Pandora’s Crew (StarWings Book 1)

by Gorg Huff

  “Now, that’s a deal, Dad. That’s a deal.”

  Chapter 28

  Whether you’re dealing in wars between star systems or dealing with back alley thugs, the rule is the same: “Don’t bet what you can’t afford to lose.”

  Carol Gold, Cybrant System

  Location: Skull Station Docks

  Standard Date: 12 30 631

  Bobby sat in the ship’s boat and watched the fight in the foodmart. It was all over the net. He pushed a button and watched the vid again. Snickering, with a certain amount of glee, as Loly got shot to hell. The bitch had never been willing to give it up. Not for Bobby, anyway.

  His immediate reaction to the skipper getting it was relief. Dead, she couldn’t kill him.

  Then, concern.

  What was going to happen?

  The skipper and the first were the only ones with any real training in handling a wing ship. More importantly, the skipper was the one with the rutters. Bobby had no idea how to find a jump without rutters. The Ass was limited to local space without rutters.

  It was this thought that brought Bobby up short. The skipper had rutters. She had rutters that no one else had. That was how she got them to Donnybrook and from Donnybrook to here. It was how she was able to catch prizes away from any support. And Bobby knew where the rutters were. They were in a necklace Captain Flatt wore all the time.

  Bobby got up from the pilot’s couch and headed onto Skull Station. To the morgue.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  The morgue was five levels inboard from the rim, so the gravity was noticeably less. The room was white tile with hoses and drains, and the Tech was a middle-aged woman in green scrubs and a hair net. “Sorry, but everything on the Brass Ass is now in probate. What I heard is that it’s going to end up going to the little girl who was shot.”

  “But I ain’t talking about something on the Ass. I’m talking about Rosalyn’s necklace. It has sentimental value, you see,” Bobby whined.

  The woman shook her head and turned away while she spoke. “Pretty sure that’s covered too, but I’ll check.” She reached a desk and pressed a comm button.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Sylvia didn’t get the call. She got a note in her inbox. She almost missed its significance, but why would the shuttle pilot off the Brass Ass go directly to the morgue to get a necklace? She called the morgue. “Send me the necklace and that shuttle pilot. I’ll hear his claim.”

  A very few minutes later, a station security officer in the official tricorn hat arrived with the shuttle pilot, one Robert Jerome Li. “You can wait outside. Mr. Li and I are going to have a little chat,” Sylvia said, with a smile that would cut diamonds.

  Bobby Li swallowed.

  It took Sylvia all of three minutes to get the story out of him. He whined it.

  “The old skipper on the Ass, back when it was a Drake cutter, officially the Hind? He played rutter tag. All the time. Had this big ass collection, and he kept it in this watch fob, with a picture of his old lady on it. Fine little holo-pic engraved into the metal casing itself. After the mutiny, the skipper, ah, Rosalyn ended up with it. She scratched out the picture of old Captain Hickam’s wife so it looked like she was cut in half, but she kept the pendant. I figure it’s mine now.”

  “Not unless you’re Captain Hickam’s wife, it’s not.”

  “Please, Miss. I’m owed something. All my gear is on the Ass and you gave that to the kid, or that’s what I hear.”

  In fact, Sylvia got off the comm with her father only minutes before she got the call about Bobby Li wanting the necklace. Sylvia was amazed again at the speed of rumors in this station.

  “Let me check something.” Sylvia turned to her screen and set it on privacy, then replayed her chats with Danny Gold and Edward VI. They hadn’t asked about personal gear on the person of their attackers, but had focused on the ship. She had no doubt at all that if they thought of it they would have included the clothing and personal belongings of each and every attacker, but they hadn’t. So there was a nice legal case that this little doodad belonged to the station, not to Jenny Starchild.

  And if Captain Hickam’s wife wanted it, she could just come fetch it.

  In the meantime, Sylvia knew the value of an extensive set of rutters.

