The Ship Looking for God

By D. Krauss and EJ Knapp

As battle engulfs Star City, Otto Boteman hustles aboard the ship moments before it launches. Now a useless stowaway, Otto must constantly prove his worth or get shown the airlock door. But a stunning encounter at the Pearly Gates changes the entire purpose of the ship, and Otto, along with the rest of th

• Language: English
• Publisher: Indies United Publishing House, LLC
• Release date: Apr 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781644564318

D. Krauss

D. Krauss currently resides in the Shenandoah Valley. He's been a cottonpicker, a sod buster, a surgical orderly, the guy who paints the little white line down the middle of the road, a weatherman, a gun-totin’ door-kickin’ lawman, a layabout, and a bus driver.

Book preview

The Ship Looking for God

D. Krauss

To D2, who's there now. Am I right?

"… From this you can conceive how love must be

The seed in you of every other virtue

And every deed deserving punishment."

Purgatorio -- Canto XVII

The Story so Far:

From an extraordinary world that may, or may not, be Heaven or Paradise, may, instead, be wild imagination, arose a patched-together, committee-engineered, barely capable rocket. The crew, a motley collection of human souls from all times and civilizations with no business in a Christian Afterlife (or maybe they did, maybe this God they sought, this Father, was far more gracious than their respective traditions allowed), strapped in couches, g forces squeezing them breathless, glimpsed the falling away of that extraordinary world, where friends and comrades battled enemies and monsters in a war like no other, and turned eyes forward to … what?

Chapter I

Weights And Measures

I … just don't believe any of this, Otto said.

Marc, peering through binoculars out of the forward viewport, grinned. Neither do I.

Otto tried to think of a good, single word that summed up his overwhelming – and persistent – sense of disbelief. 'Stunned?' Well, yeah, when you jump from the middle of an epic cavalry charge through a horde of weird, suit-wearing angels or demons or whatever those things were, into the hold of a slapdash rocket then cling for dear life to the dear and beautiful Claudia as the rocket takes off … 'stunned' might be a good choice. Except, it's underwhelming. 'Astonished?' Nah, same problem. 'Astounded?'

Gobsmacked.

Yeah, that's it. So … how'd this happen?

Marc shrugged. You put enough combustible fuel into the open end of a closed system, you can launch anything into orbit. It's science. You can rely on science.

Otto, of course, had been referring to the entire spectrum of recent events, but he'd settle for a specific. Yeah? Then, tell me, Mr. Science Guy, why aren't we weightless?

Another shrug. Beats me. That's not science. At least, no science I know.

Been a lot of that lately, Otto muttered. Indeed. Ever since Otto had keeled over in his driveway from a massive heart attack and woken face down on a cobblestoned street, smack in the middle of the most fabulous City in the universe … or not in the universe. Next to the universe, or outside of it or, whatever the heck Mr. Latchemondy had said, he'd run into an unending series of no science things, like the hypno-sky, the velocity stars, the two moons riding identical paths night after night.

This silly, duct-taped, jury-rigged rocket.

Surprised we didn't blow up, Otto said.

What?

Nothing. What are you looking at, anyway?

The little moon. Marc gestured out of the porthole with the binoculars. It's weird.

Otto pressed around Marc's shoulder. You mean, weirder than the normal weird?

As difficult as that is to conceive. But, it looks completely natural.

Why is that weird?

Because of its motion. Marc swooped his hands like a fighter pilot describing a maneuver. It's all wrong, so it must be artificial.

Otto craned for a better look, Prester John said it was powered.

Prester John? THE Prester John? You met him?

In the flesh … or whatever we are now. He runs a mining operation in the caves under Out. Otto pointed a thumb behind. Ferdinand met him, too.

I did! Ferdinand called from his station at the console. And I found him to be a most extraordinary man. The Argentine returned to his clipboard, scribbling through several sheets of paper. Trying to come up with some kind of map, no doubt; after all, he was the navigator.

What were you doing under Out? Marc asked.

Running. So why is it weird for a powered moon to look natural?

No tech before its time, remember? Marc said, If it were made of fiberglass or something, okay, but we humans can't power a full-sized real moon like that, or, at least, not when I checked out. He raised confirming eyebrows at Otto.

Couldn't when I died – or fell into this coma – either.

Marc smirked. Still think you’re dreaming, huh?

Don't you?

A non-committal waggle of fingers. Anyway, Marc said, continuing the finger waggle out of the porthole, that moon looks like a genu-wine piece of space rock, so the Suits must have better tech than us.

Otto knuckle rapped him on the head, Hello, McFly! Combat lasers? Dimensional grenades?

