in conjunction with the Americans.”

“Whoever you wish captain, I can’t help much technically. The real genius just left with her craft.”

“Her craft?”

“Indeed. The builder and owner of that incredible bit of intergalactic hardware was none other than a brutally damaged and cruelly misused misfit child of this planet.”

“Was that the girl I saw in the doorway above the ladder?”

“The very same. She’s hardly a girl though; she says she’s over fifty.”

Suddenly the captain was ‘bleeped’ and he picked up his phone. After a curt ‘Yes.’ He
turned again to me.

“The joint admirals in charge of the combined exercises are helicoptering across from the American Aircraft carrier. They’re also returning the pilot of the damaged harrier he wishes to thank you.”

“It’s the lady who just left that he should be thanking.”

“Well, yes indeed Miss Danby. Let’s go and meet the brass.”

I was ushered into a large planning room to wait briefly before a helicopter clattered noisily to the flight deck. I couldn’t help but compare its deafening arrival with the low uninvasive hum that accompanied the Cold Albatross’s arrivals. Once the top brass had assembled I talked for nearly two hours and I related my experiences warts and all. For several seconds a thoughtful silence reigned then I suddenly remembered my faithful little tape recorder. Hastily I dug it out of my purse and played back the part where Beverly had related her childhood. Once again it brought a lump to my throat and I couldn’t help noticing a few damp eyes amongst the fifty or so hardened battle veterans. Then I played my recordings of Thlom and my chats with the amphibian geneticists. Fortunately as a well-practised professional I had also kept notes but Beverly had put them in the container and several sceptics were wary about opening ‘Pandora’s Box’. Eventually a compromise was reached and the whole crew was balloted about wishing to be on the ship when the container was opened. To a man they scorned their admirals’ circumspection and except for men on essential duties elsewhere, the whole crew gathered expectantly on the flight deck. A close inspection of the container revealed no obvious means of opening it and I stood in front of it like a dummy getting more embarrassed until I remembered the Cold Albatross’s door panels. Carefully I studied the skin until I found what I was looking for. An almost invisible hand sized outline that exactly fitted my left hand.

‘It had to be the left hand.’ I mused to myself.

It was Beverly’s last little reminder to me of her childhood suffering. I presumed it read my DNA rather like the electronic card readers on Earth but obviously a DNA reader was infinitely more sophisticated. Throwing caution to the wind I placed my hand upon it and slowly the familiar whispering sound fought with the constant whistling of the flight deck wind. Inside was all the material I was expecting concerning the artificial limbs and additionally some stuff I had never expected.

In particular was a perfect miniature replica of The Cold Albatross but without its primary coils. It just hovered in suspension and stuck to it was a crude printed note. I read the poorly formed letters and swallowed as I remembered Beverly’s confession that she could hardly read or write when she was fifteen. The note was terse.

‘Don’t try to follow me. This model has only got anti-grav and interplanetary drive; love, Beverly.’

I gasped with shock and silently whispered my gratitude to her as tears began to flood down my face. The captain tapped gently on the door and spoke softly.

“Is there anything we can do?”

I turned to reveal my distress and he hesitated awkwardly, painfully aware of the eyes of his whole crew boring into his back. I ushered him inside then showed him the model and the note.

“Does it work?” He asked curiously.

“I should think so. It’s a model of the Cold Albatross without its primary warping coil. I suppose these minor fittings are the anti-grav but I’ve no idea how it works. There’s no way of getting inside it to operate it.” I sighed.

“If it’s model; and it obviously is, there could some sort of radio control box like a model aeroplane or boat.” He suggested.

Urgently we searched through the assorted containers and files until Captain Rawlin found what he was looking for. After a few seconds he held it in his hand victoriously. Together we inspected the controls and wondered why everything wasn’t set at
zero. The captain quickly worked that one out.

“This Beverly lady must obviously be pretty au-fait with the universe and universal physical laws. It’s probably pre-set for absolute zero, so these knobs may be adjusted to compensate for the speed of the ship or the rotation of the Earth.”

“Or the orbital velocity of the Earth.” I added nervously.

“That would be tens thousands of miles per hour.” He remarked softly. “It seems excessive for a model of this size. Extrapolating your theory it could even be compensating for the Big Bang.”

We exchanged uncertain glances and shuddered. That sort of velocity could amount to hundreds of thousands of miles per hour.

“We don’t know what we’re working with here.” I cautioned. “Just Remember the Cold Albatross could warp billions of light years in a day or so. You have to destroy all your preconceptions of time and space when dealing with that girl and her science.”

I had referred to Beverly as a girl and not revealed that she was a transvestite. I was a committed feminist myself and it would suite my feminist beliefs for the male sex to think there was a woman somewhere out there who was a million times cleverer than their best scientists. I felt that Beverly would have heartily approved and I owed her that much. The captain resisted the urge to twiddle with the radio control knobs and handed the box back to me with a questioning look.

“This Beverly girl has concocted her own hieroglyphics for the knobs and they don’t make much sense. I suggest we mark the current positions of all the knobs and adjust one at a time infinitesimally.”

“That sounds reasonable.” I agreed.

