It was. The box contained an immaculate Verboin interstellar match hand laser. It was a single-shot weapon, with an elaborately carved real wood grip obviously custom-fitted to the hand of its owner. Unfortunately, the previous owner had larger hands than mine.
The middle, plain metal box contained a worn example of an old-fashioned projectile pistol packed in plas foam. At least, I think it was; I’d only seen them in pictures. This thing had to be more than five hundred years old! I picked it up. It was twice as large and twice as heavy as a common hand laser, but I was surprised to find that the weapon’s grip, and its weight, felt somehow right in my hand. An interesting curio. I suspected the residents of Haven would be very familiar with it.
The last box was quite small, only about 8 cems by about 5, and about 2 cems thick. It was made of intricately carved silver, complete with hallmark. It took me several minutes to figure out the complicated locking mechanism, but once I did, I decided it was worth it. It contained a tiny ladies’ model needler, also in silver. It was the smallest one I’d seen, but it held a standard ladies’ model magazine holding 750 1mm hardened needles. The barrel was only about 2cems long, and the thing would be impossible to aim at anything more than two meters away; but accuracy wasn’t a concern. It was a purely defensive weapon. At a meter’s distance, those needles would chew a man’s arm off, or tear out his throat. A hit anywhere at that range would definitely take an attacker’s mind off you!
I decided to take a hand blaster. The bloody crater it would make of a man’s chest at five meters should discourage his friends. I fished out a holster belt, and a fighting knife and sheath.
Being armed wasn’t as reassuring as it could have been. Slum rats aren’t usually given weapons instruction; the only weapon I really knew how to use was the fighting knife; and this one was a beauty. Oh, it wasn’t fancy. Its pointed, double-edged blade was blackened, its handle worn. But it was an Atkins, one of the best made, and the choice of a dozen planets’ militaries. Its familiar heft and perfect balance were comforting.
“I wish you had a larger armory, Lisa,” I mused. “A security team armed with blasters and lasers would make me a lot more confident against these pellet-throwers the locals use.”
“Even if you had them,” Lisa replied, “You would have to find locals you would trust with such firepower.”
I frowned. “I think I could do that, if I could get out among the people. Of course, it’s all ridiculous. The one thing Startrader doesn’t have in cargo is weapons.” I had a sudden thought. “Lisa, can you get Adventurer to tell you if there are any weapons in her cargo? Or maybe even a larger armory than your own?”
“The only contact I can establish is over a comm circuit. I do not believe I can access classified records. However, I believe I can bypass the security protocols, and register you as her Captain. But I cannot simply delete the security systems, only bypass them.”
I nodded. I’d been thinking, and I had the glimmering of an idea. “Do it. Get me those codes so I can appoint myself Captain and assume total authority.”
“There is a specific protocol for the situation in which a Captain dies without passing the codes. Introduce yourself as ‘Captain’ by name, and recite; ‘command assumption, emergency protocol 4G236’.”
I nodded. “Connect me. Adventurer, this is Captain Jerd Carver. Command assumption, emergency protocol 4G236.”
“Protocol accepted,” came a voice similar to, but different than, Lisa’s. This one could have been a warm contralto, but it lacked Lisa's vibrancy. The voice was cold, dead. “Welcome Captain Carver.”
Could that really be all it took? “Transmit all current inventory records via this channel.”
“Access to inventory records requires Command or Administrator status. Remote access will require activation of Security Protocol 27-034.”
I frowned. “Lisa, disconnect from Adventurer.”
She replied almost immediately. “Disconnected, Captain.”
“Lisa, what’s all this about Security Protocol 27-034? How can I get access to Adventurer’s comp to get an inventory and to find out what happened?”
“Access to those records will require Command or Administrator status,” Lisa replied, “and it is quite an involved procedure to assume that status without providing a thumbprint. I recommend you go aboard Adventurer and request the information in person. Once you go aboard, you can simply go to any terminal, identify yourself, and order that the records involved transmitted via our comm channel. A thumbprint will be required.”
