Starship Blackbeard

by Michael Wallace

  “For God’s sake, Tolvern. Deal with it.”

  She cut the com without another word.

  The ship shuddered. This time, he heard the thump of the explosion coming from above and aft of their position, vibrating through the floor. Somewhere, a distant warning alarm sounded. Oglethorpe shouted from the passageway.

  “Nyb Pim!” Drake shouted. There was no answer.

  “How the blazes are we going to find him?” Capp said. “They all look the same to me in here.”

  Drake shoved his side arm into its holster and held out his hand. “Give me the sugar packets.”

  “Are you nuts?”

  “Give them to me, now.”

  “King’s balls! We’ll be torn apart.”

  She fumbled with the zipper of her jumper, where she’d shoved them after tempting the Hroom in the corridor.

  He grabbed the handful of sugar packets. “I have sugar. I will give it to the Hroom who finds me Nyb Pim. He’s in this room.”

  The room erupted in cries and begging pleas. Hands groped and grabbed, but Capp bashed them away with her rifle butt. One Hroom came scrambling down from an upper bunk, springing from ladder to ladder like a spider. Red light reflected off his eyes, and his lips pulled back in a snarl as he prepared to launch himself. But other hands seized him, and a brawl broke out, which spilled to the floor. Shortly, a mass of biting, hitting bodies clogged the way forward.

  “I have Nyb Pim,” someone shouted.

  “No, you don’t. I have him.”

  Hands dragged one of the Hroom forward. He was nearly naked, dressed in rags, and struggling feebly. Drake recognized his pilot, the curve of his nose and the sharp cheekbones. But as they pushed him forward, an initial feeling of relief gave way to alarm. Nyb Pim was in no condition to move.

  Drake tossed the handful of sugar packets. The Hroom set upon them like starving dogs. He took advantage of the distraction and grabbed Nyb Pim by one arm. Capp got the other arm, and they dragged him toward the door. More Hroom came at them, and Drake called for help. Carvalho, Oglethorpe, and Manx waded into the room from the corridor. Carvalho slashed with his saber to clear a path. Soon, they had Nyb Pim into the hallway, and the door shut again. Drake took a deep breath of the filtered air, relieved to be out of that suffocating closeness.

  There was no sign of the human guard who’d let them into the room, but the Hroom was waiting anxiously for the promised sugar. Drake had thrown it all away.

  “Sugar. Must eat sugar.”

  Capp found a few more packets in the bottom of her pocket. The Hroom snatched them and shoved them, paper and all, into her mouth. Capp had one more packet, which she tore open.

  Drake understood what she was about. He gestured at Nyb Pim. “Open his mouth,” he told Carvalho.

  Nyb Pim had collapsed to the ground and rolled onto his back. Carvalho bent over him and pried his mouth open. Drake took the packet and poured the sugar in. Nyb Pim’s mouth worked to swallow it.

  Within a few seconds, the glazed look had cleared from the pilot’s face. It was like watching a dead body rise from the embalming table, the dead eyes blinking and looking about him. His gaze fixed on Drake, who returned an encouraging smile. Sirens were wailing, and another explosion thumped through the ship. Recognition dawned on the Hroom’s face.

  “No, I don’t want to. Put me back.”

  “You’re not yourself. We’ll—”

  Nyb Pim sprang to his feet. He swung wildly at Drake. Acting on pure instinct, the captain flattened himself against the side of the corridor. The blow glanced off his cheek. Capp and Carvalho set into him with their rifle butts. Drake ordered them to stop.

  The other Hroom had finished the sugar and was already begging for more even before they’d finished subduing the pilot.

  “We have more,” Drake lied. “Take us to the bridge, and you can have it all.” To the others, he said, “If Nyb Pim won’t come willingly, drag him.”

  “Don’t take me,” Nyb Pim begged as they seized him. He struggled, flailing. “Please, Captain. I need sugar!”

  Chapter Seven

  Drake and the rest of the boarding party reached the bridge of the slaver, dragging Nyb Pim along. The bridge smelled of chemical retardant and burning plastic. The captain of Henry Upton and three of his officers were spraying a wall of computer equipment to put out an electrical fire. Lights flashed, warning voices and sirens sounded from every corner.

