by Scott Rhine
“Just an asshole?”
When Reuben raised the shattered stump of the staff, Herb twisted his wrist and disarmed him. I must be really out of shape if a hundred-year-old Human can take me. “Watch it, I could’ve hurt you.”
“Nah. I dealt with plenty of armed punks as a cop. You’ve never hurt anyone but yourself.”
The truth of the statement slapped Reuben in the face, forcing him to sit atop a packing crate. “You have no idea what I’m going through.”
“Really? You’re an addict going through withdrawal. Ivy was your drug of choice.” The old man sat beside him. “I know about crazy love. When I fell for Alyssa, I had to choose between her and my job. None of my coworkers understood a cop who fell for a con woman. I gave up twenty extra years of life extension just to be by her side.”
Reuben stared at his own splayed feet, with two large toes in front that resembled an Earth alpaca. Ivy had called them his fuzzy ninja slippers. To be with her, he would have given up ever seeing another Goat again. “Maybe you do understand.”
“I also see her point of view, the age difference, and the spy thing.”
“Ivy was twenty-one, just like me.”
Herb shook his head. “Nah. She’s had the telomere treatment. She was twice your age.” The revelation struck Reuben dumb. Older than Max? Lies within lies. “People think Alyssa is a gold digger and I’m a sugar daddy—even though she’s the rich one, and I insist on living on my pension and the profits from the ice-cream store. She doesn’t recognize the books and music I loved when I was at university. Although, those cultural items are just trickling out here to the sticks, so my favorites will be popular again soon. It’s like time traveling.”
To stop the rambling, Reuben said, “You know your wife loves you. Ivy never told me. I mean, we had sex all the time, but now I realize she was using me.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really? She never told me anything about herself. I had to find out important stuff from her friends. She was my first and only love, and she screwed around on me!”
Herb shrugged. “As an agent in the field, sometimes you don’t have a choice in these matters. I know how hard it is to keep secrets. You have to build walls, or the people closest to you could guess. She never wanted to hurt you. In fact, she took a beam weapon for the team. From my daughter, I know Ivy loved you as much as she was able and more than she was allowed. Everybody has a different love language. My wife wasn’t effusive early on because she wanted to be authentic. Cons don’t want to use the same lines on their loved ones that they do on marks. Ivy was also afraid of judgment. She’d been with a lot of men. Just think of her as the guy in the relationship.”
“That’s all kinds of wrong, dude.”
“You’d still do anything for her. That’s why you’re so angry. It’s not her you hate. You hate yourself for holding out hope. I’ve been there. You can’t choose who you fall in love with, but you still have to do what’s best for them and fulfill your duty.”
Reuben turned his face toward the exit, ashamed. “She reported every intimate detail of my life to her sisters and handlers—things even I didn’t know. I listened to some of the recordings.”
“Hoo, boy. That’s a tough one,” Herb admitted. “Especially out of context or incomplete.”
“How could context possibly make this betrayal right?”
“Did you listen to her last message?”
“No. Why?”
Herb patted him on the back. “Because that’s probably her will. Ivy volunteered for the mission to that prison when you were the natural choice for a combat mission. She said you were too important to your people to risk.”
Reuben shook his head, feeling like a fool for the second time in an hour. “I’ve got some sweeping up to do. Go back to bed and give that wife of yours a kiss for letting you come talk me down.”
“It’s what we do for family. Ships aren’t the hardware,” Herb said, thumping the partition behind him. “They’re the people you trust with your life every day. I’ll get the dust pan.”
Shaking his head at the kindness, Reuben mused on everything the man had shared. “You’ll make a good grandfather some day.” For the present, Max wouldn’t want children when every new jump risked life and limb. Magi also weren’t known for unplanned pregnancies.
Herb laughed. “You must not have much basis for comparison.”