Marc laughed with a bit of puzzlement, shoved Otto back, and pushed the binocs at the glass.

Who are these McFlys, some Irish family?

That voice, crystal ringing in the wind … Claudia. Otto had a sudden urge to give her another in a long series of absolutely devastating kisses. Devastating for him, anyway. He smiled, No. Movie character.

Ah, she nodded. Like Pyrgopolynices.

Otto blinked. Yeah, him.

Her brows crinkled in amusement; obviously he had no clue, but she was too much of a lady to call him out. Too much of a woman. Otto succumbed to urge and reached for her.

Knock it off, you two, Marc didn't turn. Eyes in Back of Head. The rest of us are getting bored.

You mean, 'jealous', Otto said and swept her up, or she swept him up, couldn't really tell and there, another kiss of sheer ecstasy, sheer eternity, the two of them whirlpooling away. It was the physical equivalent of the hypno-sky.

About twelve years later, they returned. Done? Marc asked.

For now, Claudia said, stars in her eyes. Otto was still incapable of speech, so just grunted.

All right! The sharp bark behind them caused both to jump. Captain Earhart (don't call her Amelia; you'll get a fat lip) stood in front of the console, glowering at them both. You're not here to lip wrestle. Help Marc keep an eye on the moon. We want to get past it, not through it. She turned the glower on Ferdinand.

Otto gave an exaggerated salute and an exaggerated Scotty accent, Aye, Captain! But we're gonna need more power!

Marc burst out laughing, no puzzlement this time, as Amelia stared at Otto. What?

Otto waved it down. Nothing. A reference that only Marc and I get, he said to her and Claudia and Ferdinand, and the rest of the pre-Trekkies here on the … bridge, yeah, that's what we'll call this room filled with instruments and steering and navigators. Mr. Sulu, ahead full.

Her glower turned murderous. Fine. One day you two will explain what's so funny about that. As for now, she pointed a finger with murderous intent, eyes on that moon!

Ever hear of radar? Otto snarked, then realized that no, Amelia hadn't, so he raised conciliatory hands and got back on task.

You're going to get thrown out of the airlock, Marc said.

Probably, Otto agreed. By the way, guess who else was down there with Prester John.

I give up.

Gene Roddenberry.

No kidding!

Yeah, and he calls the glowy stuff they're mining, 'dilithium crystals.'

Glowy stuff, huh? Marc said, thoughtful, as he scrutinized the moon.

Otto, unable to see a blasted thing around Marc's shoulders, sighed, and looked at Claudia. I'm feeling a bit useless.

Well, you ARE a stowaway. She dimpled and took his arm and leaned into him, but not in affection, more to brace herself as she gazed out, past Marc.

Otto grinned, And whose fault is that?

She chuckled and Otto moved, closing in for another time-stopping kiss when Marc said, Uh oh.

C'mon, man, Otto groused, you're killing the mood.

Good, Marc said, tapping the porthole, 'cause I need your undivided attention. Something's out there.

What? Claudia and Otto chorused and crowded the glass. I don't see anything, Otto said.

Wordlessly, Marc handed him the binocs and pointed towards the upper right quadrant of the fast-approaching little moon, back-dropped by the much bigger primary moon that blocked the view of the Jovian world they’d just launched from containing the City and Out, and whatever the heck else was down there and … wow. This must be remarkably similar to what Neil Armstrong saw as he got closer to the Sea of Tranquility. Except for the extra moon, of course. Otto would love to spend the next few years just gawking at it all, but there were other priorities. Like spotting whatever Marc had spotted. He adjusted the wheel, marveling at the instant focus. Good stuff. What do you expect from Flemish lens grinders? I'm still not … wait. There, a bright speck, ill-defined, moving against the little moon's surface. Uh oh.

Claudia took the binocs out of his hands and peered hard. Yes. Uh oh. She watched for a moment then looked at them both. We should tell the Captain.

Tell me what? Amelia was at their shoulders.

Marc gestured at the port. We've got company.

Dammit, Amelia said under her breath and pushed her way in, taking the binocs from Claudia to locate the intruder. Sudden breath intake and she whispered, The Japanese.

Otto stared. Wait. He pointed out of the window. They're Japanese?

Don't be ridiculous! she snapped, still riveted.

Well, then why … Hit him like a water balloon. So that's what happened.

That's what happened what? Clearly irritated.

To you and Fred Noonan.

Amelia glared at him. Excuse me?

There's a theory, just a theory, mind you, that you and Fred were spying on the Japanese, and they didn't take very kindly to it. Otto affected an innocent expression. Care to comment?

