Starship Freedom

by Daniel Arenson

  Emily rolled her eyes. "You can't hear computer viruses in the walls, Niles."

  The drone gasped. "There! There goes one now! A virus!"

  A tiny hatch opened on the drone's shell. A slender rod emerged, pointing at a ventilation grate above.

  Emily looked and frowned. She did see something. Something fast moved behind the vent. Emily glimpsed a flash of brown hair or maybe fur. Thumping and banging sounded above the deckhead, and then it was gone. Whatever it was.

  "Mr. Darjeeling?" Emily turned toward the sergeant major. "I think I spotted a mouse in the vents. Do you have mice here aboard the starship Freedom? Not that I'm complaining, of course. I rather like mice." She bit her lip. "I hope it doesn't sound like I'm complaining."

  "Well, I am complaining!" Niles said. "This whole starship is infested."

  Darjeeling, the kindly sergeant with the wonderful white mustache, acted as tour guide. Two hours ago, they had begun the tour in the upper decks, which contained casinos, wax museums, and various other tourist traps. Emily had found those areas disappointing.

  "I want to see the real ship," she had told Darjeeling. "The place my grandfather had served in."

  Darjeeling had nodded, accompanied her to an elevator, and taken her to the lower decks. This place was more like it. The corridors twisted and turned like a medieval dungeon. Hatches led to old armories, engine rooms, and war rooms. And real soldiers served here! In the upper decks, Emily mostly ran into tourists, and when she did see an employee, it was a civilian. A waiter, perhaps, or a blackjack dealer. Or sometimes somebody dressed up as Freedom the Frog, signing autographs for the kids.

  Not down here. Here served real soldiers in real uniforms. Here were the men and women who kept the ship running. They cleaned the engines. They maintained the cannons, even if those cannons now fired fireworks instead of torpedoes. They honored the Freedom and her legacy.

  Every once in a while, Darjeeling would stop a soldier, inspect them, and harrumph.

  "Polish those boots, Corporal!" he'd tell one man.

  "Iron that shirt, Private!" he'd tell another.

  "Shave those cheeks."

  "Trim that hair."

  Soldiers gulped when they saw the old sergeant, nodded as he critiqued them, and hurried off. Emily realized that Darjeeling was more than just a tour guide. He was an active-duty NCO aboard a working starship.

  To Emily, this aspect of the ship—seeing the military machine below the glittering casinos and spas—seemed wonderful.

  Even if there were mice.

  Darjeeling stared at the vent above. Until now, Darjeeling had been all kindly smiles around Emily. Even when he was correcting his soldiers, he remained calm and professional. But now he scowled and shook his fist at the vent.

  "Dammit, get back here, you little urchin!" he cried. "I'm going to catch you and give you a beating."

  Emily gasped. "Mr. Darjeeling! It's only a mouse."

  Darjeeling lowered his fist. His cheeks flushed. "Forgive my outburst, ma'am. I sincerely apologize." He glanced back at the vent, and his mustache bristled. "Begging your pardon, ma'am, but that was no mouse. That was a menace I've been chasing for three years now. She almost never shows herself. She must find you curious."

  Emily placed her hands on her hips. "What is going on, Mr. Darjeeling?"

  Darjeeling took a deep breath and smoothed his uniform. "My apologies, ma'am. My deepest apologies. Just a little problem we've been dealing with, but we'll solve it." He smiled. "Now—we're almost at deck 9. The control deck for the Fist of Freedom. You were curious to see the mighty Fist, yes?"

  Emily hopped in excitement, forgetting all about mice in the vents. "Yes. I can't wait."

  * * * * *

  They took an elevator down. As they descended, Emily unfolded her map of the starship Freedom. A paper map. How quaint. They handed them out when you docked, and you could take them home as souvenirs. Looking at the ship's schematic, the eyes were immediately drawn to the Fist of Freedom.

  According to the brochure, the Fist was the largest gun ever built. Its twin rails thrust out from the prow. An illustration appeared on the back of the map, showing the Fist of Freedom standing erect in Manhattan. The two prongs stood as tall as the tallest skyscrapers.

