Rocketship Patrol

by Greco, J. I.

  “You think you’re gonna get away that easily?” the rent-a-speedship’s Brain asked, its voice no longer calm.

  “Love the new voice, Igon,” Cortez said, ducking through the hatchway into the life boat. She plopped down on the couch next to Igon’s former body and strapped herself in. “Took you long enough to find your way into main memory, though.”

  “Real stupid move, human, transferring me. I’m in control of the ship, now.”

  “Well, the intercom, anyway.” Cortez leaned to pull the hatch shut, yanking down the lever to seal it closed. “Just in time to enjoy the meltdown.”

  “The what now?” Igon asked.

  Instead of answering, Cortez just hit the large launch button in the middle of the life boat’s control console.

  An imminent launch siren wailed and the life boat shot out, rear-end first, from between the rent-a-speedship’s dorsal arch, throwing Cortez against the restraints that crisscrossed her chest.

  “Hey,” Igon called over the radio in the rent-a-speedship’s voice, “you wouldn’t happen to know how to stop a meltdown, would you?”

  “There is one way,” Cortez said, typing commands into her forearm, “but you’re probably not going to like it.”

  SHIP CONTROL RELAY: NEW COURSE SETTING CONFIRMED AND ENTERED.

  “I promise,” Igon said, “I’ll like it.”

  SHIP CONTROL RELAY: ENGAGE THRUSTERS [Y]ES / [N]O?

  “Okay,” Cortez jabbed her finger down on the Y. “If you insist.”

  She looked up. The FURCAP gunship was coming about to aim its weapon-bristling nose cone at the life boat. It managed to swivel a whole five degrees towards the boat before the rent-a-speedship’s overpowered thrusters lit to a searing green-white full strength.

  “Hey, who turned the thrusters on?” Igon asked over the radio. “Aww... crap.”

  After a few seconds, dead-weight inertia was overcome and the rent-a-speedship lurched forward, plowing into the unsuspecting FURCAP ship. The two ships slowly accordioned together, hull plates rippling and sliding over each other as their bulkheads twisted and crumpled. Atmosphere escaped in spurting jets. Explosions bloomed at the merge point, those explosions triggering larger and larger explosions that rapidly spread to consume both ships in a final fireball.

  Cortez instinctively shut her eyes as the expanding shockwave of super-heated plasma and debris swept over and past the life boat, shaking it ever so slightly.

  When she opened her eyes, all that remained of the two ships was a scattered cloud of debris, getting smaller and smaller as the life boat continued along its straight-line escape trajectory.

  Cortez let out a breath. “Life boat?”

  “I am here.”

  “Where’d that little bastard strand me?”

  “Drantini system.”

  “Drantini? What the hell is in Drantini?”

  “Drantini is a class five system of two inhabited worlds and fourteen worldlets, home to over seven billion—”

  “Okay, it’s a total backwater, I get it. Start scanning anyway. Might get lucky.”

  “What am I scanning for?”

  Cortez smirked thoughtfully out at the void. “A ship with a superluminal engine I can... borrow.”

  TWO

  Docking tube retracting, the massive triple-nacelled, fifteen-rocket DUPES Cruiser Rocketship 17 peeled away from the much smaller single-nacelled, twin-rocket Patrol Rocketship 8724. Cruiser 17’s rockets lit and she flicked away, leaving the patrol rocketship all alone in the barren outskirts of the Drantini system.

  “Welcome aboard, Junior Officer Loy.”

  Duffel bag slung under her shoulder and a wide-eyed mix of nervous anticipation and excitement on her open, freckled face, Dana Loy stepped out of 8724’s airlock into the corridor encircling Deck 4. Raven-haired, Loy’s athletic build was accented by the severe lines of her freshly pressed DUPES uniform. The DUPES shield on her pillbox cap was showroom-floor new, polished to give off a near-blinding reflection. “Thank you, ship.”

  “Not at all,” the ship said, its voice authoritative yet subordinate, the standard for a DUPES Ship’s Brain. “For your convenience, you may also refer to me by my service designation, 8724, or simply, Hey, Circuit Board.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry,” 8724 said. “I’m not really programmed for funny but Lieutenant Detective Hackenthrush insists I keep trying. Supposed to expand my horizons, but so far it just confuses people.”

