A King Word And a Gun

by Yuri Hamaganov

  Mr. Borgnine and Comrade Andrei are the first passengers from outside who have boarded the Bolshevik in the last six months. Klimov doesn’t particularly favor strangers on the cruiser, but now this principle is forfeited for reasons of conspiracy—hunting has been declared on these people.

  Olga leads the guests to the saloon, and this time, Comrade Andrei doesn’t attempt to hide his interest, attentively examining the internal structure of the Bolshevik. This curiosity is quite natural; few have had the opportunity to see the legendary cruiser from the inside. He isn’t just a soldier, understands Olga. Comrade Andrei is from the flight crew, although his education was radically different from the way she and the other Bolsheviks studied; the Red Dawn has its own very peculiar school.

  She wonders who he is. A pilot? A navigator? A gunsmith? A nuclear engineer or a mechanic? Or maybe her colleague?

  “Elena, have you met Comrade Andrei before?” she calls the ship's doctor.

  “Him personally—no. But I had the chance to get acquainted with his boss, so he knows us. I am seeing the earthman for the first time.”

  “Do you know why we needed him and why he has such support?”

  “Our guest will tell about it himself; I think it will be interesting.”

  The cruiser continues moving at low speed; Olga briefly ascends to the operator's compartment for a planned modernization of the power grid and then returns to the saloon, where all the others have already gathered. There is no more urgent work; now they need to find out what the near future is preparing, the future that arrived on board together with the two mysterious passengers.

  “Before it all began last year, I myself rarely visited space, only seven times, for a total of three months,” Borgnine begins. “In general, I'm a new kid here, despite the fact that my father and uncle started their space business back in the early thirties. We preferred to work remotely . . .”

  While listening to Borgnine, Olga is studying his personal file from the captain's archive. Yes, indeed, Borgnine’s company has been functioning since the thirties, when the outlines of the future Supernova and the Union were just beginning to take shape. Then the boom of the lunar and asteroid mines thundered, the space business suddenly became super-profitable, and all those who weren’t lazy hastened to dig the heavenly golden veins.

  But Borgnine and his partners didn’t engage in the miners' craft. Their business lay in a different field, in the service sector. Providing miners with everything necessary, as it later turned out, was often more profitable than digging ore in the lunar mines. They chartered several Russian unmanned transports, creating a small merchant fleet and supplying the first remote colonies with everything they needed, from oxygen, water, and food to drugs, gambling, and prostitutes. It seems that it was Borgnine who created the first mobile space brothels, although several other companies claim to have initiated this very important and profitable industry.

  Space has given them a lot of money over the last sixty years, but the owners of the company didn’t want to personally visit their possessions, managing their enterprises remotely from the head office in Montreal. The founder of the company, Borgnine Sr., never climbed above Earth's atmosphere, and the other owners didn’t go into the field very often either. For Olga, this line of behavior reminded her of her childhood years in the High House, when she, quite a girl, often naively asked Arina why no one in the company's management visited her personally since she brought them so much money.

  Understanding didn’t come at once—earthmen don’t like space; earthmen are afraid of the cosmos, rich earthmen especially. Maybe sometime in the past, before the War, in which hundreds and thousands of colonies were burned, even before the Black Death got its name, then it could have been different.

  But then, in the first post-war years, the memory of the terrible losses and the fear of the black abyss overhead won the final victory. Why risk yourself and go into this abyss when modern business doesn’t require the personal presence of the management? Several centuries ago, the heads of the largest companies successfully managed wars, slaves, and the shipment of opium supplies to other continents without leaving their luxurious offices in European capitals, and their modern heirs decided to follow the same path.

  But it wasn’t just fear; after all, over the past several decades, progress in space travel technology has provided almost 100% guaranteed security for those who are willing to pay. Here, next to fear of the cosmos, there was carefully placed contempt for the inhabitants of the colonies, as for people thrown to the side of civilization—approximately the same way the Englishmen in their time belonged to the inhabitants of their North American possessions. Olga knows very well what this attitude ultimately led to, and therefore, she isn’t surprised at the conclusion that the earthmen reached at the end. History has a funny habit of repeating itself.

  “Our policy has always been avoidance of conflicts within the corporation, neutrality, and support for the strongest; we are too small of fish for a big fight. And so, when the war began, we naturally supported the space faction, because we knew who would win. Look how they thanked us!”

  With the outbreak of the war, Borgnine and several other allied firms decided to continue the official neutrality line, secretly helping the space faction and expecting to recover the possible costs from the losers. The victory came, but the long-awaited dividends didn’t follow—the winners never intended to share their spoils with their fellow travelers.

  “We were simply thrown out of business: Eisenberg and his friends requisitioned most of our fleet for military needs, and for a rescue operation, as they told us. The war was over, the rescue operation had long been abandoned, but no one was going to return our ships. Some time passed, and the Big Five still answered us with far-fetched responses, and then in a private conversation, we were presented with an ultimatum. We either sell our shares for pennies or we would be declared traitors, supporters of the earthmen, and they will act with us according to the law of wartime. All that was acquired over these long years, all that was created by hard work—all this was to be given for an amount about twenty-five times less than the real value of the company; otherwise, we must wait for the military court. We can’t complain or ask for help: the Navy, the army, and the special services of the Corporation are now serving the winners. Five families control everything.”