Storm clouds gathered and, after a moment, she said, "Don't ever, ever, ask me anything like that again. Or you'll be walking home!" and she turned back to the porthole.

Claudia stood bewildered as Marc and Otto exchanged knowing looks. Bingo, Marc mouthed.

Amelia tensed. It's stopped, she said, Right in our way. She chewed on her lower lip, then wheeled and stalked over to the console, hovering over the pilot, a World War II Wehrmacht sergeant named Josef. Evasive maneuvers, Amelia ordered.

Josef regarded her. What?

You heard me.

Um … how?

Amelia was incredulous. I thought you knew how to fly this thing!

Captain, Josef said quietly, I drove a trolley in Heilbronn before I was drafted. I spent the war in a stable taking care of horses. You have had much more time with aircraft than I have.

But we trained you!

Yes. To hold a straight line, to ease into orbits that Mr. Aronsen, he gestured at Marc, calculates, but not to jink all over the sky.

Is that even possible to do? Ferdinand, sitting next to Josef, asked.

"Whether it is or isn't, we have to do something! She glanced back towards the port. I don't want to run into whatever that is."

Someone cleared a throat. All of them looked at the hole in the middle of the floor from which a ladder to the lower crew quarters peeked. A sleek head of black hair, topping a pair of glistening beady eyes, peered at them from the top rung. Captain, beady eyes said, I would advise a very gentle, very gradual course of maneuver.

Who's that? Otto whispered to Marc.

Taccola, Marc whispered back. Crew engineer. An inventor, around da Vinci's time.

Really? Otto made a mental note to schedule some time with the little crow.

Amelia bore down. What are you trying to tell me, Tac?

I am not convinced the ship could withstand the strains of hard turns. Nor that we have the fuel for it.

Otto stepped to the ladder where he could see Taccola dangling. We didn't bring enough fuel?

Tac blinked at him. Not for excessive maneuvers, no. Who are you, again?

Otto Boteman. Otto extended a hand – not as greeting, but to haul the engineer up. Lately of Washington, DC. Seems a little shortsighted not to bring enough fuel, doncha think?

Tac ignored the hand as he climbed up, regarded Otto coolly, then turned to Amelia. Captain, he emphasized the word, dismissing Otto, the extra weight he rolled eyes back at Otto, changes all calculations.

Otto started. Wait a minute. You're saying this is my fault?

Tac merely raised eyebrows at Amelia, who gave a long, exasperated sigh. We figured a crew of thirty. You, she pointed at Otto, are number thirty-one. Her point included Claudia, who flushed. After all, she was the one who'd dragged him on board.

Now hold on, Otto raised a defensive hand. Tolerances are built into everything. Right, engineer? This to Tac.

Yes, they are, a new voice broke in and everyone turned to see Karl, a Falkenberg blacksmith from the 1800s, clear the ladder. But within expected standards. Your additional weight is unexpected. He and Tac exchanged approving glances. Nerds.

C'mon, Captain, Otto said. "There's nothing that sensitive."

Except for weight, Amelia looked mournful. That's downright critical in an aircraft.

This isn't an aircraft. Otto pointed out.

Principle still applies.

The others examined him, some with hostility, no doubt wondering how easily he'd fit through the airlock. Claudia, her flush deepening, threw a defensive hand at Otto. If it weren't for him, we wouldn't have taken off!

That's true for everyone in Star City! Amelia barked, But we certainly didn't take all of them with us, did we?

Claudia's mouth formed a tight line. Baleful stares between the two women. Waddyaknow, a good old-fashioned catfight, right here in orbit.

Hate to break up this charming conversation, Marc called from the viewport, but there's been a development.

That was enough to shift the crowd's attention. What? Amelia asked.

Our little visitor is no longer in the way. It's, instead, coming alongside … A loud clang raised a startled yell throughout as the ship shuddered and lurched.

I think it's attached itself, Marc said.

At that moment, the ship pitched hard, as if it had run into a wall or something. All were thrown off their feet. Otto grabbed Claudia as he flew by and cushioned her as they collided with the bulkhead. Oof! he yelped.

Exactly my sentiments, Marc said as he unpeeled his face from the porthole.

Thank you, Claudia whispered as she helped Otto up, tempting him to try for another kiss; but this probably wasn't the best of times. Especially with a still-hostile crowd regaining its feet.

What's going on? Amelia demanded of Marc.

Your guess is good as mine, Captain.

Amelia was about to provide a guess of her own when the ship rolled hard to the right, throwing them all again. Otto landed in a tangle with Marc. Say, while we have a moment, he said, is what Tac said true? Is this ship that delicate?

Very good question. Marc unfolded a leg from underneath Otto's back. And I have absolutely no idea. I'm an astronomer, not a structural engineer.

