Mission Pack 3: Missions 9-12 (Black Ocean Mission Pack)

by J. S. Morin

  When Cedric’s turn came, he set down an empty mug of his own and signaled their waiter for a refill as he stepped to the line. His first shot stuck in the twenty-point slice, followed by a five and a one. It still had Mort beaten by a comfortable margin. “We’re both shit at this. Why’d we agree to darts?”

  Mort gestured at Cedric with his mug. “You didn’t spend enough time at The Lamb and Flag. What’d they teach you at Oxford, anyway?”

  “Taught me a helluva lot more’n you. Studied my ass off, I did. Learned a trade. Made me respectable, you disreputable old badger. And I’d thank you not to disparage me in front of the lady.”

  “You’re the one who said we’re shit at darts, not me.”

  “And you implied I’d misspent my time at university. Bad form, old man.”

  Esper watched with a smile. Sure, they were arguing, but they were drunk and happy. This was the sort of healthy discourse that estrangement precluded.

  “Bah, you had the Brown name. You could have coasted through Oxford and still had your pick of posts on the far side. Should’ve spent those youthful years on beer and young wizardesses.”

  Cedric eyed his refill accusingly. “It wasn’t as if the vaunted Brown name was all rose petals and fairy dust, you know. Any sign I was a bad apple and I’d have your name whispered behind my back. Fifteen generations of Browns at Oxford, and I get to sweep up behind you like the poor fellow at the back of a parade with horses.”

  “Better than elephants,” Esper muttered to her beer. She hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but she also hadn’t intended to do much more than sip at her drink.

  “And that’s another thing,” Cedric said. He addressed Mort but swung his mug in Esper’s direction, sloshing the contents. “Where you get off taking on an apprentice? You put that poor woman up to signing Esper on the books, but she’s yours. And you know what everyone says behind the backs of graybeards who take on girls like her? I mean… just look at her and tell me the first proper thing about you and her being master and apprentice. The worst thing is, she’s clearly got a head between her ears—real potential. And you’re just slapping an education together for her out of mud and twigs. No, wait. The worst thing is she’s got it bad for you. Thinks the world of you, clearly.”

  Mort’s drunken haze began to wear off. Or at least, he stopped gently swaying on his feet and his eyes regained their focus. “It’s not like that.”

  Cedric set down his beer and planted both hands on the back of a chair. He gazed up at Mort with a shrewd squint. “All right, then. Twenty years on the run and traipsing around the galaxy with women half your age. Tell me truthfully, then: how many half brothers and sisters have I got? Five? Fifteen? A hundred?”

  Esper had it drilled into her head that confession was good for the soul. But right now, confession might have been disastrous for the pub and its patrons. The last thing they needed was to get into a magical dust-up right in the middle of Connor O’Reilly’s.

  Mort drained his mug and slammed it on the table. “None.”

  “None… that you know of.”

  “I’m a wizard in full control of my faculties and twice-familiar with the process of fathering children. You have one sister, Cassandra, and neither deception nor negligence nor wanton hedonism would have that number increase an iota.”

  As a math teacher, Esper was sensitive to the difference between whole numbers and fractions. An iota’s worth of children seemed to imply some sort of partial quantity she didn’t want to try imagining. Why couldn’t Mort stick to more accurate phraseology instead of adding flowers and filigree? But it was time to step in and lend what little aid she could to familial relations. “I can only vouch for me, but he’s never so much as tried.” She wasn’t tipsy enough to mention that trying probably would have been all he needed. But for the same reason that defense attorneys kept mum about their clients’ wishes for a victim’s death, Esper left out that irrelevant tidbit.

  Cedric deflated. “All these years, I wondered why Mom never went through with a divorce. She could have gotten one easily enough. Hell, the Convocation might have been willing to declare you legally dead if Grandpa gave them a wink and a nudge. I never knew what she saw in you, after all you’d done…” He shook his head.

  Stepping around the chair between them, Mort wrapped his arms around Cedric. “There’s no replacing your mother. As for me? I’m a pretty amazing guy.” That elicited a weak chuckle.

