Starship

by Michael D. Resnick

  “I'm the one who made the deal,” said Cole, facing them in his small office. “If something goes wrong, whoever's down there is in deep shit. I can't ask a crew member to take the risk.”

  “Why not?” said Forrice. “You'll be surprised at how many will volunteer if it means keeping you safely aboard the ship.”

  “They gave up their careers for me. I won't ask them for any more until it's necessary—and as long as I can go down there, it's not necessary.”

  “You're getting a little long in the tooth for this kind of stuff,” said Sharon. “I don't know what you think you're proving. Bull and Val are both much stronger than you. Slick can go places you can't go. You can't put on as much body armor as Domak was born with. You can't operate in the dark half as well as Jack-in-the-Box. You can't…”

  “Enough,” said Cole. “I'm not going down there because I'm a great warrior or even a great thief. I'm going because I'm the one who agreed to the deal.”

  “You weren't the only one on Riverwind,” said Sharon. “Let Val go.”

  “She is going.”

  “It takes two of you to steal one book?” asked Forrice.

  “It may take one of us to fight off all of Djinn's defenses while the other steals the book.”

  “At least tell me that you're the thief and not the warrior,” said Sharon.

  “I'm the thief,” said Cole. Suddenly he smiled. “I keep expecting her to pat me on the head and tell me that I'm a cute little feller.”

  “Let's grant her better taste than that,” said Forrice. “Well, I'm off to get something to eat.”

  “That's it?” demanded Sharon. “You're all through trying to talk reason with him?”

  “Do you know anyone who ever talked reason to him and won?” asked Forrice. “Besides, from everything I've heard about Picacio IV, the odds are thousands-to-one that there aren't any Molarian females in season there. Why should I go down to the surface?”

  “I'm glad to see you have your priorities straight,” said Cole as Forrice turned and spun gracefully to the door.

  “Besides,” said the Molarian as he stepped out into the corridor, “after they kill you, we'll go on a punishment party, and if there are any Molarian females I'll find them then.”

  “I admire your patience and self-restraint,” said Cole just before the door snapped shut behind the First Officer.

  “Are you sure you want to take the Valkyrie?” asked Sharon.

  “I hope that's an earnest question and not a jealous one.”

  “I don't have any ownership papers,” she responded. “You're a free agent. I'm just concerned that she's neither the most subtle nor the most silent person I've ever met. Maybe Morales…”

  Cole shook his head. “Morales is just a kid, and he's never been to Picacio or met Euphrates Djinn. Val knows him, knows his layout—and let's be honest: if he's as big a fence as Copperfield says, he'll have layers of protection. No one's sneaking in and out without his knowing it. If you think there's someone on board better capable to cover my back in a situation like that, I'm willing to listen.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “No, I guess not.”

  “I know not. And don't worry about a budding romance. If she hugged me, she'd break my ribs. I hate to think of what could happen if she wrapped her legs around me.”

  Sharon chuckled at the thought. “Okay, you can go. But come back in one piece.”

  “It'll be in one piece or not at all.”

  “How long should we give you before we figure you're in serious trouble and send down a rescue party?”

  “That's a command decision, so either Four Eyes or Christine will make it.” He smiled at her. “I'm sure you'll lobby for five minutes.”

  “We rescued you from the Navy. None of us can ever go back to the Republic. As long as we're outcasts with prices on our heads, it makes sense to keep the reason for it alive.”

  “I know it's going to come as a shock to you,” said Cole, “but I have every intention of coming out of this alive.”

  They spoke a few more minutes, and then Sharon left to return to the Security Department. Cole promptly walked to the bridge, where Christine Mboya was in command.

  “What have you found out so far?” he asked.

  “About Djinn or about Picacio?” she replied.

  “Take your choice.”

