Starship

by Michael D. Resnick

  “I don't follow you,” said Cole.

  “Look at it this way,” said Sharon. “You saved five million lives, and got court-martialed for your trouble. You killed all these people and ships, and increased our percentage by a multiple of ten.” She smiled. “Don't you think God's got a twisted sense of humor?”

  “You know,” he said, some of the tension finally leaving him, “when you put it like that…”

  “You see?” she said. “It's all in how you look at it. Some people look at Forrice and are terrified; you look at him and see your closest friend. Some people look at Val and see a sex object; you look at her and see a killing machine. Everything depends on perspective.”

  “You know something?” said Cole, finally opening the bottle. “I'm damned glad I met you.”

  “If push comes to shove, I'm damned glad of it too,” said Sharon. “And despite what I said about that wildly uncomfortable desk, if you really want to do a little pushing and shoving…”

  He was about to answer when Sokolov's image appeared to the right of the door.

  “I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but David Copperfield insists on speaking to you personally.”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Cole sighed. “All right, put him through.”

  Copperfield, elegantly dressed and clearly distressed, appeared a second later.

  “Hello, David,” said Cole.

  “Steerforth, you can't desert me!” cried the alien.

  “No one's deserting you,” said Cole. “You're our favorite fence. Olivia Twist's crystals didn't pan out, but we'll be back soon with more booty for you.” He paused. “I doubt we'll be back in the Teddy R. There's no sense pushing our luck. But we'll be back in some ship or other.”

  “You don't understand!” said Copperfield, his face a mask of desperation. “When your three crew members return to the ship, I've got to come up with them! It's a matter of life and death!”

  “Whose life and whose death?”

  “Mine!” yelled Copperfield.

  “Calm down, David, and tell me, slowly and succinctly, what the problem is,” said Cole.

  “I betrayed the Hammerhead Shark!”

  “Relax,” said Cole soothingly. “It's over. He's dead.”

  “But he sent messages to five or six other pirates that I set him up, and they've told their friends. I can't stay here, Steerforth! There must be a dozen contracts out on my life by now! You've got to take me with you!”

  “How do you know he passed the word?” asked Cole.

  “I've already received messages from two of them, threatening to kill me! You got me into this, Steerforth, you and Olivia! You've got to get me out!”

  “All right,” said Cole. “You can come aboard with Moyer and Nichols and the Pepon. But what about your help? And more to the point, what about your warehouse? If you leave it behind, you're out of business—and if you leave them behind, they're going to know what ship you're on and they're probably going to plunder your goods. We can drop you off on any planet you choose, but I'll be perfectly frank—an alien who thinks he's a Charles Dickens character and dresses the part isn't going to be too hard to spot.”

  “Take my staff too!” said Copperfield. “I know you're shorthanded. They're loyal, they're fearless, and I can't leave them here. The people who want me dead are as likely to demolish my house and warehouse from orbit as to come looking for me personally.”

  “How many have you got working for you?”

  “Fourteen.”

  “All human?”

  “Ten Men, a Lodinite, two Mollutei, and a Bedalian.”

  Cole looked questioningly at Sharon, who nodded her approval. “All right. If they pass our security check, they can stay on the ship.”

  “Security check?” repeated Copperfield in panicky tones. “They're all criminals! You know that, Steerforth.”

  “It won't be a standard check,” said Cole. “I want to know what crimes they've committed, and who they've committed them against. And I especially want to know if any of them have killed their employers.” Copperfield looked undecided. “It's that or they stay on Riverwind,” added Cole.

  “I agree,” said Copperfield at last. “And probably not all of them will want to join you anyway. I imagine a few will stay behind and find other employment, here or elsewhere.” He paused. “They'll have to come in a different ship. Your crewmen assure me they won't all fit on the shuttlecraft.”

  “It'll be a tight squeeze, but they'll fit.”

  “Not after I load my Dickens collection onto it.”