  They drank and swapped stories. Cedric was calmer and less confrontational. Mort let some of the varnish off their adventures. Esper did her best to stay sober enough to find the ship.

  When the bill came, Cedric spoke up. “I’ll handle this.” He peered down at the waiter’s datapad, staring as if the numbers were somehow foreign for being on a technological screen. “That much, huh? Well, no harm. Put it on the tab.” He held up a hand and displayed the Convocation insignia.

  “I’m sorry, sir. We don’t accept Convocation credit here.”

  “Why the bloody hell not? The Roquefort Inn took credit. The Catalina Cantina took credit. I want to see the owner.”

  The waiter retreated, and a middle-aged woman in an Earth-style business suit came out from the kitchen. “What’s the problem?”

  “Your waiter is refusing to take the Convocation’s promise of payment.”

  The owner didn’t scowl or snarl as Esper had expected. Her face remained impassive. “The Convocation owes over twelve thousand terras worth of unpaid bills for their members. They disputed the validity of the claim, dating back to a rather vibrant night of carousing some eight months ago by several traveling members of their organization. I have a business to run. I can’t be extending credit with no hint when it might ever be repaid.”

  “But I haven’t got this kind of money!”

  Mort chuckled. “I’ve got this.” He reached into a pocket and drew out hardcoin terras in excess of the amount they owed.

  Esper blinked and tried to focus on the denominations that Mort had leftover. “Where’d you get that kind of money? I thought we were all broke.”

  Mort shrugged. “I’ve been telling you all for years that I’ve been holding out on you. What? You thought I was joking? C’mon. Let’s get out of here before I fall asleep in my shoes while they’re still walking.”

  “Wait… those weren’t…”

  Mort wrapped an arm around Esper’s shoulders. “Yep. Carl’s not the only one who can’t tell a real terra when he sees one.”

  # # #

  The crew convened for a brainstorming session in the common room. Everyone not off carousing with the wizards was there, even the newcomer robot. Beer and ideas flowed freely as they got down to planning their next big score.

  “Maybe we crack open the idea of stripping the Odysseus for parts,” Roddy suggested. “I mean, originally we thought we’d be rolling in terras long before now. What’s the point of keeping all the new toys if we go broke?”

  Juggler choked on his beer. “You nuts? Anything with a need-to-know-only clearance starts to show up on the black market—even out past nowhere—you can bet Earth Interstellar will catch the signal. Only a matter of time from there until they backtrack Ithaca’s location.”

  “Please. Cut the advert,” Yomin said. “Those data farmers couldn’t find a comet if you showed them the tail. The joint ARGO intelligence division on the other hand… those guys might be a problem.”

  Carl considered the implications on both sides. Sure, lotta those gizmos and subsystems were worth a shiny doubloon or two out in the shady side of the Eyndar/ARGO Demilitarized Zone. But they’d be picking their own bones for scraps. “Nah. If we’re in this long term, that stuff’s better off in our hands. Never be able to replace the kind of gear we’ve got access to right now. Just think how easy it was for Yomin to bribe the locals to let us track down Archie.”

  “That was all skill,” Yomin muttered. Archie glowered at her. Probably still a sore subject between them. But that would be water under th
e bridge soon, considering the rate those two seemed to be building bridges.

  Amy raised a tentative hand. “Why not just go through with the original plan? I mean, we’re in on the scam now. We just pick up where Archie was going after he tried cutting us out. Archie, maybe if you explained where things were going from there…?”

  The robot’s head swiveled toward her, then he straightened. “Well, yes. I suppose.” Archie approached the holo-projector, using the inert pedestal as a makeshift lectern. Carl winced at the noise he made trying to imitate clearing his throat. “You see, once I secured the real McCoy, I was going to use some tricks I’ve learned from scientific alchemy—”

  “We modern sentients call it ‘chemistry,’” Roddy sniped from behind a beer can.

  “…to concoct a ‘solution.’” Archie made quotes in the air with his fingers. “This false oil of earth and living essence I would then repackage within identical containers and sell to Harmony Bay through an intermediary.”

