by J. S. Morin
A grin spread on Mort’s face as the adversary he’d hoped for stepped into view. “All right, Belly? Been long enough. Wouldn’t have picked you for a science man.”
The sausage-shaped wizard with the eagles’ nest beard stood there a moment. “Egads, man. Is that you, Morty?” Bellamy said after recovering himself. “Heard you’d gone bad, but never suspected this bad. You work for pirates now?”
Mort leaned at ease against his staff. “Come off it, Belly. This lot’s worse than anything I’ve done. Maybe you can turn a blind eye and collect the terras, but I’ve seen what Harmony Bay’s up to, and I suspect I don’t know a crocodile’s nostril compared to what’s below the surface.”
Bellamy kept himself back with the dead engine shielding him from a clear line of fire to Mort—and vice versa. He retreated at a pace that matched Mort’s slow advance. “I’ve got a duty to discharge here, Morty. Walk it off and I’ll see about letting them go easy on you.”
“Right, Belly. Harmony Bay’s going to laugh this off as a joke. ‘Haha, what a whimsical prank, boarding one of our ships. You really had us going for a minute there.’ Not in a tesud’s lifetime. But I’ll make you a deal. Pack yourself up in some little capsule and blow off this boat.”
But instead of answering, Bellamy did something Mort never would have expected. He pulled a blaster from inside his robes. “Sorry, Morty. The golden boy’s run ends here. Don’t say I didn’t give fair warning.”
“You’re still sore about the 2528 finals.” The day Mort cowered before a blaster would be the last day he called himself a wizard. More scientific men than Bellamy Blackstone had pointed those damned thing at him, and none of them had any better luck than Bellamy would.
“This has nothing to do with bowling.”
Mort laughed from his gut. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re going to pretend that spitball shooter can hurt me just because you won’t surrender to the guy who took the captaincy from you.”
“Should have smelled you out back then, Morty. A politician and a scoundrel from the beginning. Maybe if I’d knocked some sense into that skull of yours when I had the chance, you wouldn’t have spiraled to your current depravity.”
Mort picked up his staff and spun it once like a baton. “Like to have seen you try it. I’d have shined my bowling shoes with that beard of yours. Try it now, though, and I’ll be bowling with your skull.”
Bellamy held his ground this time as Mort approached. “You don’t get it yet, do you? I’ve got you dead to rights.”
Mort hung his head and sighed. “The number of times I’ve heard that…” Thrusting with his staff, Mort unleashed the fires of hell itself. The intensity was blinding but only at first. Mort felt the smothering, wet, claustrophobic pressure of Bellamy’s denial. The bastard was telling science that it had the right of way, and the universe was swaying under his influence. Flames flickered and died away, and Bellamy stood there, blaster in one hand, the other waving away the foul fumes of scientific systems that had melted in the heat.
Bellamy coughed. “That the best you’ve got? I’d heard you were a murderous bastard, but never that you were this weak.”
He was boasting. It was always easier stopping magic than starting it. The universe loved the status quo. Otherwise, every Jack Spratt and his brother would be using magic. Mort was just used to being the moon-crushing force that bowled over those lesser wizards anyway.
Closing his eyes, Mort took a deep breath and concocted his most diabolical conundrum. He compared the relative sizes of Bellamy and the Bradbury and posited that they must, of course, be near the very center of the ship’s gravity well. So close must Bellamy be, in fact, to that mathematical centerpoint, that—
A blaster shot snapped Mort’s attention to the situation at hand. Bellamy’s shot had hummed past Mort’s ear. The logical and mathematical puzzle that Mort intended to construct fell before the realization that he didn’t have that kind of time. He willed the air in front of him to warp and twist. Bellamy’s second shot swerved and corkscrewed into the wall.
Bellamy slapped at the side of the blaster, as if it were the device’s fault. “Bloody thing. Hit him!”
Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Mort shifted tactics. Still maintaining the barrier of convoluted air before him, he rushed Bellamy. If his old staff was good enough to take the likes of Devraa, it could do just as well with Bellamy Blackstone. He was only four bounding steps away.
