by Rolf Nelson
“Armored up?” Kaushik asks, as he pulls out a pair of armored gloves. Kaminski nods and taps his chest — it makes a THOCKing noise — then puts in his second earplug.
The drunk looks at them with a dull, uncomprehending expression. “Uh… Explosions?”
Kaminski pulls a large pistol from a hip holster, bringing it up just far enough to be seen above the table, checks the chamber, and reholsters it with practiced ease. “Han-shot?” asks Kaushik.
Kaminski shrugs noncommittally, then speaks loudly and with exaggerated casualness. “Think the CO will be as forgiving this time? Last time they were mostly in uniform.”
“Right. Best keep the collateral damage to a minimum.”
Kaminski nods, unsnaps the security strap on a kukri fighting knife, draws it partway to make sure it moves easily, slides it back. Then he and Kaushik look up at the somewhat confused drunk. The crowd in the bar is tense and quiet, looking on expectantly. At last someone throws him a lifeline, calling loudly over the background music, “Hey, what about that game you promised us?”
The drunk thinks for a moment. “Uh … Yeah, oh yeah, be right there,” he calls. Then to the soldiers, “Uhhh … sorry … I thought you were new here.” He disengages awkwardly and heads for the back of the bar.
The soldiers glance at each other and shrug. Kaushik sips his drink. Kaminski starts to take out his ear plugs. “Can’t imagine why they don’t let us come into town more often. Always so quiet and peaceful,” he says.
Kaminski and Kaushik are still sitting and drinking when Kaminski notices Helton and Stenson waiting at the bar. He waves them over. They both pick up their frosty mugs, then weave through the other patrons and sit at the table. Seeless, unnoticed by any of them, watches them intently from the other side of the bar.
Helton takes a drink and nods toward the door.
Helton: That almost looked exciting.
Stenson: Anything colorful said?
Kaminski: Not by him.
Kaushik: Guy before him was much more entertaining. Said the previous crew on the Tajemnica died twice.
Stenson (surprised): How do you die twice?
Kaushik: Buddhists.
Kaminski: Cats.
Helton: Third marriage?
Stenson: Nah. Budget resurrection.
Kaushik snorts and the others laugh. He picks up a menu and looks over it.
Kaushik: How did the ship get here?
Helton (shaking his head): Landed on autopilot, crewless.
Kaminski: So they were dead?
Helton: Dunno. Just not on board.
Kaminski tips back his chair and takes another sip.
Kaminski: How come the ship just sat for so long? Couldn’t somebody use it?
Helton: I looked into that. Lots of owners, not enough money or skill to fix it.
Kaushik: Does that mean you’re rich, or we’re grounded?
Helton: Ahem… Way back when starships were new and colonies scarce, it didn’t take more than a small ship like that to fly out trans-light, take care of things, and come back. As things grew and fights actually happened that destroyed a few of them, around the time of the Chi-Stan wars, the bean counters figured it was too expensive to put FTL drives and long range support equipment onto a high-risk assault lander, so they went to carriers. All the FTL drives and services go on the carrier that stays out of harm’s way, along with fighters and destroyers and cruisers to protect it and provide orbital support and cover, and some armored assault landers with only minimal onboard support facilities and in-system drives and so forth to land troops in high-risk places. So, navies didn’t want it.
Kaminski: And here I always thought they changed to carriers because admirals wanted to keep control and go out and do things, but they couldn’t justifying sending out an admiral on a hundred-person ship, but could on a two thousand person task force.
Stenson: Which would shoot down the “cheaper” argument.
Helton: Of course it was cheaper. In government accounting.
Kaushik: Nah, it was a politics thing. The politicians didn’t want lowly company-level officers having all the fun and power to destroy worlds, and they can lean on admirals better, so they outlawed fully-aware AI’s at the same time, trying to avoid the sci-fi scare of machines taking over, or worse yet criticizing them.