  The slaver crew didn’t see the intruders until Carvalho and Capp were on top of them. Soon, the crew was disarmed and standing in a sullen knot against the blackened, smoking bank of equipment.

  The captain was a sallow, jowly man about forty-five or fifty, with thinning hair and a belly that overhung his belt. He wore a faded merchant uniform and presented a slovenly appearance as he looked over his captors. His gaze fixed on Nyb Pim, who was being held upright by Oglethorpe and Manx.

  “You came to rescue a bloody slave?” the captain said. He had a low York accent.

  “He’s no slave,” Drake said. “And if I looked through the cargo, how many more people would I find who’d been tricked into slavery? All of them?”

  “You’re a fool.”

  Capp had a fistful of the man’s uniform at the shoulder and gave him a jerk. “Hey, Cap’n, whadya say we shove a pound of sugar up his arse and toss him into that room we came out of. The Hroom’ll tear him apart.”

  The ship shuddered. Fresh alarms sounded.

  “Commander,” Drake said into the com link. “How are we doing?”

  Tolvern’s voice came through in his ear piece. “We’re right up against the hull, sir. Probably fifteen feet away from you, on the outside, starboard side.”

  “I need you on the inside, Tolvern.”

  “Working on it, sir. Hull is compromised. We need to make a seal or you’ll all be sucked into space.”

  Another shuddering explosion.

  “Better hurry or we’ll be sucked out anyway.”

  “Two minutes, sir.”

  “You’ll pay for this,” the captain of the slaver said. “York Company is backed by royal sanction.”

  Drake fixed him with a cold gaze. “This ship may be owned by York Company, but the cargo isn’t.”

  That law was over twenty years old, put in place as a good-faith measure during one of the many truces between Albion and the Hroom. York Company, with its ties to both the lord mayor of York and the crown itself, had been accused of running slave operations within Hroom-controlled worlds. Since then, slaves were owned by third parties, not York Company.

  “Makes no difference. We transport the cargo.”

  “Who bought these people? Who are you working for?”

  When he didn’t answer, Capp gave him another shake. “You better answer real quick, or my mate here will cut you up good.” Carvalho drew his saber at this threat.

  The ship shuddered again, but this time Drake heard voices from his right, on the other side of the starboard-side wall. It must be Tolvern’s crew, cutting through the last few inches to the bridge.

  “Look at your friend,” the slaver captain said with a disgusted nod toward Nyb Pim. “He doesn’t want to go. All he cares about is his sugar. Look! Can’t stop searching for it. See those shelves in the corner? Emergency rations, in case the Hroom ever revolted. Fifty pounds of the white stuff.”

  Nyb Pim stiffened at these words, as if an electric shock had ripped through his limbs. He broke free of Oglethorpe and Manx, who seemed to have relaxed their grip on his arms, and dashed toward the shelves. Drake had moved toward the slaver captain since they’d arrived on the bridge, and with Capp and Carvalho keeping the prisoners, he was the only one in position to intercept the Hroom before he reached the sugar. The last thing he needed was for Nyb Pim to stuff sugar into his mouth until he fell into a swoon, eyes milky and glazed, like they were blocked with cataracts. He lowered his shoulder to stop the hard-charging alien.

  Nyb Pim slammed into him, and he fell. Now on the g
round, Drake got his arms around the Hroom’s legs and temporarily brought him down, but even for his size, Nyb Pim seemed possessed of unusual strength in his desperation to reach the sugar. He got back up and sprang at the shelves, ripping open the doors.

  The slaver captain took advantage of the chaos to grab for Carvalho’s sword. The other three officers went for Capp’s gun. One of them got his hands around the barrel, and she squeezed the trigger. It fired. The man fell back with a cry. Capp turned on the other two and gunned them down. Carvalho fought free and slashed at the slaver captain. The captain fell back, clutching a bloody gash across his chest. Carvalho lifted the saber for a killing blow.

  “No!” Drake cried, rising to his feet. “We need him alive.”

  Nyb Pim let out a terrible wail from the other side of the room, his owl-like voice rising to a screech. He was tearing through the shelves, which contained log books, hand computers, and a variety of electronic odds and ends, but no sugar. The whole thing had been a bluff on the part of the slaver captain.