  The collective dictatorship of the five richest cosmic capitalists, having crushed their enemies, turned against those who tried to sit behind the shaky cover of neutrality, rapidly reducing the number of figures on the chessboard. Frank Borgnine could still consider himself a lucky one: he was offered at least some bribes for getting out of the business.

  “Honestly, I don’t understand their logic—nobody understands it. We didn’t bother anyone, we were ready for cooperation, and we even agreed to a reasonable reduction in the total profit, but they didn’t want to listen to us. As a result, we had to obey, curtail almost all activity, and go to New Louisiana, where, or so we thought, they would finally leave us alone.”

  Despite the fact that Borgnine and his partners rarely left their home planet, they still, guided by innate forethought, created a reserve base in space—a group of small but rich colonies known as New Louisiana. The New Louisiana Cluster is located half a million kilometers outside the lunar orbit, far from the main roads. Unlike most of the surrounding colonies, New Louisiana had very little impact on the economic crisis, since these were full-cycle settlements that could exist autonomously for a very long time.

  Many mile-long solar cells provided the cluster with sufficient energy, hydroponic farms supplied foodstuffs, and 150,000 tons of water ice that had been brought from the Asteroid Belt would have been sufficient until the twenty-third century if a constant number of inhabitants were maintained. Borgnine still managed to retain several transport ships, and, in addition, New Louisiana had a powerful defensive system, which served as a reliable protection against intruders. Therefore, when Grond finally pinned the ea
rthmen to the wall, a group of rich people, together with their families, friends, and numerous service personnel, were evacuated to space in an organized manner.

  New Louisiana became one of the islands of stability and prosperity in the space chaos. While retaining part of their former fleet and industrial lines, the colonists were determined to wait out the hard times in their safe haven, along the way accumulating strength for a spectacular return as soon as the situation changed for the better.

  “The evacuation ended on the first of October, when the last ship arrived. There was bloody chaos all around, so for a while, we decided to stop our contact with the outside world, waiting until the famine and war reduced the number of possible competitors in our region.”

  The earthman interrupts his speech to answer the questions of the Bolsheviks, but Olga doesn’t listen very attentively; it is much more interesting to watch the reaction of Comrade Andrei. From the very beginning of the conversation, the guy in the black cap has been listening to Borgnine without interrupting or showing any special interest, as if he is once again listening to an old, annoying story. But with the words about the bloody chaos that reigned around New Louisiana, the famine, and the reduction of competitors, a shadow of anger fell on his face. It lasted a short moment, but Olga caught it. Only now does she understand how much Comrade Andrei hated the earthman he rescued. He literally dragged him out of the fire, managed to get away from the persecution, and with great difficulty brought him to the Bolshevik alive, all the while despising his compelled companion.

  “For about a month, we lived quietly and without any problems, despite the difficulties with our limited conditions. After all, when I have lived all my life in wealth on Earth, only coming to space as a tourist, it isn’t so easy to immediately adapt to new conditions, especially to the fall in the standard of living. There were several internal conflicts, and the security service had to be transformed into the police, but otherwise, everything was fine. And then, in early November, the so-called ambassadors of Tartar arrived. As far as I know, you Bolsheviks are very familiar with them.”

  “Yes, we met a couple of times on the roads. So what offer did the pirates come to you with?”

  Borgnine wipes his suddenly sweaty forehead with an old-fashioned handkerchief with an embroidered monogram and continues.

  “An ordinary racket; an offer of protection for payment.”

  “What payment? What currency?”

  “Not a currency, sir, forgive me . . . Comrade Captain. By barter: food and medicine, which we grow on our farms.”

  Klimov and Severov exchange glances, and Chernova counts something in her mind, apparently trying to calculate the production capabilities of New Louisiana.

  “And what were your response actions? What did you say to the pirates, and what did they say to you?”

  “My companions at first wanted to immediately reject the claims of the bandits, but I convinced them to agree and make the first payments, just to be left alone for a little while. I wanted to gain time in order to enlist help, find allies, and stand against the pirates with them. I had to leave New Louisiana and go to the nearest Supernova base for negotiations. Recently, Tartar pirates have become so strong that they are only afraid of the Navy. I was sure . . .”

  “You were sure that they would protect you, come to the rescue at your first call? That's why you rejected our offer when we offered you our help,” suddenly adds comrade Andrei in space Russian with an unfamiliar accent. Borgnine seems to pierce this question with an electric current.

  “You asked for too much. We could not go for it!”

  “Oh, really? All we wanted in return for our services was for you to accept five thousand refugees, mostly children, or give us some of your own asteroids. And this is in your opinion too much? More than what you have lost?”

  “Listen, let's not stir up old grievances. Doing this won’t make anything better. Understand our situation—we don’t make such important decisions alone. We have a democracy, not a dictatorship, as you have in Red Dawn! The rest of the shareholders declined; what could I do after that?”

  The captain interrupts their quarrel with a gesture.