Helton: Huh? What’s AI got to do with ship design?
Stenson: They put high-end AI’s on some of the early ships as backup. Can you imagine a fully-aware AI doing a real-time fact check of every statement a politician or general made against every previous statement and a fully-integrated database of law and statistical data? The AI ships might conclude they're all corrupt and crazy and decide to shoot them all. Some say that’s why the third Chi-Stan war was so deadly, and man-made weapons that powerful scared the politicians more than the Planet Movers did. So: no AIs, and adopt the carrier model to enhance bureaucratic inefficiency and help out their friends the admirals and generals, also known as “politicians in training.”
Helton: Sounds like you’re talking deep conspiracy stories. But it makes as much sense as anything else. Maybe if you ever get it fully operational, I’ll just have to ask it.
Kaminski drains his glass and leans in conspiratorily.
Kaminski: You do that. In the meantime, something much more important: who’s buying the next round?
CHANGES
Ghosts
In his cabin, dim with night-time lighting, Helton sleeps restlessly, tossing and turning uneasily in his bunk. The soft voice of the Ship AI comes through the com speakers, in a quiet, ghostly tone.
“The monks at the abbey on Eridani. Go to the monks of Possenti on Eridani. You need the monks. The monks of Possenti need the news. The monks of St. Possenti on Eridani–”
Helton sits bolt upright, eyes wide. He looks around, confused. Unsettled, he lies back down and tries to return to sleep.
Helton and Lag sit in the Officers’ Mess the next morning, quietly eating breakfast.
“What’s on your schedule for the next few days?” Lag asks.
“Not much. Stenson and his crew seem to be keeping a good handle on repairs and training, spending what’s left of my money with abandon. Harbin and his guys are busy with the recruits and training. Kat is helping straighten out some of the legal kinks with the ship’s title.” Helton takes a drink of coffee while he thinks. “Likely help Allonia with the cooking more than anything else. Trying to prepare food for even two dozen is a full-time job, and she likes to do it well. She’s getting a bit overwhelmed. If we get many more guys here, we’ll need to hire someone.”
“Want to take a trip?”
“Maybe. Where and why?”
“Eridani, to–”
“Eridani?” Helton interrupts, surprised.
“Is that a problem?”
“Don’t think so, just… You were saying?”
“I need someone to courier some messages there.”
“Why not just beam it to a message drone?”
“We usually send orders and important items via couriers. We assume electronics are compromised when sending sensitive data. It’s only slightly slower than FTL message drones, and couriers can do other things as well. I’m pretty sure no one will steal your ship while you are away.”
“Okay. Stenson wanted some parts from Eridani, and I have some personal business I need to take care of there, too.”
“Excellent! There is a passenger liner leaving tomorrow. I can provide you with official courier credentials to help with security. Makes you a sort of low level military diplomatic attaché.”
“That would be nice, since I’m officially without citizenship anywhere right now.”
The Orbital Transfer Station is large, with ports and attachments for all kinds of ships, be they blocky, deep-space-only freighters, haulers, and passenger liners, or the smaller, more streamlined, atmosphere-capable ships used as ferries between ground and orbit. It’s busy, with the bigger ships arriving and
leaving slowly, and smaller private ships zipping around.
Helton, walking through the station lounge, does a double take when he sees Bipasha sitting at a small table by herself, eyes fixed on the tabletop screen, sipping a drink.
“Bipasha?”
“Helton? Helton! What brings you by here? I thought you were headed for Niven.”
“I was. I got kind of sidetracked. What brings you here?” He takes a seat across from her at the table.
“Business, mostly. Scouting some merchandise for my uncle, and visiting some friends. The business is boring beyond belief, but it does let me get out occasionally. You? Business for your sister you talked about?”
“Yes and no. Business, but for myself.”
“I’d love to be in business for myself! The challenges, getting to make my own decisions, not just sitting at a desk or running errands!”
“Well, I’m not just sitting behind a desk, that’s for sure. I own a starship now.”