  Shouts came from behind Drake. He glanced over his shoulder to see Tolvern’s head and shoulders squeezing through a breach in the hull.

  Drake reached for the Hroom. “Nothing here. Time to go. Come on.”

  Nyb Pim wheeled on him. His long, bony hand formed a fist, and before Drake could flinch, the Hroom struck him across the temple, and he went flying. He hit the ground, dazed, and was only partially aware of the shouting and struggle. Oglethorpe and Manx were struggling with Nyb Pim, someone was crying for them to shoot him—or maybe, not to shoot him, Drake couldn’t tell.

  Above it all, Nyb Pim raged in his native tongue and then in English. He pleaded to be released, begged for sugar, begged them to kill him.

  Henry Upton shuddered. Drake got on his hands and knees and scrambled toward the hole Tolvern had opened in the hull. Somehow, he made it through to his own ship.

  #

  Ajax’s initial moves had caught Rutherford flat-footed, and it took some time to regain the initiative. After sending over boarders, Drake’s ship had then methodically reeled in the merchant ship. Ajax took Henry Upton with her into a barrel roll. Clever tactic. Made it impossible for Rutherford to get a clean shot.

  After his own attempt to harpoon the pair failed, Rutherford gave up worrying about collateral damage. He fired his cannon at Ajax, trying to cripple her shields. About one shot in three hit the merchant ship instead. Flashes of light and puffs of debris vented into space.

  After several minutes of this, Ajax apparently had what she wanted and cut loose. She shoved off from Henry Upton and began a rapid acceleration toward what Rutherford presumed was a jump point to flee the system. He maneuvered around the crippled merchant ship, now tumbling helplessly end over end, and set off in grim pursuit.

  It would take Ajax time to accelerate to jump speed and however many hours to reach the jump point itself. Meanwhile, Rutherford methodically pounded at her rear shields with missiles and then used his cannon again when he’d caught up to her. The other cruiser did not fire back, but kept all power on the shields. Even so, they shortly began to weaken. Ajax pulled a couple of slick maneuvers to lose him, but Rutherford had little difficulty keeping pace. It was only a matter of time.

  And then a distress call came through from Henry Upton. The captain of the galleon claimed two hull breeches he was unable to seal. The escape pods had been destroyed in Vigilant’s bombardment. The merchant ship would shortly break apart, with all souls lost, unless Vigilant rushed back to give aid.

  Rutherford turned to his tech officer. “McCormick, how many on board Henry Upton?”

  “A crew of thirty-two, sir,” McCormick said after a moment. “Assuming none have been killed.”

  “What about cargo?”

  “Plus roughly eight hundred and fifty slaves,” McCormick said.

  “Acceptable losses if we can bag Ajax,” Commander Pittsfield said. “The York Company will holler, but what can they do? Ajax is our prize.”

  Rutherford wasn’t sure, but he’d rather not find out.

  “Hail the enemy.”

  Drake came on the screen moments later. He looked haggard, and there was a streak of blood across his right temple. The view was tight, Rutherford noted, with nothing else visible on the bridge, as if his old friend didn’t want conditions to be seen.

  “Calling to surrender?” Drake asked with what looked like a forced smile. “Very well, I accept.”

  Rutherford had no time or patience for banter. He explained the situation with Henry Upton. “You’re beaten. You know this, and I know this. It is only for you to decide to capitulate or be destroyed.”

  “So you’ll keep coming after me and let all those people die? There must be close to a thousand on board. Why don’t you go back and save them while there’s still time?”

  Rutherford smiled. “You can do that yourself. Lower your shields and come to. I’ll follow you to the merchant ship. No more lives will be lost.”

  “Merchant ship? Call it what it is. A slaver. Do you know who was on board?”

  “Your pilot. Yes, I know.”

  “He is an officer in the Royal Navy. We protect our own, Nigel. Doesn’t matter if we’re talking about human or Hroom. You know this. You felt this way yourself at one point, or was I mistaken?”

  Rutherford ignored the forced familiarity of Drake using his given name. “He’s not an officer any more, he’s an eater. I don’t care what he was, that’s what he is now, and is anyone surprised? Maybe they’ll all be eaters eventually, maybe it’s inevitable.” He made his tone conciliatory. “Stand down, surrender. We’ll discuss matters when I have you on board Vigilant. If you have a grievance, I’ll hear you out. No need to rush back to Albion. We can put in for repairs at Hot Barsa.”

