Orphans In the Black: A Space Opera Anthology

by Amy J. Murphy

  “Yes?” a woman asked.

  “I’ve come to inquire about passage to Greater Sibward,” Jon said.

  “A moment.”

  Jon waited and a short time later the hatch slid open and a woman in a ship’s jumpsuit came out. She wore a third mate’s insignia on her collar and looked Jon over with an appraising eye.

  “Passage to Greater Sibward, you said?”

  Jon nodded.

  “Four pounds seven shillings.”

  Jon looked at her askance. That was almost twice the funds he had available.

  “I was thinking, perhaps, more along the lines of one pound even,” he said, “I’ve no need of luxury.”

  “Four and seven,” the woman repeated. “I’ve one cabin left.”

  Jon’s shoulders slumped. That was it then. He’d have to find some way to sustain himself until the next ship docked and see about passage then. Unless …

  “Are you taking on hands, by any chance?”

  The woman frowned. “You?”

  “I’m not a miner. I know my way around a ship.”

  The woman looked him over. “Ordinary spacer, one and twelve the month.” She cocked her head. “Two-year contract.”

  That wouldn’t work at all—he only needed to get to Greater Sibward and see about meeting any of the family who were still there. A two-year contract wasn’t something he could commit to, nor would he want to—and he couldn’t jump ship, as that would be something that would forever stain his records.

  “I’m rated Able, at least, and could easily strike for master’s mate,” he said. He was trained, come to that, as a ship’s officer, but they’d not hire an unknown for that. “I’ve trained at Lesser Sibward Merchant here.”

  The woman perked up at that. “Graduated?”

  “Well, no, but —”

  “Transcripts? Certificates?” The woman’s voice was growing impatient.

  Jon shook his head. The school would issue those closer to graduation, and likely not to him, even if he’d qualified for them.

  “Ordinary. One and twelve the month. Two-year contract.”

  “Look, I’ll work for free—only for my passage, please —”

  “Four and seven for passage. One and twelve the month for hire. Two-year contract.”

  Jon longed to reach out and strangle the woman, but that wouldn’t get him either berth. He met her eyes and thought he saw mockery there, but there was little he could do about it. Instead his shoulders slumped and he turned from her without a word.

  “Tuppence.”

  Jon raised his eyes slowly from where he’d been examining the surface of the pub’s table. The barmaid had set his fresh glass on the table and was staring at him impatiently. Head fuzzy with the drinks he’d already had, he gave her what he thought was a charming smile.

  “Tuppence,” the girl repeated.

  Jon nodded. “Absolutely,” he said.

  He reached out for the small stack of coins on the table, his change from the single shilling he’d started with, all he’d allowed himself for the evening’s wallowing in self-pity. He took one coin off the stack, placed it on the table top, and pressed his finger firmly atop it. Then he slid the coin toward the barmaid, left it at the edge of the table near her, and repeated the procedure with a second coin.

  After four days of trying to find a ship, any ship, that might get him closer to Greater Sibward, he’d determined to get quite drunk.

  I am quite drunk.

  “Aye, y’are,” the barmaid said. “Mind y’make no trouble.”

  Jon looked up at her blinking. “Did I say that aloud?”

  The barmaid scooped the coins up and left, shaking her head.

  Jon drained his previous glass and slid his new one into its place. He grimaced at the taste. A decent beer could be had for two pence the pint … this was not a decent beer. It was a poor beer fortified with two generous shots of Blue Ruin, the vilest gin he’d ever tasted, but it was undeniably cheap and did its business quickly, which was what he was after.

  It wasn’t what he’d normally drink, but then nothing was normal anymore, was it?

  He picked up the stack of coins he had left and slowly set them down in a new stack, one by one. Four coins. Two more drinks after he finished his latest.

  “Three down, three to go,” he muttered.

