Spaceship Thrive (Thrive Space Colony Adventures Book 2)

by Ginger Booth

  “Yeah,” Benjy agreed, with deep misgivings. “Delete those new files out of the AI history.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No. Do it anyway.”

  “Deleted,” Copeland confirmed.

  The ‘percent trained’ display remained happily at 100%. “Computer, update percent trained on the guns.”

  The number 100 blazed forth in green again three times.

  “Computer restore backup Pre Gossamer data,” Benjy attempted.

  “Backup restored.”

  “Computer, update percent trained on the guns.”

  That AI sure was proud of itself, throbbing that 100% in green.

  “The new files recreated themselves,” Copeland reported, studying the display behind Benjy’s seat. “Do you know what’s going on?”

  “Not really,” Benjy admitted. “It can’t be undone.”

  “Anything can be undone,” Copeland said. “Can’t it?”

  Benjy frowned, trying to figure out what could have gone wrong with restoring from backup. Unless… “Computer, do you have backups of the previous state of the gun AI?”

  “The AI databases were last backed up 63 years ago,” the computer replied in unconcern. “AI backups require a GS-8553B quantum drive. No such device is online.”

  “Computer, describe a GS…that quantum drive,” Ben begged.

  “The GS-8553B is the latest in ultra-high density information storage in a stylish chromatic rainbow chassis. Its dedicated cooling unit assures operation at a rock-steady minus 60 Celsius –”

  “Computer, stop,” Ben interrupted. “What are you reading?”

  “The product description from the GS-8553B sales brochure.”

  “Computer, where was the quantum drive built?”

  “Made with pride in Zurich, Switzerland.”

  Ben pinched the bridge of his nose. “Computer, at the time of last AI system backup, where was the Thrive located?”

  “There was no ship named Thrive until –”

  “Computer, kiss my ass,” Ben instructed. He continued speaking over its protestations that it didn’t know how. “Where was this ship located when the last AI backup was performed?”

  “This ship was mated to Colony Corps ship Vitality in orbit near the moon Mahina.”

  “Computer, do you know the current location of this quantum drive?”

  “Unknown.”

  “Give it up, Ben,” Copeland suggested. “There’s no ‘undo’ button.”

  “Dammit!” The younger man slammed the edge of the console before him.

  Copeland rose, and took his black brick with him. He bopped his room-mate on the shoulder. “Cap’s call, man, not ours.”

  “Yeah. Thanks, Cope.”

  “Did it shoot OK?”

  “Yeah. Perfect shots. And it didn’t break the umbilical.”

  “Could be worse,” Copeland allowed. With that beguiling thought, he left.

  “Computer, disable guns AI,” Ben attempted.

  “Guns AI on standby,” it replied cordially.

  “Computer, kiss my ass,” Benjy repeated in defeat.

  “I don’t know how to –”

  “Computer, when I tell you to kiss my ass, the correct response is, ‘Ooh, I love it when you talk dirty.’”

  “Yes, Mr. Acosta. Ooh, I love it when you talk dirty.”

  The clock on the console suddenly changed to read 22:04. The time was 14-something a moment ago, halfway through his afternoon bridge watch.

  Why would the guns AI reset the time? Ben dolefully reached for that second half of his sandwich.

  A whir sounded above him. He looked up.

  The bridge camera gazed down at him.

  29

  The original colonies were not designed for defense against other humans. Air, water, food, and environmental control took priority.

  “Will Captain Burgeron be joining us this afternoon?” Sass asked, holding the door for Clay as they stepped into the umbilical between ships.

  Lavelle had been most appreciative of the Thrive, particularly enchanted with its kitchen, and astonished at the protein printer. Sass might be mistaken, but she felt a chemistry sizzling between them. Clay’s stone-faced accompaniment only added to the romantic tension. She had high hopes to get rid of him and get laid tonight.

  Lavelle laughed. “But no. He is Foreman Burgeron. And he’s already in bed. We keep Sagamore time. It’s nearly 22:00. Ah wait!” He held out his arm to bar their progress. “Gravity dies here. Then flip.”

  To demonstrate, he stepped until one foot lost gravity, launched with the other, then reoriented upside down and came to a landing on the ramp above.

