Marauder iarit-2

by William F. Wu

  Hunter lay motionless on the deck of the Sidonia. Around him, the fighting had finally stopped as the Spanish crew surrendered. Then the combined crews of all three ships examined their new booty. As night fell, they lit torches and celebrated again. Hunter, concerned that any further action he might take would violate the Laws of Robotics in ways he did not comprehend, did not move, though all of his senses were still operating.

  Around him, the buccaneers drank more rum, whooped and fired pistols into the air, and staggered around the deck singing.

  “Hey, mate,” said a drunken buccaneer. He leaned over Hunter, his head and shoulders a dark shadow against the stars in the clear sky above them. “You hurt bad, are ya?”

  “No,” said Hunter.

  “Well, here.”

  Hunter felt the buccaneer and a couple of his companions lift him under his arms and pull him up into a sitting position against a rolled sail. Then, hoisting tankards of rum, they wandered away. Hunter remained where he was, gazing across the deck to the dark, open sea beyond it.

  The three ships were ungrappled again and under sail for Port Royal. The night weather was so good that little work was required. Hunter could see the torches burning on the decks of the other ships in the distance. All three buccaneer crews were celebrating their excellent fortune; even the man at the helm of the Sidonia had a tankard in one hand.

  Even in his uncertainty, Hunter was still alert for MC 2 or Rita on board the ship. As usual in the dark, he was using voiceprint, heartbeat, footsteps, and even breathing patterns to identify the humans within in his hearing. These supplemented his infrared vision, which was only useful for detecting people in his line of sight.

  Hunter was burdened by a new contradiction, but this time it was self-induced. He felt certain that he had to have made some sort of error that had caused Jane to hit him. It had to be an error of a magnitude he estimated to be very unlikely in a positronic robot, especially a robot of his new and highly specialized design. Until he solved that puzzle, he was afraid to take any action for fear of compounding the error.

  He was certain that the error had resulted from the stress he had already felt concerning his efficiency in obeying the First Law. Such stress had always been known to affect robots adversely; it was a side effect of the ultimate priority of the First Law. Figuring out what his error had been was now a prerequisite to normal action; without his identifying and correcting it, the First Law would not let him risk harm to humans by taking any chance of repeating it.

  On the other hand, the fact that he had made an important error at all told him that his thinking was faulty. So he really did not know if he was capable of figuring out what his error was. That contradiction kept him sitting right where the buccaneers had left him.

  Other buccaneers staggered past from time to time, taking a look at him. Since he was not visibly injured, they left him alone. Hunter heard one of them comment that he was obviously drunk, and deservedly so.

  As Hunter remained almost in a stunned state on the deck, he was also uncertain as to what he should do next even if he could summon the will to do anything. He wanted to get his group in one place again; at the very least, the First Law would be easier to obey if all the humans on his team were with him. However, he was not sure if he was worthy of continuing his mission. The First Law might require that he simply return with the team, leaving MC 2 behind, and advise the Oversight Committee to find a replacement for Hunter.

  Hunter recounted his various failures to himself. The first had been allowing Dr. Nystrom to escape his custody during the first mission. Wayne had eluded them in the Late Cretaceous Period and also at the Bohung Institute afterward. Then he had hired Rita, whose priorities were clearly not directed toward fulfilling her duties on this mission. Then, of course, he had failed to save Steve and Jane in their fight on deck. All along the way, any number of small historical changes had taken place. Some of them might lead to significant changes that would alter the future, as chaos theory suggested.

  At last the buccaneers wanted to sleep, and anchored their ships for the night. Most of the buccaneers found places to sleep on deck. Hunter could hear the distant creaking of the other two ships as they, too, sailed down the east coast of Jamaica and rounded the southern corner of the island toward Port Royal.

  The Old Laughing Lady had an early start on the other ships as it sailed for home. At first, Captain Tomann had insisted on interrogating Rita right away about the individual Wayne wanted to take hostage. He and Wayne took her down to a chamber that had been inhabited by a ship’s officer before the buccaneers had taken the ship. As Captain Tomann shouted, blustered, and waved his cutlass around the confined space, she had winced but never spoken.

