by LeRoy Clary
That seemed like such a civilized solution to a lot of problems.
The lone female human caught my eye, scooped up her bowl, and invited herself to sit at my table. Her long brown hair hung to her waist and must have needed attention daily, far more time than I could spare. She said, speaking as if the words were bullets flying out the barrel of a machine gun, “I’m Trish. You don’t mind if I sit with you, I hope. I hate eating alone, don’t you? I didn’t catch your name. You’re Kath, right?”
“Kat,” I gave her the extended version, letting the K drag out a bit. There was no reason to do that but me trying to show off. I instantly felt ashamed.
She echoed it perfectly as the steward returned and hustled to my table. I wanted to eat a meal, but when I spoke, the words were, “Ice cream. No yellow.”
Trish said, “You are a hero to me. Well, to me and every other passenger on the ship. We’ve heard all about you.”
“We are just trying to get to our ship,” I offered lamely.
“Not them. You.”
Had the secret of me being an empath leaked out? No, I didn’t think so but there was no other reason for the passengers to think of me as a hero and she had had my name wrong. I said cautiously, “How so?”
“You are so young and so smart. Your companion, Bill, says you are the brains behind the overthrow of the mutineers and the reason we all still live.”
“Bill said that?” It sounded like something he’d say. What bothered me was when had he said it? There hadn’t been time. And she was very pretty.
“We met him here, earlier. He was shy at first. We talked and eventually pulled the story from him.”
Trish was trying to manipulate me. Bill had probably been here, and she had probably accosted him in the same manner as she was doing to me. What information she had obtained had come from that brief conversation. I knew Bill. He talked when needed. Even with me, he never carried his end of the conversation.
That meant the story she thought she knew was one entirely from her mind with a few facts obtained from Bill strewn in like so much straw in a windstorm. It was there, but so was much else.
Our journey might take longer than the passengers expected because of the ship following us and having them on our side wouldn’t hurt. I gave her a weak smile and said, “We all do our part, Trish.”
She beamed at me for using her name. Anything I said would be repeated, exaggerated, and turned into an intimate revelation of us sharing our innermost secrets. Despite our economic differences, I’d met women like her. I said, “What do you perform for a living? Space travel is expensive.”
“I volunteer to chair fundraisers for the underprivileged, along with gathering and distributing clothing for them. Not giving them clothing personally because I certainly have no idea what they wear. It keeps me terribly busy.”
“I see.” And I did. What she did for her position was having the right parents. In that manner, I hadn’t met anyone like her. My ice cream arrived, with little red and brown balls of cold excellence. I thanked the steward and gathered some of each color on the tip of my spoon.
She continued speaking, often answering her questions, sometimes even right. I never corrected her. The chatter continued and I mumbled with a mouthful of ice cream, “Bert, do something.”
A ping sounded on the speaker right over my head. “Kat, please report to the bridge.”
With my bowl of dessert in hand, I excused myself.
Trish was telling me to hurry because they probably needed me for something important. I did as she said and hurried from the room. In the passageway, I said, “Thanks, Bert.”
The speaker near me said, “My ears were hurting from trying to follow that conversation. May I assume that from now on, if that creature corners you with her unceasing chatter, I should order you away?”
“You’re my best friend,” I said as I reached the closed door to the bridge. It opened as I reached it, meaning Bert must have announced my arrival.
Inside, I quietly perched on the edge of a chair and watched Fang and Stone. Each was a master at what they did. Fang respectfully deferred to Stone as the captain, however, it was clear he was more proficient in some avenues of their work.
A small construct sat beside him. Occasionally an orifice silently opened, and an insect flew out, only to be captured by the tongue of Fang. I was quick enough to notice that not all were the same species. I’d once seen a box of treats in a store like that. Each had been different.
They were discussing the ship following us again. Two points kept appearing in their conversation. First, the ship was deceptive in that it followed at extreme range in normal space and only Bert’s tweaking of the sensing equipment allowed them to occasionally spot it as it closed the distance to check on them at each nexus. Second, they expected the ship to be overtaken when we left the wormhole system.
The ship could follow us as we changed wormholes, which I gathered was not normal. But we had to emerge at some time, and when we did, the other ship would strike. The captain believed it wanted something in our cargo, and also the cargo in her ship, the Guardia.
She didn’t want them to have it.
I half-listened as they each suggested plans the other destroyed almost gleefully. We couldn’t fight, run, deceive, outmaneuver, or escape. We were out of options. They suspected the ship behind us was a frigate-class or heavier warship.
Worse, they were becoming frustrated and angry. Fang lashed out with another improbable suggestion. Captain Stone ignored it. The situation had come to that point.
Bert’s ping sounded. He said to them, “You should consult with Kat.”
That was all. As near as I could tell, eleven pairs of eyes centered on me. I looked back at Fang and the captain with a blank expression. I was as confused as them.
Captain Stone said, “Why would Bert say that? Do you know about our situation?”