Bellamy looked up wide-eyed at the charging Mort. He brought up the blaster and squeezed off a shot. It slammed into the floor between them. Mort was two strides away. He raised the staff for as heavy a blow as his arms could manage. Bellamy fired again.
Mort’s breath caught in his lungs. It burned. He fell to his knees, clutching his stomach. The staff clattered to the floor. Mort stared up at Bellamy in disbelief. He was Mordecai The Brown. That little blaster couldn’t have done this. He toppled onto his side and lay there, feeling a cold sensation creeping through him even as a pinprick of pain burned in his guts.
“But I’m…”
“You Prometheans all think you’re so deadly. Sometimes the ability not to do magic is the greatest power of all.”
# # #
Esper heard the roar of flame. She heard the blaster shots. Sensing that the conflict was drawing to a close, she approached to within earshot. She heard the body fall, the staff clatter, the wizard boast. Something inside her went cold, and her muscles acted without asking permission of her conscious mind.
She charged in. The metal-grated floor clattered enough to wake the dead beneath her feet. Bellamy stood there over Mort, aiming a blaster pistol down to finish him off the second he was done gloating. Her headlong rush caught his attention, and he chuckled. “I’m fine, no thanks to you. This is how a proper ship’s wizard does his—hey, wait a second. What are you—?”
Esper’s fist moved faster than the wizard could react. All of her worry and fear poured into the muscles of her shoulder and arm. Her fist grew heavy as lead and harder than steel. Bone crunched. Blood sprayed. A blaster fell to the floor, clattering to rest beside an Earthwood staff. Bellamy dropped to the floor, dead before his limp weight hit the steel grating.
Ignoring the Harmony Bay wizard, Esper was at Mort’s side in an instant. “It’s all right. I’m here. I’ll heal you.”
Mort squeezed her hand. His grip was gentle, but that seemed more weakness than tenderness. “Too late for me.” His voice was whispered grunt.
“Nonsense. I’ll just—”
“Won’t work on me,” Mort said. “Instinct. I’d resist by reflex. Till… too late.”
Esper slid her arms beneath the wizard and lifted him like a child. “Well, this is a medical ship. There’s a tip-top med bay, and Shoni can—”
“No.” Mort breathed quick and shallow. His face was beading with sweat. “Time.”
Tears blinded Esper. “I can’t just let you… go.” She knew there was no hope of Mort ascending in his current state of unrepentance. There had to be a way to save him long enough to find grace.
“Tome. Take me. Inside.”
Esper’s mind swam against a maelstrom current. Of all the things she had read in the Tome of Bleeding Thoughts, this was the one she had always assumed primarily responsible for its place among the Plundered Tomes. If Mort had used it—as she long secretly feared he had—then that was one giant step farther from redemption. She couldn’t just follow along in those bloody footsteps.
“No.”
“Must. It’s how. I saved. Grandfather. Why I did it. In the first. Place. Now you. Save both of us.”
Esper stared down at the wizard in her arms. His head lolled. He stank of cooked flesh. The burnt hole in his stomach was seeping blood everywhere. He wasn’t going to last much longer.
Tears trickled from the wizard’s eyes. “Please… I’m scared.”
It was the final straw. Esper laid the wizard down and took a shuddering breath, pausing to wipe her ey
es clear on her sleeve. Then, with shaking hands, she placed the tips of her fingers against the sides of Mort’s skull.
And killed him.
# # #
The lights were blinking back on by the time Carl and his entourage reached the bridge. They were greeted by blaster fire and took cover.
“I think you’re firing at the wrong guy,” Carl shouted from around the corner. “I’m the guy selling tickets off this cruise.”
“You’re not taking this ship,” came the reply.
“Tickets?” Roddy whispered. “Who puts you in charge of this shit?”
Carl ignored the laaku. “I’m selling two different packages. One comes with a seat on a shuttle and a standard human life expectancy. That one costs you those blasters and a few hours’ inconvenience. The other is out the airlock, and that one comes with about five minutes of fear and pain thrown in for free. What’ll it be?”
“Not buying. Our ship’s wizard is on his way. You’ll get a better deal surrendering to us instead of letting him get a hold of you.”