  “So who was this intermediary?” Carl asked. Without a name or comm ID, Archie wasn’t any farther along in converting goo to terras than they’d been.

  “Oh, I have innumerable contacts within Harmony Bay’s adjunct and support organization. I’m sure that with diligence and patience, we’ll find our vector to aim this arrow at the heart of the beast.”

  Carl perked up. This could be what they’d been looking for since coming into possession of that primitive pond scum. “So you’re connected?”

  “Well, not connected, per se. Not yet at the very least. But I have names.”

  “So you know their organization?”

  “A few. Mostly administrative. But the ones I was referring to are non-corporate. Or at least, not Harmony Bay corporate.”

  A dull ache began to form in the part of Carl’s brain that processed other people’s convoluted schemes. “Wait, so after all this… you’re still not actually in contact with a buyer at Harmony Bay?”

  “Not as such. My acquaintances there were mainly involved in research and administration, not procurement.”

  “So, your grand scheme of sticking it to the company that stole your body is to scam one of their middlemen out of a couple million terras.”

  Archie let out a single guffaw. “If I was lucky. I was the only one to give you a sniff of that price, and I talked you down. I was planning on taking Harmony Bay for a million even, and even then, I’d have been willing to negotiate.”

  “…so a company worth trillions maybe takes pity on an otherwise reliable supplier and covers their loss. Buddy, you’re shit at this business.”

  Huddled in his human disguise, Archie shifted uncomfortably. “Admittedly, I’ve had less than stellar results in my—what was that? Was that the cargo bay door?”

  Roddy waved off the question. “Nah, cargo bay door’s way louder than that. You’re probably hearing some other boat in the next hangar. I know my ship.”

  Carl slouched back on the couch and put his feet up on an empty Earth’s Preferred crate. “Not for nothing, but money’s money. If we come up with a half-baked scheme to turn this rotten job into anything worthwhile. I say we do it. Maybe it’s not two million terras, but even a half mil is nothing to kick out of bed.”

  Archie’s head snapped around toward the cargo hold door once more. “I’m sure I heard something that time.”

  “Can’t be,” Carl replied. “Esper brought a comm. She’s gonna warn us when they’re on their way back.”

  # # #

  It was a wobbly walk back to the Mobius. Esper and Cedric each had one of Mort’s arms draped over their shoulders. By both local and Earth Standard Time, it was the wee hours of the morning. That didn’t stop the two inebriated Browns from laughing uproariously at one another’s jests and speaking at volumes that they hadn’t needed since leaving the ambient din of Connor O’Reilly’s. As the sober one of the group, Esper was mildly embarrassed on their behalf, since both of her companions were already as red-faced as they were liable to get.

  “Now shush,” Mort said as they approached the rear of the Mobius. “It’s late, and this ramp thing makes two rackets if it makes one.” Waggling a finger, the cargo ramp inched its way open as if tiptoeing. It had probably never been so quiet. The end of the ramp touched down with a gentle thump.

  “I should get going,” Cedric said. “But… mind pointing me to a washroom? I need to… wash.”

  Mort slapped his son on the back. “Up the stairs, cross the common room, hang a left at the end. You can use my quarters. And there’s no shame just admitting it when half a gallon of beer makes you need a good piss.”

  With a curt nod, Cedric hurried through the cargo bay and up the stairs. Esper watched him go, glad to have forewarned the crew so that they could get Archie out of sight in time. She was pretty sure she had sent a comm. The crew knew they were coming, of course. Because Esper had taken the comm out of her pocket, right there outside the pub, and called. She had talked to… who, exactly? “Mort, did I make a comm just as we left Connor O’Reilly’s?”

  “You brought a comm along on a wizarding night out? Why would you do a daft thing like—?”

  “Cedric, wait!” Esper shouted. She extracted herself from beneath the dead weight of Mort’s arm and bolted for the stairs. But there was just no time to stop him. His hand was already on the door handle. It opened, and Cedric froze.

  “Robot!”

  Esper squeezed her eyes shut and insisted that the universe was fine just the way it was. There was no need for excess magic. Nothing needed to be squooshed or kerfuzzled. Nobody needed to be set on fire or thrown through solid walls. Status quo. Default settings. A-Okey-Dokey with the way things were right that minute.