  Loy’s brow furrowed. “Okay...”

  “Exactly like that.”

  Loy lowered her duffel bag to the metal grate of the corridor floor between two bare structural reinforcement struts. “We need to make this official, don’t we?” she asked, reaching into her uniform jacket to pull out the sealed manila envelope containing her orders.

  “If you insist.”

  “Should we wait for the Commanding Officer?”

  “I’d just go ahead,” 8724 said.

  Loy nodded and broke the envelope’s wax seal with a swipe of her thumb. “Busy man, I take it?”

  “I never said that.”

  “Okay, then…” Loy squared her shoulders, clicked her heels together, and, after clearing her throat with a demure cough, read aloud: “Dana M. Loy, Junior Officer, Probationary, of the Drantini Unified Police and Emergency Service, you are hereby requested and required to immediately and forthwith report to the DUPES patrol rocketship designated 8724, currently on patrol in Drantini system deep sector 192, and once there, to carry out all the duties and responsibilities of your oath of service under command of Lieutenant Detective Archibald Q. Hackenthrush, by order of the High Commissioner of Police and Public Safety.” She paused, looked up. “And then there’s a couple pages of authorizing policy codes and signatures—it’s okay if I skip those, right?”

  “Guess we’ll find out,” 8724 said. “Before the irony inherent in the sentiment becomes painfully obvious, congratulations, Junior Officer Loy.”

  “Thanks!” Loy beamed as she neatly folded the orders and slid them back into the manilla envelope. She slipped the envelope away into her inner jacket pocket. “Can I get a copy of that to send to my mom?”

  “You wanted to record it?”

  Loy’s face sagged. “You didn’t record it?”

  “Honestly, we get a lot of you rookies out here, and most of you end up not wanting to commemorate your time aboard. We could do it over, if you’d like.”

  “No, that’s okay,” Loy said with a sigh. “The moment’s gone. It was only my first reporting-for-duty ceremony, is all. I’ll just write mom a detailed synopsis, I guess.”

  “I’m sure she’ll appreciate that.”

  Loy nodded and smiled. “It’ll be something she can frame for the fridge. So, I guess I need to report to the Lieutenant Detective, right?”

  “Probably.”

  “He’s up on the bridge, no doubt?”

  “Lieutenant Detective Hackenthrush insists we call it a cockpit. But no, he’s not there. He’s in the mess. Which you can find by walking around this corridor until you come to the all-level access ladder, which you’ll take down one–”

  “–level, then hang a right and there’s the mess,” Loy finished for the Ship’s Brain.

  “A mind reader, eh?” 8724 asked.

  “No, nothing like that,” Loy said. “I simply studied up on your layout the moment I got the assignment.”

  “Really? You didn’t just immediately start drafting your reassignment request letter? That’s what most of rookies do once they get word they’re coming here.”

  “Not me,” Loy said. “I couldn’t be more excited than to be aboard such a classic model of patrol rocketship–”

  The sparking crack of a high-energy discharge echoed through the corridor, and Loy reflexively ducked down into a crouch, drawing her service raygun. She swiveled, scanning her surroundings over the raygun’s sight.

  “Was that beam fire?” she asked.

  “Lunch must be
over,” 8724 said.

  A spinning plastic dinner plate arced through the open mess hatchway out into 8724’s Deck 5 corridor. A moment later a yellow-blue beam lanced out after it. The beam missed the plate by feet and sliced into the bulkhead where it left a bubbling impact burn—a fresh scar atop hundreds of older scars. The plate, intact, completed its arc by bouncing off the bulkhead. It rolled away down the corridor.

  Lieutenant Detective Archibald Q. Hackenthrush stood in the center of the mess, a beam autorifle in his hands and a napkin tied over his eyes. Human, Hackenthrush was tall and quite bald, his DUPES uniform in need of a host of minor seam and patch repairs, and a major dry cleaning. “Did I hit it?”

  Next to him, Rikkan “Rikky” Ishkansti sniffed the air from under his own blindfold with a stubby pink nose. Compact, tailed, and covered in fine green fur, the Drantini native wore a DUPES uniform that was in slightly better shape than Hackenthrush’s, except for the missing sleeves – which he’d torn off at the shoulder to show off his bulging upper arms. His pill-box police cap was shieldless, and worn back-side front. “How are we supposed to tell?”