  Finally Wayne drew the captain aside. “I think she’s too scared to speak,” he said quietly.

  “She’d better be scared!” Captain Tomann bellowed, starting after her.

  Wayne moved to stay in front of him. “Let me have a moment alone with her.”

  “Alone! So you can learn what you need and hold out on me? Is that it?”

  “No! No, I still need you.”

  “Eh?”

  “I will need your ship and your, uh, friendship to hold her here.” Wayne lowered his voice. “She is afraid of your reputation as a pirate captain and the English scourge of the Spanish Main. Too frightened to speak.”

  “Is she, now?” Captain Tomann glared at her over Wayne’s shoulder.

  “Give me just a moment with her.”

  “Do as you will, then,” muttered Captain Tomann. “Do not keep me waiting long.” He stomped out and slammed the door.

  Wayne turned to Rita, letting out a deep breath of relief. “You know who I am, I think,” he said bluntly.

  “What do you want?” Rita spoke carefully, not exactly answering his question.

  “You know that, too. I want MC 2.”

  “Who?”

  “Stop it,” he ordered impatiently. “You’re wasting your time. I know you came here with Hunter. If you want to leave this ship, you’ll have to help me.”

  “All right,” she said calmly, looking back at him. She did not look scared, despite what he had told Captain Tomann, but she was certainly wary.

  “I don’t care about you,” Wayne said. “I don’t want to hurt you or interfere with your trip home, either. But I’ve had to join up with Captain Tomann, and he’s a little…well, he’s a pirate. As you can see for yourself.”

  Her face tensed slightly. “What do you expect me to do?”

  “You have a rapport with MC 2,” said Wayne. “That means you can get close to him and then, under the Second Law, you can order him to obey me.”

  “Why are you so anxious to get MC 2 yourself?” She folded her arms.

  “That’s my business.”

  “If we all worked together, we could probably get him much faster. Then everyone could work together back home. What would be wrong with that?”

  “Ha! I’ll never get a fair shake from the Oversight Committee. Working with you and Hunter will ruin me.” His eyes narrowed. “Besides, I don’t see you exactly working with Hunter. What were you doing off by yourself like that?” He grinned, knowing that she was still unaware that he had hired Roland to distract her or she would have mentioned it by now.

  Rita ignored his question. “What about all the changes we may be causing here, in this time? Hunter believes in the chaos theory as applied to time, which means that any small changes can set big changes in motion.”

  “I don’t agree with him. Any changes we cause are minor and will be absorbed by the larger forces of history.”

  She suppressed a smile. “I agree with you.”

  “MC 2 was with you. Did he join the fighting on the Sidonia?”

  Rita hesitated. “It won’t matter. Everyone is sailing back to Port Royal, anyway.”

  “I guess that’s true. But I still want to know which ship he was on when you saw him last.”

  “Yes, he joined the
fight on the Sidonia. I suppose the First Law took over.”

  “That’s what I figured.” Wayne studied her quietly for a moment.

  “Well?”

  He shrugged, then nodded toward the bed. “All right. You might as well get some sleep tonight.”

  “What are you going to do with me?”

  “For now, Captain Tomann will keep you here. When we reach Port Royal, I’ll go look for Hunter; I know he’s looking for me, too. Maybe we’ll make a deal.”

  “A deal?”

  “I’ll trade you for MC 2 and Hunter’s promise not to interfere with me.” Wayne moved to the door and then turned with a smile. “I believe that the First Law will force Hunter to place your welfare ahead of MC 2’s. Now, after I leave, I’ll have to bolt the door from the outside. You bolt it from the inside, too. You wouldn’t want a drunken Captain Tomann coming for a visit.”

  Steve watched the sun go down in the west over the island as he and Jane walked through the thick Jamaican forest. The sweet aroma of flowers filled the air. They found themselves hiking by moonlight through the trees toward Port Royal. Then they came across a dirt road with wagon ruts and followed it. The moon shone down on the road, but only shadows were visible on each side.

