Starship

by Michael D. Resnick

“Yes, sir,” she said. “The other Riverwind has one moon. The one we're interested in is Beta Gambanelli II.”

  “Okay, Rachel and Bull. He's all yours again.” Cole nodded to Christine, who broke the connection. “Beta Gambanelli,” he mused. “There was an officer in the Pioneer Corps named Gambanelli some centuries ago. I can't remember what the hell he did, but there was a statue of him on Spica II. I wonder if this is the same one?”

  “I can find out, sir.”

  “It doesn't matter. Just get those coordinates locked in, and tell Pilot to get us there.”

  “At top speed, sir?”

  “Compute the fuel and use your judgment. Then contact whatever hospital Chadwick's at and find out how long before he recovers and how soon they can release him.”

  “He was in a bad way, sir,” said Christine. “They may have to give him a new set of eardrums—either artificial or cloned from what's left of his own.”

  “Sounds expensive,” said Cole.

  “He was injured in the line of duty,” said Christine. “Surely the Teddy R will pay for it.”

  “Lieutenant, the Teddy R is the most wanted ship in the whole damned galaxy,” responded Cole. “Of course we'll pay for Chadwick's treatment, but not directly. It's not cost-productive for the Republic to hunt aimlessly all across the Inner Frontier for us, but if they know where we are, you can bet they'll send a battleship or two after us.”

  “I hadn't thought of that, sir,” admitted Christine. Then: “Do you want me to see if I can find out who David Copperfield really is after I give Wxakgini the coordinates?”

  “Why bother?” responded Cole. “We don't care who he was ten or twenty years ago. Out here he's David Copperfield, and that's who we have to deal with.” He began walking toward the airlift. “If anyone wants me, I'll be in the mess hall, grabbing a cup of coffee.”

  “We could have your coffee sent to the bridge, sir,” offered Christine.

  He shook his head. “No. I was just hanging around up here. It's, let me see, 1400 hours. That means we're still on white shift, and you're in charge for two more hours. I'll be up to relieve you when blue shift starts.”

  He took the airlift down to the mess hall, saw Forrice sitting there drinking a bubbling green concoction, and joined him.

  “How's it going?” asked Cole.

  “I set the Achilles to self-destruct in another ten minutes. We're light-years away from it now, so we won't even get to see the explosion. But it should satisfy any do-gooders who come out here in answer to our SOS. They'll see the rubble floating there, just about where the message originated, and my guess is they won't stay to examine it and make sure it's the Samarkand or whatever you said we were.” He paused. “They'll never suspect that we'd destroy a ship we could have sold, just to throw them off our trail—but to make doubly sure, I sent Slick out to remove all identifying names, numbers, and insignia from the Achilles before we left.”

  “Good,” said Cole. “Sometimes I think you're the only totally competent officer on this ship. Besides me, that is.”

  A small message appeared in the air in front of him:

  I hope you enjoy sleeping alone for the next 7,183 years.

  “Okay, Forrice and you are the only competent officers.”

  Too late. That's going to cost you 900 uncut diamonds. I'll take today's haul as a down payment. After you cut, polish, and mount them.

  “If there's one thing I hate,” said Cole, “it's an uppity Security Chief.”

  That's not what you said in bed last night—or shall I quote you?

  “Please don't,” said Forrice. “I just ate.”

  “Enough humor, Sharon,” said Cole seriously. “I've got business to discuss. Listen or don't, but no more interruptions.” There was no answering message, and he turned back to Forrice. “You took care of the Achilles' bodies the way I told you to?”

  Forrice nodded his massive head. “We put them all in the shuttle and aimed it at the middle of the nearest star. It should be burning up right about now.”

  “You checked to make sure no one could reach it before it burned up?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. All we did was defend ourselves from a criminal attack, but no one will ever believe it,” said Cole. “Now let's get down to cases,” he continued. “What are four hundred uncut diamonds worth?”

  “You're asking me?” said the Molarian. “How would I be expected to know?”