  Shouts of alarm erupted from the common room. She could feel the universe twisting beneath her tenuous grasp. But it wasn’t like before. At the pub, Cedric had wrested control of the universe from her with ease, making her precision-aimed darts dive and swerve. This time she wasn’t alone. Archie no doubt wanted his mind to remain intact far more urgently than Esper.

  “Cedric, stop!” Esper shouted. She caught up with him in the doorway and tackled him. It was possible that, being drunk, Cedric’s balance was already tenuous. It was also possible, that being a gangly academic type, he wasn’t used to confrontations devolving into fisticuffs. It was even possible, despite having grown up with an older sister, that he was completely unprepared to be attacked by a girl. But whatever the cause, Cedric went to the floor like she’d hit him with a stun rod.

  The wind exited Cedric’s lungs in an involuntary burst. His arms sprawled out to his sides, and his face smacked into the steel, cheek-first.

  “Archie, run!” Yomin shouted.

  The robot didn’t need to be told twice. With coordination and speed that were at odds with his persona as a dispossessed elderly wizard, Archie darted past the two wizards wrestling on the floor. Out the door. Over the railing in a single bound.

  The lights in the common room blinked out as Esper was thrown from atop Cedric. For a moment, she was pinned to the wall by an unseen force. But it lasted only long enough for Cedric to regain his feet and make it to the door. “That thing can’t be allowed to live. It’ll destroy us all. You! You’re in league with it, aren’t you?”

  Esper caught up with Cedric in time to see him level an accusing finger in Mort’s direction. “This is why you had me off the ship. So you and your friends can plot with robots to get you revenge against the Convocation!” He tore off in pursuit of Archie, who had already disappeared down the cargo bay and into the habitat dome.

  Mort stood and watched as she passed, but Esper grabbed him by the shirtsleeve. “Come on. We can’t let Cedric kill Archie.”

  With a long-suffering sigh, Mort’s shoulders slumped. “I suppose we can’t.” He fell in behind Esper as she raced off after Cedric, though she outpaced him. There was no helping that, since she’d never get to Cedric in time carrying Mort, and there was no hurrying a drunken wizard.


  She paused at the exit to the hangar assigned to the Mobius. The late hour kept the hum of human activity to a minimum, and she was able to pick out the sound of running footsteps in the direction of the plaza. She tore off after them.

  What had she done? She had been given one assignment: let the crew know when Cedric was coming back. She could have sworn she’d done it. She meant to. She knew exactly what she was going to say and how to make it sound innocuous in case Cedric was listening in. But in all her planning and preparation, she’d let Archie get ambushed by an AI-biased young wizard.

  She was faster than them. With no one arguing against her, it was easy to convince the universe that Esper was lighter and quicker than the laws of physics would have preferred. It wasn’t long before she caught up to Cedric.

  Mort’s son had cornered Archie in a blind alley. The robot’s attempts to wrest a locked door off its hinges were meeting with no success. “How are you resisting me, computer? What dark science can fight back against the old ways?”

  “I’m a wizard, you daft kindergartner. Quit trying to discorporate me any worse than I already am. And bloody me, would someone open this damn door?”

  Esper lent aid to Archie’s efforts to steady the local science, but Cedric’s will was so strong. She closed her eyes and tried to push distracting thoughts of danger and tragedy to the back of her mind. What was that mantra she’d created on Ithaca? Remember all those lovely photons; give us back our wayward protons; electro-neuro-bio-light; magnet-o-quantum powered flight.

  A rough hand on her shoulder startled her during her third repetition. “Cut that out. You’re protecting an abomination.” Cedric shook Esper and broke her concentration.

  “Get your hands off her.” A cold chill ran through Esper’s veins. All signs of drunkenness had vanished from Mort. He stood glowering at the entrance to the alley. Cedric stumbled back, slipping in a puddle of condensation and falling on his backside. “I’ve been remiss in failing to teach you the proper way to treat a lady. I regret that no one else stepped in and taught you.”