  Drake turned his head slightly to the right, as if listening to someone speaking from off screen. “They’re now saying twenty minutes until Henry Upton breaks apart. That doesn’t leave you much time. Better turn around before it’s too late.”

  “Stand down, Drake,” Rutherford said. “You’ll be responsible for all those deaths.”

  Drake smiled and then cut the com link. Rutherford cursed at the blank screen. He’d hoped Drake was bluffing, that he wouldn’t keep running.

  “Turn around?” Pittsfield asked. “Captain?”

  Rutherford didn’t answer. It wasn’t only the slaver that was troubling him, but that Drake had grown so ruthless and desperate. Rutherford had hoped to take him on board after capturing Ajax, speak to him as one captain to another. Drake’s behavior made no sense.

  He truly believes he is innocent.

  The evidence against Rutherford’s old friend had seemed solid. Records confirmed it. The computers had shown falsified logs. The man had blundered and then attempted to deceive both his crew and the navy. This mutiny was one more mistake in an escalation that would see Drake dead.

  But there was a familiar note in his friend’s voice. Confidence, the rightness of purpose for which he was known. Rutherford had forgotten how utterly certain of himself Drake could seem when he thought he was in the right. A niggle of doubt burrowed into Rutherford’s gut. What if he was trying to kill an innocent man?

  He’s not innocent of mutiny. That much is clear.

  Yes, but there were times when a man could disobey a wicked order. What if Rutherford were ordered to bring the entire fleet into orbit around Albion and bombard it with nuclear weapons? Would he do it? Surely not.

  “We need orders, Captain,” Pittsfield said, sounding nervous.

  “Continue pursuit. Give that traitor all he can take. We’ll take his ship anyway, and he’ll have the blood of all those people on his hands. His decision, not ours.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  But no sooner had he spoken, than a message came through from the fleet. When Rutherford had come around Cold Barsa to find Ajax trying to board the merchant ship, he’d sent off a subspace message to fleet headquarters to say that he’d engaged the e
nemy. It was standard practice, in case there were any vessels in the area who might send help. He’d reported that Ajax had Henry Upton harpooned and intended to board her.

  Nearly an hour had passed since he’d sent the message, and an answer had come back from Albion.

  Destroy Ajax if you must, but do not risk the merchant ship.

  Rutherford sat in stunned disbelief when Pittsfield relayed the message. “Repeat that message, Commander.”

  Pittsfield read it again.

  “We can sacrifice a Royal Navy cruiser, but we’re to preserve a beat-up old merchant ship?” Rutherford said. “What is Henry Upton worth, a few thousand pounds? Her cargo a few thousand more?”

  “That is what it says, sir.”

  “I know what it says, Commander.”

  Rutherford stared at the viewscreen, at Ajax, her hull pitted by the bombardment of Vigilant’s cannons, which had punctured the shields and were now starting to tear up her underbelly. A few more broadsides, and he’d have her crippled and helpless. There would be no need to destroy Ajax or its crew. Another shot broke through, and fire and debris flared into space.

  “Perhaps it is a mistake,” Pittsfield said. “I could request clarification. The order doesn’t make sense. It will take another hour to get an answer. By then—”

  “It is no mistake,” Rutherford said bitterly. “Break off pursuit. We will obey orders.”

  “But sir.”

  “Do what I say!”

  Mutters and dark looks swept over the bridge as Pittsfield relayed the captain’s orders. Under normal circumstances, Rutherford would not have tolerated such dissent, but they only mirrored his own anger at being called away.

  The enemy vanished from sight as Vigilant swung around to return to Cold Barsa. Henry Upton was still turning end over end, her distress calls ever more frantic. Rutherford reversed the engines when they got within a few tens of thousands of miles, slowing rapidly to match the merchant vessel’s course and speed. He fired a harpoon to grab hold so he could stabilize her enough to bring in.

  But the harpoon came loose when they started to bring her in. It had attached itself to a damaged part of the hull that now broke free. Drake ordered another harpoon launched. This one took hold. But when the merchant ship was still a hundred miles out, a tremendous fissure opened midway down her hull. She broke in two, spewing debris into space.