  “You're not,” said Cole.

  “But?” said Forrice. “I can feel a ‘but' there.”

  “But you're expected to find out.”

  “How?”

  “I take it back. There's one less competent officer on the Teddy R than I originally thought.” He paused. “Go to the container that's holding the diamonds. Pick one out that seems average for the bunch—not the biggest, not the smallest, not the brightest, not the dullest. Contact a couple of legitimate jewelers. Tell them it's a family heirloom and you just inherited it. You want to insure it, but you've no idea how much to insure it for.”

  “What about the jewelry?”

  Cole shook his head. “I have a feeling that a golden tiara with all those precious stones will be too easy for any jeweler to identify.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Forrice. “It's a big galaxy.”

  “No, I'm not sure,” said Cole. “Now let me ask you one: Do you think it's worth taking the chance?”

  “No,” admitted Forrice. “Probably not. All right—just the diamond. Then what?”

  “I know it's going to strain your poor Molarian brain,” said Cole sardonically, “but then you multiply its value by four hundred and sixteen.”

  “I meant, do we then land and have at least one more jeweler examine it in person to make sure of the value?”

  “I don't see any point to it. What if one jeweler says that the diamond's worth fifty thousand credits and one says sixty-five thousand? All we need is a ballpark figure, because the only appraisal that really matters is David Copperfield's.”

  “If he's all that matters, why bother having them appraised at all?” asked Forrice.

  “Because if he makes an offer I don't like, I need to know if he's wrong or I am,” answered Cole.

  “Well,” said Forrice, “I guess I'd better go choose a diamond and get started. Where did you put them?”

  “The science lab. No one ever goes there since Sharon removed all the paraphernalia they used to synthesize drugs.”

  Forrice got up from the table. “This shouldn't take too long. I'll let you know as soon as I've got some answers.”

  Cole leaned back on his chair, sipped his coffee, and considered the events of the last few hours—what the Achilles had done, what it hadn't done, what it should have done. The distress-call ploy wasn't going to work very often. It was far more likely that the Teddy R would be the attacking ship. He was prepared for that; after all, every member of the crew except for Morales had been in the military until a few weeks ago, and he had confidence that they would perform competently in military situations. But at some point, probably the point at which they boarded an enemy ship solely to plunder it, they stopped being military units and became pirates, with different goals and very likely different reactions. And since he had no intention of dying, at least not as quickly and easily as Windsail and his crew had, he had to consider every option and anticipate every possibility.

  He had no idea how long he'd sat, motionless, but suddenly he was aware that his coffee had become very cold. He set it down, ordered a menu, waited until it materialized in front of him, then reached forward and touched the “coffee” icon. It arrived almost instantly, but before he could pick up the cup, Forrice entered the mess hall and swirled over to him with his oddly graceful spinning three-legged gait.

  “Well?” asked Cole as the Molarian sat down on the opposite side of the table.

  “I've spoken to five jewelers. Each one says that he has to see it before he'll write up an estimate for the insurance, but
three of them offered guesses as to its value, ranging from twenty-seven thousand credits to forty-five. There was one, a very nice Mollutei female, who offered to cut it for free if I would indemnify her against any loss of value if she, I don't know, sneezed or blinked or did something while cutting the diamond that caused it to shatter or somehow lose its value. I'm not very clear on what can destroy a diamond, but I thanked her and told her I'd consider it. She was the one who put it at twenty-seven thousand.” He paused. “The bottom line is that if thirty-seven or thirty-eight thousand is the average price, we're sitting on diamonds with a market value of better than fifteen million credits, probably more if we'll take Maria Theresa dollars or Far London pounds.”

  “Fifteen million?” repeated Cole. “That'll buy an eardrum or two.”

  “Have you heard back from the hospital about Chadwick?” asked the Molarian.

  “Not yet. He's only been there a few hours. He's going to need a lot of work—but the nice thing about illegal transactions is that they're done with cash, so we can pay the medics and they won't be able to trace it.”