“See those lights coming back on? That means it’s over. Your wizard’s dead and mine is on his way. He killed more wizards than anyone since…” Carl snagged on the fact that he had no idea how to finish that sentence. “Sauron.” He blinked, wondering if he’d hung around Mort too long or if everyone knew old flatvid wizard holos.
“Amy, you there?” Roddy spoke softly into the comm. “Is Yomin back yet…? Good. Put her on… Listen, patch in to the Bradbury’s shipwide. Give ‘em a rundown on what’s what… No, I don’t care… Fine.”
“What was that all about?” Carl asked.
Roddy pointed up to one of the public announcement speakers.
“Bradbury crew, this is former data warfare specialist Yomin Dranoel. By now, you’re probably realizing that this isn’t your ship anymore. All your wizards are either dead or surrendered. There is no one coming to save you. We’ve taken over from the inside, and our clean-up force is willing to spare anyone who surrenders without a fight. But despite the risk of further damage to this ship, we will be taking full control and evicting all Harmony Bay personnel. Please refer all questions to this vessel’s new owner, Carl Ramsey, head of the Ramsey Syndicate.”
Shoni shook her head. “We could be in real trouble if that Bellamy fellow can work a comm panel.”
Carl shot her a wink. “Don’t worry. I know Mort. He’s taken care of Bellamy by now. I’ve got this.”
With that, Carl holstered his blaster and stepped around the corner, hands held out to his sides. “What’ll it be, boys? This job worth dying for?”
# # #
Carl toured the bridge appraisingly, running his fingers over the smooth, glossy surfaces of the tactical stations, feeling the padding of the captain’s chair, and admiring the view out the forward window that afforded him a panoramic look at the fleet of escape pods drifting away from the Bradbury.
“You won’t get away with this,” Captain Dominguez said. She kept her chin up and her dignity intact despite the binder strips pinning her wrists at her back. “Harmony Bay will send agents after you, even if they can’t afford the exposure of sending another ship. You’ll live out your days scanning every bite you eat for exotic toxins and wondering if every strange face is the mask of an assassin.”
“Nope,” Carl said. “I’ve gotten used to living on the run. That shit rolls off my back. But you need to smile. We’ve got a message to record.”
“Ready when you are,” Shoni reported. Her datapad was good enough for this vid. It wasn’t like he was trying to win a Scorsese or anything.
Carl cleared his throat. “Citizens of ARGO, my name is Carl Ramsey. I’m the new owner of a corporate custom destroyer, formerly known as the Bradbury. It belonged to Harmony Bay, but they were naughty and let it fly into the Eyndar/ARGO Disputed Zone, which is mine. Now this ship is also mine. Because they were just following orders, the surviving crew is being shipped back to boring space, where I hope they’ll remain. Anyone who wants to come in here and do something about it, think again. Any ship belonging to Earth Navy, ARGO Joint Forces, Phabian Investigative Services, Earth Interstellar—oh, you get the idea. Anyone treaty-bound to keep out of the Disputed Zone better watch their asses sneaking in here. There’s a new sheriff in Nottingham, and his name is Robin Hood.”
The indicator light on Shoni’s datapad went out. “Who?” she asked.
Roddy put an arm around her. “We’ll watch some human stuff later. I’ll show you around the myths.”
“Silly, pretentious speeches won’t do you any good,” Captain Dominguez said.
Carl tapped her on the nose. “You know what? They don’t. But they feel so good. I’m an interstellar holovid star, so pardon the theatrics. I just can’t—”
“You were a reality holo-racing star. A blip on the radar.”
“I just can’t help myself,” Carl finished. “I am who I am. And who I am is a guy who owns a really smooth corporate custom starship.”
Roddy leaned close to Shoni and whispered loudly enough that Carl couldn’t help overhearing. “He’s going to be like this for weeks.”
Amy’s voice boomed in over the Bradbury’s shipwide comm. “Carl. Get back to the Mobius.”
“I’m a little busy gloating here. Can it wait, babe?”
“No.”
# # #
Carl jogged into the hangar to find the Mobius wedged inside with barely enough clearance for the turret. The cargo ramp was open, and Esper sat there, clutching Mort’s staff and in the same hand, his chain of office. Carl slowed his approach as a knot hardened in his gut. Roddy, Shoni, and Rai Kub piled in behind him.