  “I hope this goes to Port Royal,” said Steve. “Following the sun to go west was easy, but we can’t see the stars too well, with all the trees overhead.”

  “I suppose it does,” said Jane. “Where else would it go, this close to town?”

  “Nowhere else I know of,” said Steve. He rubbed his arms. “My clothes are still wet. Are you cold?”

  “Yes. But I’m drying out slowly. I’ll be okay.”

  “I’m still not used to this humidity. In the desert, we would have dried out almost right away.”

  “What’s that light over there?” Jane pointed to their left, up ahead.

  Steve looked. A small light flickered through the trees; some distance away. “It must be someone’s campfire.”

  “Aye, that it is,” said a man’s voice.

  As Steve stopped in surprise, the dark silhouettes of people stepped out of the shadows, merely shadows themselves in the darkness. Their movements rustled the tree branches and underbrush as they came forward. They had obviously been prepared for intruders. Some blocked the road in front of Steve and Jane, but others came out of the trees on each side of the road. When Steve glanced over his shoulder, he realized that some were behind them, too. He could hardly see them.

  16

  “And who might you be?” One of the men in front of Steve had spoken.

  “Steve and John,” said Steve, hoping Jane would say nothing. In the dark, the strangers could stand close and still not see that she was a woman. “We’re shipwrecked off the Hungry Hawk.” Taking a deep breath, he decided to be bold. “Who might you be?”

  “I’m Nick Van Dyne,” said the man in front of him. “Lately of Port Royal, but we haven’t done so well lately. So it’s our fire you see.”

  “We saw those ships from the shore this afternoon,” said another man. “And we heard you coming down the road just a bit ago.”

  “Aye, we did,” said Nick, resting his hand on his rapier. “But we have not been welcome in Port Royal for some time, those of us whose gold ran out. We haven’t had a ship to crew for some time. I think these two might have some plunder they could share with us.”

  “We don’t have anything,” said Steve.

  “Ha! Two Spanish ships were in that fight today, and they both set sail with the others back for Port Royal. I say they were both fat pigeons with plenty of booty for every buccaneer who took part in the voyage.”

  “We got thrown off the ship during the fighting,” said Steve, carefully eyeing the buccaneer on his left. That man was holding his cutlass in one hand, down by his side. “No plunder had been divided yet.”

  “We shall see,” said Nick, drawing his rapier. “Grab them both!”

  Steve had been ready, however. As soon as Nick had reached for his rapier, Steve had whirled to the man holding the cutlass near him and punched him in the stomach. He wrenched the cutlass away just in time to block a thrust from Nick, backing up a step. Then, half-expecting the other buccaneers to jump on him from all sides, he waited for Nick’s next stroke.

  The crowd of buccaneers laughed, however, at the way Steve had caught the one man by surprise and taken his sword. Meanwhile, Steve figured that he had little to lose by fighting. These pirates were more aggressive, and probably more desperate, than those on the waterfront of Port Royal. From the bullies and brawlers he had known in the desert back home, he was sure they would respect a fighter. Any attempts he made to mollify them now would be considered cowardice.

  “Stand back!” Nick laughed. “He’s a poor man with a sword, but has spirit. Let’s see what else he has.”

  Steve kept the cutlass high in front of him as Nick feinted, twirled his point in Steve’s face, and lunged again. As before, Steve knocked the thrust aside with a minimal movement; he could see that a big swing of his arm would momentarily leave him wide open. He really didn’t know what he was doing, however, and had to back up again to avoid a quick flurry of short feints from Nick.

  “Get him, Nick!” The man who owned the cutlass shook his fist at Steve.

  “He got the better o’ you, all right,” said someone in the crowd, and they all laughed.

  Steve’s opponent was quick and confident. All Steve could do was block the strokes he could and slowly back away from the others. Sooner or later, he was likely to back into a tree or trip over a rock or log and fall.

  “Stand to, fellow,” said Nick, laughing. “How can we fight if you keep running away?”

  “Aye,” called another man. “He probably jumped overboard and swam for shore the same way!”