“No,” I managed.
She glanced up. “Bert? Why should we consult Kat?”
“Because the pair of you think in conventional terms. You follow the paths already constructed. Kat is obtuse and random. You need that slant of hers to solve this problem.” Another ping told us Bert had finished speaking.
Instead of being insulted or angry, Captain Stone motioned for me to come closer. I scooted one of the small chairs not bolted to the floor, and she explained our situation in terms I could understand. Then she began to question me. I had no answers.
I finally said, “We need help.”
“Help? In what way?” she asked.
“When we exit. We can’t do it alone. Too bad there are not a bunch of warships to intercept that ship behind us,” I said.
Fang laughed.
Captain Stone’s eyes squinted, and her brows furrowed. The edges of her lips curled into the wisp of a sly smile.
“What?” I said.
She answered dreamily, “Yes, all we need is a fleet of warships to intercept us and save our butts. Why didn’t I think of that?”
Fang peered at me with half his eyestalks and shifted the others to look at the captain as if she had reverted to childhood. To his credit, he didn’t interrupt.
Captain Stone consulted the computer wrapped around her wrist. I noticed that the normal security word was followed by another layer of security, and then a third as she touched a middle finger to an icon. Three layers of security meant a file nobody could get into but her.
Her smile increased. She flashed a file to Fang’s wrist-comp and said, “See if you can set a course for those coordinates.”
Fang keyed them in and said, “The destination is achievable and laid in, however, I see nothing there. No star, habitat, or anything.”
“Good. That is where we need to be. Set the new destination as our course. Choose the wormholes well.”
Fang didn’t hesitate. When finished, he said, “New course set, and our new arrival time is twenty-seven standard time units.”
To his credit, he never once question
ed the captain out loud, but his eyestalks had gradually shifted until they all watched her. She noticed and her smile grew as she asked him teasingly, “Are you curious?”
“Of course.”
She settled back and said, “Bert, you are a genius. Thank you.” Then she swiveled her command chair to face Fang. “I could go on about the problems we face, but you know them. The answer is as Kat says. We need a bunch of warships to protect us when we emerge.”
She paused, which I knew was to taunt him a little. Fang didn’t look happy that he didn’t understand. To his credit, he didn’t ask.
She continued, “The coordinates we are going to is at the terminus of a small wormhole that is near nothing. The nearest star is over three lightyears away. It is a dead-end, so to speak. That ship behind will think they have us cornered. But they won’t.”
“What else is there?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“The Bradley Concord worlds are at war with the Devonians. Have been for decades. They, the Bradley Concord, have built a secret shipyard where they are constructing dozens of warships. The terminus will have at least three or four ships guarding it, and probably ten or more held in reserve. The instant we emerge, they will be on us like Fang slurping another insect that flies too close.”
“What if they blow us up?” Fang asked before I could.
“Not going to happen,” she said calmly. “They will want to know how we found them, so they won’t shoot unless we do. Besides, as we emerge into normal space, we are going to send a message over and over to the military. We will say that another ship is following us. They need to be prepared because we think it is a warship.”
Fang said, “The Bradley Concord will capture both of us. Maybe confiscate our ship.”
“It is not our ship. But I expect them to let us go when they find out that the ship behind can follow us inside a wormhole.”
“Why tell them? That is valuable information,” Fang snorted.
“It is our ticket to freedom. Besides, within a year everyone will know about it. You can’t keep a secret like that. I mean, we figured it out. Others will.”
“We could sell the information,” he persisted.
“To whom? Besides, that’s what we’re doing. We’re selling it for our freedom. It will give the Bradley Concord an advantage over the Devonians, at least for a while. Still, it’s enough for them to let us go.”
Fang didn’t seem convinced. He was quiet for a short while and then asked, “What about the contents in our hold?”
It was her turn to be quiet. Finally, she said, “None of us knows what is in our hold. We’re not even the rightful owners of this ship so why would they ask us anything?”
“They will ask how you know the coordinates,” he said.
She smiled. “I once dated a commander in their navy. I stumbled over the coordinates and what they were from one of his subordinates. Total accident. But I’m a trader and there are times when information is as valuable as cargo. They can delete the file from my tablet, in fact, they will. But short of killing all of us, the crew, and the passengers, we’re supplying invaluable help for them. I think they will allow us to be on our way. I mean, I haven’t told anybody about them in two years, why would I start now?”
I could tell that Fang didn’t agree. Neither of us spoke out loud about our doubts. We didn’t have to.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Captain Stone
Kat had amazed Stone with the simple solution to the problem of the ship following them. As Bert had suggested, the girl’s mind worked differently than the orderly manner that the captain of a ship required. Not that she had known about the secret base building warships, but if it was not that, there may have been something else.
Bert and she made a formidable team. They needed to hold a conversation about what to do with Chance. He was an admitted murderer, and the Bradley Concord were strict in their laws. If they revealed his part in the mutiny, the Concord would take that problem off her hands.