  “Mr. Borgnine, why did the other shareholders refuse? What was their argument? I and my crew are interested; we need to understand the motivation of our possible partners. In my humble opinion, the Queen’s proposals are quite acceptable.”

  “Well, I'll try to explain. Of course, we could take a few refugees over the estimated limit; the capabilities of the life support system allowed for it. But not five thousand people—a maximum of two hundred. It's not just about oxygen, water, and food supplies; it's a matter of principle, ethics. New Louisiana wasn’t created as a doss-house; it should have been a modern analogue of Bohemia, albeit in a very truncated form, a haven of civilization and culture in the midst of chaos.”

  Olga hides a laugh with some difficulty; her comrades smile as well. Indeed, the giant colony Bohemia was once created with a similar plan, as a safe haven, where rich folks could hide from the problems that tear the third planet from the sun. Apparently, Borgnine had forgotten what eventually happened on Bohemia and the current name of this place.

  “In general, we didn’t agree about the refugees. And giving up our asteroids is simply impossible, because they are actually our last investment. Someday, I hope all this chaos will be left behind, the war will end, we’ll be able to return to the usual entrepreneurial activities, and then we’ll all need a hard form of currency.”

  “Well, that’s on condition that by that time you’ll be alive and free, at least some of you,” Andrei says with a wry smile. “Go on, tell what happened next.”

  Olga expects the earthman to start crying now, or worse, faint, as in the old movies. But Borgnine maintains his composure.

  “My short trip didn’t lead to anything. The military refused to help us, citing a difficult operational situation. I got the impression that their leadership is quite satisfied if our colony will be routed, like many others by this time. Without accomplishing anything, I returned to New Louisiana. That was . . . that was eight days ago. And only an hour after my return, we were attacked. There are some notes about how things happened in my computer’s memory. They might be useful to you.”

  “Of course, we’ll study your diary very carefully. But now we need to learn about everything directly from the source. Tell us what happened in New Louisiana eight days ago, Mr. Borgnine. We are interested in all the details.”

  Borgnine doesn’t remember everything that happened, which isn’t surprising for an ordinary person with outdated sense and memory that hasn’t been adapted to automatically fix everything that happens around. To these natural limitations, emotional shock and the consequences of numerous injuries were added; he still has to visit the kingdom of Chernova.

  “Immediately after arriving home, I went to the Council Chamber and was in the process of making a report on my unfortunate journey when an alarm was triggered—unidentified ships were approaching. As a civilian of high rank, I retreated to the central shelter, along with about forty other people. Almost immediately after the hatch was closed, all communication disappeared, the internal Matrix shut down for no apparent reason, and we weren’t able to start it again. We waited for about an hour in the shelter, then a series of explosions occurred. Apparently, it was mostly artillery shelling. A violent fire broke out near us, and we had to leave the shelter in our spacesuits.

  Outside, hell reigned. The central building lost its integrity, and all those who hadn’t managed to reach the shelters died. I counted about three hundred corpses. The main computer didn’t respond, and the Matrix had died. I tried unsuccessfully to find my family. Unidentified ships were approaching and had already landed a boarding team; there was no organized resistance. I didn’t see even one of our guns fired, and we had a lot of guns. The minefields didn’t do their job, either. I don’t know why, but in general, the pirates moored and landed without any problems; only a
few citizens with personal weapons resisted the invaders. I tried to get from the central building to the residential sections, where my family's apartments were, but couldn’t do it—the pirates already occupied all the transits. I saw them chasing our people somewhere.”

  Joseph, who has been scanning the guest all this time, evaluating every word and every gesture, confirms that Borgnine is telling the truth—at least the truth from his perception. The earthman didn’t try to be a hero—realizing that he wouldn’t be able to get to his family, he decided to leave the colony.

  “How did you manage to get out of the station?”

  “With great difficulty, Comrade Captain. I still can’t believe I made it. All the berths had already been seized. We have hundreds of life-saving capsules, but they couldn’t be used—the first few boats that left the colony were immediately shot down by pirates. A little later, they announced the seizure of New Louisiana and ordered everyone to immediately lay down their arms and unconditionally surrender, in which case they would stop shelling and guarantee life. Otherwise, they would begin to blow up the sealed bulkheads one by one. For the most part, our people surrendered, the shooting stopped, and the pirates started looting. I realized that this was my chance and if I didn’t get out then, I wouldn’t have another chance.

  Our ships were seized, and the capsules couldn’t be used, but there was one more escape route that very few people knew about except me. I had a side business in New Louisiana, the resale of scrap metal, and just before the attack, another party had been preparing for shipment. I managed to get into the launcher, started the mechanism, and took a place in the container in place of the scrap, having brought with me an additional oxygen kit. The launcher worked properly, throwing me into space and almost killing me with the starting overload. There were a lot of containers; they didn’t fire at them, so I ran. I flew for twenty hours until I got to the nearest colony, where, waiting for this load, I thought I’d go crazy. You know, I have practically zero experience of moving in open space; even the tranquilizers didn’t help. My troubles didn’t come to an end with my arrival, though. The colonists weren’t happy to see me.”