“Hey, what’s the—” Roddy stopped himself.
Amy stood at the top of the ramp, arms wrapped around herself.
Carl approached Esper with footsteps weighted by dread. He leaned to one side, angling his head to catch Esper’s downcast gaze. “Esper… where’s Mort?”
She reached to her side and picked up a 2-quart specimen jar. A dull gray powered settled at the bottom. Esper lifted her head and met Carl’s look. Her eyes were red-rimmed but dry. She held out the jar toward Carl.
“If this is a joke, it’s not funny.” Carl stopped just out of reach. He couldn’t bring himself to touch the specimen jar.
Amy quick-stepped down the cargo ramp and wrapped Carl in a hug. “Carl, I’m sorry. I know how much he meant to you.”
Meant? Carl stood limp, arms pinned to his sides in Amy’s embrace. “But… Mort’s fine. He just went to deal with some penny-ante corporate wizard. He’s pulling a gag. He’s gonna walk out any minute and have a good laugh at all of us getting teary-eyed over a jar of dust.”
Roddy gently took custody of the jar from Esper. As he held it up at eye level, he tilted it to one side and watched the dust resettle. “Old bastard finally did it. Got himself in over his head. Never thought I’d live to see the day.” He spoke softly, reverently. But in the pin-drop quiet, everyone heard him.
Carl was going to be sick. Every Carl he conjured up felt the same. There was no escaping the hollowness. “I can’t believe we lost Mort.”
Esper harrumphed. “He’s not lost. I know exactly where Mort went.”
Carl stirred uncomfortably. Esper let him. If that’s what it took for him to reexamine his course in life, so be it. Let him think Mort had taken a one-way trip to hell. It wasn’t as if she could tell him where Mort had really gone.
Giving Amy a quick squeeze, Carl extracted himself. “We can’t keep this place. I’m not buying a ship with Mort’s life. Harmony Bay fucked us one time too many. I’m turning this ship into a Viking funeral barge. Once we get the engines up and running, we’ll bring this thing out of astral at one of their illegal research outposts and set it on a collision course. We’ll broadcast it on every channel in ARGO space. We’ll salvage the wreck and send Chuck Ramsey one of the ship’s commodes as a Fuck You present. We’ll… we’ll…”
A hand engulfed Carl’s
shoulder. “I’m sorry for your friend. I hardly knew Mort, but I know you were close. I think he would appreciate the gesture you propose.”
Carl took a slow breath and wiped at the corners of his eyes. Seeing everyone so downcast was rubbing off. He wasn’t crying. They were. “Yeah. He would.”
“But I have a better idea,” Rai Kub said. “If you can’t keep this ship, I know someone who could put it to honorable use.”
# # #
Mort’s funeral had been brief, with Carl officiating. It should have been Esper, but she shunted aside the duty that was hers by virtue of her tenure as a priestess and as Mort’s apprentice. Carl had known him best, so leading the service fell to him. Words were never going to do much good summing up Mort, but Carl did what he could. No conjured Carl would do for the occasion. He was simply himself. No one seemed to mind.
Unfortunately, there was still work to be done. A rescue force from Harmony Bay had to be en route to pick up their personnel. It had taken half a day to get the engines up and running and another three to reach their destination.
The Mobius crew made a shabby honor guard, but they all gathered in one of the small shuttle bays as the visiting craft’s doors opened. Ducking through a human-sized opening, Tuu Nau strode out to meet them. “Greeting again, Captain Ramsey. Please accept my condolences on the passing of your friend. Wizard Mordecai had a place of honor reserved in the next life.” Tuu Nau bowed low, so Carl didn’t have to hide his skeptical reaction. The prospects of some species’ afterlife taking the old coot was a comfort, even if Carl questioned the theological jurisdiction issues.
A second stuunji emerged, one who didn’t need to duck on the way out of the shuttle. Tuu Nau swept a hand in the newcomer’s direction. “This is Wen Luu. He will be taking command of this ship in the name of the Stuunji Exile Republic.” A collection of regular-sized stuunji ducked through the doorway behind Wen Luu.