  The buccaneers bellowed with laughter.

  Vaguely, as Steve parried again, he heard the sounds of horses and the creaking of some vehicle on the road behind the crowd. He didn’t dare turn to look, but a large, looming shadow blocked the moonlight in his peripheral vision. In front of him, Nick also refused to look away.

  Voices sounded behind the crowd. Then, suddenly, the buccaneers gave enthusiastic greetings to someone. The crowd moved quickly away from Nick and Steve and Jane.

  “It’s Captain Morgan,” called someone loudly. “Nicky! He’s coming!”

  The crowd parted and a tall, burly man strode through the opening.

  “Good evening, men,” he said heartily. “So, having a little fun, are you?”

  Nick glanced at him quickly, then lowered his rapier, still watching Steve warily. “Evening, Captain.”

  Steve dropped the cutlass on the ground. He was grateful for the interruption and wanted to give Nick no excuse to resume the fight. Whatever happened next, he and Jane would have better luck trusting to chance than trusting his fencing.

  “A personal row, I suppose.” Captain Morgan looked back and forth between Nick and Steve. “I say, fellow, you’re all wet. So is your friend.”

  Steve peered at him in the moonlight. He wore a broad-brimmed hat with plumes, a fancy ruffled shirt, and an unbuttoned coat. A sword and scabbard hung from a polished belt that had a pistol stuck through it. He spoke with a British accent that was different from the ones Steve had heard in Port Royal.

  “Aye, Captain,” said Steve. “We, uh, wound up in the water during the attack on a Spanish ship. My friend here lowered a dinghy and we rowed to shore.”

  “A Spanish ship, this close to the coast of Jamaica?” Captain Morgan looked at him doubtfully…

  “We took two of them,” said Steve, seeing that Captain Morgan was interested in this subject. “ A sailor on one of them said that a storm broke up their convoy and blew them off course.”

  “Ah! Good fortune for you, then.” Captain Morgan grinned broadly. “Glad to hear it. I would hear more of this, however.” He took another look at Jane in the darkness.

  “We can tell you much more,” said Steve,
eagerly. “The names of the ships and how we attacked them, all that.”

  “Excellent! I must introduce myself. I am Henry Morgan, a colonel by commission from Governor Modyford.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Steve. He suddenly recognized Morgan’s name vaguely from his meager history. “We are Steve and John.”

  “Are you returning to Port Royal?”

  “Yeah-I mean, aye.”

  “You shall be my guests,” said Captain Morgan. “I am a little late, but on my way to Port Royal this evening. Please join me in my carriage.” He turned to one side, gesturing.

  Steve grabbed Jane’s arm and pulled her along. The buccaneers made way for them, saying nothing as they watched. Captain Morgan brought up the rear.

  The carriage loomed as little more than a large shadow, where a footman opened the door. Steve drew Jane forward to climb in first. He followed her and sat next to her in the forward seat, facing backward. The seat was padded, but he could feel the hard shelf underneath the cushion. Captain Morgan climbed into the opposite seat. When the footman closed the door, Captain Morgan leaned out the window.

  “In the next few days, men,” he called. “On the docks as we arranged, eh?”

  Enthusiastic agreement from the crowd answered him. Captain Morgan waved and the driver took the coach forward. Steve finally relaxed slightly for the first time since the buccaneers had confronted them.

  “I am coming from my plantation in Rio Minho Valley,” said Captain Morgan. He smiled in the faint moonlight coming in through the windows of the carriage. “I hate to see buccaneers fighting each other when I am about to assemble new crews for my ships. We must fight the Spanish together.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Steve.

  “I see you are both chilly,” said Captain Morgan. “I shall buy a round of rum at my favorite tavern. It will warm you both.”

  “We’re looking forward to it,” said Steve.

  “As am I.” Captain Morgan nodded to Jane. “John, I shall see that you are especially comfortable.”

  Jane nodded, looking at Steve. If Steve understood Captain Morgan, he was not fooled by her appearance. Yet he seemed to respect her masquerade.