  He grasped his latest and started to raise it to drink, but a hand fell on his forearm and pressed it to the table. A soft, feminine hand, which led, as he blearily moved his head to see—his eyes wouldn’t seem to obey him—a similarly feminine forearm clad in a ship’s jumpsuit of the Lesser Sibward School’s colors. Higher to a slim shoulder with just a bit of dark hair falling over it. Jumpsuit’s collar open just a bit to show a pale throat. He tilted his head back more to see … it swung to the side a bit, as he was unable to control it so well, but he did manage to bring into view a set of bowed lips, pert button-nose, and almond eyes ever so slightly slanted.

  “Kaycie?” He frowned. “It’s late. School’s locked up. You must be … hall … hallyou …” He frowned more. “Bloody dream.”

  His drunken hallucination raised an eyebrow at him in amusement.

  Well, if he was going to have drunken hallucinations, he couldn’t think of a better one. He raised his head, waiting for its wobbling to align as best he could with hers, and leaned forward.

  “Give us a kis—ow!”

  His drunken hallucination had grasped his earlobe and pulled his head sharply back.

  “You reek of gin and cheap beer.”

  Jon’s brow furrowed. Could hallucinations smell?

  “Kaycie?”

  Kaycie shook her head and sighed. “Come on, then.”

  She took the beer from his hand and set it aside, then draped his arm over her shoulders. His other arm was grasped too, and he turned to find Wyne at his other side. Kaycie slid his remaining coins off the table and Wyne hefted his bag. The two rose, bringing Jon with them.

  “There you go, mate,” Wyne said. “One foot after the other—no, bloody one at a time, mind you!”

  “I’ve three to go,” Jon murmured.

  Jon woke in a bunk, which was quite a different experience than he’d had the last three mornings.

  It is still only four, isn’t it?

  He had a sudden fear that he’d lost more than one night to drunkenness and quickly slid out of the bunk to find his tablet. That was a mistake as it set his head spinning and the small compartment he was in lurched and jumped about. He closed his eyes and sat still for a moment until his head and stomach settled. His bag was on the floor beside the bunk along with his jumpsuit. His tablet was still in the side pocket where he’d left it.

  He sighed with relief as he checked it. Just the one night lost, though how he’d managed to wind up in a private compartment he didn’t know. He’d spent the other nights wandering the shipping concourse and dozing in waiting areas. A private berth for the night cost more than he’d been willing to spend. He winced.

  Must have done it drunk. I wonder how much it’s cost me.

  He frowned. His tablet showed a message waiting.

  He’d received no messages from anyone at the school these last few days, so assumed they’d blocked his address in the school’s system for either sending or receiving anything, and there hadn’t been any ships docking from Greater Sibward that might have a message from his family.

  He opened it.

  You’re paid there for three nights, so don’t you bloody move or start to drinking again until we can get back out to you!

  Wyne & Kaycie

  PS—Bathe! K.

  That brought back his memories of the night before. His decision to drink himself into a stupor, followed by Wyne and Kaycie showing up to drag him off.

  The message made him wonder why he’d not received one before, though. They must have realized the school’s systems were blocking things and sent from their private services.

  Jon looked around the compartment. It w
asn’t grand, by any means, but it was certainly better than sleeping hunched over on a bench on the station’s concourse. He wondered how they’d found him and felt a sudden warmth that they’d bothered. It was good to know there was still someone left who cared about him. A bit of the despair he’d begun to feel left him.

  He reread the note and sniffed himself. Well, it had been four days since he’d left the school and no opportunity to bathe without using some of his limited funds—and then the drink last night, which seemed to have sweated out of him a bit.

  He took the jumpsuits and underthings he’d worn into the shower with him and washed them as best he could, then hung them to dry.

  The compartment air was chill on his bare skin, but he was loath to put on fresh clothing. He had only two laundered jumpsuits left in his bag and felt it was best to save them for when he might need to look his best when applying for a potential berth. Instead he wrapped himself in a sheet and settled onto the bunk with his tablet.

  That quickly palled, though. There were no new ships in port that he could apply to and no more news from Greater Sibward about his family. No messages. Nothing.