  Cole frowned. “Just how the hell many books do you think Dickens wrote?”

  “I have over six hundred editions of The Pickwick Papers alone.”

  “We'll come back for them.”

  Copperfield shook his head vigorously. “I'm never coming back. Who knows what traps they'll lay for me? And that's assuming they don't blow everything up from space. My collection comes with me. My men will avail themselves of another ship.”

  “I don't like that word ‘avail,' David,” said Cole. “If they steal it, the police could follow them to the Teddy R, and while I've got all kinds of fake IDs and registrations, sooner or later someone's going to recognize the ship for what it is.”

  “What are you saying?” asked Copperfield. “I'm not entirely clear about it.”

  “I'm saying that they hire or buy a ship,” said Cole. “If they steal it, I won't let them on board. You can afford it. You're a rich man. Or whatever.”

  “That was cruel, Steerforth,” said Copperfield reproachfully. “You cut me to the quick.”

  “I apologize, David. But I'm adamant—they can't steal a ship and lead the authorities to us.”

  “Agreed.”

  “I'm sorry the Shark couldn't keep his mouth shut,” said Cole. “It looks like you're going to be out of business.”

  “Nonsense,” said Copperfield. “I've got warehouses all over the Republic.”

  “Not to put too fine a point on it, David, you're about to board the most wanted ship in the galaxy. The second the Alice is safely back in the shuttle bay, we're heading farther into the Inner Frontier—and we're not coming back this way.”

  “Then I will find another way to meet my meager needs.”

  “I've been to your mansion,” said Cole. “There isn't much meager about it.”

  “That was for my help and my clientele,” said Copperfield. “I myself can make do on as little as six million credits a year.”

  “Well, I'm sure glad we don't have to worry about you,” said Cole sardonically. “David, we've made our agreement. It time to start moving out with my crewmen, and passing the word to your hired help. The longer the Teddy R stays in orbit, the greater the chance that someone's going to put two and two together and figure out who we are.”

  “Certainly, my dear Steerforth,” said Copperfield. “I shall see you shortly.” He paused. “Oh. I'll need one room for myself, and three for my collection. And by the way, I forgive you for debauching poor innocent little Emily.”

  “What?” demanded Sharon.

  “It took place in England three thousand years ago,” explained Copperfield. “And he was very young and impetuous.”

  He broke the transmission.

  “Well, it looks like we've just added to our crew and our library,” said Cole. “Any comments?”

  “Just one.”

  “Oh?”

  “We'd better use your desk before it's covered with Dickens books.”

  The Teddy R headed deeper into the Inner Frontier for the next two days. It had picked up seven crew members from Copperfield's staff—five Men and two Mollutei—and he'd turned their training over to Bull Pampas and Idena Mueller. The pulse cannon had been installed. The cloak had reluctantly been jettisoned when it proved incompatible with the ship's computer system.

  And Wilson Cole was still feeling morose without quite knowing why.

  He was on the bridge, be
ing briefed on the current situation by Christine Mboya and Malcolm Briggs. This pirate ship had been spotted along the trade route from Binder X to New Rhodesia, that one was lurking in and around the Volaire system, a new fence just twenty light-years into the Republic on Bienvenuti III was said to be offering seven percent of market value. Gold was up, diamonds were down, machinery was still in demand. A pirate with the unlikely name of Vasco de Gama had declared the Silversmith and Naraboldi systems off-limits to all other pirates and was willing to back his claim up with a fleet of five ships.

  Finally Cole felt his eyes glazing over, excused himself, and went off to the mess hall, where he ordered a beer and then didn't touch it when it arrived. He was still sitting motionless, a troubled frown on his face, when David Copperfield entered the small room, saw him, and walked over to his table.

  “You look unhappy, my dear Steerforth,” said Copperfield, sitting down opposite Cole.

  “I've been happier.”

