by Tony Daniel
Murmurs and orders and without warning, a side bulkhead slid up, bringing in more light.
And two curious Gold crewmen, gazing in shock at what they saw before them.
They don’t stand long.
Our Marines moved forward and the Gold Crew members were soon dead on the deck, and with shouts and yells, the attack commenced.
I stayed with Captain Quinn as she led the raiding force into the heart of Port, and it was a slaughter. Most of the Han crew we encountered turned and ran at our approach, and only a few stuck behind to fight, and they were overwhelmed. The captain shouted, “Move, move, move!” and she must have known where we were going, for we fought our way up a ramp, and from there, through two passageways, until we reached a spot where about a dozen Han fighters were making a stand. There was the hum of powered weapons, screams, shouts, the clash of swords and lances, and the captain moved four Marines to guard our rear, as shouts and ringing bells sounded off in the distance.
The fight didn’t last long.
The compartment was forced open and it was crowded, with viewing screens, desks, and another, smaller adjacent compartment, where an elderly Han man was dragged out of his bunk, wearing loosely fitted light yellow trousers and blouse. He was bald and had a droopy moustache, and Captain Quinn moved forward, lifted her sword up, and placed the point of it under his chin. His eyes were tired-looking and sad.
“Captain Xi?” she asked. “I demand your surrender and that of the Gold Crew.”
He managed to nod his agreement, even with the point of a sword dimpling his skin.
There was laughter, a few triumphant yelps and whoops, and two corpsman got to work on our wounded, and even the Han wounded.
And I realized that I hadn’t taken a single note.
Then I went to the side of a near bulkhead and threw up.
The official surrender ceremony took place the next day, at Neutral Park. The grass was a fine green and miniature trees and shrubs were scattered here and there, save for an area in the center of the park, a ditch dug a long time ago, back during the Event. A short bridge made of struts and steel spanned the ditch, and that’s where the ceremony was held.
Lines of Port crewmembers in their gold jumpsuits were on the Han side of the ditch, while our own Yank crewmembers in blue jumpsuits were on the Starboard side. There were flags and banners held up on poles, and after the slaughter and fighting these past two days, it was all so damned civilized and ordered.
Captain Quinn made a short speech, and then Captain Xi did the same. They shook hands.
Then the Han line parted and a single Han officer came forward with the technological spoil of this brief war, and bowed, and turned it over to Captain Quinn.
I strained to get a good view, and I was impressed with what I saw. It had two spoked tires fore and aft, and a frame with a saddle where a crew member would sit. Two pedals—one port, the other starboard—were connected to a complex chain system that propelled the velocipede.
The paint was faded but the name of the person who made it, back on Earth, was still visible along one of the metal tubes.
T R E K.
At one time there were supposedly scores of these machines aboard Persistence, but this was the last one, and it was used for all sorts of courier and messaging services, and whichever crew held the Trek was at an operational advantage.
I looked down at my pad and stylus.
I had neglected to jot down the words of each side’s captain, but in seeing the triumphant smile of Captain Quinn, and the look of hate on Captain Xi, I had no doubt that this was not going to be the last war for me to witness on the good ship Persistence, and I would have plenty of opportunities to record our bloody history for the crew and our sleeping inhabitants in the future.
But at least, for now, Starboard was victorious.
Brendan DuBois is the award-winning author of twenty-one novels and more than 160 short stories. His short stories have thrice won him the Shamus Award from the Private Eye Writers of America, and have also earned him three Edgar Award nominations. He has recently collaborated with New York Times best-selling author James Patterson on three novellas for Patterson’s Bookshots as well as two upcoming novels. Brendan lives in New Hampshire. A former Jeopardy! champion, he also appeared on—and won—the game show The Chase.
