Hardshellz

by Morris Kenyon

CHAPTER 5. UNDER ATTACK.

  She wore a silvered, figure-hugging jump suit that left little to the imagination. No, make that very, very little. It must have been only molecules thick. She clutched a small purse in her hand. Even I recognised the designer's logo and knew that bag cost a small fortune.

  "What are you doing here? Why aren't you with Sava?" I managed to say.

  She shrugged and pouted, tossing her hair as she did so. "A change of plan. Sava had to charter an express direct to Earth. An important business meeting with the Tsar's industrial adviser, Count Aleksei Timurovich Pozdnyakov himself," she said, giving the Count his full title.

  I whistled. Even I was impressed. Count Pozdnyakov was a legend – he'd crushed a worker's revolution by sending them all to the Gulag colonies but then he'd reformed the Tsar's dominions on Earth and off world by offering some concessions while clamping down on dissent. Sava played with some very big hitters indeed.

  "Mr Laughter gone with him?"

  Julianna nodded. "Yes, Norin never leaves Sava's side. He's counting on you to protect me as well as the shell." She smiled as she said that, and I guessed that Julianna could look after herself. All the same, given the choice, I'd far rather take care of Julianna than that overgrown mollusc's cast-off home. I thought I'd need to start my bodyguard role early as two Röötherspherian men strolled past and made no secret of their admiration of Julianna's charms. Röötherspherians pride themselves on their brass necks and these two were no exceptions to the rule.

  "Eh, up – tek a dekko at the gazongas on that, Barry," the fat one said. "Don't get many of 'em to t'kilo." He made an unmistakable squeezing gesture with his hands in front of his chest.

  "Don't ye be daft there, lad. Them's one o' them fembots I read about on t'web. Obvious, innit?"

  I felt like punching them out but it wouldn't have done my mission much good if I'd been clapped in the brig. Instead I clenched my fists and pretended that I didn't understand what they had said. This, given that their dialect was mostly incomprehensible noises, was likely.

  They turned the corner and disappeared from view.

  "I'm not, you know," Julianna told me. I saw tears in her eyes and I felt an urge to lean forward and kiss them away. "I'm a real woman, not a..., a... gynoid. People always think I'm too good to be real. They don't think about how much it hurts me inside." She touched between her breasts, making impure thoughts flood my mind and I immediately blanked my emotional broadcast status.

  "Well, I never doubted it," I lied. "Anyone can tell you're a hi-man." And a very lovely one, I wanted to add, but as I didn't want to end up chipping rocks in a frozen Gulag in some remote part of Orion's armpit as a result of falling out with Sava, I kept my mouth shut.

  She still looked upset. "Come on, I'll buy you a drink," I suggested, taking her elbow and escorting her to the elevators. She smiled.

  "We can put them on Sava's account," she said. That cheered me up and I wondered what the most expensive drink at the bar was.

  There was a good choice of watering holes on the President and I took her to one which had superb viewscreens showing the Batavia system as the starship moved towards the edge of deep space. The ship was travelling through an asteroid belt at the time and an impressively cratered moon was floating past. In reality, it was thousands of kilometres away but the cameras made it look much closer.

  We sat at two stools at the highly polished nalohamy wood bar. There were a few Röötherspherians at the far end but the bar's voice-muting systems kept us from hearing their raucous conversation.

  The servo-bot floated over. "Champagne. The real stuff if you've got it." I said, trying to sound like the hero of the latest holovision movies.

  "The '56 vintage if you have it. Not the '61 vinegar. I wouldn't wash the floor with that," Julianna said, entering into the spirit of the thing.

  "Very good, sir and madam," the servo-bot intoned. Using eight of its many arms it placed two crystal flutes before us, set them on coasters, filled a silver ice-bucket, fetched down a bottle of '56 vintage, uncorked it, poured out two glasses and then set the bottle in the bucket with a genuine linen cloth around its neck to catch any condensation.

  We touched glasses and drank. The clink sounded a note of sophisticated civilisation. I didn't know that was the last time I'd hear such a beautiful tone for a long time. "To an enjoyable cruise," Julianna said.

  "I'd settle for a safe one," I said. Though as Julianna was with me, it promised to be more pleasant than safe. However, I would have to remember to behave myself. And the way she was sipping that champagne with her full, red lips was testing my resolve to the limit.

  "You were saying that people sometimes mistake you for a fembot?" I said, pouring her a second glass.