Yeah, but that still puts you light years ahead of these relics. Otto gestured at Tac and Ferdinand in a pile near the console. No pun intended.

No pun noted.

Otto chuckled and crawled across to Claudia, trapped under Karl's massive arms. Hands off my woman, Viking.

Karl looked offended. I am Swede, not Viking.

Six of one … you all right? he asked Claudia as he helped her up. Who knew if the extraordinary healing powers of the City extended into near space?

She gave a little charming curtsy. I am, kind sir, but it is quite rude to refer to one's opposite as a possession.

You're right. Sorry.

Her eye-twinkle signaled forgiveness. Otto, though, had never learned to leave things alone. So, tell me then, how did Romans refer to their slaves?

Claudia lost the twinkle and took on the same offended look as Karl, but Amelia saved his bacon by loudly bringing them back to, er, reality when she called out, Battle stations!

Otto almost laughed aloud. Did you actually say that?

Yes, she had. And the effect was immediate.

Karl and Tac zipped down the ladder as Marc and Claudia threw open hatches and took out weapons – Marc grabbing a double-barreled Savage.12 as Claudia wielded a short Roman sword. Even Amelia strapped on a Webley. The scrambling sounds from below indicated similar actions taking place. Only Otto and Ferdinand stood motionless, bewildered.

Don't you have a weapon? Amelia yelped at Ferdinand. No need to include Otto since he was just dead weight.

I … don't know, Ferdinand replied as Amelia's color rose.

Wait. Otto's upraised hand stopped the pending eruption, He does. He turned to Ferdinand, Get your duffle. There's a pistol in it. Otto should know; it had been his duffle first. Ferdinand dashed off.

He was back in moments, the gigantic Contender .44 in one hand and the box of ammo in the other. Otto showed him how to load it. Beats a flintlock, hey?

Ferdinand hefted it, admiration in his eyes. If I had had such a thing against the Portuguese—

You said the same about Machine Gun Kelly's Thompson, Otto reminded him as the others took positions around the porthole and other possible hull breach locations.

Yes, and both are true.

Otto was about to launch into a philosophical argument about anachronistic weapons and their effect on history, say a nuke during the Civil War, when Amelia called, Ferdinand! She gestured angrily at the ladder opening, Take that post. Repel all boarders!

Otto raised an eyebrow. Did you actually say that?

Something nudged his hand and Otto looked down. Claudia was pushing the leather scabbard from her sword at him. Here.

He took it, the leather drooping over. So what do I do with this?

Slap someone with it, and she took the opposite position from Ferdinand.

Otto held it up, the leather flapping in his face. Great, he said, but she didn't hear him, already focused on the ladder, fire in her eyes, grim purpose about her mouth, the sword ready. Valkyrie.

Don't mess with Celts, Marc observed as he moved to the side of the port.

How'd you know she's Celt?

Tectosage from Ancyra? Marc shook his head, What else could she be? And he went into a combat stance, shotgun across his chest.

Otto figured his best use in this situation was as spoiler, so he moved to the middle, ready to scabbard-slap whoever, or whatever, broke through the hull. Everyone stood ready as moments passed. More moments passed. Then more.

Then nothing.

They all looked at each other, a bit sheepish. Amelia frowned. Did they attach, or not? she asked Marc.

Believe so.

Well, then …

No chance to frame the coming question because the ship suddenly jolted, knocking them off their feet yet again, and accelerated. Dammit! Amelia swore as they all scrambled back to a standing position. What's going on?

Marc was at the porthole. Well, we're moving again.

No kidding. What direction?

Right at the moon, he said, grimly.

footer

Chapter II

Friends In High Places

The little moon loomed gigantic in the viewport, confirming Marc's observation. Obviously the Suits, or whatever had attached to them, intended to drive the ship into the surface.

What a way to go, Otto breathed.

Marc snorted, genuine humor in it. Considering that we've already 'gone,' this is more a show of displeasure than anything.

Yeah? So what happens when we hit? Without waiting for an answer, Otto scrabbled across to where Claudia braced against the railing. I'm sorry, he whispered in her ear.

About what? Those forever-blue eyes held him.

That it ends this way, that our mission failed, that I didn't get to hold your hand right there in the Throne Room, right in front of God Himself.

Her eyes warmed. And what makes you think we have failed?

He made a pointed glance through the porthole at the moon's rapidly closing surface. She followed his gaze and then did something absolutely stunning:

She laughed.

You should have greater faith, she said to his astonished face. He was about to remind her of what happens when several tons of metal crash into a rock surface at, oh, say, 1000 miles per hour, but then the rocket stopped. Dead.