  She looked back to Bobby. “I’m sorry, Mr. Li, but you don’t have any claim on the pendant. However, I will, out of my own pocket, pay you a finder’s fee for pointing it out to me. And I’m going to see what I can do about getting your kit returned to you. But, if I were you, I wouldn’t approach King Edward, or anyone from the Pandora, about it. They are quite upset about the little girl being hurt. Something bad might happen to you.”

  Sylvia smiled again, trying to put a bit of gentleness into it.

  From Bobby’s face, she wasn’t successful.

  “I have an idea. Why don’t you wait at Mama Joany’s while I deal with the crew of the Pandora?”

  A much-chastened Bobby Li left to enjoy the favors of Mama Joany’s boys and girls until his finder’s fee ran out.

  Sylvia turned back to the comm. “I’ve consulted with my father, the system administrator,” Sylvia told King Edward. “We are inclined to see things your way, but there are some issues outstanding before things can be settled. We have to establish who we’re dealing with. You’re claiming to be the legitimate king of Franklin, and before we can deal with the later claims of reparation, we have to deal with that.”

  “I don’t see why,” said Eddy from the interview room, eyes narrowing. “What does it matter whether I’m the king of Franklin or not? I was shot at and Jenny was hit.”

  “Oh, it matters a great deal,” Sylvia said. “The king of Franklin saying that he had given no cause we must believe. But some unknown spacer making that claim after killing three regular guests of the system? That would be another matter entirely.”

  Eddy looked at her for a long three count.

  Sylvia knew that it was, at best, an iffy argument. There was no proof that Eddy—or Jenny, for that matter—didn’t call up the Brass Ass, threatening murder. But there really wasn’t any reason to believe they did, either.

  On the other hand, it would be Sylvia who would be deciding the case, so she didn’t need a great legal argument.

  “Very well. How do we handle getting me recognized as the legitimate king of Franklin?”

  “Simplest thing in the universe. We recognize you, you recognize us.”

  Eddy leaned back in his chair and looked at her. Then, after a short count, he smiled. “All right.”

  All of a sudden, Sylvia wasn’t quite so sure who was over whose barrel. The kid didn’t lack guts. He shouldn’t have rolled over like that.

  “I’ll need to contact Pandora to get all the appropriate documentation. Oh, and your people have my flechette pistol. I’ll need that as well.”

  “I’m not objecting, but why the pistol?”

  “Two reasons. My seal is in the butt, and in recognizing me as King Edward VI of Franklin, you will—of course—have to grant diplomatic immunity to me and mine.”

  Now Sylvia was actually a little worried. Dad was so busy thinking about what they were getting in being recognized by this kid that he hadn’t considered what they might be giving.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  As soon as the comm call ended, Eddy leaned back in the chair, put his feet up on the table, and started whistling again. This time it was “Strange Bedfellows,” the theme from The Succession Wars, a docudrama about the last Consolidation War.

  This has worked out surprisingly well, Eddy thought. The pirate lords of Skull System weren’t actually trained to play at the high stakes table. There were people in the Drake power structure who were going to be upset, but the smart ones, Aunt Izabella and Cousin Ferdinand, would realize that this was an in to Skull System. Potentially a way of bringing the Skull System into the Drake sphere of influence without firing a shot.

  It was less than two minutes later, one minute forty-three seconds by his in
ternal clock, when his pistol was returned. He was already talking with the Pan and Sally, working out the details of the mutual recognition and arranging for codes to provide free passage.

  Location: Brass Ass, Skull Orbit

  Standard Date: 12 30 631

  Jonathan was camping on the bridge, along with most of the rest of the crew, when they finally got an answer from the station. He was belted into the captain’s chair, but not wearing the captain’s cap. The screen lit and a young man in one of those three-cornered hats they liked here came on. “The Station authorities have rejected your claims. You have twenty-four hours to collect your personal gear and . . .”

  “You what?” Jonathan bellowed into the comm.

  “It wasn’t my decision,” said the station comm officer. “The frigging king of Franklin put in a claim based on an unprovoked attack.”

