They had been on Atlantea for a week and John's two freighters were nearly full of loot when he came across Smiley and his crew at work. A wealthy merchant had refused to reveal the hiding place of his valuables. When John walked in, the man was tied to a chair, being forced to watch as his wife and teenage daughter were gang raped by the pirates. Over the cries and screams of the women, John heard Smiley threaten to destroy the daughter's beauty if the man did not talk. "Naw," Smiley was saying, "I won't kill 'er. I figger she'll do that herself when she sees her face. I'll just slice her nose, cut off her ears, and mebee give her some artistic scars. Time I'm done, she'll vomit ever' time she looks in the mirror." The man looked sick, tears running unheeded down his bruised and bloody face.
John glanced at the subject of Smiley's threats just as she turned her dirty, agonized face toward him. Their eyes met.
John told himself later that the girl really did not look that much like Mina. Oh, the hair color was similar, and her features generally resembled Mina's, but the resemblance wasn't really that close. At that moment, though, John was transfixed.
Mina had told him that someday something would happen that would hold a mirror up for John, and show him what he had become, what he had done to himself. Then, she said, he would probably kill himself. She had begged him to "go straight," stop the piracy and settle for peaceful trade – and then she had been killed when he tried.
But suddenly he saw himself in the girl's dull, pain wracked eyes. He was responsible for all this. He had planned this huge planetary raid. The animals torturing her were his men, obeying his orders. He had become what Smiley was: a monster.
John made it outside before he vomited. Mina's mirror had appeared, and John was full of loathing and disgust for what it had revealed.
Mina had been wrong about one thing, though. John overcame the urge to kill himself, mainly by focusing on forming a plan to escape the pirates and flee to some place where he could begin a peaceful new life and put this horror existence behind him.
Time dragged as Azure Sky's AI shut down the drives and went to minimum life support. There was 'way too much time to think, to regret the past, and to worry about whether he would be discovered.
He was monitoring the pirate fleet's communications, and was gratified by the confusion his disappearance and Smiley's death had caused. The struggle for leadership was well underway, and from what was being said, and more importantly, what was carefully not being said, it was becoming apparent that Townley was on his way to gaining control. Captain Franks of the hellraker was still alive, but John suspected that was only because he was being very cautious, and refusing to leave his ship. Eventually, Townley would bribe one of Hellraker's crew to kill their captain.
Meanwhile, Townley had called a "council of captains" of the various ships. It had been decided that this "council" would command until a leader was selected.
So far, no search had been mounted for John and Azure Sky. It appeared John had been right: Townley didn't trust Turlow not to run off. And it was Townley. John could tell that he was the one pulling the strings, and despite his drunkenness, it appeared that Franks knew it too. Franks was refusing to leave Hellraker, claiming not to trust his crew. However, he was in almost constant contact with the other captains, trying to forge support for his own candidacy. That he would fail was, to John, a foregone conclusion. Townley was smarter, tougher, and meaner. He was also sober. John just hoped Franks lasted until he completed his escape.
Between Azure Sky's library and monitored pirate communications, the time passed slowly. Nevertheless, it did pass. John heaved a great sigh of relief as the yacht jumped.
After two recal stops, his first stop was Jackson. Jackson had been a shipbuilding center long before the Fall of the Empire. For a long time after the Fall, Jackson had been able to carry on business as usual. Empire or no, trade required ships, and ships required maintenance, repair and replacement. But now, decline and piracy had begun taking their toll on interstellar trade. Large freighters and the few remaining passenger liners no longer had to wait for access to the orbital shipyards, and the ground-based yards were no longer crowded with smaller ships. The decline here had been slow, but it was definitely occurring.
John's reason for coming to Jackson was Yan Carbow. Yan was one of the ex-slaves that escaped with John. Yan had left the pirates after the first raid, on the ore carrier from Peltir IV. The deaths of the ore carrier's crew had shocked and disgusted Yan. He had taken his share of the loot and returned to his home planet of Jackson, where he had bought into a small groundside shipyard servicing mostly small intrasystem ships. A few years ago, casual contact with another ex-slave had revealed that Yan had done well, and had assumed full ownership of the yard.