  Clay tried it first. He stumbled a step on his landing, but recovered gracefully. “Like 10-Forward,” he reminded Sass. “Riding a bike.”

  Sass hated that gravity reversal at the 10-Forward bulkhead on the Vitality, threshold of Ganymede crew country. But her body did remember the maneuver. Not that she’d ever been any good at it. But Clay caught her elbows on the landing. Clay was usually the one who went forward to get chewed out by the Gannies. Rank hath its drawbacks.

  The Gossamer kept its gravity a bit lower than Thrive, she noted, maybe 0.9 Earth g.

  She replied, “I hadn’t thought of that, our clocks don’t match. So you’re ahead how many hours?”

  “Not so simple,” Lavelle explained. “Different hours. May I have your tablet?”

  Sass handed it over.

  Clay prompted, “Shouldn’t we exit the umbilical?”

  “Only a moment,” the foreign captain murmured. “There. This app, she shows you Sagamore, Mahina, Denali time. All 24 hour days. But Mahina calls the Sagamore month 28 days, yes? Sagamore says 29 days. The length of our hour is closer to old Earth time. Almost an hour per day less than Mahina.”

  “Does that sync better with local night and day?” Sass asked. Math wasn’t her strong suit. She struggled to picture this.

  “The month begins with sunrise at midnight on the first,” Lavelle explained. “Sunset is noon on the fifteenth.” He opened his door through the Gossamer side of the airlock.

  Clay took the comm from Sass to study it. “Denali time. Not often useful.”

  “It was useful when we visited Denali,” the Gossamer’s captain differed. “My cargo hold. Not so pretty as yours, I think.”

  Sass stepped through with an uncomfortable sense of deja vu. Two triple bunk stacks rose toward the bow, several bodies lying blotto within. The rest of the space appeared devoted to cargo. To the rear, the med-bay looked different, a glass-walled affair with a hospital gurney under a robot-arm contraption mounted to the overhead. The bonus compartment next to it was a latrine. The Thrive no longer featured lower-level toilets, if it ever did.

  Three armed guards in pressure suits stood by the cargo lock, as advertised.

  “How many in your crew?” she asked, trying to sound casual. The bunk racks were 5 high when they lived in skyships during the terraforming of Mahina, not 3. Settlers hot-bunked dozens in the hold. They weren’t allowed up onto the catwalk. On transit up and down from orbit, most stood crowded on the deck in pressure suits, swaying and praying the hold wouldn’t take a rock. Sometimes it did. One woman’s helmet exploded not a meter from Sass as rock zipped in. The same rock took another man’s leg at the knee before the deck stopped it. He died, too.

  “We are 22,” her counterpart replied. “New men sleep in the hold. Seniority in the cabins. I’m afraid our hold, she looks like a cargo hold. Not so fun like yours. The engine room. No goggles.”

  He opened the heavy door. Indeed the star drives were shielded – both of them. The rest of the space sported more workshop tables and storage. A guy in coveralls built something from sheet metal. They didn’t enter.

  “Not so much to see,” Lavelle said, as he jogged up the rear ladder to the catwalk. “My Gossamer, she is not so pretty as your Thrive. I won’t show you the berthing cabins. They’re asleep.”

  The
galley area was the same size as Thrive’s, and served as the crew hangout. Night owls played cards at one table, watched a show on the bulkhead at another, and sat drinking and talking at a third. None were women, Sass noted.

  “I can offer you a sandwich, and wine,” Pierre said. “It isn’t really wine.”

  “Wrong time of day for me to drink,” Sass declined. “Clay, care to split a sandwich?”

  “Sure. Shall I –?”

  “No, no.” Lavelle clapped and pointed to the galley. A man rose and hurried toward the facilities while his captain was still speaking. “One sandwich, split between them.” He drew his guests to a small empty table, conspicuously cleaner than the rest.

  Sass noted that she wasn’t offered a choice of sandwiches. The cook pulled out a prepared tub of something and slathered it onto a split roll pulled from a box. No custom meals here, apparently. The sandwich du jour was slapped down for them in minutes, with glasses of water that smelled and tasted clean, if subtly different from Thrive’s.