The problem remained. If placed in the same situation, what would she have done?
To relieve her mind and stretch her legs, she announced to the bridge, “I’m going to check on Bill and see how he’s doing.”
She entered the engine room and found the furry engineer bent over an array of parts as he watched Bill reassembling a small engine. She paused at the door and observed them, the rumbling of the machines masking her entry.
Both had greasy hands, bent backs, and smiles on their faces.
She had been like that once. With her father. She was a child, he a god. She’d gazed at him as Bill did with the engineer. Both laughed. They still hadn’t spotted her.
Captain Stone sidestepped out the door and slipped away, somehow feeling far better. She hadn’t slept in a day. Her bed called. She went to the cabin, found it empty. She decided to rest for just a few moments.
Her mind twisted and turned, leaping from one set of facts to others, often not connected. She reviewed each of the new people, one after the other. She had gone to Low Town to find and recruit Kat. If that meant she would take Bill also, she would. However, there were also Fang and Bert, a pair like no other. Their skills were superior to all but the best.
The Guardia had room enough for all her new crew—and more. Her First Mate had begged for another engineer, navigator, trader, and cargo handlers. She could fulfill a good part of his wish list with those four. Thinking of his reaction brought a smile to her lips.
Then her thoughts turned to the steward named Chance, who was a killer. She had no doubts he should face punishment. Her concern was that he was an empath with family on Prager Four. Bert said that Kat had been born on the same planet. And there was herself, who had come from the same backwater planet. The idea the two of them might be related was not farfetched.
Kat, she realized, was just as susceptible to an empath implanting ideas into her head, as with the head of anyone else. Only she was an anti-empath who recoiled at the slightest touch to her mind.
The entire subject of empaths had to be withheld from the military arrests she expected when they emerged from the wormhole system. She needed to speak with each of them and make them understand that the ship would be boarded, each of them intensively questioned, and perhaps arrested.
She intended to cooperate fully. The technology on the ship pursuing them would take center stage—especially if she conveyed the information properly. She would make it a gift to the Bradley Concord military higher-ups and explain all she knew about the new race that was entering the human sphere. If their technical superiority didn’t excite them, she didn’t know what would.
But the technology found on the pursuit ship, if kept secret, could tip the balance of their war. In truth, she didn’t care about their little war or which side won. But she could barter the knowledge of how to follow another ship in a wormhole and use it to gain their freedom.
The thing she had to do was make certain that when the ship behind them emerged, an entire space navy was there to greet it. Done properly, that would happen.
It was no more complicated than trading products on one world and selling them on another. Probably easier, since she knew both sides would pay dearly for the knowledge. Her eyes finally closed as her mind worked on methods that suggested they might not only be released but earn a little profit at the same time.
That was her strong point. She took a negative and made it a positive. That and luck made her good at her job.
The clatter of alarms woke her.
She leaped to her feet and ran, stuffing her legs into the pants she’d worn for a few days. The bridge was at the end of the passageway and she fastened her belt as she palmed the door for entry. Fang opened it. Kat was sitting at a monitor and watching as a second red dot appeared to pace the first. It looked like an electronic echo.
Fang climbed back into his chair and said in a disgusted tone, “That one,” he pointed at Kat and continued, “identified a second vessel with the first.”
Captain Stone perched on the edge of her chair and chided Fang, “That is interesting, but did you have to wake me like that?”
“The pair of them are closing on us.”
“Oh,” she said. She examined her monitors and noted the distance had been cut to a third of what it had been. “I see.”
Bert pinged the com and said, “No communication between the two that I can find.”
Kat said, “Why would they come closer? Won’t that tip us off that they are following us?”
“You’re right,” Captain Stone said. “They have been at the margin of where our sensors can see them. Now they’re well within the standard range as we pass each nexus.”
Fang said, “We’re at maximum speed.”
“And they cannot use their weapons,” Stone said. “It’s an interesting problem. They can’t attack, and only subspace radio will work for communications. Our Champers is dead, so there is supposedly no way they can speak with us.”
Kat said, “They may be trying to warn or threaten us.”
Captain Stone said, “No, I think they are going to attempt to herd us into another wormhole. Force us to go where they want.”
“Hard to do in a wormhole,” Fang said stiffly. “When they shouldn’t even be able to see us. This just tells us their technology is even ahead of what we imagined.”
Captain Stone settled deeply into her chair and allowed her thoughts to come together after waking. She realized there were two things to consider. First was if the other two ships were trying to direct them. The second was what would she do about it?
Bert pinged again. “Captain, we have received a subspace message from the Guardia and since you were busy with other important matters, I took the time to make the comparison of the cargo on your ship and this one. There are identical matches.”
Captain Stone gripped the armrests of her chair as her face pinched and reddened. Then she visibly relaxed and forced herself to present a calm exterior. Her controlled voice revealed none of the excitement she felt. “Can you direct me to the correct cargo pods?”