  “Picacio IV is an oxygen world, with about eighty-four percent Standard gravity. It was first opened up as a hospital world for convalescing heart patients, since the gravity puts much less strain on them and the oxygen content is a little higher than Standard. But after a few years they discovered that one of the three continents was inhabited by huge creatures, rather like Earth's dinosaurs, and a safari industry instantly sprang up. Then they found that the freshwater oceans could produce enough fish to feed a few nearby worlds that were suffering everything from droughts to spontaneous volcanic activity, and suddenly, with fishing, medical, and safari industries all thriving, it became a financial center for a fifty-world section of the Albion Cluster.”

  “That's a little more than I needed to know,” said Cole. “Light gravity, high oxygen content, right?”

  “Right.”

  “How many spaceports?”

  “Four. One of them, right by the hospital, services the city that's grown up around it, and that's where Djinn is.”

  “Okay, now tell me about Euphrates Djinn.”

  “His birth name is Willard Foss, and over the years he's been Benito Gravia, Marcos Rienke, and simply McNeal with no first name. He's been Euphrates Djinn since he set up shop on Picacio IV fifteen years ago.”

  “How big is his operation?”

  “He's one of the three biggest fences in the Cluster. He's got warehouses on Picacio IV, Alpha Prego II, and New Siam.”

  “How many men has he got on Picacio?”

  She shook her head. “I'm good with a computer, but I'm not that good. He's probably a bigger fence than your friend David Copperfield, but I don't know if that means he has more security forces.”

  “They're security forces when they're protecting a legal operation. In this instance, we call them thugs and gunmen.”

  “Just remember that they shoot as straight as security forces,” said Sharon's voice.

  “Should I write that down, or will you trust me to remember it?” asked Cole sardonically.

  “We care about you, sir,” said Christine stubbornly.

  “I know,” replied Cole with a weary sigh. “And I appreciate it. But if I get cared for much more, I just may choose to stay down on Picacio and go to work for Euphrates Djinn.”

  “I'm sorry, sir.”

  “Don't apologize. Just tell me if there's anything else I need to know.”

  “I've been trying to pull up a blueprint of his house, but from what I can tell he's added a number of rooms and levels, and paid off enough bureaucrats so that he didn't have to register the changes. That'll make it harder to figure out where the book is.”

  “Maybe I'll just let Val ask him,” suggested Cole. “She can be pretty persuasive.” He paused. “I guess that's everything. I don't imagine he bought his alarm system through the normal channels, or that we can find out what type it is?”

  “That was one of the first things I tried to find out, sir,” said Christine.

  “All right,” said Cole. “That's that.” He raised his voice. “Pilot, what's our ETA?”

  “In normal space, three days and seven hours,” answered Wxakgini. “If I can find an entrance to the Gulliver Wormhole, about six hours.”

  “What's so hard about finding it?”

  “Wormholes aren't like highways,” said Wxakgini. “They don't stay in one place.”

  “Well, do your best,” said Cole. He turned back to Christine. “How long until white shift is over?”

  “About eighty Standard minutes, sir.”

  “Since there's a possibility we may reach Picacio halfway through red shift, I want Val at her sharpest. Info
rm her—or if she's sleeping, leave a message to be delivered when she wakes up—that she's relieved of all duties until after we return from Picacio.”

  “Who do you want to replace her, sir?” asked Christine.

  “Who's seen more action—Domak or Sokolov?”

  “I'll check their records, sir.”

  “Whoever it is will be in command during blue shift. If anything goes wrong, I want someone with battle experience in charge.”

  “It's Lieutenant Domak, sir,” said Christine, studying her computer.

  “Tell her she's in charge during blue shift until Val gets back to the ship. And tell Four Eyes to stay on call, in case things get hairy. I don't want him putting in sixteen-hour days, but I'll feel a lot safer if he's in command if anyone starts shooting. I'll speak to Domak before we leave and explain that if Four Eyes replaces her, it's on my explicit order. She might as well know who to resent.”

  “Then why put her in charge at all?” asked Christine.

  “Because if we're attacked before Four Eyes can get here, I want someone who's been shot at before giving the orders.”

