Fleet of Knives

by Gareth L. Powell

  It was necessary. Remember the ice-crawlers.

  “How could I forget?” I held tight to the wooden railing. The sea seemed to be moving up and down with a queasy motion.

  “Didn’t they resist?” I asked. “Didn’t they fight you?”

  The avatar gave an unconcerned shrug.

  The donors were not volunteers, but they had the comfort of knowing their sacrifice would help us in our fight to preserve life.

  “I bet that was a huge comfort to them.”

  I cannot speculate.

  “Fucking hell.” I shook my head, still trying to comprehend these revelations. “And the rest of your people just stood there and let this happen?”

  They fled from this existence, leaving us without purpose. And so we hibernated in the Gallery for five thousand years.

  “Until I came along.”

  You gave us renewed purpose. Your hatred of war matched our desire to prevent conflict.

  “I should have just kept my big mouth shut.”

  We are grateful to you.

  “But not grateful enough to let me live?”

  I am afraid not.

  “Then there’s nothing more to say, is there?” I held up a hand and snapped my fingers. The Scarborough seafront vanished. The 88,573 and I stood facing each other, suspended in nothingness.

  “Goodbye.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  SAL KONSTANZ

  I woke in the life raft, remembered my situation, and tried to fall back to sleep. But there was someone outside. I could see their shadow against the orange fabric wall of the canopy.

  “What do you want?”

  “Captain?” It was Nod. “May I speak with you?”

  “You are speaking with me.”

  “In person, I mean?”

  I sighed. I was warm in the nest of blankets I had wrapped around me. I leaned out an arm and undid the zip holding the entrance shut. When I pushed back the flaps, I found one of its flower-like faces waiting expectantly.

  “Yes, what is it? Is there a problem with the ship?”

  “Many problems with ship.”

  I pulled myself reluctantly into a sitting position.

  “Any urgent problems?”

  “Not here to talk about Hound of Difficulty. Here to talk about captain.”

  “Me?”

  Nod’s coal-black little eyes blinked at me.

  “Captain broken.”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  “I’m not broken,” I said, although my eyes swam with tears.

  It tipped its head sceptically to one side.

  “Not working properly, therefore broken. Trust me, am engineer.”

  I shook my head. “Oh, Nod,” I said. “I’m grieving. You can’t fix grief.”

  “Everything fixable, even humans.”

  “It doesn’t work like that.”

  “Look.” It raised one of its other faces. The petal-like fingers held one of its children: a miniature version of its parent, complete with rainbow oil-slick-coloured scales.

  “This one Sally,” Nod said. “Named after you.”

  Three little faces peered up at me.

  “After me?” I reached out a finger, and the baby Druff took it, wrapping its petals softly around the tip.

  “In World Tree, children named for great members of family. Big heroes of past. Great leaders of present.”

  “And so you called this one Sally?”

  “Troublesome Dog is my world now. That makes you my leader.”

  “I don’t feel much like a leader right now.”

  “You great leader. All of us dead many times if not for you.”

  I felt my eyes prickle.

  “Some of us are dead,” I reminded it. “George, Alva…”

  “Not dead.” The petals around its face spread wide. “In my culture, when loved ones die, they return to World Tree to be reborn. Nothing ever truly lost.”

  I swallowed back the tears, determined not to shed them in front of another member of the crew.

  “That’s a nice thought,” I said. “But you didn’t see the way she died. The way they both died. Torn apart…”

  “Alva Clay died protecting ship and crew. George Walker died doing job.”

  The little Druff hopped from Nod’s palm and landed on the blankets in front of me. Cautiously, it crawled up onto my lap and snuggled down. I scratched it behind the petals and it shivered with delight.

  “They still died on my watch.”

  “So?”

  “So I’m responsible.”

  Nod raised another face and spoke from it.

  “Ship broken, I fix, Crew broken, you fix.”

  “I can’t fix them, they’re gone.”

  “Others here now.”

  “You mean Schultz and the others?”

  “Times tough. Makes sense to pool resources.”

  “I guess so.” I’d been thinking of the three people we rescued as simply survivors to be delivered to a place of safety. Now though, there were no such places. At least, not for a ship like ours. A couple of experienced new crewmembers might come in useful.

  Distracted, I had stopped scratching the baby in my lap. It nuzzled its head against my hand.

  “Damn you,” I said. “Now you’ve got me thinking like a captain again.”

  “I have faith.”

  “In me?”

  “Ship also has faith.” Nod shuffled closer and let one of its hands rest lightly against my arm. It was a human gesture of consolation it was copying from somewhere.

  “Alva Clay had faith,” it said seriously. “She died defending ship and crew. She would not want you to mourn like this.”

  I frowned. “She wouldn’t, would she?”

  “What would she say?”

  The frown turned to a snort of bitter laughter. “She’d tell me to get up off my ass and start acting like the captain. She’d tell me it was my turn to do my job.”

  “She’d be right?”