  Sass’s brows flew up as she bit in. “Surimi salad?” she asked Clay. The hard roll was quite good. A tiny amount of anonymous vegetable lurked in the mayo-based stuffing.

  Clay nodded, also surprised. “Fish paste?” he asked Lavelle.

  “Mm. Most of our food is aquaponics – hydroponics with fish ponds. Fish three times a day. The protein of Sagamore,” Lavelle supplied sadly. “We don’t grow food on the Gossamer as you do. The hellbellies supply us.”

  Sass hadn’t offered a tour forward of Thrive’s kitchen, to the office and bridge and higher-status cabins. Likewise, her tour of Gossamer ended here. Time to talk.

  “You visited Denali,” Clay prompted. “Do they also eat fish?”

  “No. They eat different animals. I don’t know details,” Lavelle confessed. “I never visited the surface. I became captain on the way back from Denali.”

  “Oh? What happened to your previous captain?” Sass inquired.

  Lavelle waved this away, but not before Sass saw several people’s backs stiffen. “Long story. He is not much missed.”

  “That’s unfortunate.”

  “I forget to ask – how many on your crew?” Lavelle followed up.

  Clay made a noise, but Sass answered anyway. “Just 12. I’m not sure what you find to do with all these people.”

  “Refugees,” Lavelle explained. “Escaped from our families on Sagamore. Looking for freedom. I take as many as I can. But you’re right, much of the time they have too little to do. Yes?” He thumped the back of a card player at the next table. “You drink and play cards and eat too much.”

  The first man led his table in pumping a fist. Unconcerned, they continued with their game.

  “Refugees?” Clay pressed. “From what?”

  “Sagamore is not so different from Mahina, I think?” Lavelle replied. “Early founders are wealthy. Later colonists were too many. Haves, have-nots. My crew and the hellbellies, we are from families who have. But we are disgraced because we fight for the slaves. More equality. Sagamore law says only 10% are the haves. Everyone else is a slave. As young men, we disagreed, we fought, we left.”

  “The slaves lost too?” Sass asked.

  “Rebel slaves are executed. Sons of important people not. It is not fair. It is what we fought. But we lose. And come to space to be free.”

  Clay encouraged, “I’d like to hear much more about society on Sagamore.”

  “But first,” Sass intervened, “we should talk about the schedule while we’re here. How long will it take to retrofit the dead star drives and install one?”

  “We won’t wait for that,” Lavelle said. “We’ll get the hellbellies started, and then leave in a few days.” He grinned at her puzzlement. “But of course the Gossamer will accompany you to Sagamore. You must not go alone. Not safe at all.”

  He paused and twisted his earlobe, apparently a Sagamore communications device. “Good,” he murmured, and let go his ear. “All is well. The container arrived at Hell’s Bells ready for morning. Which begins at 08:00.” He pointed to Sass’s pocket with a grin. “Our time, yes? We see to a few things. You supply help with the star drives, visit Hell’s Bells. Then we go to Sagamore.”

  Sass considered how to put this tactfully. She decided to just say it. “Captain Ingersoll on MO seemed to think it unwise to visit Sagamore. Actually he said they’d confiscate my ship and throw us into the ‘slave pits.’”

  Lavelle laughed. “Captain Ingersoll, I think he doesn’t like me!”

  A thrumming passed through the ship, followed by a sound much like the Thrive’s guns firing, but muffled.

  Sass pulled out her comm to ask Benjy what was going on.

  Lavelle consulted his earlobe. Soon he waved a reassuring hand, his eyes alight. “Your guns AI, she runs calibration tests I think, Sass. It’s fine!”

  “You’re sure?” Clay demanded.

  “Both ships are well. Congratulations, Sass! You have upgraded guns! First goal accomplished!” Gossamer’s captain raised his wine in toast.

  Sass signed off with Benjy, with reservations. Where was I? Ah, yes. “So you’re not concerned that Sagamore will steal my ship.”

  “No,” Lavelle replied, hand to breast, eyes alight. “Because I already have.”

  Sass swallowed. “Explain.”

  “Your ship is lovely. You and your ladies are lovely. We have not so many women here to go around. And with two ships, we can easily out-gun the defenses at Sagamore Orbital and Dome. You solve many problems for us. Cheers, Captain Collier!”