  He set the tablet aside and slept for a time.

  His clothes were dry when he woke, so he dressed and exited the compartment.

  The berth was one of a half dozen at the back of a small pub and opened into a short corridor that led to the common room. It was early and there were only two patrons, both spacers by their dress. A woman looked up from the bar as he entered.

  “Sooner than I expected,” she said, looking him over. “And not too worse the wear for your troubles last night.”

  Jon took a stool at the bar and grinned sheepishly. He must have looked a state being dragged in by Wyne and Kaycie the night before.

  “Yes, but a bit at a loss …”

  The barkeep nodded. “Your friends left instructions for me. You’re paid for three nights, meals included. But no drink,” she warned with a stern look, “and I’m not to serve you even if you pull out your own coin.”

  Jon bridled at that. It wasn’t as though he were a complete drunkard, and a moment’s excess could be excused, given his situation, couldn’t it? Still it was quite kind of Kaycie and Wyne to set him up like this.

  “Food?” she asked.

  Jon nodded. His stomach gave a little lurch.

  “Something easy,” he said.

  She nodded and tapped the screen before her, then went through a door behind the bar. She returned a few moments later with a plate of fruit and dry toast.

  “See how that sets, lad, and there’ll be more if you like.”

  Jon nodded his thanks and set to slowly eating.

  That and more stayed down and did make him feel a bit more human. He spent some time at the bar, drinking cold tea and pondering his circumstances, then moved back to his room as the pub began to fill.

  It wasn’t until late on the third evening that Wyne and Kaycie arrived. Jon had begun despairing that they would, as there’d been no further messages from them.

  The three went back to his compartment. Wyne took the single chair and Jon sat cross-legged on the bunk. Kaycie joined him there, her knees almost touching his.

  “How are you getting out of the school so late?” Jon asked.

  Wyne grinned broadly. “I poached a professor’s hatch code.”

  “Which one?” Jon was a bit in awe. That code would allow them to enter and leave the school compartments at will—any time of day or night. Such a code would have been the holy grail of his time at Lesser Sibward and now he was missing it.

  “Might be that Smallidge left his office and computers unlocked when he was in such a hurry to reach the loo … and hasn’t been back to them since. Something about a leave of absence …”

  Jon laughed, then sobered. He looked at his two friends.

  “Thank you. Both of you.”

  Kaycie patted his leg, which he almost wished she wouldn’t do, since her touch felt like it set him on fire. He shifted uncomfortably.

  “We tried to message you,” she said, “and didn’t know what to think when you didn’t respond. Then Wyne reasoned out that the school was blocking your address in the systems. He thought to check Smallidge’s office, which got us the code, and we came looking for you.” She frowned. “Had a time of it finding you.”

  “So, we’re here to help now,” Wyne said. “What’s the plan?”

  Jon looked at them, confused. “Plan?”

  “Surely you have a plan?” Kaycie said.

  “I suppose I’ll keep trying to find a berth aboard some ship,” Jon said. “At first I thought to take passage to Greater Sibward, but hadn’t the coin for it. They wouldn’t accept me as crew on so short a run—wanted a longer contract. By the time I was desperate enough for anything, that ship had sailed, though.” He looked down at where his fingers were picking at the sheet between his legs.

  Kaycie caught his hands in hers and shook them.

  “No, Jon, your plan.”

  He looked up and met her eyes. She seemed to be expecting something of him, but he couldn’t imagine what. How was he to plan anything other than to accept the first berth that would take him? He had no funds to speak of. Wyne and Kaycie would have a bit of their allowances, but not enough to keep him for long and he wouldn’t ask it of them. He’d had no word of his family and no way to contact them. What plan?

  Kaycie squeezed his hands again and gave him a little smile.

  “You always have a plan, Jon. Every bit of mischief we’ve been about these last two years has come from you.”

  She glanced over at Wyne who nodded at him.