Naturally, in keeping with the science they knew, everyone was thrown around the bridge. This is getting old, Otto muttered as he and Claudia disentangled themselves from Amelia and Ferdinand and Josef.

Maybe the Suits intend to batter us against the walls of this vessel, Ferdinand said as he adjusted his shirt and jeans. Otto's shirt and jeans, actually. Otto looked down at his own ragged outfit, the one Moses had switched with him before the attack on Star City. Ferd, he said, if you've got an extra set of clothes in the duffle, I'd like to change out of this. That is, if they'll still fit me.

Why? Claudia said, patting his arm, You look quite rugged,

I look like a peasant. He turned back to Ferdinand. And what makes you think the Suits are doing this?

Ferdinand, and everyone else, paused and stared at him. Who else could it be? Amelia asked.

Very good question. Otto shook out his collar and cast around for his straw hat. Oh, right, lost that in the battle. Or Flicka had taken it, couldn't remember which. We really don't know who else, or what else, lives in this freakishly weird Afterlife. So we'd best not assume this is the Suits doing. That is, until one shows up and claims credit.

Which I think is about to happen, folks, Marc called from the port. He gestured them over frantically but remained riveted on the glass. You really, really need to see this.

They looked at each other and crowded around Marc, jockeying for position, Otto's height giving him a distinct advantage. Wow, he said.

The rocket floated over a moon crater with a high caldera and crumbled walls, right out of the brochure. Quite impressive, but inside the crater was something even more so:

A city.

Not like The City; different, high tech. Space-age buildings, glass and metal bristling with antennae and satellite dishes, suspended walkways connecting them all. Four main buildings dominated; gigantic structures that anchored hundreds of smaller buildings in a parabola up the caldera's sides. Sunlight reflected back and forth across the metallic/glass surfaces, seemingly directed at what might be collection centers, all dazzling in their brightness. Numerous specks drifted around the buildings.

"Mein Gott!" Josef's reaction did not need the universal translator.

What is this? Ferdinand breathed.

No one answered; no one could. What do you think those moving specks are? Otto whispered to Marc.

Marc, glued to the porthole, had, somehow, retrieved the binoculars from Amelia. Can't tell, but I'm guessing the residents have individual flying craft.

Jetpacks? Otto considered. Always wanted one of those.

The ship spun around its center, but gently, so they kept their feet. It lined up lengthwise with an off-white platform set in a large space between the four buildings. Even more gently, the ship descended.

Marc peered hard at the platform. Landing pad, I'd say.

Really? Were they expecting us? Otto spoke mostly to himself.

It looks like they were, Amelia said and strode towards the command console, yanking a microphone out of its holder. Attention! her voice ripped through the ship’s speakers, complete with feedback, provoking yells of pain. I said attention! The Suits are bringing us in …

We don't know if they're Suits, Otto objected

She ignored him, … so resume your battle stations and get ready! She paused, then added, A pleasure to serve with you, and clicked off.

For all of an hour and ten minutes, Otto said wryly to Claudia, who gave a warning look as she took back her position.

Amelia apparently heard that and whirled on him. You got something to say?

Yes, I do, Otto stood before her. I don't think they're Suits.

Based on?

Otto pointed out the port, They're bringing us in, not destroying us.

Means nothing.

Really? Otto said, When did the Suits ever act humanely?

Perhaps they mean to eat us, Ferdinand piped from his perch beside Marc.

Amelia smirked as Otto hissed, You're not helping! to the Argentine before turning back to her. Not in evidence. You have to go with what you know.

"What I know, Amelia gave the word emphasis, is that we're being hijacked, which shows hostile intent."

Otto raised a finger in emphasis. But it may not be Suits!

Amelia took a breath to argue, but Marc waved both of them down, Guys, forget it. We're about to find out …

… a thump announced they had grounded …

…now.

A diffuse white light shone outside, befogging what little there was to see out of the front porthole and any of the others. Nervous whisperings among the crew broke the pervading silence. What's going— someone called out, interrupted by a loud clang! from the top of the ship. Several smaller clangs and thumps accompanied it.

Someone's walking up there! Josef announced and they all followed the noise to where it stopped opposite the bridge. A pause, and then a faint hissing sound. Familiar … Otto screwed up his face concentrating on it.

What is that? Claudia asked.

Ach! Josef called, again needing no translation. It's an arc welder!

They had those in the ‘40s? Otto asked but the sergeant's answer was lost in a line of fire, blasted through the top of the ship, molten metal dripping on the floor. Get ready! Amelia yelled and everyone dodged the falling metal while covering the growing fire