Fall of the White Ship Avatar

by Brian Daley

  Spica filled all forward displays. Dincrist looked at Alacrity with a vast tranquility that made Floyt fearful. "I don't chose to comply, Fitzhugh. Do what you will."

  "You'll choose death?" Floyt demanded angrily. "For all of us? Even for your daughter?"

  "No. Fitzhugh might, though."

  Alacrity indicated Floyt and Heart with a toss of his head. "They already know I'm not going back on this. I'm not going back to being what I was, understand? Dying with the White Ship is a bigger, better death than I ever counted on. Look: you think you're at peace with an end like this? Dincrist, I worked my whole life for it!"

  Dincrist and Alacrity stared at one another while ten seconds went by. Heart felt Floyt take her hand.

  Dincrist closed the crest cap of his ring and slouched across the bridge, defeated, meaning to slump into the captain's chair. Floyt glanced to the Nonpareil's stoic face; it was impossible to gauge how much the scene was hurting her.

  Alacrity moved toward Dincrist but kept an eye on Constance. "Uh-uh, Dincrist; you can't sit there!"

  The Nonpareil put a hand on his shoulder but he ignored it. "That seat was supposed to be my father's! I'm not letting—look out!"

  The warning came too late; Constance's claw was already at target—a different sting from the one she'd been ready to use on Alacrity—sinking into the side of Dincrist's neck. She was trying to get the signet ring the rest of the way off with fingers and teeth even while he was falling, her free hand-claws spread to hold off any who might try to interfere.

  The flashing finger sheaths brought Alacrity up short and kept Heart back when she would've gone to her father's side. Floyt dragged Heart back, or she would've risked Constance's poisons, after a moment's hesitation, to try to save her father. Mason and Praxis stood frozen.

  Constance sprang to stand by the captain's chair with a blissed smile and the ring high-held in her left hand.

  Left hand.

  That tiny oddity, in a hand-to-hand situation, set off alarm bells in Alacrity, because Constance set her right on her rump rather than keep it out on guard. Constance toyed with the destruct ring and fed on the reactions of the others on the bridge.

  Alacrity couldn't help wondering what her right hand was really doing. He angled a bit, and caught, in a high-gloss power panel behind her, a reflection of Constance's fingers delicately retrieving a tiny device from the minimal V-garment.

  Tachypsychia kicked in, making everything seem slow motion, giving him time for calm consideration. Since there were no firearms in the Ship, he had an instant, vivid realization what the device was.

  Constance whipped it out and fired. Alacrity contorted in midair, limbs outflung, the very picture of agony, landing painfully. He slumped when he hit the floor. Constance lowered the little instrument and advanced on the fetal ball that was Alacrity, palming her gadget, right-hand claws at a sort of guard, left hand holding the ring. "I wasn't quite sure that would work on you." She giggled.

  "Did that feel familiar, sweetie?" she said with a voice like a sugarbath. "Oh, dear, dear babies, let's talk about revenge!" One falciform sheath tip poised over the trigger button.

  "This Ship comes to me now. Only a little sooner than I'd planned." She looked to Floyt. "And now it's time for your little jot to make you dance, pet—ahh!"

  Alacrity had worked a leg-trip on her, lashing out to seize her wrists so that she couldn't strike with those talons, forcing them to the deck and managing to snap the crest cap shut against it, Constance yowling all the while like a scalded cat, losing the actijot control unit, which was useless because Van Straaten had removed Floyt's and Alacrity's jots.

  Alacrity rolled sideways, tossing Constance off, diving to make distance. Coming up with the destruct ring and not a mark on him, he heard a nearby cry—Constance's, he thought.

  Sibyl Higgins beat Floyt and Heart to the battle, catching Constance's wrists in some strange grip and exerting force with odd, wheeling movements of her elbows. Constance went down, wrists hanging at strange angles as she wept and screamed.

  Dincrist's eyes were fluttering and he knew he had no time left. He smiled up at Heart as she held his head in her lap. "I want—I wish—" the father said, and he passed from life to death before he could get out another word.

  Alacrity stood watching helplessly as Heart closed her father's eyes. He heard a commotion and the rest of the Interested Parties and their escorts arriving. He pocketed the ring and squared his shoulders.