  “Who do you think will be shooting, sir?”

  “I don't know. But Muscatel had four ships. Why shouldn't a successful fence like Djinn have a few—and if he does, why shouldn't one of them be in orbit, ready to shoot down any intruder who wants to horn in on his operation?”

  “Now I see, sir.”

  “Fine. I'm going off to take a nap, just in case I need all my strength in six hours rather than seventy-two. If we find the wormhole, wake me at 1900 hours.”

  He went to the airlift, and a moment later was in his cabin.

  “What?” he said aloud. “No half-dressed floozie waiting to see me off?”

  Sharon's image popped into existence just in front of him. “You need your rest. I have a feeling that this is going to be a more dangerous operation than you're making it sound.”

  “Now why should you think that?”

  “Because you're a contrarian,” she replied. “If it was cut and dried, you'd make it sound dangerous just so no one loafed on the job. But I've seen you in serious situations before, and the more dangerous they are, the more you belittle them.” A sudden smile crossed her face. “I intuit it's so the floozie and the rest of the crew won't worry too much.”

  “All right,” he said, lying down on his cot. “I'm going to sleep. But when I get back, I expect tons of praise and sexual rewards.”

  “Would you settle for a soya sandwich?”

  “Probably,” he said just before he fell asleep.

  Picacio IV was one of the few habitable planets Cole had seen that possessed rings—sixteen of them to be exact, though to the naked eye they blended into just one huge ring. The control tower near the hospital took over the ship's controls, and as they entered the stratosphere prior to landing, Cole and Val began making their preparations to leave the Kermit.

  “I'd wear a wig,” she remarked, “but there's not much I can do to hide my size.”

  “You can't make yourself smaller,” agreed Cole. “I suppose you could build up the heels of your boots, or put lifts inside them. They might not recognize you as a seven-footer.”

  “I'd rather not fall flat on my face if I have to maneuver,” replied Val.

  Cole tried to imagine her falling flat on anything, and couldn't conjure up a picture of it. “As you wish.” He picked up a shining item and placed it in a pocket.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “A ceramic gun,” he explained. “It should get past any security devices.”

  “How many shots does it fire, and with how much force?” she asked.

  “Three shots, and I've got two more clips, so I'll have nine shots total. As for force, I don't think I'd trust it to kill anything much larger than you—but I'm using explosive bullets, and that should make up for any lack of force.”

  “Does it make a bang?”

  “These are bullets, not beams or pulses,” he answered. “They make a bang.”

  “I thought we were supposed to be doing this covertly,” she noted.

  “If I have to use it, we've already been spotted. You're the muscle; I'm just carrying this for emergencies.”

  “We have landed on Picacio IV,” announced the shuttle.

  “Keep all life-support systems functioning,” ordered Cole. “Open the hatch until the Third Officer and I depart. Then close and lock it, activate all security and defensive systems, and let no one come aboard until I, the Third Officer, or some other crew member of the Theodore Roosevelt whose voiceprint is in your memory banks utters the entry code.”

  “All orders have been logged,” announced the shuttle, opening the hatch. Val and Cole stepped through, and it slid shut behind them.

  It was nightside where they had landed, but the planet was almost as bright as at high noon.

  “My God, will you look at that!” said Cole, awestruck.

  Overheard, the rings, forty thousand miles wide, composed mostly of ice, were reflecting the light of the sun that shone on them from the opposite side of the world. They glowed and sparkled with a brilliant shimmering light, the intensity fluctuating as they continued their endless journey around Picacio IV.

  “I've seen it before,” said Val, unimpressed. “Let's get moving.”

  “Well, I haven't seen it,” said Cole. “I want to look for a couple of minutes. I may never have the chance again.” He stood and stared, and finally turned back to Val, who was fidgeting impatiently. “Okay, let's go.”

  An unmanned aircar sensed their movement and approached them. “Please enter from the left side and I will take you to Customs,” it announced.