  “Even if they do, all they'll know is that it came from the Samarkand, and you can have Slick change the name in about half a Standard day.”

  “True,” admitted Cole. “But I'd rather be very safe than merely safe.”

  “Can't argue with that,” said Forrice. “Is there anything else we have to discuss?”

  “Not that I can think of.”

  “Well, I've had a hard day of bloodletting and plundering,” said the Molarian, getting to his feet, “so I think I'll go to bed and get a little sleep before I have to show up for red shift.”

  He left the mess hall, and Cole, restless, got up and returned to the bridge.

  “Captain on the bridge!” shouted Christine, snapping to attention, as did Malcolm Briggs and Domak.

  Cole gave them a lazy salute and they sat back down.

  “Sir,” said Christine, “we are on course to Riverwind, and should be braking to sublight speeds in about three hours.”

  “Too bad,” commented Cole.

  “Sir?”

  “That'll be a couple of hours into blue shift. Four Eyes will be sleeping, and you've been up for almost a full Standard day. That means I can't go down to see David Copperfield right away, because we don't as yet have a Third Officer to take over command. I'll just wait until Four Eyes is awake and see if I can lure him onto the bridge a little early.”

  “I can remain at this post, sir,” offered Christine promptly.

  “Weren't you on your way to bed when we made contact with the Achilles?” Cole reminded her. “And I know you've been on the bridge ever since. We can wait an extra eight hours to unload the diamonds.”

  “I'll be all right, sir. You won't be long, and we're not under any threat here. Why wait?”

  He stared at her for a long moment, considering her offer. Finally he shrugged. “What the hell. If you drink coffee, go load up on it now. If not, stop by the infirmary and grab something to help keep you awake. We'll see how you're doing when we finally reach Riverwind. This should go smoothly enough.”

  Which only proved that he wasn't much of a prognisticator.

  When it was viewed from orbit, there seemed to be no logical reason that Riverwind should have been given its name. It had an ocean that covered about four-fifths of its surface, and a pair of island continents. There were polar ice caps, and hundreds of tiny islands dotting the ocean, but the only two rivers that were clearly discernible ran directly north to south, one on each continent, without any hint of winding.

  “I don't want to land the ship,” Cole announced. “I don't mind their knowing that we're a former Navy ship, but I don't want to give them any added opportunity to identify which ship we are. I know that Slick changed all the insignia, but there are other means of identification.”

  “Which shuttle will you be taking, sir?” asked Briggs.

  “The only one I've ever been in is the Kermit”—the ship's three shuttles were the Kermit, the Archie, and the Alice, all named for Theodore Roosevelt's children; a fourth, the Quentin, had been lost in battle months earlier—“so that's the one I'll take. I assume Slick got rid of the insignia?”

  “Yes, sir, I'm told that he did,” said Briggs. “Will you be going alone?”

  “No. I don't think that would make the proper impression. Have Bull Pampas, Esteban Morales, and Domak meet me at the Kermit in five minutes.”

  “Only those three, sir?”

  “I have a feeling that if there's any trouble, we'd be outnumbered even if I took the whole crew, and if there's not, three's enough. Somebody's got to stay up here and fly the Teddy R.”

  “Braxite has volunteered to come with you too, sir,” said Christine.

  “No.”

  “I'm sure he's going to ask me why not.”

  “It's known that Four Eyes and I are the highest-ranking officers on the Teddy R. If anyone down there suspects who I am, having a Molarian along will probably clinch it.” He held up a hand. “Before you say it, I know they won't care if they're dealing with Wilson Cole or not. They're probably all in favor of mutineers and fugitives. But they're criminals, and doubtless would be quite willing to extort money and favors for keeping the Teddy R's secret from the Republic.” He turned to Briggs. “Pampas, Morales, and Domak. Five minutes.”

  “I've fed the landing coordinates into the Kermit, and given it false registration data,” said Christine. “It won't hold up to close scrutiny, but I don't imagine David Copperfield could stay in business here if they started giving close scrutiny to his visitors.”