  "Fitzhugh, it's over," Sibyl Higgins barked. "Now cancel the Sampson Option."

  "It's not quite over," he contradicted. "First, you're going to hand over your shares to me. And so are all the rest of you." He gazed up at an overhead holodisplay that showed nothing but the blue annihilation of Spica. "Wulf; Heart—everybody."

  He brought his gaze down to the Nonpareil. He'd assumed, in just those few moments, what Heart had heard Calendar War vets refer to as "the hundred-mission stare."

  He said, "Everybody, no exceptions! I'm not going through this kind of thing twice! After today, there's no more arguing. The White Ship does what my family meant her to do."

  He looked at the gathered Interested Parties, not afraid of anything anymore, squaring away his captain's jacket. Perhaps his family's errors stemmed from too much compassion; if so, that would stop.

  The magisterial-looking man took a half step in Alacrity's direction. "That would make you no better than they were." A hand gesture indicated Dincrist and his group.

  Alacrity's face seemed about to shatter with emotion. "Don't you tell me what I am! You and you and all the rest of you screwed up this Ship and bottled up the best hope of the human race for twenty-five years!"

  The words reverberated from the bulkheads, so loud they came in again upon themselves. Alacrity's teeth were locked, fists balled, "The Interested Parties had their chance and more chances, but its finished! So now I'll do it myself, or I'll take this Ship down into Spica and somebody else can make a new, clean start."

  He threw a quick look at the displays. They were all alight and the whole bridge rang with impending catastrophe. "And you have no more time to think it over. We're marginal as it is. Either sign your shares over to me or find some corner and make your peace. I couldn't stop you from thwarting what my family lived and died for, but I can stop you from ever doing it again. And I'm about to."

  His stare fell on Higgins. "And there isn't even time for you to get that cancel code out of me."

  He backed up all at once, stooping over the embryonic, weeping Constance, and yanked off several of those deadly fingernail sheaths, stepping back then, ready to use their poison, bringing his back up against a railing overlooking the various workstations. A moment's monkeying got one stinger forth.

  "Ho, I think I need you right about now. Cover that side, will you?"

  Floyt stayed where he was.

  "Ho, dammit, I need you!" Alacrity tossed another fingernail sheath to Floyt. Floyt's arms were crossed; it bounced off his starched white shirtfront.

  "No, Alacrity. It's not fair, what you're demanding of them. And I'm not going to argue about your parents! You're not special! None of us are! And you just can't treat people this way!"

  Alacrity looked like somebody'd hit him a good one with a neurosap. Heart put her arm through Floyt's pointedly, saying nothing, watching. Wulf came shoulder to shoulder with her, Yester by his side. Higgins took up a subordinate post at Floyt's other shoulder and in moments the Old Guard and the New Faction had joined ranks against Alacrity Fitzhugh.

  Alacrity looked at his only love and his only friend, and the rest of them, and the Ship around him. All his, for another few minutes, then starfire.

  He locked eyes with Floyt, and Floyt, arms still crossed, said levelly, "And I wasn't lying about the causality harp."

  Alacrity nodded, throat working, and started to speak three times before he got out a croak. "I never thought you lied. Ever." He took in a great chestful of air and let go a lifelong dream, st
aring at Heart the whole time, as she stared at him.

  "Attention! Shareholder Fitzhugh, identify!"

  "Shareholder Alacrity Fitzhugh, confirmed," the Ship replied.

  "Cancel Sampson Option three. Return to Nirvana orbit." He licked salt off his upper lip and took courage in that Floyt and Heart were watching him with something a lot like compassion. It's not every day you throw away your life's work …

  "Alert appropriate governmental agencies for rendezvous," he finished.

  "Cancellation noted," the Ship spoke in the clear, exalted she-voice. "Deviation from Spican entry course no longer possible."

  Alacrity's head snapped up toward the displays. If the White Ship had passed the point of no return, there was no way rescue could reach them and no way lifeboats or other small craft could ever get free of Spica's pull. The White Ship was the most powerful machine humans had ever built.

  Alacrity sat himself down at the foot of the captain's chair and buried his face in his hands.

