Torchship Captain

by Karl K Gallagher

  Mitchie thought the taste was excellent and color ominous.

  The crowd was thinning out in front of them. The patrons were drifting to the far side of the plaza.

  Guen made a show of enjoying herself. A stand-alone kiosk sold desserts by the slice. Mitchie found herself with cheesecake covered with sliced strawberries. It was delicious. I wonder how they’re getting their luxuries in when there’s so little real food the tenements are eating synthetic carbohydrate paste twice a week.

  The trio sat at a little round table as they ate. Annie had nudged toward one in an open area. Mitchie thought she’d be happier by a wall she could put her back to.

  The crowd was drifting back toward them. People wanted to peek at the infamous Chairwoman of the Committee of Public Safety. In this neighborhood they called her the Queen of Guillotines.

  But not where a stipend kid could hear it.

  Mitchie did her part to keep the table conversation going. The story of how she’d broken her arm as a little girl by climbing on top of a cow and trying to make it gallop provoked real laughter from her companions.

  Guen put her fork down with her peach pie half-finished. She stood and faced the thickest part of the crowd watching her. “Hello, friends!”

  The front row flinched back.

  “I know you’re worried about what’s going to happen next. Everybody is. We’re restoring basic infrastructure. When that’s done we’ll have elections for open local offices. Then we can elect a new Council of Stakeholders, one that will be honest and take care of everyone.”

  The crowd wasn’t moved by Guen’s speech. They’d heard it before in the CPS’s official propaganda broadcasts.

  She switched her approach. “Feel free to ask me questions.”

  Someone too far back in the crowd to identify yelled, “Will you cut off our heads if you don’t like them?”

  Her tone was firm. “No. Execution is for criminals, not curmudgeons.”

  Mitchie kept her face still. Everyone knew the CPS had killed people to appease the stipend kid mob. Even the trials being held now put the burden of proof on the captive if the right people laid accusations.

  An older woman stepped out of the crowd. “Why are you wasting time with unimportant things when Betrayers are running loose?”

  “Ma’am, the Combined Fleet has destroyed every Betrayer for two or three systems from here.”

  “We mean the Betrayers that could be forming here,” said a man in a pastel orange opera suit.

  “There’s gaps in the monitoring everywhere!”

  “All those kids are running around with systems that keep operating in unmonitored areas!”

  More people talked over each other.

  “Please!” Guen threw up her hands. “We’re working on it!”

  The crowd settled down, remembering to be afraid of her.

  She continued, “There’s engineers working right now to restore monitoring. It’s a top priority along with water, power, and sewage.”

  “I’d rather crap in a bucket than be killed by a Betrayer,” said the man in the orange suit.

  “I agree. Even the Diskers agree.” Guen waved at Mitchie as she said it.

  Mitchie smiled and nodded. Just a visual aid, that’s me.

  “But think how it looks to the underclass. If they’re using buckets or bushes while work goes into network connections, they get mad. They think the network is just to give you people deliverybots and autocars. When they get angry they go out to snap antennas and smash cameras and cut cables. Then we have more work to do. So please be patient. And I assure you every report of potential Betrayer activity is promptly investigated.”

  There were mutters of “damn stipend kids” but no one contested this.

  Guen pointed at a man in pink. “Sir, you look like you have a question.”

  “Well . . . when are we going back to cash taxation? Confiscating in-kind materials is killing businesses.”

  She smiled. This question she was ready for.

  BDS Patton, Boswell System, acceleration 0 m/s2

  Two Betrayer ships blew apart as missiles hit home. A third smashed into the asteroid. One of the rock’s engine plumes went out. A moment later a second shut down on the other side to maintain balance.

  “That’s the last of them, sir,” said the tactical officer. “The enemy has nothing left but its planet-side forces.”

  “The rock is still on course for impact in a week,” reported Astrodynamics.

  The flag bridge crew was too tired to cheer but the relaxation was obvious.