We both studied the panel and I tried to recall how the Cold Albatross’s anti-grav control panel was laid out. Then I remembered Beverly had only used two of the several crude aluminium levers to control the ship when we accompanied the harriers. There were only three little ‘finger levers’ on the radio box so we agreed that these two should be tried first. Fortunately one lever moved back and forth whilst the other lever moved sideways. We felt we were getting somewhere. Cautiously the Captain stood close behind me ready to grab the box if something went wrong. Then I carefully inched the lever forward. The model behaved impeccably and within a few minutes we had it performing miracles inside the tight confines of the container.

“So what now?” Asked the British captain. “Who gets anti-grav? Us, or you yanks.”

“Beverly would want everybody to have it. The whole world, that is.” I admonished.

“But she’s British. She was born in England. Surely that makes it a British invention.”

I harked back to Beverly’s bitter childhood pain and had to bite my tongue at the captain’s parochialism. After gathering my thoughts I spoke.

“Captain; She hardly even considers herself to be human anymore let alone British. If this miracle is to take mankind to the planets then it is all of mankind or none. There’s a lot more in these other boxes and it’s all mine. I did a deal with the amphibians and they have given me some of their medical technology.

The anti-grav model is entirely Beverly’s idea and I suspect we are being tested. We’d better deal with it philanthropically. I’m on trial here, I’m certain of it. So are you and the rest of humanity. If we get it right, then the human race might get it right and she might even come back. You can bet your bottom dollar she’ll be watching.”

Uniquely the captain was a military man with a modicum of conscience. He finally concurred and we opened the doors of the container again to a row of worried faces. The situation was explained to the senior officers and contact was swiftly made to the relevant political leaders. Now I had to wait with the rest of the crews and ships while the politicians argued and traded. I had to admire Captain Rawlin though; he was adamant about my having control of the model while the politicians argued and wrangled.

After several weeks, agreement was eventually reached but not before I had to ‘bash a few political heads together. Finally Captain Rawlin and I accompanied the model to neutral Switzerland for examination and experimentation. Once I was assured that the model was available for international assessment I paid my last respects to the British captain and returned home to indulge my
own interests with the bio-engineering of spare limbs. The work proved easy. Beverly and her amphibian friends had left copious notes and it was an easy task to simply follow the dotted lines.

Additionally I also found a virtual lexicon of all the abusers Beverly could remember from her childhood and it made for some disturbing reading.

The names read like a ‘who’s who’ of the British establishment. Unfortunately I was so engrossed in my new bio-company that the abuse issue had to be left on the back burner but it was always at the back of my mind. (It was the horror of the maimed hand that did it for me.) Within a year I was well on my way to my fortune.

The company I had formed soon proved extremely successful and I was kept extremely busy travelling the world on business. After that first year I was beginning to wear out and I found it necessary to return each weekend to the peace of my remote cottage to recharge my batteries. It was during one of these weekends that I received an unexpected visit from a group of international scientists with a grave concern written all over their faces.

The upshot of their problem was that they were getting nowhere with the model of Cold Albatross. Despite the world’s leading physicists bending their deepest concentration to the concept of gravity they were no nearer to understanding the principles of the model’s drive. As they laid their cards out on the table I began more and more to respect Beverly’s intellect.

“So why come to me gentlemen. I’m just the messenger. I don’t know the first thing about gravity, I’m a biologist.”

A depressing mood settled on the group until a self appointed spokesman eventually broached their ideas and hopes.

“We were hoping perhaps there was some way you might be able to get in touch with your friend and give us some pointers.”

I shook my head resignedly.

“She’s gone. She told me she was never coming back. In fact she intimated suicide.”

A low shocked gasp whispered around the room as they exchanged disappointed glances. The spokesman caught my eye again and frowned.

“Why on earth was she suicidal?”

I realised that the naval staff had not divulged Beverly’s full story and I debated telling the scientists myself. Then I decided there could be little harm. If she was billions of light years away committing suicide then no harm could be done.

Anyway it was about time that her guilty tormentors were brought to book- that is if they were still alive after forty odd years. I invited the scientists into the kitchen and made coffee for them all before playing the tapes. They listened with deepening horror as the silence became oppressive. When her tale ended I clicked of the tape. The only part I had erased was her declaring herself to be a transvestite. That was to forever be our little secret and we would take it to our separate graves.

“There you arer gentlemen. Now you know why that poor tormented sould is suicidal! I thought you should have heard that. Now that my company is thriving and the money’s rolling in I’m going to devote myself to exposing those bastards. I’m afraid gentlemen Beverly’s going to get her revenge and I’ll be her sword. There’s nothing I can do about the gravity drive but I can certainly do something to redress the injustices of her childhood.”

The scientists left and I heard little about them again. My business however, was going from strength to strength whilst I indulged a whim and rooted out the perpetrators of the childhood atrocities. Many had died; some had risen to positions of considerable power whilst others had sunk to become robber barons in the twilight world of the criminal underworld. As my activities gathered momentum, the writs and court orders started to fly back and forth like flocks of birds as judges, doctors, politicians, criminals and powerful industrialists moved heaven and earth to cover their tracks. It was all to no avail however. With the evidence Beverly had left me and that all-powerful tool called money; the corridors of power were soon ringing to the hammer of justice. Within months the British government had fallen and my final crowning victory was to stand on the court steps and declare the guilty names to the world’s media. Within seconds the news was flashing around the world. My debt to Beverly had been paid.