My smile was sour. “I see. Rather like your requirements for access to the armory. Does Adventurer know you’re here?”
“Exactly like that, Captain. As for whether Adventurer is aware of me, her sensors certainly detected another ship in orbit within seconds of activation. It is possible that she knows you are aboard the other ship. However, she is not a true AI. All she ‘knows’ is that she is receiving input over a regular comm channel.”
I sighed. “Good thing we activated partial life support. At least I won’t have to wear a suit. I’ll take the gig.”
I decided that the best place to interact with the comp was from Adventurer’s Captain’s office. That office was quite a bit larger than the one on Startrader. In fact, it was quite luxurious, with a large real wood desk and four comfortable chairs. A door behind the desk led to the Captain’s cabin, and I began wondering if I should move aboard! The walls were paneled in more real wood, and the bed was huge. Another, smaller desk and terminal occupied one corner of the room, and a large, ornate ‘fresher opened off another. Obviously, colonists were more considerate of their officers than trading companies!
With a sigh, I returned to the office and activated the terminal. “Adventurer, this is Captain Jerd Carver.”
An image appeared on the large screen above the terminal, a prim young woman with dark hair dressed in the style of her time. “Good day, Captain. Would you like to select an avatar for this computer? Or perhaps assign a nickname? You may select from 10,824 standard avatars, or provide a holographic image of your own choosing. Nicknames, of course, are unlimited.”
I started to refuse, and then realized that I would be dealing with two starship comps. Lisa was a full AI, but Adventurer’s comp was not. It might be handy to be able to distinguish them. I had spent weeks carefully designing an avatar for Lisa, but that was because I had two long years of time to fill. I really didn’t feel like surveying over ten thousand avatars now, though. The default would work. Even if I were distracted, her manner of “dress” would make certain I didn’t confuse them. But nicknames, now…
“The current avatar is acceptable,” I said. “As for a nickname, let’s use ‘Jane’.”
“Yes, sir. I will respond any time you use that name. How may I help you now?”
I fished out my tablet and activated it. It also produced a holo image, but this one was a sexy woman in a barely-there swim costume from Costanza. I made a mental note to change it before some local saw it. “Jane, can you interface with this tablet?”
Several seconds passed, and unusually long delay for such a large computer. “It is an unfamiliar design, Captain, with a number of unfamiliar functions and capabilities. It does, however seem capable of performing all standard functions. I can establish an interface, but I will be unable to utilize, or even access, those unknown features or capabilities.”
I nodded. “Try it. Let’s see what happens.” What happened was a flurry of error messages while the tablet adapted itself to the older comp’s more limited capabilities, but finally, Jane’s image appeared. I did think that the image was not quite as crisp as the original.
“Jane, can you accept input and instructions through this tablet?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“What about commands requiring Command status?”
Again there was a short pause. “It appears that this tablet is capable of registering thumbprints, Captain. I will be able to accept classified instruction
s through this device.”
I nodded. “Good. Let’s try it. Transmit all inventory records via the comm beam to the ship in orbit.” I mashed my thumb onto the tablet’s sensor.
There were a lot of inventory records. It took Jane almost a minute to transmit them all. Finally, she reported, “Transmission complete, Captain.”
“Data received, Captain,” Lisa reported over my comm bracelet.
I nodded. “All right. Jane, transmit all colony development plans, both the original plans and any modifications the Captain or the Colony Council made.” I didn’t wait for her to tell me; I mashed my finger onto the sensor again. This time it was only seconds until she reported transmission complete and Lisa reported receipt.
By the time I got back to Startrader, a vague idea I’d had had blossomed into full flower. I hurried back to my small office aboard the freighter, and Lisa and I spent several hours planning and arranging. Finally, she conceded that everything I wanted to do was possible.