  “Wonderful,” said Admiral Galen. “Pass the word for all combat units to go to minimum manning.”

  Before the admiral could sneak off for some rest of his own his chief of staff approached datasheet in hand.

  “Can’t this wait?” groaned Galen.

  “Most of this has waited for days,” replied Commodore Deng.

  “Fine.”

  “First item. The last reinforcement convoy brought another dispatch from Commander Long.”

  “Let me guess. The Fusion is a shambles and she’s asking what I want her to do about it.”

  “Yessir.”

  “I don’t know, any orders I give will be obsolete by the time they reach her, and she’ll ignore them if she doesn’t like them anyway. I’m not going to waste a ship to deliver that message.”

  “Yes, sir.” Deng checked off the item. “Two. Logistics wants to stop missile production to do maintenance on the fabricators.”

  Joshua Chamberlain, Capitol Spaceport, Pintoy, gravity 9.4 m/s2

  When Walking Rollo returned from the Disconnected Worlds with a Defense Coordinating Committee courier Mitchie was delighted. This lasted until she heard his message.

  “Appreciate my efforts? What the fuck does that mean?”

  Mitchie’s office on the Joshua Chamberlain was cramped with her, Guo, and the courier all in it. He leaned against the locked hatch as she yelled.

  “The DCC voted to recognize that you’re doing great work here.”

  “I don’t need recognition. I need decisions. Is the Disconnect going to take sides in the Fusion’s civil war? Are we recognizing the CPS as a legitimate government? Are we sending ships?”

  “Yes, well, all those questions were voted on. But the DCC can only act when there’s a unanimous vote. There isn’t a full consensus on how to handle the situation.”

  Guo shook his head.

  “Then why didn’t they order me off Pintoy?” Mitchie demanded.

  “That vote also failed.”

  “Okay.” Mitchie took a deep breath to calm herself. “By how much did those votes fail?”

  The courier slid toward the latch side of the hatch. “DCC voting records are strictly confidential. I don’t have access to them.”

  “Fine. You’re useless to me. Get out.”

  “Do you have any message for the DCC, ma’am?”

  “No. And you’re not going back to them. Report to Chief Morgan, he’ll have some work for you.”

  The courier opened his mouth, possibly to point out he was a civilian, then closed it again. He shut the hatch behind him.

  Guo waited for Mitchie to stop cursing before he said anything. “The DCC only worked well because they were facing a Fusion invasion fleet. Take the predator pressure away and they’re just a bunch of politicians with different agendas and no accountability.”

  “It’s not just them. I’ve sent six messages to Admiral Galen and heard nothing back.”

  “He probably can’t spare a ship for courier duty.”

  “He’s going to court martial my ass.”

  Guo said, “Maybe not. I found a precedent.”

  “Oh?”

  “This guy named Wendell Fertig. He was the same rank as you when the Second World War started. When he was caught behind enemy lines he promoted himself to general and led a rebellion among the locals.”

  “Did he get court-martialed?”

  “No. He received a
medal and a promotion. They didn’t promote him to general, though.”

  “We’ll see if the court accepts it. I doubt pre-Golden Age precedents will go over well.”

  ***

  Weather Control scheduled the heavy rain for late in the evening. That made it the best time to stroll to the safe house without being seen. Mitchie’s umbrella didn’t survive the walk. Her coat was soaked through.

  “Cook” and “butler” weren’t among the skills Mitchie had looked for in the squadron volunteers. The ones staffing the safe house still managed to put her in a dry robe with a cup of hot chocolate for her sit-down with Marven.

  “Sorry you got so chilled, ma’am,” said the head spy.

  “Not your fault. I always get cold easy. Don’t put out the heat big people do. What do you have?”

  His notes were on paper for security. “We have inserted two people into his organization but they’re in the outer rings. There’s some inner members we’ve made contact with. Nothing useful from them yet. Our best success is in penetrating their datasystems. We’ve analyzed their physical facilities and found an isolated system.”