  “Intuition.” Hackenthrush lowered the autorifle. “In the spirit of fairness, let’s call it a miss, then. What’s that make it?”

  “Us, zero. Plates, twenty-seven. Do we really have to wear the blindfolds?”

  “Well, it’d hardly be fair to the plates if we didn’t, would it?”

  “Guess it still beats cleaning them.”

  “You said it.” Hackenthrush raised the autorifle, pointing it at what he could only assume was the hatchway. “All right, let’s go again. And no fancy throw this time—just toss it.”

  “Whatever.” Rikki blindly pawed at the table next to him, patting the tabletop until he found the stack of plates. He picked the top plate off the stack, brought it close to his chest, and began spinning, faster and faster. “Away!” he announced on the fifth spin, releasing the plate and sending it spinning towards the fridge in the back of the mess.

  A split-second later, Hackenthrush squeezed off a shot at the hatchway. The beam lanced out into the corridor – just grazing the top of Junior Officer Loy’s cap as she stepped into the hatchway.

  Loy let out a surprised gasp and slipped into a crouch, throwing her arms over her head.

  Hackenthrush lowered the autorifle and yanked his blindfold down over his nose. “That had to be a—” He noticed Loy crouching there, staring back at him, confused and apprehensive. “Oh, hi there.”

  “Hi?” Rikki’s ears pricked up. He pulled his blindfold off. “Well, helloooo, nurse.”

  “Heel, boy.” Hackenthrush shoved the autorifle into Rikki’s paws and stepped up to Loy. “I’m Archie. And you must be...?”

  “Dana Loy,” she said after a moment, her eyes settling on the rank insignia on his collar. A look of disbelief crossed her face. Swallowing, she came out of her crouch. A small pillar of smoke rose from her singed pill-box cap. “Your new junior officer.”

  Hackenthrush extended a hand. “Well, rookie, welcome to the boring ass-end of space, where old cops come to die, and new cops come to grow old. And then die.”

  Loy shook his hand weakly. “Thanks?”

  Hackenthrush lifted her hand to his lips and looked deep into her eyes over her knuckles. “So... wanna go make out?”

  Loy yanked her hand away. “What?”

  “Hey! No fair!” Rikki protested, throwing the autorifle onto the table and stepping up next to Hackenthrush. He pushed his paw into Hackenthrush’s shoulder. “When did we abandon our no-hitting-on-the-rookie agreement?”

  Hackenthrush shrugged at him, then turned back to wink at Loy. “The second we got a cute rookie—”

  Loy’s fist sprung out to meet Hackenthrush’s jaw.

  Hackenthrush’s head went whipping back and he went down, his legs collapsing underneath him. Next to him, Rikki let out a belly laugh.

  Panting, Loy stared down at Hackenthrush, laid out cold on the grated mess floor. “Oh my god, what did I do?”

  “Proved once again Archie’s not nearly as charming as he thinks he is.” Grinning, Rikki returned from the kitchenette wall-unit, a glass of water in one paw, a washcloth in the other. He dipped the washcloth into the water and gave it to Loy.

  “It hasn’t even started yet and my career’s already over...” Loy crouched in front of the moaning Hackenthrush, dabbing the washcloth against his forehead.

  “Relax, he’s not dead. He’s just got a glass jaw.” Rikki sipped from the glass, then waved for Loy to scoot back. As soon as she did, he dumped the glass out on Hackenthrush’s bald head.

  “–No! Leo, don’t let go of the lifeboat!” Hackenthrush came awake in a flurry, sitting up and flapping his hands in front of his water-drenched face. As he regained his wits, he scrunched his face at Loy.

  “Lieutenant,” she stammered, “I... I’m so—”

  Hackenthrush held up a hand. “Junior Officer Loy, it occurs to me that, for the sake of our sacred oath to protect and serve and our duty as officers of the law, I believe you must consider me out-of-bounds for the duration of your tenure under my command. Do you think you can suppress your obvious deep attraction to me?”

  Loy quickly nodded. “I’ll try my best, sir.”

  Hackenthrush flicked water off his nose with his index finger. “That’s all I ask.”