Bipasha’s impressed. “That is quite a move up from an unemployed and homeless teacher.”
“Yes, and as soon as we get it flying, we–”
“It’s grounded?”
“At the moment. I’m going to Eridani for parts.”
“So, it’s not really a starship? More of a … money pit?”
“Well, it is costing a lot of money to–”
“Weren’t you almost broke?”
“I was, but after we freed ourselves from the pirates, we–”
“Pirates? Now you are fighting pirates?” Bipasha says skeptically.
“That’s what I’d call people who hijack your ship, gas you, and dump you in the desert for their entertainment,” Helton says in a matter-of-fact tone. “So, after we–”
“Dumped in a desert for…?” Bipasha is incredulous and becoming exasperated. “Can you stick to a single story long enough to be believable? Homeless teacher I believed. A starship, maybe. Next, you’ll be telling me you are a diplomat on a secret mission!”
“Well, the ID says diplomat, but really I’m just a courier, and it’s not so much a secret mission as one of mutual convenience…” Helton’s voice fades into silence as she looks at him in angry disbelief.
Bipasha’s voice rises with her anger. “Got a jailbreak any time in the last three weeks, too? Find an ancient artifact? Maybe a showdown with the mob? Stick to something realistic, like– like– like … finding an exciting job for a friend!”
“Well, technically, we didn’t wind up in the prison mine, so we couldn’t really break out, and it wasn’t so much a showdown as–”
Bipasha gets up and stalks away, and Helton watches her wearily.
“Smooth. Really smooth. They don’t want you to lie, but they can’t handle the truth.” He sits back, takes a deep breath, lets it out while slowly slumping down in his seat, closing his eyes in quiet frustration. He sits for a long moment, resting, trying to be Zen. Then his eyes pop open when he hears a familiar voice.
“Helton?”
“Kwon? What are you doing here?”
Kwon’s standing two tables over, serving from a tray of drinks, looking at Helton in astonishment. He finishes placing the drinks, hurries over, and furtively sits in the chair Bipasha just left. “Working,” he answers. “Things started getting crazy, and we had to get out. Was accused of smuggling, and all kinds of criminal conspiracy stuff. What the hell was up with them calling you a felon? We barely made it this far, and ran out of money.”
“We?”
“The family. Me, Sar, John and Julia, the granddaughter. Don’t know anyone else that made it this far.”
“Oh, that’s terrible. I mean, it’s good you got out, but–”
“We sent word in a couple of directions, but things happened so fast, and we heard that some of the message drones got hit.”
“How long ago?” Helton asks.
“Ah … wow, it’s only been three days since we got here.” Kwon shakes his head in at the thought. “Crazy. More refugees come in every ship. Wild stories. Not sure where we go from here.”
“I do!” says Helton, with a look of realization and growing excitement.
“So what’re you doing here?” Kwon asks.
Helton talks fast and excitedly, with a lot of energy and hand waving as the plan forms and words tumble out.
“Long story,” Helton answers. “Fill you in later. I’ve got a ship to catch in … thirteen minutes.” He speaks quickly and excitedly, with a lot of energy and hand waving. “Here’s the plan. I’m buying the five of you tickets on the next hop to Adelaide. Looks like there is one in … about nine hours. Get everyone packed, and get on it. At the spaceport in Adelaide, ask for directions to Pad D9. Tell them you are there to cook for the ship. D9. You used to cook on a ship in the Navy, cruiser wasn’t it?”
“That was a long time ago, and what ship–”
“The Tajemnica. No, the Dutchman. No … never mind. Like I said, I’ll explain later. I’ll send a message so they expect you.”
“But … what? They? WHO? You can’t–”
“Later. Things are crazy, I know! Tell Allonia you’re there to take over kitchen duties, she’ll be thrilled. Pay will likely be shit for a while, but you’ll get free room and board, and a killer security detachment.”