  "Yes, ever since I grew up. There's something about the way I look." Yeah, you're too good to be true, I thought. "But I remember when I was a girl growing up on New North Carolina. I remember going to school – everything."

  This meant precisely nothing. The best gynoids are pre-programmed with artificial memories to make them seem more human so they can interact better with their owner. Surely she knew that. Yet who argues with their own recollections? It's what makes us who we are. Our memories are the core of our being. That's why I download mine for safety – except for those I've deleted, of course.

  So I was none the wiser. I would love to strip her naked as I'm told that they have a small mole, discreetly hidden, where – if you set your retinal magnifiers very high – you can see the manufacturer's serial number. It would be fun searching for it anyway.

  I tore myself away from my lascivious thoughts when somebody took the vacant stool next to Julianna. I should have expected it as why wouldn't he ship out on one of his company's own transports? It was my good friend Luis Çrámerr.

  "See you're taking a high-altitude view while drilling down into the incentives offered by our luxury cruise-liner," he said.

  Even from him, this was an enigmatic pronouncement. Whether she was hi-man or gynoid it took Julianna time to process this statement. I didn't bother but nodded as if I understood his management-speak.

  "What are you drinking?" I asked.

  "Having a fully loaded, up to the max corporate charge-account, I'll acquisition these." Çrámerr pointed to a bottle of Venusian Rose liqueur and ordered a shot. If he wanted to impress us then he failed – Julianna because she was with one of the wealthiest men in the galaxy – and me because, well, I'm not struck on show-offs. However, the Röötherspherian execs propping up the far end of the bar opened their eyes wide at such a show of conspicuous consumption.

  "Ay – see tha', Hereward? Big man's drinkin' tha' rosy stuff – twa 'undred Hydrans a sip tha' is."

  "Gurly stuff, tha', our Jezza. Wouldnae touch it mesel'."

  The Röötherspherians were as incomprehensible as Çrámerr himself. I turned away and wondered how to suggest to Julianna that we move somewhere else, maybe make a dinner reservation on one of the several restaurants on board. But before I could say anything, Julianna spoke. "What's that? What's that coming out from behind that asteroid?"

  I looked at the viewscreen she was pointing at. At first, I couldn't see what she was looking at. There was just that massive, cratered planetoid by now edging off the screen. Behind it appeared a smaller asteroid, this one a dull grey indicating a high iron-nickel content. It came out some more and I now noticed pinpricks of lights down its side. It was another artificial construct – a spacecraft of some kind.

  Frowning, I wondered what it was doing out here. I'm no space pilot but I thought the other craft was too close if we were going to engage our monkey-saddle drive and enter hyper-jump soon. As if in response to my thought, the lights in the bar dimmed slightly. It looked like power was being diverted to the bridge and other important places.

  "That shouldn't be interfacing so closely to our operating parameters," Çrámerr said. He stood and smoothed down his suit. I guessed the material had a high percentage of natural fibres.
But my thoughts were distracted when a red light flashed out from the other ship. The light rapidly grew larger and shot into the President and our ship juddered. My drink slopped out of its glass and onto the highly polished bar. Instantly, the servo-bot wiped the spill away. But it was no use as another light flashed out and our ship shuddered again. I noticed an external gantry melt and fall away, spinning away into the utter blackness of outer space.

  "We're suffering from an aggressive hostile take-over," Çrámerr said. Even now, his love of management-speak hadn't left him.

  "We're being attacked!" I shouted. "Space pirates!"

  A third red shot hit our side. One of our weapons pod exploded in a shower of sparks and metallic fragments. I may not be a spacer but I know my weapons. The pirates were using excimer lasers. The red beams told me that they were standard neon lasers – probably the most common ship's weapon.

  Whoever was up on the bridge knew their stuff. Like many captains, he had probably learned his trade in one world or another's navies before transferring to a better paid private sector job. He manoeuvred our craft to present as small a profile as possible while activating our force-shields. The next few shots bounced harmlessly off into outer space. Also, I felt the power surge through the hull as the President accelerated. However, our massive craft was built for cargo and passengers, not war or rapid manoeuvring. Basically, it handled like a brick.

  "We should repel their overtures," Çrámerr said to no-one in particular.

  More shots from the pirates slammed into the force-shields and I could almost feel them buckle under the attack.

  "Do you think we'll be able to enter hyper-jump and escape them?" Julianna asked.

  Çrámerr shook his head. "To be transparent, that's a negative."

  "No," I interrupted. "You can't enter hyper-space with force-shields up. Something to do with magnetic effects or something."