“Oh,” I said, remembering. “What did you find out about Adventurer’s weapons? I don’t want to bring a bunch of locals up here, and have them find a cache of blasters or lasers!”
Lisa didn’t hesitate. “Full battle dress and individual weapons systems for eighty-six personnel remain, Captain. Crew served weapons include three mounted lasers, four colonial model 8mm machine guns, and two 32mm antiaircraft weapons, as well as four colonial model 200mm mortars.”
My jaw dropped. It sounded like the colony was equipped for a war! But… “What are ‘machine guns’?”
Her voice turned formal, as though moving into a training mode. “The Colonial Model 8 millimeter machine gun is a crew-served heavy antipersonnel weapon. It fires a caseless 8 millimeter round containing a 175-grain projectile. It has a cyclic rate of over 600 rounds per minute. The Colonial Model differs from the common military version in that the ammunition is designed to be produced with limited technological facilities, and the weapon can be adjusted to accommodate a wide range of propellants. Because of the propellant variations possible, muzzle velocity can vary from approximately 600 meters per second to 1200 meters per second, and accurate range varies from 200 to 1000 meters.”
I had to replay that in my mind several times before it added up. “Machine gun” was simply an obsolete term for “quickfirer”! Okay. If I remembered some stuff I’d read a long time ago, 6mm was more typical for an infantry model quickfirer. 8mm was a pretty large caliber for antipersonnel use. And I was willing to bet that those ‘antiaircraft’ things were just even larger versions. This was serious stuff! What about the ‘individual weapons’? What did people fight with 500 years ago?
I asked, and was surprised. There was actually rather an assortment, but the most common turned out to be another, smaller caliber projectile weapon. It seemed that the lasers of the time went through power packs with amazing speed. Given the choice of carrying ten kilos of power packs, good for about fifty shots, or ten kilos of caseless 6mm ammunition, several hundred rounds, few soldiers of the time seemed to prefer the laser.
I decided that those weapons would have to be removed to Startrader. My plan involved bringing locals up as semi-permanent residents of Adventurer. Human nature being what it is, they would inevitably poke around. I did not want a bunch of Cellians wearing body armor and carrying quickfirers or lasers!
“What about the Armory?”
“Access to the Armory will require registration of your retinal pattern in my files, Captain. Access to the compartment requires a retinal scan. There are additional security requirements. The compartment contains a secure terminal. Authorizations for others to have access must be entered from that terminal by you, and you must be alone in the compartment when you enter the authorization. This requirement is intended to prevent duress. If you are not alone, and attempt to enter access authorizations, the compartment will be flooded with sleep gas, and the Security Officer notified.”
I suppressed a snort. “And who is the Security Officer?”
“Third Lieutenant Jame Curt.”
“Third Officer Curt is dead,” I said. “I will notify you when a replacement is selected.” I was relieved. I doubted that even the most dedicated poker-arounder was going to be able to find and enter the armory. Besides, I was almost afraid to ask what was in there!
I took advantage of my return trip to Adventurer to remove many of the weapons, and to give Jane a bunch of high-priority orders that I hoped would protect both her and me from smart-ass neighbors!
********
Finally, I was able to climb aboard the Captain's gig, and a robot-piloted cargo lifter followed me down to my new home on Haven. The cargo lifter was full of personal comfort and security items; the power receptors had come down nearly a month before. The gig carried half a dozen servitor robots and me. They would unpack and set up my living quarters. They would also serve me as needed. There were some human servants in the compound, of course, but they were mostly helpers and tended the 'staff' – the guards and my agent 'assistants'. All this security was irritating, of course, but I grew up in a slum on Trask. I have a low, suspicious mind, little faith in my fellow man, and a strong instinct for self-preservation.
My quarters were actually larger than they needed to be, but in addition to my bedroom and a living area, I needed a small office for me, and a larger, outer office for my 'assistants'.