Yan was a large man in late middle age whose rough, scarred hands testified to his years of hard labor. In the years since he left John, Yan's muscle had softened to fat, turning a large man into a huge one. Still, he was a gentle bear of a man with a ready smile and a cheerful manner that had been invaluable to the slaves' survival.
Yan's smile widened to a broad grin when he saw John. "Hello, hello!" he bellowed, careful not to use John's name where it could be overheard. Even years later, the habits of slavery persist. "Come in and tell me what we can do for you!"
He ushered John into his office and carefully closed the door before grabbing John into a huge bear hug. "John!" he bellowed. "I'm so glad to see you again!" His tone lowered to a roar. "I was afraid you were dead!"
John's grin was wide and sincere as he gestured to Yan to lower his voice. "It's great to see you again too, Yan," he replied. "I hear you've done well for yourself."
The big man's smile widened. "I have done well, John," he replied proudly in a more conversational tone as he gestured John to a chair. "Life has been good since I came back. Sheol, I'm a gentleman now! A yard owner and pillar of the community."
He thumped into the oversized swivel chair behind his desk, and then leaned forward as his smile faded. "I assume this isn't a social call, John. What's up, and how can I help? Need to hide out? I can get you fixed up with an identity and you can take over half of the yard."
John started. "You're joking!"
The smile resurfaced as Yan shook his head. "Nope. No joke. I owe you my life and my freedom. I have always hoped you'd show up here so I could make that offer. I'd be proud if you'd accept it."
John shook his head in disbelief. "Yan," he replied slowly, "You're amazing." He looked around wistfully. "I really wish I could accept your offer. But I'm on the run now, and need to bury myself in the Old Empire for awhile." His eyes returned to Yan and a slow half-smile lit his face. "Perhaps I can come back when the heat's off. I think I'd like that."
Yan frowned. "Law problems? Sheol, I've got contacts . . ." his voice trailed off as John shook his head.
"I'm afraid the law is a minor problem at the moment," John said. "My former colleagues are at the head of the list. Any time now, lowlifes here and throughout the sector will hear that there is a big bounty on my head, courtesy of Captain Reg Townley, newly crowned Terror of the Spaceways. I've got to travel far and fast."
Yan nodded, the ever-present smile fading. "So you finally quit. Did Mina's words finally get through that thick skull?"
"Something like that. Anyway, I've got a gorgeous yacht called Azure Sky sitting on your apron. She's exactly what I need. She's fast, luxurious, and best of all, she's got an AI advanced enough to let me run her alone."
Yan nodded again. "So what can I do for you?"
"Well, first of all, she needs a new identity. I would like her beacon to identify her as some kind of small courier ship or something. Second, she's way too fancy. She's obviously pre-Fall, but she has been kept in immaculate condition. I need her made to look old and beat-up. I'd like her to seem like something innocuous, that won't attract pirates.
"Finally," he continued, "I'm concerned about the ship's AI. I have never dealt with artificial intelligence that close
to sentience. It scares me a little. I was able to convince it that I had bought the yacht from her previous owner, and that I was a businessman and was concerned about duplicity by my trading partners. That's how I explained running away from the Terror's fleet. But with the traveling I'm going to have to do and the things I'll need to do, I can't keep coming up with stories and muddling through. I need a top comp expert that can set a firm cover story, and maybe even make it loyal to me, if that's possible."
Yan leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. "I saw you land," he said thoughtfully. "She is a pretty thing. I'll be kinda sorry to mess her up. A disguise, eh? Hmm."
After a moment, he swung forward again, dropping his arms. "Well, she's about the size of one of the armed couriers the Empire Fleet used to use. They called 'em 'stingers,' because they were small, but had some nasty weapons. There never were very many of 'em. They were mostly used for fast, secure communications and high-value shipments between Prime and the Sector Viceroys. They carried a crew of five, and had two Alliance-style quickfirers mounted on the centerline. Add a few extra hull plates to change her shape, and I think we can make her look like one of those. We might even have room under the phony hull plates to actually install those quickfirers!" He was becoming excited at the challenge. "The orbital scrap yard has all kinds of military junk." He straightened and grinned at John. "This is gonna be fun!"