  Chapter 20

  Uneasy Lies The Head

  "Maybe there's something we can do." Floyt made a half step but didn't know which way to turn, surrounded by systemry he didn't understand and realizing that the Ship herself was doing everything there was to be done, which wasn't enough. Heart and the others rushed to control pozzes anyway, even Sibyl Higgins and those who, like her, knew little or nothing of starships.

  "I didn't mean for this—" Alacrity started, then realized he was talking to everybody's back. He shut up and got up to go see if he could do something useful.

  In the next three minutes they tried every operational command and dodge any of them could think of, and none of those was of any use. The Ship's interior was still cool, but that was an anomaly that would change in a nanosecond when the Ship's power and protection failed.

  Alacrity went to Heart. She was there along with Floyt, who'd thrown his tail coat over her father, and held her even though she stood a head taller than Floyt and hadn't quite let herself cry. Floyt's Inheritor's belt gleamed against his Terran wondersuit.

  Heart looked to Alacrity dispiritedly. "If you've got any of those famous ideas, this is the time for one."

  "Wish I did."

  Heart let go of Floyt and she and Alacrity put their arms around each other. Alacrity looked up at a pickup. At least we can pass along what we know. "Attention! Open commo link to Nirvana, or nearest relay station." They could transfer some of the Ship's knowledge, for those who would take up the Precursor quest.

  "No relay station within range in photospheric turbulence," the meticulous, maddening Ship's voice said. "Shall I attempt to hail nearest vessel once again?"

  Floyt looked up suddenly. If a ship was within range when no relay station was, it must be close—which was impossible. "Query: what vessel?"

  The White Ship answered, "Type unknown nonhuman vessel designation 'Heavyset,' which has been paralleling our course at distance approximately five thousand kilometers for thirteen point two five minutes Standard."

  Floyt and Alacrity looked at each other, eyebrows trying to crawl up into their hairlines. It wasn't a fair contest because Floyt's had so much farther to go. Then both launched themselves at a commo terminal.

  Wulf, Higgins, and the others were all trying to talk at once until the Nonpareil got them to shut up, "How d'you say 'SOS!' in Heavyset?" Alacrity was yelling at the Ship, ready to put his foot through something. He ordered, "Signal 'SOS,' signal 'MAYDAY,' and signal 'Fireman, Save My Child!' "

  "No symbologies with those meanings appear to be available," the Ship said.

  Alacrity gnashed his teeth. "Well, what symbologies are! How'd you get the Heavies here? How can we get them to save us?"

  "Insufficient data," the Ship assured him. "Preliminary runs by subordinate communications and analysis AFs on Precursor/Heavyset symbology correlations resulted in the appearance of the Heavyset starship. All combinations have failed to elicit any further response. Heavyset starship still parallels our course."

  "Um, so, what do we—" Alacrity was saying as he almost got hit in the mouth by Floyt's Inheritor's belt. Floyt was swinging it under an optical pickup.

  "You know these symbols?" He was thinking of the systemry in Hecate's Precursor site, and how it had saved Paloma and Alacrity and himself when it detected the belt.

  "Some are recognizable, some not," the Ship allowed.

  "Well, transmit the ones you recognize and try to transmit the ones you don't!" Floyt hollered. He looked to Alacrity. "Link up your proteus there, and send that Precursor music that got us in all that trouble with Hecate! Snap to it!"

  Alacrity did. "Just what d'you think's gonna happen?"

  Everyone was watching them. "I don't know," Floyt said. "Wouldn't anything be an improvement?"

  "Maybe the Heavies are just curious to see us go poof," somebody said.

  "Then they're going to be rather well entertained, my dear."

  "Or perhaps they don't even realize we're in danger," Wulf interjected. "Certainly, they're in none."

  It was apparent that the Heavysets had some tricks the human race lacked, because one second the White Ship was falling into Spica and the next, she was falling away from it, without so much as a hiccup from the intertia-shedding fields or a squeak from the hull or internal structure.

  "They're pulling us back up and out," Alacrity said, "or shoving or hoodooing or something."

  The instruments registered the motion, but no detector or scrutinizer could offer any hows or wherefores.

