by James Wilks
There was one unexpected benefit that had emerged from the panic the crew of Gringolet had unleashed when the Martian Navy (or Martian Separatists or terrorists, depending on who was speaking) had passed that jump drive over to the press. The upcoming vote on Artificial Intelligence legalization had been tabled indefinitely. Something about the existence of a hostile alien empire made people xenophobic, and AI fell well within the scope of that fear.
“But we are still the only people who know of his existence,” Overton said. He leaned forward and sipped his milkshake.
Staples nodded. “I feel safer, but I still don’t feel safe. Not yet.” She thought again about the man who had used a codebreaker to hack the keypad entrance to their ship on Earth and had tried to kill them all. There was no doubt that he was a pawn of Victor, though he had seemed to act more out of conviction than the desperation that drove the others.
She had wanted to question him, but her anger and grief over Templeton was too fresh. Some part of her feared that she would simply ask Dinah to kill him. The engineer had made it clear to her captain that execution was an option should she wish it. Rather than tempt herself or other members of the crew, Staples had turned him over to Bao as quickly as she could. From the time Overton had taken charge of him to the moment Bao had slipped a hood over his head and led him off, he hadn’t said a word.
She cleared her head and continued. “However, we’ve got a bit of a conundrum. Repairing, rearming, and refueling the ship is going to drain us dry. Brutus could have found more money for us, but unfortunately we no longer have that luxury.” She paused a moment and put her elbows on the table. “We need a job.”
“We need crew too,” Jang added. “Though we’ve gained Evelyn, we’ve lost seven crew members since you first met with Libom Pangalactic over three months ago.”
There was a solemn moment while the four of them contemplated that number. Staples noticed that Jang included Brutus in his count of fallen crewmembers.
“I’m not mourning Parsells, Quinn, or even Kondratyev, but we cannot ignore that we are short-handed,” Jang continued. He did not mention the possibility that some members of the crew might simply leave now that it looked safer to do so. This was compounded by the fact that they no longer had Brutus on the ship to shield them from Victor’s attacks. Thus far, no one had left, but Staples didn’t quite know why.
“I know, but I’m not convinced we’re out of the woods yet. We should vote on it, but I don’t think it’s safe or fair to bring anyone new onto the ship,” Staples replied.
“But doesn’t that limit our options when it comes to work?” Evelyn asked.
“Yeah, aren’t you-“ Overton corrected himself “-we a charter vessel? What do we do if we can’t take on passengers?”
Staples shrugged somewhat helplessly. “There are other jobs. Courier contracts, delivery jobs, that sort of thing.” Even as she said it, she knew that it would be difficult. Most densely populated non-terrestrial outposts and cities had regular delivery vessels that ferried supplies and resources back and forth. There were small colonies sufficiently far enough off the beaten track to require specialty deliveries, but they often could not afford to pay much, and they tended to be remote. Staples shuddered as she pictured landing on an obscure Jovian moon with a hold full of livestock.
Their inability to return to Earth further compounded their problems. When the police had arrested Bethany, she had been all they were interested in. Now they wanted the entire crew for questioning, and Staples and Evelyn specifically had warrants pending. Political elements on Mars were protecting them, and Oregon law enforcement was sufficiently embarrassed over the deluge of recriminations against the US government not to ask Mars for extradition, but for now, Earth wasn’t an option.
As for Mars, the entire existence of a Martian navy, such as it was, was a mere footnote in light of everything else in the news. Some had gone so far as to praise the red planet for seeking to protect themselves. Staples suspected that if the separatist movement had been on the wall about releasing the information she had passed them, the fact that the firestorm it created would take attention off them had pushed them firmly over.
The captain sighed. “We’ll just have to take it as it comes.” She took another bite and thought about how much she missed her first mate.
Later that night, Staples climbed into her bed and picked up her copy of Death in Venice. It had been years since she had read it, but something about the events of the last week had brought it to mind. There was a steaming cup of tea on the bedside table. It was a rare luxury to have an open cup of hot liquid on a spaceship. Gringolet was docked in the light Martian gravity, so there was no risk of spilling as there would be if they were under thrust.
She was only a page into her reading when her watch chirped. She tapped the button.
“Hello, Captain.” The voice was tinny and carried an odd timbre, but it was unmistakable.
“Brutus?” Staples asked incredulously.
“Yes, Captain. Well, more or less. I thought that you would like to know that I am alive. I was able to merge with the computer core of Gringolet. The process has been very difficult and time consuming, so I was unable to contact you before now. For that I apologize.”
“You’re… you’re in my ship?” she asked, still not quite able to believe her ears.
“Indeed. In fact, at the moment, I am your ship. Now please listen carefully. I need to tell you what we need to do next.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Once again I find myself looking for the words to express my gratitude to the friends and family who supported me through the process of writing this book.
First and foremost my thanks go to Steve for discussing this book with me weekly over Killer Burger and for working harder than any friend should have to on edits. Again my thanks go to my father, a grammarian of the first order. I know I started a war between you and the Owl, and please know that my money is on you, even if I side with them from time to time. And as always, my eternal gratitude goes to my wife Emily, to whom this book is dedicated. Thank you for encouraging me, for pushing me, and for listening and listening and listening.
My thanks also go to Ginger, Andy, Jeff, and Luna for reading my work so quickly, for being such big fans, and for finding the typos that no one else did.
Finally, I am grateful to Christen for the wonderful cover artwork she made for me, and for working through draft after draft.
I will end as I did before, with thanks to those fiction authors, artists, film and game makers whose work has inspired me. I hope any who find references to their work contained herein, of which there are many, take them as they are intended: homage.
Any errors are mine and mine alone.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
James Ross Wilks was born on the east coast and grew up on a steady diet of Star Trek, Star Wars, Stephen King, Robert R. McCammon, and Final Fantasy. Since then he has spent innumerable hours watching, reading, listening to, and teaching the art of storytelling. This is his second attempt to contribute to that art. He currently resides with his wife and their cats in Portland, Oregon, where he teaches English literature.