  “You are a space pirate.”

  “Yes. I prefer freedom fighter.”

  “I thought you had no one to prey on. But you attack the orbitals, and Sagamore.”

  “Yes.”

  “And your last captain?”

  “Killed in the mutiny. We were not so happy with our pay for the long trip to Denali.”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “No. You are free to go back to your ship. Go to sleep. It is late. You have been recruited into the Sagamore Liberation Army. For now, you stay in command of your ship. We will continue the guise of your mission to Sagamore. And then we return to Hell’s Bells.”

  “At which point you take my ship.”

  Lavelle lost his cheery demeanor and leaned forward on his elbows. “At that point, we know each other better. In the meantime, I have remote control of your ship. I will place 6 men on board. Cooperate and you will not be harmed.”

  30

  Environmental control provided some powerful weaponry.

  Sass’s feet hit her own gravity field with a thump. Neither she nor Clay stumbled. She didn’t notice.

  “We’ve only got seconds of privacy before they come through,” Clay murmured. “React later. Act now.”

  “Teach your grandma to suck eggs, Clay,” Sass retorted. “Sorry. You’re right.” She was reeling, she was gob-smacked, but that’s what an officer did. Issued the right orders calmly and immediately while everything went to hell.

  They slammed through the door. “Wilder, Griffith. Weapons,” Sass barked at them. “Rack those in the weapons locker. Now!” They scurried.

  “Attention all hands,” she announced over the ship’s intercom. “We are about to be boarded. Everyone with a weapon, rack it immediately. Do not resist. We are outmaneuvered and outgunned, surrounded and surrendered. Gossamer has control of our ship. We will cooperate fully. Sass out.”

  She switched channel to the bridge. “Benjy – Ben. We are on Sagamore time. So you’re on my watch, and yours starts in an hour. Screw it. Just hold the fort until midnight Sagamore time. That’s in –”

  “The bridge clock reset, captain,” Ben said sadly. “I’m so sorry –”

  “Not your fault. Captain out.”

  Wilder and Griffith stared at her, their mouths hanging open. The rest of the crew drifted onto the catwalk above. Sass called out, “Everyone in your cabins. With a friend. Especially you two.” She poked a finger at the
guards. “Run!”

  She was glad to see Kassidy took Jules’ arm to head forward. Eli slipped out of the engine room. He’d been checking his plants. Copeland didn’t budge. He leaned on his arms on the catwalk railing above.

  “Eli, get Copeland into his rack and stay with him.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He started for the rear ladder at a jog.

  “Is everyone aboard?” Sass asked, not really caring who answered.

  “Abel and Seitz aren’t back yet,” Copeland said from above. “Cap, you aren’t really going to –”

  The door to the umbilical opened. Six armed men wearing pressure suits, helmets clamped on their backs, filed into the hold. Eli grabbed Copeland’s upper arm and tugged him toward crew berthing. The annoyed mob tough resisted momentarily, but conceded defeat.

  Sass wheeled to face the boarders with what shreds of dignity she could summon. “I trust you will be courteous guests on my vessel. I am Captain Sass Collier. Who is your leader?”

  The oldest of the men stepped forward, salt and pepper in a shaggy mass of curls. “Martin,” he supplied.

  “Martin. The galley is there.” She pointed. “It offers a public head. I suggest you headquarter yourselves there with overwatch of the cargo hold and the catwalk. My crew will remain in their cabins. Unmolested, in their cabins. Except those of us on duty. We will explain those duties. Your people are not welcome on the bridge, or any other compartment. Is this acceptable?”

  Martin stared her down a few seconds, trying to make her flinch. Sass waited him out until he blinked first. He shrugged. “Acceptable. Men, if they stay in their cabins, don’t touch them. Unless I order otherwise.” That last dig was a threat.

  “I’ll escort you to the kitchen,” Clay offered. “Show you how to make food.”

  “Thank you, Clay,” Sass breathed. “Meet me in my cabin.”

  She fell in behind him to troop up the aft ladder. She didn’t pause as Clay and 6 heavy pairs of boots behind her turned left into the galley. She continued, back ramrod straight, until she shut her cabin door behind her. Then her knees started to wobble. She hastily collapsed to a seat on her bed.