  Mitchie sipped hot chocolate. “So you don’t have anything on his plans yet. Why did you want the meeting?”

  “I think the best approach is to brute-force the airgapped datasystem.” He shuffled the papers to put a building floorplan on top.

  “You want to break into his headquarters?”

  “If we time it right we can get in and out without anyone noticing.”

  She waved the cup to encourage him to go on.

  “He’s throwing a party at his townhouse next week. That’s an all-hands operation. Almost all his people will be doing perimeter there or playing servants. The headquarters will just have a handful of watchmen.”

  “How many do you have available?” She drained the cup and put it on the only uncovered part of the table.

  “That’s the problem. Most of my people have been hanging around that building. The security system has enough data to recognize them just from their walks. That leaves me and Quang. We need a third to be sure of success.”

  “I’d have some qualms about letting one of the support crew attempt an infiltration.”

  “No, none of them have the training we need. The only other person who does is you.”

  Mitchie laughed. That sounded like more fun than another round of diplomacy with imbeciles and maniacs. “Can’t. I’m going to be at that party.”

  “Say you’re sick.”

  “And then someone my size shows up on their security sensors? Doesn’t need a professor to figure that out.”

  “Figure something out. We need you. You have the most hands-on experience with Fusion secure systems.” Marven refilled Mitchie’s cup from a thermos.

  She took a sip, not needing the warmth so much now. “I might be able to establish an alibi.”

  ***

  They circulated for fifteen minutes before encountering their host. “Commander Long, Senior Chief Kwan. Thank you for coming. We need closer ties with the Disconnected Worlds.”

  “Thank you for inviting us, Professor Corday,” said Guo. “We’re glad to get to know our neighbors better.”

  Blythe said, “Your drink’s almost out, let me get you a new one.” She disappeared with Guo’s quarter-full glass.

  “Did I offend her?” asked the professor.

  “Oh, everyone has,” said Guo, projecting an air of a husband weary of his wife’s quirks. “I have to tell you I greatly admire Bloodlust As Politics. I just re-read it—I read it when it first came out—and it’s still a powerful telling of the Revolution.”

  “Thank you. It’s good to know I have one reader who isn’t being forced into the book to pass a test.” He followed the rehearsed witticism with a real chuckle.

  “I’ve been reading your others, on Germany and Rwanda. Fascinating. Though Dripping Machetes isn’t as good as the other two.”

  “That was my dissertation, and I had to keep bending things to make the committee happy. They demanded changes even though the documentation clearly—anyway, academics have their own politics.”

  “Academic politics must seem amusing compared to what’s happening today.”

  The professor laughed. “It was even more angry and bitter. Now conflicts are solved instead of locking two rivals into a room with each other forever.”

  By ‘solved’ Guo assumed he was referring to decapitating the loser. “Do you have any time for writing now?”

  “Hardly. I can barely take notes on what’s going on around me. Hopefully someone not in the line of fire will write this up properly.”

  “I was thinking of writing laws. The Fusion needs a new constitution, something the Harmony worlds can agree to as well.”

  “Perhaps we do. But I don’t have time for one. Perhaps you should draft one, you’re well-read enough. Ah, Wayne Searcher has arrived, you must excuse me.”

  “Of course.” Guo looked after Professor Corday as he disappeared into the crowd.

  Blythe arrived and handed him a margarita. “Here you go, dear.”

  “Thank you. That was . . . interesting.”

  “You found up what he’s up to?”

  “No, ruled out one possibility for it. Let’s find a quiet spot.”

  The ballroom overlooked a sunken garden. An open door to a balcony made a nice nook for them to hide in.

  “I’ve been saying hello to people,” said Blythe. “Is that enough showing the flag for the night?”

  “No, we need to stay here until I get the word.”

  “Well. Silver lining. Should be long enough for you to tell me how good a job I’m doing at it.”

  Guo gave her a hard look. “You’re doing a terrible job.”