  The base of the prongs was attached to the ship's midsection. From there, they flanked the prow, and finally thrust out into empty space. Emily was heading toward the base of the rails—the control room where gunners operated the grand railgun.

  She emerged from the elevator into a massive chamber. It was the size of an airplane hangar. Cold wind blew through the void, ruffling Emily's golden hair. Mezzanines surrounded the cavern, crowded with tourists. The balcony where Emily stood was empty aside from her, Darjeeling, and Niles.

  The perks of being a princess. You got your own private showing of everything.

  She leaned over the railing, gasping.

  "Would you look at that," she whispered.

  The rails thrust out—one along the chamber floor, one along the ceiling. Two fingers the size of office towers. She could only see their bases from here. Most of the rails were outside the hull. But enormous screens hung on the cavern bulkhead, displaying a view from outside. It felt like looking directly out to space. Emily could see the full length of the rails pointing at the stars. The illusion was perfect.

  "Emily, don't lean over the railing!" Niles said.

  "Oh shush, I'm fine." She leaned even farther over the railing, just to irk him, and pointed downward. "Mr. Darjeeling, what is that below?"

  She squinted, staring at it. Enormous machinery filled the base of the cavern. Pistons rose and fell. Gears turned. Tubes glowed with pale blue light. A glass sphere churned, full of searing, crackling light like a star trapped in a snow globe.

  "That's the reactor that powers the Fist of Freedom, ma'am," Darjeeling said. "We can only see part of it from here. The reactor produces enough electricity to propel a projectile between the rails." He pointed. "Do you see there below, by the engines? That's one of the projectiles."

  Emily gasped. "But it's huge, Mr. Darjeeling!"

  He nodded. "Yes indeed. We call them Goliath missiles due to their size. That projectile is the size of a whale. Of course, we haven't fired the Fist of Freedom in thirty-five years. Not since the war."

  "How many Goliath missiles are on the starship?" Emily asked.

  "Just the one, ma'am. And … I'll let you in on a little secret. Even that Goliath below is hollow. It's there for the tourists."

  Emily bit her lip, staring at the enormous Goliath below.

  "Is it true the Fist of Freedom can destroy planets?" she asked.

  "I don't know about planets, but it can cause some serious damage," Darjeeling said. "You see, using electricity instead of a propellant like gunpowder, a railgun can hurl projectiles at incredible speed. That magnifies the projectile's kinetic energy. Goliaths don't have warheads. They carry so much kinetic energy they don't need warheads. A humble bullet fired from a railgun will be far deadlier than a bullet fired from a regular pistol. Increase the size and speed, and you keep increasing the kinetic energy. The Fist of Freedom can easily destroy an entire city. Not to mention the most heavily armored enemy dreadnought. In fact, it was the Fist of Freedom that destroyed the RDS Mao during the war, crippling the Red Dawn's fleet."

  Emily tried to imagine it. The massive gun booming, destroying enemy starships. Like in the stories.

  "The Freedom must have been unstoppable with this weapon," she said.

  Niles flew up to them. "Not that unstoppable. I read the specs. The Fist of Freedom takes a full day to charge." The drone snorted. "How much use is a weapon you can fire only once a day?"

  "Useful enough to win the war, Sir Drone," said Darjeeling.

  "And useful enough that if there's ever another war, Niles, the Freedom will win that too," Emily said, annoyed with her jeweled companion.

  Darjeeling smiled soothingly. "Ah, the Freedom's days of fighting
are over. Maybe the days of all humanity fighting are over. I pray we forever have peace, though we honor our heroes."

  "Like my grandfather," Emily said softly. "He was a fighter pilot here."

  Darjeeling nodded. "And a most honorable man. I did not know him well during my service here. Ten thousand soldiers served aboard the Freedom during the war, and back then, I was only a humble corporal, and he was a prince and officer. But I saw him fly in battle, and I admired his courage. He's a great man, our dear King Robert." He bowed. "And you are a great princess, Emily, and a source of pride to both your family and kingdom."

  Emily smiled and patted his arm. "Thank you, Mr. Darjeeling. Brave soldiers like you honor our kingdom. Indeed, you honor the entire Alliance."

  The mustached sergeant beamed. He wiped away a tear. "Thank you, ma'am," he whispered. "Your words touch me more than you can know."