  “What do you need and how can you go about getting it?” she asked. “Surely the great Jon Bartlett is not prepared to admit the universe is cleverer than him?”

  Jon looked away. She was expecting too much of him. Pranking a teacher was one thing, but for this … for this, even leaving aside the cost, he needed a ship to be bound for Greater Sibward and there were none in port. He started to say so—to tell her it was easy enough for her to say that, when all she had to do tonight was slip back into the school and then slip back into her bunk and wake to her life that hadn’t been upended as his had been.

  He paused.

  Slip back into the school. The Lesser Sibward Merchant Spacer Preparatory School. The one that taught them how to sail the Dark between star systems, along with all the bits about cargo and finances. He needed a ship.

  He caught her eye, surprised at the real concern he saw there. For a moment, he thought it might be something more, but then the corner of her mouth quirked up and she grinned.

  “That’s the look of my Jon,” she said. “You’ve got something now. What’s the plan?”

  “Bloody madness,” Wyne muttered.

  Jon had his tablet out as they marched boldly through the school corridors. This late at night there was no one roaming the halls and the prefects relied on the cameras and motion sensors to alert them. Wyne’s and Kaycie’s codes let them into the school and Jon’s tablet was still able to control the cameras. The headmaster might have locked him out of the school’s messaging system, but no one had known he’d hacked his tablet into a dozen others over the years. They’d only shut him out of the systems he’d had legitimate access to.

  “They’ll hang us, you know?” Wyne muttered again.

  “Put a stopper in it, Wyne,” Kaycie whispered.

  “It’s piracy!”

  “It’s not,” Jon said. “I looked it up. It’s only piracy if the ship’s crewed and a-space. This is simple theft. Hijacking at the worst.”

  “Simple theft of a whole bloody skiff,” Wyne said. “What’s the value? Three hundred pounds? We’ll be transported for sure!”

  “It’s only me on the hook, really,” Jon said. “They’ll never even know you two were with me once I sail it away.”

  Wyne shook his head. “You’ll never make it. It’s a week’s sail to Greater Sibward—and that’s in a prop
er ship. Two weeks in a skiff and skiffs aren’t even supposed to leave a system, you know that!” He skipped ahead of Jon and Kaycie and turned to face them, walking backward. “You’ll miss it all entire, go Dutchman, and be lost in the Dark.”

  “Wyne,” Kaycie said, “this is what Jon needs to do and I’m helping him. You either help along with me or bugger off, but either way put a bloody sock in it, will you?”

  “I’m just saying —”

  “Well, stop saying.” Kaycie ran her hand over Jon’s back. He’d noticed she was touching him a great deal—not that he minded at all, it was simply confusing him. “He needs our help, not your naysaying. Now are you in or out?”

  “In,” Wyne grumbled, but turned to walk with them.

  They made one stop at the school’s galley, loading a second bag with supplies for his journey, then made their way to where the skiffs were docked. The school’s private quay was every bit as deserted as the rest of the corridors. The half dozen hatches lining the outside of the corridor were all closed, but the viewports next to each were clear, showing the craft docked there. He’d honestly prefer to take one of the larger craft on such a long journey, but they’d be too hard to crew alone. A skiff could be crewed by one and should be able to make the trip. He had food enough, so long as he didn’t—as Wyne seemed convinced—miss Greater Sibward all entire.

  Jon checked his tablet once more. Everything was as it should be, sending out the signal so that the corridor and hatch sensors saw nothing, heard nothing, and, most importantly, reported nothing. He chose a hatch at random. All of the skiffs were the same.

  He set his bag down and examined the dock’s hatch. He’d never actually worked with any of the airlock hatches before and wanted to make sure there wasn’t something different about it.

  “Did you hear that?” Wyne whispered.

  Jon listened for a moment. Wyne was probably just being a paranoid again. Then he heard it too, a soft tap, as of someone trying to walk stealthily and putting one step down a bit too hard on the deck.

  “Bloody —”

  He looked around to find somewhere they could hide, but it was too late.