  I’d been feeling hollow, as if someone had scraped out my insides with a blunt scalpel and sewn the skin closed over the resulting void. Now, I could feel a flicker of resolve—faint and frail as a candle flame, brightening with every breath. Feeding on my hurt and frustration, it would soon burn with the light of a thousand suns. And woe betide the metal lobster or marble warship that failed to scuttle from its brilliance.

  “Yes,” I said, clenching my fists. “Yes, she would.”

  Nod stared unblinking. “Then please follow her advice. For sake of whole ship.” It reached petals towards the baby squirming in my lap. “And for sake of children.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  JOHNNY SCHULTZ

  At 0600 ship’s time, Captain Konstanz called us all together in the Trouble Dog’s main briefing room. The auditorium contained enough seats for a hundred marines; with only five of us occupying the front row, the room felt echoingly vacant, like a classroom during the school holidays or a nightclub the morning after a party.

  I sat at one end with my legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Lucy sat beside me, her feet swinging beneath the chair. Beyond her, Addison sat ramrod straight, waiting to hear what our situation was. Preston stood at the end of the row with a portable screen in his hand, flicking through a medical textbook, and Nod lay curled beside him like a footstool, with only one face emerging from beneath its scaly body.

  Preston lowered his screen when Captain Konstanz entered the room. She looked as if she’d been sleeping in her clothes. But her face was clean and freshly scrubbed, a ratty old baseball cap held back her wet hair, and her jaw had a determined set.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said, taking up position at the front of the room. Her hands gripped the sides of the lectern. “Ship, are you there?”

  “Of course.” The Trouble Dog’s avatar appeared on the main screen: pale, almost androgynous-looking. For some reason, she had chosen to appear wearing a stylish white tuxedo. She had left the top bu
tton of her dress shirt open, and her red bow tie loose around her neck. She looked as if she’d just come from a formal dinner.

  “Right.” Konstanz drew herself up, her crumpled fatigues in stark contrast to the ship’s elegance. “I thought I’d better brief you all on our situation.”

  She used the lectern to pull up a three-dimensional tactical projection of our surroundings. We could see our position inside the Restless Itch, and the positions of the two remaining knife ships.

  “Okay, here it is,” she said. “We’re damaged and trapped. The ship has a plan to get us out of here. It’s risky and not guaranteed to succeed; and even if it does, all it will do is place us directly in the sights of these two ships.” She pointed to the two daggers holding station off the Restless Itch’s bow. “And then, even if we somehow get past them unscathed, there are a million of their brethren currently laying waste to starships across the length and breadth of the Generality. Anywhere that we went, we’d risk being blown from the sky.”

  Addison and Lucy were grimly silent. Only Preston spoke.

  “Can’t we jump away as soon as we clear the tunnel?”

  Konstanz shook her head.

  “We wouldn’t be moving fast enough. Sudak would be on us before we could build up enough speed.”

  “Oh.” The medic’s gaze dropped to the floor.

  Nobody else seemed to have anything to add. Tentatively, I raised my hand. Captain Konstanz turned to me.

  “Yes, Johnny?”

  “It might be crazy, but I think there’s a way we can help.”

  Konstanz raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

  “There may be a way to get you up to jump speed more quickly,” I said. “But it’s risky, and the Trouble Dog would need to be ready to come out fighting.”

  Beside me, Lucy clapped her hands and squealed in delight.

  The captain turned to the Trouble Dog. “What do you think? If they can find a way to give you a boost, can you handle a short fight?”

  The ship’s avatar smiled. She pulled her bow tie from around her neck and began to wind the red silk around the knuckles of her right hand.

  “Any fight we have is going to be short,” she said. “But if there’s a possibility we can jump away before we’re completely annihilated then hell yes. Count me in.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  TROUBLE DOG

  According to Lucy’s information, a second tunnel ran parallel to the one in which I currently lay. In order for me to have enough space in which to turn around, I would need to break down the wall separating us from it. However, as the wall was made of solid rock, doing so would be simpler said than done. I couldn’t use a torpedo, as I’d be too close to the explosion when it went off, and likely to sustain serious damage.

  “Besides, I don’t want to bring the whole ceiling down on top of us,” I said.

  “Well, we can’t go out there and knock it down by hand,” the captain replied. “We don’t have the tools.”

  She was standing on the bridge. Lucy stood beside her, wrapped in a crew jacket several sizes too large for her diminutive frame.

  “And anyway,” the girl said, “there may still be crawfish out there.”

  The main screens showed different views of the tunnel. Even though it was cooling, the rock on the walls and floor still looked half-melted. Stalactites hung from the ceiling where molten drops had cooled in the process of dripping.

  “I can’t detect any,” I said.

  Lucy gave a pout. “That doesn’t mean they’re not out there somewhere.”

  I noticed that Captain Konstanz was listening to our conversation with her jaw tightened and fists clenched. I guessed she was trying not to think about what had happened to Alva Clay.

  “So, if brute force won’t work,” she asked, “do you have any other suggestions?”

  “Just one.” I brought my starboard defensive cannons online and calculated firing patterns. Turrets swivelled and took aim.

  The captain said, “We’re still awfully close to that wall. Are you sure this is the best way?”