John was not as excited. "What about the AI?"
Yan shrugged. "The best comp man on the planet is Rey Teros. He works as an independent consultant. Nowadays, he only takes on jobs he likes. But he owes me a favor, and if I wave enough quants under his nose, he'll do it.
"I've got money . . ." John started.
Yan waved a dismissal. "No, you don't. Not on this planet. You can't even buy a damned sandwich." He keyed a speaker on his desk. "Evie? Listen. I want a credit chit with, oh, say, fifty thousand quants on it. No, not a company chit. Strictly cash. When? Now, of course!"
He sat back and regarded John soberly. "So, can you tell me your plans? Anything I can help with?
John shook his head. "No, my plans are only firm as far as getting the ship modded and then heading for the Old Empire. I'll need to stop somewhere for some body sculpting to change my appearance. After that I'll either try to find courier runs or try to find a nice, quiet planet where I can retire."
Yan snorted. "Retire? You? You won't last a year. I think you'd better be working on a plan C, because you've already learned you're no trader, and your plan B is ridiculous!"
John smiled. "Don't count on it. I was once a quiet, civilized attorney, remember?"
Yan smiled. "Yeah. And you ended up in a slave coffle!"
Work began on the Azure Sky immediately. Yan's yard had the specs on almost all of the ships used by the Empire, and they decided his plans were feasible. The big man seemed to really enjoy the challenge offered by the conversion.
The orbital scrap yard had only one of the quickfirers, but by retrofitting a larger fusactor, Yan was able to fit a heavy laser under the dummy hull plates. "You'll have to aim both of your weapons by aiming the ship," he told John. "There was no room to fit turrets. We'll program the AI with all the targeting programs necessary, so you'll still be a one-man ship."
The modifications made the renamed Scorpion remarkably lethal for her size. The quickfirer fired tiny rockets some twenty millimeters in diameter. However, the rockets were plated with collapsed metal, and massed 100 kilos in a one-G field. They were effective on anything up to a destroyer, and had been one of the most effective general-purpose weapons in the Old Empire's arsenal. The laser Yan mounted on Scorpion had been removed from an Old Empire destroyer. Together, the two weapons gave John the firepower of an Old Empire corvette, in a much smaller package. John would have a surprise for any pirate that attacked him.
Time dragged, and despite Yan's hospitality, John was getting nervous by the time Yan considered Scorpion ready for delivery after six weeks. By now, John had to assume that Townley had secured his command. Fat with the loot of Atlantea, the fleet would not be restive, and Townley would feel secure enough to come searching for John, and post bounties along the way.
John had been scanning the Stellar Index for possible havens when the comm buzzed. It was Yan, of course, and he had a grim expression on his face. “Two men just left my office,” he said without preface. They were looking for the owner of that small courier in the yard. They didn’t know his name.” Two security cam pictures filled the screen.
John snapped to attention. The faces were familiar, of course. “Yamesh and Barned,” he said. “They like to work as an assassination team. They enjoy the killing,” he added. Townley had found him already.
Yan’s fat face was stricken. “Then you’ll have to kill them, won’t you?” He would certainly have to try. At his wordless nod, tears began streaming down the ample cheeks. “John, I’m sorry, but I can’t kill someone. I never could, even on Peltir. I just can’t!”
Despite the dagger of fear in his own chest, he felt terrible for Yan. Yan was one of the gentlest people in the universe. Somehow, he had retained that gentility even through years of slavery. No, He’d have to face the killers, but no matter what the risk, he would keep Yan totally out of it.
“It’s all right, Yan. You know I would never ask that of you. Did they leave contact information?”
Looking somewhat reassured, but still worried, Yan nodded. “They’re staying at a hotel near the port in the club district.”