  “What? How?” The bewildered expression was one Mitchie would never wear.

  “You’re only paying attention to me.”

  “Well, of course. You’re my husband.”

  Guo shook his head. “Mitchie would have her attention spread over the whole room, watching for anyone she should be targeting. She’d be tracking anyone close enough to grab her. That guy behind you? She’d know if he had a concealed weapon and which hand he’d draw it with. Yes, she pays attention to me. But never only me.”

  “Oh.”

  “Let’s go hit the buffet. And look around this time.”

  ***

  The youth spasmed and fell to the ground. Quang ran up and pulled the stun bag off his victim’s neck. He added a few dance steps that practically shouted, “It worked! It worked!”

  Mitchie followed behind, sweeping the suppressor beam over anything that looked like it might hide a camera or other sensor. That’s why we need pros for this, she thought. An amateur would’ve said something and given Corday a voiceprint.

  Behind her Marven stared at the screen of his sensor/jammer box. The spy had pulled out all his gadgets for this mission. They’d decided there was no chance of concealing that the break-in had happened so they were using all their tools to finish the job before reinforcements arrived.

  Marven walked ahead of Quang, making an ‘all clear’ gesture. His box must not show any watchmen beyond the three they’d already knocked out. He led them to the emergency stairs and stood aside to let Quang disable the alarms.

  The steps had a thin layer of dust. Nobody bothered with fire drills in this building. Mitchie carefully put her feet in the marks left by the others.

  At the top floor Marven ran the scanner for two minutes before stepping into the hallway. Mitchie forced herself to hold still despite envisioning a carload of Corday’s thugs arriving below. Fidget patterns could be distinctive, if any motion sensors penetrated the jamming field to record her.

  The lock on the computer room resisted Quang’s first attempt. Marven opened it with a hammer and chisel.

  Workstations and datasheets of all sizes lined the walls of the room. An oversized view screen clung to the ceiling, ready to be lowered down for meetings. All were
connected to tendrils of the building’s data network.

  A wooden table in the center held a high-powered workstation with a holographic display. Only a power cable penetrated the smooth case. Their target.

  Mitchie squeezed a chair to its maximum height and set to work. The palmlock wasn’t fooled by twists and wiggles. The names and passwords they’d brainstormed were rejected. The hammer and chisel came out again to take a side off the workstation’s box.

  A portable memory bank came out of Mitchie’s bag. She popped the workstation’s array of memory crystals out of their slot. The bag produced a bunch of cables, one of which mated to the frame holding the crystal array. Another connected it to the memory bank.

  Then Mitchie pressed a button and sat back. Brute-force copying of all the data on the workstation would work. It would just take longer than using the workstation’s own system to select the interesting bits.

  Marven circled the room, inspecting every workstation to see if it was unplugged.

  Quang paced aimlessly. The second time he looked over Mitchie’s head to check progress she put a hand on his shoulder and pressed until he stopped jittering. After that he waited by the door at parade rest.

  The memory bank’s ‘beep’ sounded painfully loud to the trio’s frayed nerves. Mitchie unplugged the crystal array and stuffed everything else in her bag.

  Halfway down the stairs Marven froze. He scribbled on the scanner’s screen and held it up. “Camera shows flyer landing in street. We go out back.” Mitchie and Quang nodded.

  They kept going at the same pace, trying to stay quiet.

  On the ground floor Marven led them left from the stairs, the opposite direction from how they came in. Echoes of boots sounded through the halls. Corday’s boys must have split up to search.

  “Hey, I see them!”

  Mitchie’s goggles turned black as Marven tossed a dazzler at the thug. She ducked as bullets whined past. The thug couldn’t aim, he just emptied his pistol down the hall.

  “Shit!” barked Quang.

  She grabbed a bandage from a belt pouch. The goggles didn’t have to clear all the way for her to see the blood coming from his arm. She wrapped it tightly, more worried about blood leaking out than treating the wound. Quang hissed.