  “So fucking what? I don’t give a shit if it was the fucking emperor of never fucking land. This is our ship.”

  As pissed as he was, Jonathan wasn’t about to forget the armed men and women behind him. He didn’t trust any of them with a knife at his back, but in one way he trusted all of them. None of them were people to back down from a fight.

  “We sailed on her, fought on her, and our friends died on her. We’re the ones who brought in the freighter from Tongo.”

  “And you got paid. The ship was in Flatt’s name. If you have issues with that, you should have taken them up with her.”

  Jonathan cut the comm and turned to the remaining crew. “We ain’t leaving.”

  Not that they could.

  The Ass had a single ship’s boat. That boat was docked at the station, and there apparently wasn’t anyone on it.

  Where the fuck was Bobby?

  Location: System Capital, Roger’s World

  Standard Date: 12 30 631

  Roger Avery III read through the treaty of mutual recognition with a feeling that he had just been bitchslapped. Who was this kid? He called up the system brain. Pal had been the ship brain on the original Jolly Roger’s ship.

  “What do you think?”

  “It fits my records and offers us quite a bit, but at the same time— See this clause?” A clause of the document lit up. “—and this one.” Another lit up. “The first makes our recognition of him as Franklin’s true and rightful king a fact, but the second lets him extend that recognition to other members of his family. His family includes Princess Izabella, Archduchess of Hellespont, and Ferdinand of Drakor. That means that he can extend that mutual recognition to Ferdinand without consulting us.”

  “So we should reject it?”

  “No. Because if he does extend it, it means Ferdinand and Izabella recognize us. It’s legitimacy. But up to them, not us.”

  Location: Station Security Chief’s Office, Skull Station

  Standard Date: 12 30 631

  Sylvia saw Eddy sitting at the Station Security Chief’s desk, chatting with the chief, who was sitting on the less comfortable chair across the desk. She was going to have to do something nice for Leo, because the man hated anyone sitting in his chair.

  “Father confirms your treaty of recognition, King Edward. So now to the matter of the Brass Ass. Taking you at your royal word, the court finds that the Brass Ass and all the contents there that are not the personal property of members of the crew are forfeit to Jenny Starchild in recompense for the injury done her. Further, the personal goods on the Brass Ass belonging to Rosalyn Flatt, First Mate Jack Crandall, and Able Spacer Loly Torgo are also forfeit to Jenny Starchild. Sorry, Your Majesty, no leftovers.” Sylvia smiled.

  “What about the crew aboard?”

  “With all due respect, that’s Jenny Starchild’s problem, not ours. You might want to contact them.”

  Location: Station Medical, Skull Station

  Standard Date: 12 30 631

  Doctor Chi Hughes stepped out of the operating room and stripped the sterile gloves from his hands. The monitors still showed his patient. Jenny Starchild was lying in a low-gee section of station medical, attached to wires and tubes. The damage done to muscle and bone were the least of it. Three flechettes had hit her spine and the back of her brain, shattering vertebrae and skull, which in turn sliced through nerve bundles and parts of her lower backbrain.

  He turned to the spacer. “We did the best we could with what we had. We can do standard neural interfaces, but nothing this extensive.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  “What does that mean?” John Gabriel wanted a drink more than he had in years. He never should have gotten Jenny involved in this. They should have stayed on Bonks, where it was safe. It was all his fault.

  The doctor sighed, and said, “I’m sorry. She’s going to live, but she’s going to be somewhere between a paraplegic and a quadriplegic. She may have some use of the right arm, but the left arm, the legs, the internal organs . . . none of them are going to work the way they should. And though we can wire around some of it . . .” The doctor shook his head. “It would be different if we were on Drakar or Danworth and had an interface specialist, but . . .”

  “What did you say?” John managed, barely, to keep from grabbing the doctor by the collar, but his question came out a shout.

  “What?” The doctor took a step back, and John took a breath to get himself under control.

  Very carefully, he said, “You said Danworth. We have a Danworth cyberneticist with us.”