Even while negotiations were still ongoing concerning the International Zone, the six nations on Haven had begun forming a ‘Council of Governments’, Supposedly to monitor and administer the new International Zone. Its actual purpose, of course, was to enable the members to keep an eye on each other, and make sure no one was getting more than the others.
Representation was apportioned by population, from New Home’s four representatives to Refuge’s single delegate. Refuge had refused to reveal population numbers, claiming they never tried to find out how many people they had. They were awarded one delegate as a ‘courtesy’.
The Council of Governments, or ‘Planetary Council’, as it almost immediately became known, had no real power or authority. I hoped to change that.
I was invited to the inauguration ceremonies, of course. They could hardly have left me out. They were held in our compound, the Council’s area of responsibility, almost as soon as construction was complete. I was even invited to speak. I suspected that at least some of the nations would come to regret that invitation when they heard what I had to say.
I looked out over the 14 faces. It was really odd. At least four of the nations were jealous of New Home’s assumption of seniority. Yet, when the time had come to select the first nation to occupy the revolving Chairman position, New Home had been elected almost without discussion. This gave New Home an extra vote in case of a tie. I had a feeling the others would come to regret that, too.
I was nervous. I had no real experience in public speaking, and I was about to tell them some things they wouldn’t want to hear. “Gentles, I’m not a public speaker,” I began. “So please forgive me any grievous errors.
“I am truly honored and delighted to be at the inauguration of Haven’s first international, intergovernmental Council. I foresee a large and important purpose for this organization in the future.
“While this impressive compound was being designed and built, I was also busy, but in space. I’d like to inform you that my robots have refueled and reactivated Adventurer. I’m sure you’ll be delighted to hear that she is almost completely functional. That means that two starships now orbit Haven. With the help of Startrader’s Artificial Intelligence, Adventurer’s comp has accepted me as her new Captain.”
A murmur began to build when I mentioned Adventurer’s reactivation. But when I mentioned that I was now her Captain, the murmur became nearly a roar. For over 500 years, Adventurer had been a symbol in the sky; an eternal presence, like some remote, unapproachable monument from the past. Now a stranger, an interloper had appeared from nowhere and assumed control of their monu
ment! They were outraged.
Finally, the roar subsided to a few shouted comments and questions. I simply waited, ignoring them until it was once again quiet enough to talk.
I shook my head. “I have no intention of stealing Adventurer, or of controlling her. Adventurer belongs to Haven. She belongs to you, and all her remarkable resources are your heritage. No, I assumed the Captaincy because though highly advanced for its time, her comp would not accept input or orders from anyone else.
“I have learned that standard colony planning involved the colonists building a landing cradle, and the ship grounding. Once grounded, she could never lift again, but the intent was that her comp and the supplies aboard her would help the colony’s development for more than a century. I have no idea why the plan was not carried out here; certainly, the ship was properly shut down. But I’m sure some historian will find out in short order.
“You all know that Startrader’s AI is far in advance of Adventurer’s comp. But I have discovered that Adventurer’s comp and resources will be far more valuable to Haven than Startrader’s. My ship’s AI will be of the most value in a few centuries, when our planet has reached the limits of Adventurer’s comp, or that comp finally fails. Yes, Startrader’s memory banks are larger, and more advanced. But Adventurer’s contains far more useful information for growing a colony at Haven’s stage of development.
“Ever since I arrived, we have heard much talk about the wonders I could bring to Haven. But no one has been able to suggest the best way to bring about those wonders. Well, I have a proposal that I think will benefit all concerned.
“Unfortunately, I must also consider my own safety and security. I intend that the people of Haven have access to the information and resources aboard Adventurer, and I have worked out a way to give them that access. But please understand that there will be limits.
“Startrader is my refuge, my safe harbor. As long as I am the only person on Haven who can boost into space, I always have a place to safety to which I can flee. As soon as one colonist, one Havener learns to operate a shuttle, my security is gone.
Stranded on Haven Page 6