  They did as it said, got off a few minutes later at the Customs kiosk, paused while their false IDs were approved, and then entered the main section of the spaceport.

  “A lot of airsleds,” noted Cole.

  “They're all carrying patients to or from the hospital,” answered Val. “Medicine's the primary business on this continent.” She paused thoughtfully, then added: “Followed by crime.”

  “Well,” said Cole, “we're not here to commit medicine. How do we get to Djinn's place?”

  “This way,” she said, pointing straight down.

  “He lives under the spaceport?”

  She smiled. “We catch subterranean transportation here—the whole city is catacombed with it—and ride it out to his estate.”

  He followed her as she walked to an airlift. They descended about forty feet, got off, and found themselves on a small raised platform. A shuttle—Cole wanted to call it a monorail, but there were no rails and it floated a foot above the floor of the tunnel—immediately pulled up. They got on it, and Cole realized that they were in a single car, not a train. He guessed that there were hundreds, perhaps thousands of cars, and the closest one to sense their motion would instantly respond to it.

  “Please indicate your destination,” said a mechanical voice as an intricate map of the city popped into view. “If you know the address, please state it. If you do not, then find the section of the map where you wish to go and state the coordinates aloud. If it is a private residence or business, you need only state the name of the owner.”

  “Euphrates Djinn,” said Val.

  “I cannot take you to Mr. Djinn's estate without his express permission,” said the shuttlecar. “Shall I ask for it?”

  Val looked at Cole questioningly.

  “Shuttle,” said Cole, “kill all systems except life support for two minutes.”

  “Done,” said the shuttlecar, as even the lights died.

  “If we announce ourselves, where will we be left off?” asked Cole.

  “Every house and business has a subterranean area—they're more than basements—on one of the tracks,” answered Val.

  “So it'll drop us off inside the house?”

  “Well, right at the door, anyway.”

  “But we'd have to announce ourselves?”

  “Right.
”

  “And if he says no?”

  “Then the shuttle won't stop at his house, but beyond his property, and he'll know we're here.”

  “If only you announce yourself and I keep silent, what'll happen if I try to get off with you?”

  “If I'm announced, someone will be waiting for me,” she said. “Of course, that doesn't mean that I can't kill him or them before they spot you.”

  Cole shook his head. “No, I don't want his whole security team alerted before we even know where the damned book is.” He paused. “You're sure they'll be waiting where the shuttle stops? They won't wait for us to actually enter the house?”

  She frowned. “I'm trying to remember.” She uttered an obscenity. “I can't recall where they met us, but it makes a lot more sense for a security team to size us up before we enter the house.”

  “What's his exterior security like?”

  “Atomizing fence, a few marksmen, the usual.”

  Suddenly the lights came back on. “Your two minutes have elapsed,” announced the shuttlecar.

  “All right,” said Cole. “Val, what name did Djinn know you by?”

  “Cleopatra.”

  “Shuttle, contact Euphrates Djinn and tell him that Wilson Cole and Cleopatra request the pleasure of his company.”

  “Sending…”

  “Are you sure you want him to know who you are?” asked Val.

  “He's a criminal. The Republic would like to lock him away. That same Republic wants me dead. My own name ought to buy me a little cachet with him.”

  “Euphrates Djinn has acknowledged your request, and will allow you access to his estate,” announced the shuttlecar.

  “Tell him we accept his kind invitation, and we'll be there shortly,” said Cole.

  The shuttlecar moved forward. Since the tunnels were unlit, Cole couldn't begin to guess their speed. In four minutes it began slowing down, and it came to a halt after another few seconds. The door slid open and they found themselves in a sparsely furnished chamber. Three men were waiting for them.

  “Commander Cole?” said one of them.

  “Captain Cole,” Cole corrected him.

  “My mistake,” said the man. “And I remember Cleopatra from the last time she was here. Mr. Djinn is waiting for you on the ground level. We'll escort you there as soon as you pass through our security scanners.”