  "I wonder if they'll claim salvage rights on the ship," Floyt pondered, fingering his beard. "Or for that matter, on us?"

  "As long as they didn't take it as a mating call." Alacrity frowned.

  The Heavysets manifestly did not take it as anything of the sort; the White Ship was shifted to her Nirvana orbit, precisely where she'd been. The Heavyset vessel/ worldlet returned to its station down near Spica, and no transmissions could coax any further response from it.

  There were all manner of transmissions to the White Ship from Nirvana, the White Ship Company, the cops, Uncensored Network, and others. Among this new information were arrest warrants for Alacrity and Floyt, to be carried out immediately on adjournment of the board meeting. Piracy, credit fraud, attempted murder, inciting to riot, vandalism of a public accommodation, and much more were listed on the charge sheet.

  Dincrist's body and the restraint-bound, incoherent Constance had been removed by Spican peace officers. The Spican government was about out of patience, sanctity of the board meeting or no. Alacrity and Floyt were in total accord as to their next area of endeavor: headlong flight.

  "I'm sure we can have you both cleared in short order," Sibyl Higgins told them as they were about to duck out of the airlock and fire up the Tramp-Royal's gig, and get moving. "If you'll stay, I'll stand by you in this matter."

  "In the meantime, somebody'll kill us," Alacrity said sourly. "And we'll be innocent but dead. We prefer being live fugitives."

  "We have more experience at that," Floyt explained. He and Alacrity were already dressed in nondescript working-breakabout shipsuits. With the White Ship inner hatch secure, the Ship amiably opened the airlock storage bin so they could retrieve their guns.

  "Anyway, I'm not sure what's going to happen about Dincrist's shares and the others', or what the company'll do," Alacrity went on. "But what really counts is what the Ship figures she should do, and it looks like she's going to listen to this New Faction consensus. You sure couldn't do much worse than I did."

  "I don't entirely agree," Higgins said. "And some day in the not-too-distant future now, this Ship will be ready to set forth. We shall need trained and seasoned personnel."

  "Besides, Alacrity, you already have that pretty captain's suit," Heart added, running pale fingers through his hair, laughing.

  It was nearly two full days since the Ship had been yanked back from the flames. Alacrity and Heart had spent as much of that time together in her quarters as t
hey could steal away from crisis management and the other demands upon them. Those included his yearning to see more of the Ship, no matter how painful that was, and a few other matters he had to take care of when no one was watching, not even Heart. Alacrity had, as a matter of fact, just come from a transactions terminal.

  The interlude had healed up what had gone wrong between them, made things dearer and deeper, made it, somehow, at once the same love and yet something new and better.

  Now the Nonpareil slipped her arm around his waist, but Alacrity shook his head. "No, no; I'm not the captain of this ship."

  Higgins looked vexed. "Come, come now! Just because you cannot make the rules you refuse to play the game? That is infantile!"

  Alacrity sucked his thumb, nodding, then said, "There's more to it than that, Doc. Let's just say I'm finally convinced that I'm not—that it's not in the cards." He exchanged looks with Floyt.

  "I hate to be the one to point this out, but time is pressing upon us," Wulf said. "The government is demanding cooperation and we really cannot refuse them much longer."

  "All right, you both know how to get in touch with me," Heart told the two sidekicks for the third time. "And please use your heads and go to Bankroll and sign aboard the Slocum!"

  The Captain Joshua Slocum was one of the biggest ships in the Dincrist empire. She was being overhauled on Bankroll, outside Spican authority, for a voyage that would take her to the frontiers and beyond. Heart had given them letters of introduction guaranteed to get them comfortable berths under aliases.

  "We'll think about it," Alacrity promised. But he wasn't so happy about the idea. For one thing, it could leave them terribly vulnerable to any enemies they might still have in the Dincrist organization who might get wind of the arrangement.

  Heart almost punched him. She'd thought about joining them in their escape, but there was simply no way she could abandon the White Ship at this critical juncture. But the Spican writ, weighty as it was, didn't run far in terms of known space. The galaxy was big, and she knew Alacrity meant to be with her in it, whatever that took—as much as she meant to be with him.