  “I hope you're not worrying about me,” said Copperfield. “I assure you I'll find ways to replace my losses.”

  “I'm not the least bit worried about you,” replied Cole, “and I never doubted that you'd recover your losses.”

  “Then what is troubling you?” persisted Copperfield. “Perhaps I can be of some help.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Try me, my old school chum.”

  “You really want to know?” said Cole. “I'm looking ahead to thirty or forty years of piracy, and I find it terminally depressing. It's not the career all those novels and holos made it out to be. Most of the time I feel like a goddamned accountant.”

  “Well, of course you do,” said Copperfield. “Consider it a defense mechanism. After all, if you didn't feel like an accountant, you'd feel like a thief, and honorable men like you and I don't like to feel like thieves.”

  “I don't want to insult you, David,” said Cole wearily, “but you are neither honorable nor a man. You're a fence.”

  “Of course I'm a fence,” said Copperfield with some dignity. “The alternative was to become a pirate, and we both know that piracy is no job for the likes of us. I'm surprised that wasn't apparent to you from the beginning.”

  Cole stared at him curiously. “Go on.”

  “Look at you. You were the pride of the Republic's navy…”

  “Never that,” said Cole. “But continue.”

  “You came here with the most valuable members of your crew loyal to you and with a powerful ship in perfect working order. There are ships on the Inner Frontier that can challenge the Theodore Roosevelt, but you haven't encountered one yet. And what have you accomplished in the time you've been here? You've destroyed some ships, you've killed some men and creatures that needed killing, and you've accumulated some stones that we both know were barely worth taking. That is the nature of the profession, my dear Steerforth. Even once you learn the ropes, you are forever going to be paid a tiny fraction of what your plunder is worth. And while it's true that you can negotiate with the insurers, how often can you go into the Republic before you're identified and captured? In fact, I have been informed that you've made only two attempts to deal with insurance companies and, even so, one went very wrong.”

  “We're still learning the ropes,” said Cole defensively.

  Copperfield shook his head. “You don't understand, Steerforth. You've pretty much learned the ropes. What you have been doing is living the typical life of a pirate.” He smiled. “Why do you think I avoided piracy and became a fence instead?”

  “So you're saying that I was right, that this is the life we have to look forward to until we're caught or killed.”

  Copperfield smiled again, an inscrutable alien smile this time. “Steerforth, Steerforth,” he said, “how can you be so foolish when you are so smart?”

  “It takes skill,” replied Cole wryly. “I assume you're going to explain what the hell you're talking about?”

  “Who says you have to be a pirate?” said Copperfield. “You're not suited to it, none of you, by experience or training.”

  “In case it's escaped your notice the first hundred times you were told: the Navy doesn't want us back, except in front of a firing squad.”

  “Whose navy?” asked Copperfield.

  “We're not joining the Teroni Federation!” said Cole decisively. “We've been fighting against them all our lives!”

  “Except when you were fighting the Republic.”

  “You've been misinformed. We didn't betray the Republic. We served it.”

  “Until they jailed you,” noted Copperfield.

  Cole sighed deeply. “Until they jailed me.”

  “We're getting off the topic.”

  “The topic was piracy,” said Cole.

  “The topic was alternatives to piracy.”

  “Joining the Teronis is out of the question.”

  “I was never about to suggest it,” replied Copperfield.

  “Then I'm not following you at all,” said Cole. “What's left?”

  “Who says that the Republic and the Teroni Federation are the only games in town?” continued Copperfield. “You've all trained to serve aboard a military vessel. I see that you're even training my employees to function as part of a military crew. Don't you think it's time you remember who and what you are, and stop pretending to be pirates?”

  Cole stared at him, trying to see what he was driving at.

  “There are warlords springing up all over the Inner Frontier,” said Copperfield. “They need battleships. There are pirates all over the Inner Frontier. Their victims need someone to protect them. There are worlds rich in natural materials that are ripe for plundering. They need someone to patrol them. I don't know anyone who won't pay to protect their safety and their possessions, or to further their ambition. Do you see what I'm saying?”