  “It’s the only option we have.”

  “What about damage?”

  I let my avatar shrug. “A few dings and scratches from rock chips flying back at us. Maybe the odd ricochet.”

  “Hmm.” She tapped her chin. “I think I’m going to order everybody over to the port side of the ship, just in case.”

  “That’s probably wise.”

  I waited while she gave the order, and watched through my internal cameras as the rest of the crew, including Nod and its brood, made their way around the ring-shaped habitation section. When they had all reached the side farthest from the wall, I switched my attention back to the bridge.

  “Should I go?” Lucy asked.

  “No need,” Captain Konstanz told her. “The bridge has its own armour, so you’re probably as safe here as anywhere else.”

  “Oh, okay.” The girl sat on one of the command chairs and folded her hands in her lap.

  “How thick did you say this wall was?” I asked her.

  “About a metre.”

  “Thank you.” I spun the cannons up to full rotation. “Captain, if you’re ready to give the order, I can proceed.”

  The captain’s fingers were still resting against her chin. I could see her wrestling with the decision, trying to determine which course of action would prove safest—to fire on the wall or remain stranded. Eventually, she straightened the brim of her cap.

  “Do it,” she said.

  * * *

  All eight starboard batteries opened up at once. The tunnel flickered with light. Streams of dense metal slugs hammered the rock face, gradually chewing deeper as they pulverised the stone. As I’d predicted, chunks of broken rock rattled against my hull armour, and dust filled the tunnel, coating my upper surfaces with a thick black powder.

  When the first cannon broke through to the other side of the wall, I adjusted its aim a few centimetres to the right, and set it firing again. Eventually, having repeated that process several times with all eight of them, the wall became so perforated it could no longer support its own weight, and fell, sending up even more dust.

  When everything had settled, we surveyed the destruction. Where the wall had been, there was now a ragged-edged hole linking our tunnel to the one that ran parallel. Parts of the ceiling had collapsed in places.

  Lucy sat forward and clapped.

  “That was very good, dearie,” she said, and I gave her a smile. Merchant vessels were always easy to impress.

  Captain Konstanz seemed less enthralled. She gave the hole a sceptical squint, trying to judge its size in relation to my hull.

  “Is it big enough?”

  I bounced positioning lasers from the walls, floor and ceiling.

  “It’ll do.” If I turned carefully, I could swing my nose into the new tunnel, and then use it to exit the Restless Itch.

  “So we can leave?”

  I checked my status levels.

  “Not for a few hours. That used up more ammunition than I’d have liked. We’ll have to restock.”

  “I’ll get Nod on it right away.”

  “Thank you.” I could feel my excitement building at the prospect of leaving this place and engaging with the enemy. I couldn’t help it. At heart, I would always be a warship, and had long since accepted the fact. But no matter how itchy I might be to confront Sudak and 88,573, I’d never be eager enough to rush into battle with half my stores of cannon ammo depleted. I had to be fully tooled up when I came face to face with those knife ships again. Having gone up against them once, I was only too aware of the damage they were capable of inflicting, and had no illusions regarding my chances. If I hoped to survive long enough to jump into the higher dimensions, I’d need to make the most of every defensive trick in my arsenal.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  NOD

  Make ammunition, they say.

  Restock starboard batteries.

  So I gath
er rocks and dust from outside.

  Work hard.

  Work hard, no rest.

  Drag rocks up outside of hull.

  Drop them into hopper at back of printer.

  Printer breaks rocks.

  Uses raw material to print cannon shells.

  Much noise and dust. Have to wear masks.

  Shells come out in batches of twenty.

  Cannon shells heavy.

  Take them from printer and stack in boxes, ready to slot into cannon.

  Offspring help.

  Preston and Captain come down and help.

  New people help.

  Even little girl help.

  All carry armfuls of cannon shells.

  All work, no complain.

  No rest.

  All us know survival depends on Trouble Dog having everything it needs to fight.

  Everything it needs to keep enemy missiles away from children.

  So we work without rest.

  Like when preparing World Tree for oncoming storm.

  Always work.

  No rest.

  No complaints.

  To survive, work as team. As crew. As family. Humans, ship and Druff, all together.

  All important.

  All work.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  SAL KONSTANZ

  In the comforting darkness of the Trouble Dog’s bridge, I sat on my command couch with my feet drawn up and my wrists resting loosely on my knees. Nod’s words had got me this far. I’d also downed a brimming glass of gin in the galley when no one was looking. I knew it was a depressant, but I just needed the burn of it in my throat to take the edge off my grief. I had to keep functioning until we were out of this mess, and anything that kept the tears at bay had to be a good thing. On the consoles before me, status indicators shone green or amber. Weapons system readouts scrolled down peripheral screens. Star charts moved with a sedate three-dimensional rotation. I’d been terrified every moment I’d been off this ship, and now felt I was back where I belonged, alone at the heart of this gorgeously lethal machine. We were part of each other now. We may have started off on different sides of a war, but all that seemed so far away and long ago. The factions to whom we’d belonged had been swept aside, and the only thing that mattered now was our mutual survival.