  “I agree. Once we touch down, I'll rent some transportation and have Morales direct me to Copperfield's.”

  “Don't you want to let him know you're coming?” asked Briggs.

  “No,” said Cole. “You're going to let him know.”

  “Me, sir?” said Briggs, surprised.

  “If I don't hear any conditions, I don't have to obey them. When we're within a minute of touching down, contact him, tell him our radio is on the blink, and you're making the call for me.”

  “Would you rather I wait until you're on the ground, sir?”

  Cole shook his head. “If he's the kind of guy who says do it his way or he shoots, I'd like to know that before we leave the ship and lose contact with you.” He began walking to the airlock. “Oh, and have Bull bring the booty. I was thinking of having Sharon come up with a sensorproof case for it, but then I figured, hell, if they examined everything that came through the spaceport, Copperfield would be out of business, so I think we're safe carrying it as it is, and I'd rather not waste the extra time.”

  He reached the airlock, and a moment later joined Domak in the shuttle bay. Pampas, carrying a sturdy case, arrived in less than a minute, and finally Morales showed up.

  “Sorry it took me so long,” he said. “I knew I was meeting you at the Kermit, but no one told me where or what the Kermit was.”

  “Just as well you didn't get here first,” replied Cole. “It's not the Kermit anymore, though that's the way we still think of it. It's the Flower of Samarkand now. Let's all get aboard it. Domak, you're the best pilot among the four of us. Take us down to the spaceport. It's programmed into the shuttle's navigational computer, so you can do most of it on automatic. I'll handle any messages from the spaceport or anywhere else.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Domak, saluting and entering the shuttle. The three Men followed her and took their places as she ordered the bay door to open, activated the engine, and the shuttle shot out from the belly of the ship.

  “Tell me a little about David Copperfield,” said Cole to Morales as they neared the stratosphere.

  “I've never actually met him, sir,” answered Morales. “None of us did.”

  “Then you don't know how to get to his headquarters, or warehouse, or wherever the hell it is that he does his business?” asked Cole.

  “Yes I do, sir,” said Morales. “But Captain Windsail kn
ew him long before he set up shop on Riverwind. They were old friends, and we always waited outside Mr. Copperfield's home for him. In fact, I've never actually seen Mr. Copperfield.”

  “What kind of protection does he have?”

  “I never saw any,” said Morales. “But I was told not to step outside the vehicle, that there were ten or twelve guns trained on it.”

  “Well, that's comforting,” remarked Cole.

  “What's comforting about the fact that he has twelve gunmen covering the vehicle?” asked Domak.

  “If he's got twelve outside, he's got at least that many inside, where the goods are. I find it comforting that he can keep twenty-four people employed. It implies that he knows his business and how to sell what he buys, and that in turn implies that he should be willing to buy what we've got.”

  “That's an interesting chain of reasoning,” said Domak noncommittally.

  The radio came to life. “This is the Eastern Continent Spaceport. Your ship has identified itself and requested permission to land. Are you here for business or pleasure?”

  “Business,” answered Cole.

  “Nature of business?”

  “Am I required by law to answer that question?”

  “Only if you require a visa for more than twenty-four hours,” said the voice.

  “We don't. I think eight-hour visas for myself and my associates should suffice.”

  “Your ship has transmitted their IDs. Your visas will be waiting for you upon your arrival.”

  “Thank you,” said Cole, breaking the connection.

  “That was almost too easy, sir,” said Pampas.

  “The biggest fence on the Frontier has to make it this easy,” answered Cole. “Otherwise people will take their business elsewhere. Other pirates don't want close scrutiny any more than we do, though for different reasons. Or maybe the same reasons, now that I think about it.”

  Briggs's image suddenly appeared against a bulkhead.

  “I've contacted them, sir, and they're expecting you. The only restriction they mentioned is that you must leave any weapons at the spaceport or in the vehicle that transports you there.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Briggs. We'll leave them here in the ship. Compute our ETA and transmit it to Copperfield.”