  “Mercenaries?” said Cole, considering the notion.

  “You're a military ship with a military crew,” said Copperfield. “What possible position could better suit your talents?”

  “It's a tempting thought,” admitted Cole. “But who would hire us? How would we find them?”

  “You wouldn't,” answered Copperfield. “Your business agent would.”

  “You?”

  “Who else?” He extended his knobby hand. “Shall we shake on it?”

  “You know, David,” said Cole, feeling free for the first time in days, “Charles Dickens could have done a lot worse.”

  Cole was on the bridge when David Copperfield stepped out of the airlift and approached him.

  “Well?” said Cole.

  “We have three offers so far,” reported Copperfield. “And I anticipate more almost every day. We're not in the Republic, so there was no reason to hide the identity of the ship or its captain.”

  “I don't know if that was a good idea,” said Cole. “Officially I'm still a mutineer.”

  “Most people out here consider that a plus,” said Copperfield with a smile.

  “What kind of pay are they offering?”

  “It varies, but the least attractive offer is still more than you would ever have made as a pirate.”

  “That's a definite comfort,” said Cole.

  “Stick with me, my dear Steerforth,” said David Copperfield. “Before we're through we could end up owning this damned Frontier.”

  “I suppose I could live with that,” admitted Cole.

  It happened in the 1970s. Carol and I were watching a truly awful movie at a local theater, and about halfway through it I muttered, “Why am I wasting my time here when I could be doing something really interesting, like, say, writing the entire history of the human race from now until its extinction?” And she whispered back, “So why don't you?” We got up immediately, walked out of the theater, and that night I outlined a novel called Birthright: The Book of Man, which would tell the story of the human race from its attainment of faster-than-light flight until its death eighteen thousand years from now.

  It was a long b
ook to write. I divided the future into five political eras—Republic, Democracy, Oligarchy, Monarchy, and Anarchy—and wrote twenty-six connected stories (“demonstrations,” Analog called them, and rightly so), displaying every facet of the human race, both admirable and not so admirable. Since each is set a few centuries from the last, there are no continuing characters (unless you consider Man, with a capital M, the main character, in which case you could make an argument—or at least, I could—that it's really a character study).

  I sold it to Signet, along with another novel, titled The Soul Eater. My editor there, Sheila Gilbert, loved the Birthright Universe and asked me if I would be willing to make a few changes to The Soul Eater so that it was set in that future. I agreed, and the changes actually took less than a day. She made the same request—in advance, this time—for the four-book Tales of the Galactic Midway series, the four-book Tales of the Velvet Comet series, and Walpurgis III. Looking back, I see that only two of the thirteen novels I wrote for Signet were not set there.

  When I moved to Tor Books, my editor there, Beth Meacham, had a fondness for the Birthright Universe, and most of my books for her—not all, but most—were set in it: Santiago, Ivory, Paradise, Purgatory, Inferno, A Miracle of Rare Design, A Hunger in the Soul, The Outpost, and The Return of Santiago.

  When Ace agreed to buy Soothsayer, Oracle, and Prophet from me, my editor, Ginjer Buchanan, assumed that of course they'd be set in the Birthright Universe—and of course they were, because as I learned a little more about my eighteen-thousand-year, two-million-world future, I felt a lot more comfortable writing about it.

  In fact, I started setting short stories in the Birthright Universe. Two of my Hugo winners—“Seven Views of Olduvai Gorge” and “The 43 Antarean Dynasties”—are set there, and so are perhaps fifteen others.

  When Bantam agreed to take the Widowmaker trilogy from me, it was a foregone conclusion that Janna Silverstein, who purchased the books but had moved to another company before they came out, would want them to take place in the Birthright Universe. She did indeed request it, and I did indeed agree.