  Niles rolled his camera eyes. "Are you two quite finished patting each other on the back? The saccharine is clogging my sockets."

  Both humans ignored the drone.

  "Mr. Darjeeling, do you think it would be possible to meet the Freedom's Flock?" Emily said. "The pilots who put on that marvelous aerobatic show for me?"

  Darjeeling hesitated, his smile vanishing. "I … Well …"

  Emily frowned. "Oh, I'm sorry. If there's a problem, we don't have to—"

  "Oh, not a problem per se," Darjeeling said. "It's just … the flock can be a rowdy bunch." He lowered his voice. "They're not English like us."

  "They sound like savages!" Niles said.

  Emily laughed. "That's quite all right, Mr. Darjeeling. Many nations are part of our Alliance. I don't expect them all to bow before me."

  "There better not be any American pilots," Niles said. "You know I can't abide Americans."

  Emily shoved him. Hard. "Niles! Rude!"

  One of his jewels dislodged and flew into the pit, where it clattered among the engines and vanished. Niles looked down dejectedly. "That ruby cost more than this entire starship."

  "Go get it," Emily said.

  Niles gasped. "And get engine oil all over me? No, thank you." He raised his silver nose and floated away.

  * * * * *

  As they headed back toward the elevator, they passed by another vent, this one near the deck. Once more, Emily caught movement from the corner of her eye.

  She paused. Leaving Darjeeling, she knelt by the vent.

  A face stared through the grate.

  Emily gasped and stumbled back.

  A human face! A girl's face!

  "There's somebody trapped down here!" Emily said.

  Darjeeling rushed forward, face flushing. "I've got the ragamuffin this time." He reached toward the grate and yanked it off.

  The girl inside the vent blew him a raspberry. "You'll never catch me, old man!"

  Laughing, she vanished into the duct and scurried away. Clanking sounded under the deck. The girl must be crawling right under their feet.

  Darjeeling reached into the vent, but he was too big to follow. His white mustache bristled, and his eyes bugged out. "Get back here, miscreant! I won't be having you on my ship."

  Emily frowned. "Mr. Darjeeling! What is going on?"

  "Please ignore her, ma'am," Darjeeling said. "She's a stowaway. She's been tormenting me for three years now. The crew call her Stowy. They see her as something of a mascot. But she's the bane of my existence, she is."

  Laughter sounded from another vent—this one above their heads. Stowy's pale face appeared at the grate.

  "Hey, Princess Emily! Did you know that Darjeeling is a big poo-poo head?" The stowaway laughed and vanished again into the ducts.

  "Why you!" Darjeeling raced toward the grate on the deckhead, jumped, but could not reach it. He began dragging a crate over, grumbling about how he's going to catch the girl this time.

  As Darjeeling tried to reach the grate on the ceiling, Emily stood on the deck, confused.

  "Psst!"

  The sound came from behind her.

  "Psst! Hey! Princess!"

  Emily turned around. Stowy's face now appeared in another grate, this one on the bulkhead. Darjeeling didn't notice. He was busy trying to unscrew the grate on the deckhead vent.

  Emily knelt by the bulkhead. Stowy stared at her from inside the duct. She looked about seventeen, same age as Emily, maybe a year or two younger. Her face was elfin and freckled, her hair light brown and messy.

  "Why, you're a regular Whac-a-Mole, aren't you?" Emily whispered.

  Emily glanced over her shoulder. Darjeeling still hadn't noticed. He was reaching into the ceiling grate, muttering about how he'll toss Stowy out the airlock.

  "Princess." Stowy reached from the duct and grabbed Emily's arm.

  Emily recoiled. Suddenly Stowy seemed less silly, more menacing, like a ghost haunting the ship. The girl's eyes lost all their mirth. They now stared with burning intensity.

  "Be careful, Princess," the stowaway whispered. "I hear everything. I know all that happens on this ship. Something is coming. Something dangerous. Something from beyond the stars. Beware!"

  "I got you now!" Darjeeling roared, reaching toward her.

  Stowy yelped and vanished into the duct.

  Within an instant, the girl was gone and did not return. As Emily continued her tour of the ship, Stowy's warning echoed in her mind.