He was thinking hard. “Low rent area? Run down? Slummy?”
A weak smile surfaced on Yan’s face. “Very. Lots of cheap bars and hookers.” He brightened, “Say, I’ve got some pretty tough boys out in the yard . . .” he trailed off as he saw John's head shaking ‘no’.
“Not a chance, Yan,” John insisted. “I don’t want you involved if there’s any rough stuff.” Then, suddenly a thought occurred to him. “Say, Yan, maybe there doesn't have to be any rough stuff. Does Jackson subscribe to the Sector-Wide Wanted List service?”
Surprise lit his features. “Of course. Every civilized planet in the sector uses it. I understand the Patrol uses it to run the names of incoming passengers.”
John nodded, getting excited now. “I’m sure these two came in on fake papers. But they’re wanted as pirates on over a dozen planets in this sector alone; and pirates are subject to summary execution, without trial. Suppose a reputable citizen, say a shipyard owner, were to call the Patrol and report some suspicious characters asking suspicious questions about a ship in his yard.”
A slow smile grew across Yan’s features. “Why, I’ll bet they’d want to take another look at those characters’ papers, and maybe even run their DNA against the Wanted list. If they’re as bad as you say, the government probably wouldn’t even bother with a trial.”
John was grinning, now. “Yep. I can see the headlines on the Worldweb now: ‘Local Yard Owner Helps Capture Pirates’. They might even vote you a reward; these are very bad people.”
Relief was warring with a wide grin on the fat face. “And neither of us has to kill anyone or be killed.”
“Right,” John replied. And better yet," he added, “there will be a record of what happened to them. If they just disappeared, Townley might get suspicious and send another team. This way, I get a clean head start.”
Yan wrestled his face into a scowl. “Well! I think I had better do my plain civic duty. You might want to stick around your hotel room for a day or so. Theirs aren’t the only pictures on that list, you know.”
John smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m afraid James Yor-Tarken is coming down with something that will take at least three days to cure.”
Yan’s face took on a concerned look. “Oh, I’m so sorry, sire Yor-Tarken. The yard will of course send condolences. You are, after all, a rather substantial customer.”
By the time Yor-Tarken’s illness had passed, the pirates had been arrested, identified and the executions carried
out. Yan was a local hero, which he was enjoying immensely, and Scorpion’s transformation was complete.
John's relief was palpable when Rey Teros finally introduced him to his new AI and explained its modifications.
"As you requested," the wizened little man began, "We retained the name of 'Tess' for your AI. We have programmed her to be loyal to you only. If you sell the vessel, I'm afraid some major reprogramming will be required." He looked disapproving. "I do not approve of loyalty circuits. They render the Artificial Intelligence vulnerable to amateur and unintended program conflicts. However," he continued, "the circuits were present, and the programming has been completed. To her, you are a secret agent being pursued by pirates. Your 'secret agent' identity permits her to accept apparently contradictory inputs and supposed 'cover stories' without establishing programming conflicts." His look of disapproval turned into a scowl. "To a certain extent, it will also allow her to deal with the conflict between her basic programming concerning human safety and the presence and use of the lethal weapons with which you have equipped her." He paused and turned an intense glare on John. "I emphasize that she is not a military AI, and does not have their basic programming. The more often she is confronted with the fact of the destruction of human life, the more likely she is to suffer injury."
Teros paused, as though deciding whether to continue. "The AI is pre-Fall Alliance manufacture, and is the most advanced one I've ever seen. I suspect it contains capabilities I do not understand. There are also memory repositories I was unable to access." He admitted reluctantly. "Should you get to the Alliance, you might find someone there qualified to deal with those anomalies. But I doubt it." He shook his head. "I would love to spend years studying it, but I know that is impossible. All I can do is wish you good luck, Captain."
John assured Teros that he would take good care of the remarkable AI and did not intend to use Scorpion's weapons any more than necessary. Teros merely grunted before striding out, slamming the door behind him.
The Privateer Page 2