  “Is he any good?”

  “He designed the interfaces for the Parthians.”

  “Maybe.” Doctor Hughes nodded cautiously. “She’s your ward.” The doctor indicated a station comm.

  John moved to the comm and used his interface to set up the call to the Pandora.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Gerhard came on the screen. He was in his lab, as he usually was. “What’s your prognosis, Doctor?”

  “Not good. There was extensive nerve damage, and she lost some brain tissue to direct damage and more from swelling and oxygen deprivation.”

  John turned away as they talked, only understanding bits of the discussion.

  It must have been ten minutes later when Gerhard called him back. “We can fix her, John. It’s going to take some time to build the interfaces and the workarounds for the damaged nerve tissue, but she’ll be able to walk again.” Gerhard gave John an intense look. “The thing is, with this sort of extensive damage, it’s actually hard to avoid building in a lot of networking interfaces. She’s going to end up always—or at least almost always—plugged into Pan or Sally or her own artificial brain.”

  John felt a grin trying to emerge. The first time he even had the thought of a smile since he got the news. “Jenny isn’t going to like that. She’s still complaining some about the interface.”

  John noticed a sudden distracted look on Gerhard’s face. He glanced over at Doctor Hughes, who looked like he was going to ask a question. John held a finger to his lips. He mouthed the words “let him think.”

  Doctor Hughes nodded, and they waited. But not for long.

  “The repairs may not take all that long, after all,” Gerhard said. “Arachne is ready.”

  John glanced at Doctor Hughes, who was looking both confused and interested. “Doctor, could you excuse us for a few minutes?”

  “If it’s in regard to my patient, no, I can’t. Jenny is my medical responsibility, and I’m not going to allow some kind of unauthorized experimentation.”

  “Doc, we’re nowhere near that yet, and we won’t be doing anything that might hurt Jenny.”

  Grudgingly, Doctor Hughes left.

  “You probably shouldn’t have mentioned that in—” John started, but Gerhard interrupted him.

  “It doesn’t matter. He’s going to have to know anyway. It’s not like the interfaces for the Parthians. Actual nodes are going to have to be inserted, and connections and power supplies. We’ll need a surgeon.”

  “Doctor Schmitz, I appreciate your willingness to help Jenny, but don’t you think that we’d bette
r clear it with Captain Gold?”

  “No, I don’t. The Arachne system is my development.” The doc wasn’t waiting on John. He was calling up screens of data even as he talked. “And if using it in Jenny means we don’t have it for a new ship, then that’s what it means.” He stopped, went back a couple of screens, then said, “Though, as I think about it, using it in Jenny doesn’t mean that at all. Though it will mean that Jenny will need to live on whatever ship in which we end up inserting the Arachne system.”

  “You mean she’ll never be able to leave the ship?” John asked, on the edge of panic.

  “Yes . . . It’s complicated.” The doc pulled up another screen. “Maybe she will be able to leave the ship. It will depend on how well the reality creator can integrate with Jenny’s brain. She’ll be able to leave Arachne after she gets used to the interface . . . I think. But when she leaves and then comes back, there will be a reintegration process. No . . . there should be a reintegration process. Nothing quite like this has ever been done before. She should end up remembering what happened on the Arachne when she was elsewhere, and the Arachne will remember being Jenny.

  “John, the way this is going to work is Arachne is going to be part of Jenny and vice versa.”

  “I don’t—” John started, then reconsidered. It seemed like the doc was crossing his fingers and hoping . . . but Jenny was going to be a cripple without this. “That’s okay, Professor, as long as she’s healthy and can get out on her own.”

  They called Doctor Hughes back in and got to work.

  In only minutes, Doctor Hughes was shaking his head. “I’m not up to that sort of surgery, Doctor. For this, the surgeon is going to have to test the brain function as he moves the interface units around.” He hesitated. “There is one guy in the system who might be able to do it. He’s the Chief of Neurosurgery at Corgan Hospital. It’s the best hospital in the system.”