  Something is coming. Beware!

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Nebraska, Earth

  13:28 Christmas 2199

  Charging Bear knelt on the forest floor, staring at the frozen ground.

  "I don't know what left these tracks." The giant's eyes were dark. "No animal I've ever seen. Not a machine either. Something unholy walked here. I can smell it. The stench of evil fills this forest."

  Bastian knelt beside his friend. He stared at the ground too, squinting. "I don't see anything." He sniffed. "I don't smell anything either."

  Bastian had no skills in tracking. That much was obvious. There were some things he was good at. He was a decent enough shot. He could lift big weights at the gym. He sometimes won a round of poker. But it seemed that where it counted, Bastian kept failing. He tried flight school, only to flunk out, breaking a long tradition of King pilots. He tried marriage, only for Stacy to dump his ass for Hunter and his avocados. And now, when Bastian needed to save an old lady from this forest, he couldn't even find tracks in the snow.

  Luckily, Bear was there. The giant could probably track an ant across concrete.

  "Sight is not just what your eyes see." Bear straightened to his full height, towering over the others. "There are many senses. Come, we need to hurry. There's great danger here. Great need."

  "Can you tell if my grandmother is still alive?" Alice said, standing beside the tracker.

  At over six feet tall, Master Sergeant Alice Allenby stood taller than most men. She could also wrestle most of them to submission. But standing beside Bear, she seemed downright petite.

  "I don't know," said the giant. "I don't know magic, Alice. I just have strong senses. Come, hurry."

  Pretty soon they had to abandon their buffalo. The quadrupedal robot was too bulky to move through the thickening forest. They kept the robotic mustang, which was slender enough to walk between the trees. Unfortunately, the mechanical horse was just large enough for one rider. Alice climbed onto the saddle, beating Bastian to it.

  Bear ran ahead, leading the way. He said he needed his feet on the ground to track his quarry. Bastian had no idea how Bear could follow a trail while running, but apparently, the giant could.

  Bastian ran behind the tracker, breathing heavily. He could barely keep up. Bastian spent a lot of time in the gym, but that mostly involved lifting weights and drinking protein shakes. He wasn't much of a runner. He was like a tank—big and brutish and deadly at short distances, but send him cross country, and he'd break down before long.

  "Alice, come on, share the horse," he panted.

  Alice rode nearby on the mechanical s
tallion. "Both of us won't fit. You're too fat."

  "It's muscle!" he said.

  "Sure. Keep running, meathead. You could lose a few pounds."

  So Bastian kept running. He needed to get this over with fast.

  I'll be there in time, Rowan, he thought. I promise. I ain't letting your mother take you to Bemidji to spend the rest of Christmas with Hunter.

  They kept moving through the forest, heading uphill. Perfect. If there was anything Bastian hated more than running, it was running uphill.

  Soon enough, he could smell something ahead. An oily stench. A smell like an old deep fryer abandoned outside, still sticky with grease, flaked with burnt meat and covered in bugs.

  "Stinks like your feet, Bas!" Alice said, riding beside him.

  Bear stopped running and pointed at a forested hilltop.

  "It's coming from there," the giant said. "The stench. There's something evil here."

  Bastian stopped running too. He leaned over, clutching his side. His heart pounded. Alice had ridden on the horse, but she didn't look happy either. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips purple, and frost clung to her eyelashes. Bear, meanwhile, wasn't even out of breath.

  As he struggled to catch his own breath, Bastian drew and charged his pistol. "Yeah, well, let's find whatever grabbed Granny Allenby and fill it with bullets."

  He walked toward the stench, boots cracking frozen twigs. The others followed, their own guns drawn. A gust of wind blew icicles off the trees. The icy blades sliced into the snow around them.

  The friends wormed between maples and pines. The smell grew. Bastian nearly gagged, wishing he had brought a gas mask. He walked, gun pointing the way, and reached the hilltop.

  Gnarled pines rose among patches of snow, crowning the hill like astral sentinels guarding a kingdom of ice. A cobweb stretched between the trees, as large as a sail. Halfway up the web hung a cocoon. It was roughly the size of a person.

  Alice gasped, dismounted the robotic horse, and ran toward the cobwebs.