Serious, Reuben dumped another load of debris into the recycler. “No. In the old days, every male offspring of a ram who tested positive for mutation was taken to an orphanage on an island paradise on Mnamnabo. The government gave us the best instructors and food. At the age of majority, we chose our own names. Other goats didn’t understand us. During high school, they mixed us with the rest of the population to teach us to act normal. Every other guy was in sports. I’d be reading or playing on my computer. The others would be dating and planning to settle down. We rams don’t tie ourselves to a single woman because the rule is that any woman who asks can have our child. Before sleeping with any woman, we have to explain the rules. Her boy children belong to the species, and so does her man.” Either way, she would receive the best medical care and a small stipend.
“Your home world is finding a new orbit right now, so the old ways are a little flexible,” Herb said.
“They don’t keep us in one place anymore since the Phibs almost wiped us all out. Other than that, the traditions exist for a reason. Since I was raised on Shangri-La, I actually met my dad. He’d take me fishing once a year.”
“Birthdays?”
“No. Someone in special forces can’t keep that regular a schedule. He’d visit me between missions. He always told me, ‘You carry my legacy.’ I know from Ivy he had several girl children, and he died young ... when I was twelve.”
Herb nodded. “Let me guess. You got into trouble, and the military straightened you out?”
“That didn’t happen until college,” Reuben said, refusing to provide details. He wanted to maintain some secrets. Once the last scrap of Ivy’s memory was swept up, he thanked Herb again for the help.
“You going to be okay?”
“Not even close,” Reuben replied, “but I’ll try to stay socially acceptable.”
“All we can ask,” Herb said, tipping an imaginary hat.
Reuben decided not to listen to the final recording until he was ready for another body blow.
Chapter 5 – The Accidental Pirate
The day before docking with Salizar B Station, Reuben sat on the bridge next to Roz’s pilot couch with his hands flying over the communications console. “I’m breaking into station computers now.”
“How is that possible?” Roz asked.
“I’m that good.” Reuben was already in, scanning the files. As part of the war effort, the Bankers had granted Turtle Special Forces read-only access codes to track Phib fugitives. Those codes had never been revoked in this backwater outpost—not that he would tell anyone else that secret because he had a reputation to uphold. “Oh, crap.”
“How monumental a crap?” Roz popped to her feet to peek over his shoulder.
“Not sure yet. Either the Bankers never sent payment for that reactor to the Blue Claw clan, or the Bat Navy shafted us. Either way, the Saurians will be gunning for us for missing another loan payment.”
Roz gave a weak smile. “Just give it a little time. We’re traveling pretty fast. Maybe we’re just outrunning the check in the mail.”
The outstanding balance was still ninety-six million credits at a rate of 12.5 percent. “We still owe about a million in interest a month. Last time we were late, the Blue Claw Mafia cut off Kesh’s fingertips.”
“Hey, we found and reattached them,” Roz said.
“The point is that he’s a freaking hero of theirs! What are they going to do to us?”
“Calm down. Besides, we all agreed to use the term ‘Clan’ not ‘Mafia,’ which may offend our Saurian associates. Not
all of the clan members are criminals, just a couple of the families, really.”
Reuben pondered this. The Saurians were as concerned as all the other species about how many credits were disappearing into the vaults of Nivaar. Governments tolerated the black-market banks as long as interest rates never rose too high and they never killed people. “Sure. Maybe the Bankers don’t know about our experiments. They could just be trying to steal from their underworld competitors. Officially, we’re a ship full of charity workers who aren’t supposed to be back to defend ourselves for a few years.”
He was so glad he had converted his two-million-credit share of the profit into stocks before the prison trip. He didn’t trust anyone outside this ship. From his special forces days, he had three fake identities and ten thousand credits in untraceable Blue Giant Fuel hydrogen coins sewn into a backpack in case he needed to run. Even Ivy had converted her money into Llewellyn corporate shares.
“Getting all worked up isn’t helping anyone,” Roz assured him. “I had an issue earlier, and I handled it with no sweat.”
Reuben stopped typing. Roz was a great person but a lousy liar. “What issue?”