“Allonia? Who? You are, I don’t know what to say, I mean, so fast…” Kwon’s smiling by now, infected with Helton’s enthusiasm.
“Just glad to be able to return a favor. Not trying to save the world, just make my little corner of it better! I’ll send you a message as soon as I book your tickets from aboard my liner. Finish your shift, collect your pay, and be on that flight! Oh, and I heard that Sergeant Kaushik likes hot food, so see what you can do for him! Gotta run! Have a good flight, and see you soon, my friend!”
Helton rushes off, coattails flying, down the corridor and through the crowd to catch his flight to Eridani.
Space Colonel
Light Bollywood-bluegrass music plays in the background in the starship liner’s dining room, and chatter fills the air. Helton sits at a table with half a dozen other passengers, eating dinner and being studiously ignored by Bipasha. She sits a couple of tables away, closer to the door, with a collection of dignitaries in fancy clothes and a two men in some sort of uniform.
A ship’s officer comes into the room, looks about, and walks past Bipasha on his way to Helton. The officer leans forward to whisper in his ear, “Helton Strom?”
“Yes?”
“If you could please come with me; the Captain would like an urgent word with you.”
Helton stands and follows him out of the room. As they pass Bipasha, Helton leans and whispers, deadpan, “Captain wants me. Very important.” She glares at him for a moment, then turns back to her meal and ignores him as he walks away.
Helton and the purser walk down a small, faded, worn looking passageway side by side, talking quietly. The purser sounds nervous. “You are a Plataean Diplomatic military attaché, yes?”
“Sort of, technically, yes.”
“Attached to the Plataean military advisory on NewOz?”
“Only temporarily, in a manner of speaking.”
“We have a situation, and you are the only active military or diplomatic representative on board, so the Captain would like to consult with you before doing anything final.”
“I’m not sure if I’m really qualified to–”
“I’m sure he’d value any ideas you might have. And please don’t tell any of the passengers about this.”
“About what?”
“I’d best let the captain explain, sir.”
The spacious command center of the starliner’s bridge has a half dozen seated personnel and a couple more standing. The captain sits in the large central command chair. He’s a large, bearded man who could be imposing if he wanted to, but now looks worried. He rises and shakes Helton’s hand as he approaches. “Mr. Strom, glad you came.”
“What’s going on?”
; “A short while ago, one of our sensor techs picked up an odd signal. Our thermals and some other sensors are down, and on the wavelengths we can get it’s very faint. It looks like it might be a ship running silent.”
“Why–”
“It looks to be on an intercept course.”
“I see. What do you want me to do about it?”
“You know about military matters, and the Plataeans are notorious in their fighting effectiveness, so I thought I should consult with you before I did anything.”
“I’m not sure if you have the right person, but … how long to intercept?”
The scanner tech, seated off in corner, pipes up. “About an hour and a half.”
“Can you put a trajectory diagram onscreen for me?”
“Yes, sir. There.” A position diagram with a pair of converging arcs pop up on the main screen.
“How long until we can transition to FTL?”
“About two hours,” says the captain.
“So anything that even delays them should help,” Helton says. “Looks like they are coming in from outside, so if we veer away, we go down that gas giant grav-well, and they have more time to catch us. Relative acceleration?”
“They look to have about twice our legs,” the scanner tech says.
“Working a good plan. Do you have anything specific on board that they might be after?”
The captain looks uncertain, almost embarrassed. “Ahem… uh…”
The purser saves him. “A shipment of Plataean goods in sealed containers, which is why we thought of you. We thought you might know about it.”
“Okay, that might complicate things. Any ship-to-ship weapons?”
The captain is aghast. “Oh, no, of course not! Our insurance policy prohibits weapons!”
“Based on my experience, I’d say that a good defense is worth more than a paper policy.”
“But we cannot violate the terms of our insurance contract!”
“Leaving you stuck with asking me for help. Great. Juuuust great.”