  Rikki leaned in close to Loy. He wriggled his ear-tips and wagged his furry eyebrows at her. “Um, so, you and me…?”

  “No.”

  Rikki’s ears flattened against his head. “Just checking.”

  “I suppose you need us to show you what controls what, eh rookie?” Hackenthrush asked as he stepped off the ladder onto 8724’s bridge at the top of the patrol rocketship. Hackenthrush stopped next to the console in front of the central, slightly-raised commander’s chair, and put his hand on it. “This is the communications array. A radio, in the common street parlance.”

  “Um,” Loy said, climbing up through the hole in the deck and stepping onto the bridge, “that’s the maneuvering jet manual controls.”

  Hackenthrush’s left eyebrow went up. “You sure?” Loy nodded, and Hackenthrush said, “Guess that explains why we always crash into a moon when I try to dial up Jack Benny.”

  “That’s the radio,” Loy said, pointing at a cluster of Bakelite-knob dials and glass-faced indicators on the inward curving wall between two exposed structural reinforcement girders before pointing at every sub-system on the circular bridge in turn. “And that’s life support control. Primary rocket controls. Secondary rocket controls. Tertiary rocket controls. Navigation. Weapons Station. Communications. Grappling hook controls. The first aid locker. Cease-and-desist immobilization transmitters. Coffee percolator–”

  “That’s a percolator?” Rikki’s head and shoulders appeared in the hole in the deck as he came up the ladder.

  “Even I knew that.” Hackenthrush poured himself a cup and plopped down in the commander’s chair. “What did you think it was?” he asked Rikki over his shoulder, raising his Galaxy’s Number One Best Cop mug to his lips.

  Rikki swung off the ladder onto the bridge. “Emergency bathroom.”

  Hackenthrush spit his mouthful of coffee out over his lap. Glaring back at Rikki, he put his mug down on the chair’s armrest. “So… rookie, you do seem to know your way around the rocketship. Can I assume you knowledge extends to all aspects of patrol work?”

  Loy blushed. “With all modesty, I graduated in the top five percent of my Academy class, with honors.”

  “Only five percent, eh?” Hackenthrush gave her a patronizing smile and hooked his thumbs into his uniform’s suspenders. His chest puffed out. “I seem to remember graduating in the top one-hundred percent of my class. Standards must be slipping at the old Academy.”

  Loy somehow managed to keep a straight face. “Yes, sir, they must.”

  “Well don’t let that worry you, rookie,” Hackenthrush said. “I’m sure you’re prepared to handle whate
ver comes our way–police work-wise, that is. The truth is, this sector’s not exactly on the prime trade lanes. Sometimes we go weeks without seeing another ship. I think the biggest challenge you’ll find yourself facing–and the dirty little secret they don’t put in the DUPES recruitment posters–is coping with the sheer boredom of space patrol.”

  “Boredom, sir?”

  “Of the most excruciating kind. The kind that can drive sane men insane, and insane men to wear their underwear inside-out. My point, Junior Officer, is that not all of the rookies we get out here eventually suffer nervous breakdowns and attempt suicide from the boredom. You may be one of the lucky ones. Try to stay optimistic.”

  “Ummm… Thank you, sir, I’ll try to remember that.”

  “It helps to have a hobby,” Hackenthrush said. “Rikki, for instance, wears his underwear inside out.”

  Rikki nodded. “And Archie is building the Leaning Tower of Pisa out of toenail clippings.”

  “To be honest, it started out as the Eiffel Tower, but gravity’s a bitch.” Hackenthrush took a silver flask from an inner jacket pocket, uncapped it, and poured a jigger of something brown into his coffee. “And of course we’re both raging alcoholics, so that helps. Do you drink, rookie?”

  “Not really, sir.”

  Hackenthrush put the flask away. “Well, then, there is something I can teach you after all, isn’t there?”

  “Excuse me, Lieutenant Detective Hackenthrush,” 8724 said from a ceiling speaker. “I’m receiving a distress call.”

  “I’ve told you before, that’s just your subconscious insecurities crying for help.”

  “From another ship,” 8724 said.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes.”

  Hackenthrush sneered up at the ceiling. “After I just made that whole speech about us not seeing a lot of action out here?”

  “Just working on my comedy timing skills, sir.”