“Echo miscalculated. We popped through the nexus while the Salizar A was blocking any possible traffic from Gates of Peace and will be for the next three weeks.” Roz stuck out her chin with pride. “I just told the station we were a deep-space survey vessel, and they bought it. I mean, the name Deep 6 fit.”
“No!” Reuben buried his head in his hands. “The manifest I forged will be all wrong now. They’ll think we’re pirates. If they call for help from their sister station, we’re toast.”
“Relax. They have an air-recycling biozone at the center of their station that the Magi gave them as a goodwill gesture a century ago. Lately, it’s been experiencing some problems like ours did. I told them our maintenance crew would take a look at it.”
“Our crew, meaning me?” asked Reuben.
“Well, sure. You watched the arborist and helped with our repairs, didn’t you?”
“Am I the designated lackey?”
“You’re the only one who can show his face without triggering suspicion,” Roz explained. “A Saurian or null Human doesn’t fit the stereotype for a Magi crew, and Echo isn’t well enough to leave the ship.”
“You’re sending me in there without a weapon?”
Roz rolled her eyes. “It’s not my fault you broke a perfectly good shock staff.”
“What if this is a setup by the Bankers? They’d give anything to get their hands on a ram with a new talent.”
“Relax. There are only four people on duty. The station is in mothball mode. Echo will watch you the whole time out-of-body. If they pull anything, we’ll charge in guns blazing.”
“Can I use Ivy’s sonic rifle?”
“No. That would be too conspicuous.” Roz tapped her chin in thought. “I could rig one of the shock pads from your staff into a pair of heavy work gloves.”
“You’re sending me into hostile territory with a joy buzzer?”
“It could stun someone long enough for you to escape. Nothing lethal. Take it or leave it.”
Reuben growled in frustration. “Fine.”
Roz raised an eyebrow. “Watch your language, young man.”
****
The ceramic hamster tunnels of Salizar B Station reminded Reuben of a robotics research station deep in Bat territory. After connecting the refueling hoses and checking the limited snack selection in the waiting area, he went with a pair of Bat stevedores to their biozone.
Reuben could tell immediately there was something wrong. The smell was awful, and several ornamental shrubs were wilting. “Too much bacteria? Have you been overfertilizing?”
“No,” said the tan Bat beside him. “Twice a year, just like the instructions say.”
Strolling around the deciduous forest, Reuben spotted several tanks of brine shrimp, which explained some of the odors. “Did these come with the ecosystem?”
“We added them. The food makes an excellent supplement to our diets. The shells and heads enrich the garden soil,” explained the black, female Bat.
We could trade several of these to Clarke’s Oasis. The Human outpost was slowly manufacturing fertile soil. “Where do the tanks go in winter?”
“Winter?” asked the female. “We keep the same climate setting year-round. The Magi provided us with three, but we only use the one.”
“That’s your problem right there!” Reuben announced. “This is a deciduous design. You need a winter, even a short one, to reset the bugs and the bacteria in the soil. Otherwise, they take over.”
He negotiated a fair trade for the tanks in kilograms of rare earth each. If Reuben didn’t report the transaction to the stationmaster, the two Bats would personally load his purchases into the Deep 6 cargo bay. Everyone trusted the Magi to be pillars of honor but knew the Goats needed the extra money to send home.
Once inside Deep 6’s empty shuttle bay, the female Bat said, “Interested in some awesome contraband music for another kilo?” She flashed him a round, yellow memory device.
When he recognized it as one he had sold on Babel many months before, Reuben beamed with pride. “Nah, too hot for me. I don’t want the church hunting me down.”
“Are your sure?” coaxed the male stevedore. “This is primo stuff from DJ Noir.”
Reuben smiled at the mention of his black-market pseudonym. “Sounds like a musical genius. Tell me more.” He was so proud of his cleverness that he led them into the cargo bay that was supposed to be empty without checking first.
Grady was still working on the unit containing the unmoving Bat, clearly visible through the window.