  "Can we fight them?" she asked. Have you noticed how the so-called fairer sex can be surprisingly blood-thirsty? Still, it was a fair question.

  "I don't think we'll be upscaling our attack options in the foreseeable," said Çrámerr.

  "No – we're a sitting target here," I said. I drained my drink – I didn't know when I'd be drinking such quality liquor again.

  However, our captain had decided to show that the President had teeth. Orange light shot out from our weapons pods. I groaned. Cheapo sodium lasers only. Not in the same league as the pirate's excimer lasers. More red neon laser fire shot out from the hostile.

  A voice echoed over the ship's tannoys. It was designed to sound reassuring. "Ladies and gentlemen. Although we are experiencing localised difficulties, there is nothing to worry about. Merely as a temporary precaution, please could all passengers return to their staterooms and relax in their G-couches until further notice. Servo-bot stewards will escort you to your rooms. Thank you."

  The Röötherspherians finished their drinks and hurriedly left. Çrámerr shrugged his shoulders. "They see us as low-hanging fruit but they'll find we're not sleeveless. We can show them a trick or two."

  How did this man become a top executive? Bribery and corruption, probably. Anyway, turning my back on Çrámerr, I watched the action on the nearest viewscreen. Red and orange beams criss-crossed against the blackness of the void. Then, a brilliant white star appeared on the pirate's hull, rapidly gaining in both size and intensity. It came from a large barbette fitted onto a rocky prow of the enemy ship. A moment later, there was an explosion, cracking our force-shields. They shimmered and greyed out. I've seen enough holo-movies to know that's not a good sign. Another star appeared, speeding towards us.

  It smashed into the remnants of our force-shields and they blinked out leaving us defenceless.

  "What are they using?" Çrámerr asked aloud.

  I'd kept up with my reading on the subject. Working in my business, I have to keep ahead in weapons technology. After all, who knows when I could next be facing it?

  "I think they're firing Livermorium shells – it's a super-heavy metal at the high end of the periodic table. Highly radioactive – so it breaks force-shields – but with a short half-life so the radiation doesn't linger."

  "Livermorium? But that's latest technology. How have a bunch of pirates got hold of that?" Julianna said.

  I wondered how she knew such stuff. Then I figured that she probably picked it up from one of her boyfriend's arms deals on behalf of the Tsar. However, that was a good question, but it didn't really matter how the pirates had obtained Livermorium projectors. The fact was they had them – and were using them.

  Another Livermorium shell smashed into our hardshell hull. Great chunks of rock blasted off. There was no way we could take much more damage like that without our hull cracking. Then we'd be in deep trouble as the ship's air would be sucked out into deep vacuum closely followed by our choking, freezing bodies.

  Meanwhile laser blasts were criss-crossing each other. Occasionally one beam would strike another, dissipating harmlessly. But the pirate craft still had its shields up whereas we were as helpless as a turtle out of its shell. Enemy lasers burned deep into our hull, turning rock into lava where it froze into strange, tortured shapes as the molten rock met the absolute zero of outer space.

  Still another Livermorium shell smashed into our hull by our propulsion rockets. The President faltered on its beam. Our craft had a hard, rocky outer shell but no way could it withstand this amount of punishment.

  "We have to give up – we can't take more of this," Julianna said again.

  I cast a glance at Çrámerr's broadcasts – it seemed he was busy working out the costs of surrendering the President on a spreadsheet. I'm not sure why he was so troubled – ultimately Economou would claim back the ransom from their insurers.

  That's what the pirates were counting on. They didn't want to destroy us – there would be no profit in that. They wanted to capture us, mostly intact, take us back to some isolated, out of the way world, and then claim billions of Hydrans for our release. They'd claim billions but, after negotiations, pirates usually accepted about a quarter of their original demands.

  The criss-crossing lasers stopped their dance and I reckoned our Captain had hoisted the metaphorical white flag. There was a warning ping from the tannoy and then the Captain made an announcement. At the same time, it was downloaded to my neural interface. It didn't sound like the Captain was at all happy about what had happened.

  His tone was calm and reassuring and designed to prevent any panic. It succeeded and I wondered if minute traces of tranquil-gas had been introduced into the air system. "Ladies and gentlemen, as you aware we have been under attack and are about to be boarded. For your comfort and safety, please do not leave your staterooms until further notice. Your safety is our first concern at Economou..." There was more and he actually finished by saying, "...I and my crew hope to see you again the next time you travel."