When Reuben pulled up short and cursed, the male stevedore in front turned to look. Both men glanced at the captive and then at each other from a quarter meter away. Reuben opened his mouth to explain, but his training kicked in. He head-butted the unsuspecting worker hard. The Bat sank to his knees, clutching his head and wailing. Heart pounding, Reuben kicked him in the side of the head like a soccer ball. His victim bounced off the shrimp tank and onto the floor, unconscious.
The female Bat stood up from where she was pushing. “What happened?”
Thinking fast, Reuben said, “You pinned his arm under the wheel. Come up here and help us. Hurry.”
She muttered pleas to the Void as she ran up.
Reuben couldn’t bear to beat an innocent woman into unconsciousness. As she bent to examine her companion, Reuben shocked her senseless with his makeshift glove. The feedback stung his fingertips, but he deserved the pain. Before either could recover, he was binding their arms with tie-down straps. Then he removed the sidearms from each worker. The pistols were low-grade stunners meant more for rats and bots that went rogue. Still, they were better than nothing.
“What are you doing?” demanded Grady.
“Cleaning up your mess. Hand me that shop cloth. I need gags.”
“Why?”
Reuben gestured to the suspended Bat. “How were we supposed to explain this?”
“Because he’s a criminal? We were doing him a favor, and he’s not a royal citizen.”
“Helping prisoners escape is treason. Since we agreed not to animate him until we left Bat space, he’s also ironically a kidnapping victim. Even though all the partners agreed to this arrangement, you and I did the deed.” Kidnapping and treason were both reason to revoke all sentient rights. In the better worlds, these were punishable by mental reformatting.
“Crap.”
As someone with paranormal abilities, Reuben would be subject to lobotomization to take away that talent. He slapped his badge in broadcast mode. “Emergency partners’ meeting in the cargo bay now!”
Handing Grady one of the pistols, he said, “Stand by the fuel depot. Try to act casual. If anyone asks about the stevedores, tell them they’re playing me some music. If they try to board, shoot.”
The veteran stared at the weapon. “This isn’t who I am
.”
“Do we have a choice? You know Echo and Roz will make sure no one gets hurt. We’ll find a way out of this. Maybe the Magi can … wipe their short-term memory or something.” Reuben waved his hands on each side of his head.
“Right. Just stay calm, and it’ll all blow over.”
Reuben clapped him on the back in encouragement. “The moment the refuel is complete, disconnect the hoses and tell us.”
Once the repairman left, Herb, the ex-cop, was first on the scene. “What’s up?”
“We are so screwed,” Reuben blurted.
****
After Reuben spilled the beans to the other partners, the room devolved into shouting and arguing. They all agreed to speak English and took the Bats’ translator earbuds to keep them ignorant. “What? I was supposed to thaw the Bat so they could talk to him? Was he going to play along with us? Hell, no. That criminal would claim to be a Bat noble we’re holding for ransom or something. ‘They made me scrub floors. It was undignified,’” he intoned, his nose held high as he mocked the royals. “We’d all be lined up for a firing squad before you could say, ‘I’d like to call my embassy on the ansible.’”
Herb shook his head. “Your embassy would never get the call. The Bankers would send a kill squad or inform the Blue Claws.”
Kesh said, “You could have claimed the Bat was DJ Noir, and we’re friends of the church rooting out the radio rebels.”
“That,” Reuben said, shaking a finger in admiration, “is why you do the bargaining, sir. You’re a genius at justifying illegal activities.”
“Too late for that cover story.” The two Bat workers looked terrified as Max approached. They had probably heard the rumors about null assassins like him. “We have three basic choices at this point: kill everyone on the station, take the workers with us, or leave them all tied up until we’re clear. I veto the first option as unacceptable.”
Echo’s hologram said, “I won’t be party to kidnapping. If we remove all communication gear from the station, they can do nothing to stop us.”
“Except without hostages on board, they’ll shoot us down,” Herb argued.
