Breach the Hull

by Lawrence M. Schoen

  Half an hour later Mercutio joined Prospero on Declaration’s bridge. It smelled of sweat and boredom, a result of someone always being at the helm. The First aimed to fix that. He lay on his back, waist deep in the guts of a computer relay, installing a spare ghosterizer to the mining ship’s sytems. “We’ve got quite a haul,” he said, the acoustics making his voice reedy.

  “You’re not usually one to get misty about money,” said Mercutio.

  “I’ve never had so much of it from one job. Between the payoff from the heteropolymers, and with what we’ll get selling this ship back to MarzGov, I’m thinking maybe it’s time to get out of piracy and become a business man.”

  Mercutio laughed. “Don’t go spending your shares quite yet. This job’s a long way from done. We can’t sell this ship until we’ve ransomed her crew.” Prospero slid out from the relay, pulled the panel closed, and sat up. “Don’t be get-ting naïve on me, Mercutio. This isn’t a military ship like we normally target. There’s no ransom to be had for this lot. We’ll be spacing the crew before we head out.”

  Mercutio paled. “Piracy is one thing, but I won’t be party to murder.” Prospero smirked. “That’s for the Captain to decide now ain’t it?”

  Mercutio returned to the Folio and went straight to the infirmary; Prospero trailed behind chuckling to himself, but stopped when they discovered their Captain had left. His modified cool bunk lay open, his diagnostic beads scattered upon the floor like marbles.

  “Where could he have gone?” asked the First, following the doctor into the infirmary and joining the search.

  “C’mon,” said Mercutio after assuring himself that Captain Book hadn’t fallen behind the cool bunk or hidden himself away in a supply cubby. “We’ll check his cabin, then yours, then mine. Mind the beads as you go.”

  “Why would he be in either of our cabins?”

  “Why would he have left his cool bunk?” said Mercutio. “It was the only thing keeping him alive.”

  The Captain’s own quarters were empty, everything organized and shipshape as they’d been since he’d gone into the infirmary for treatment. They moved on to the First’s cabin, found it less tidy but no less empty. To the doctor’s horror and relief, Captain Book proved to be in his cabin, sprawled head-first, half in and half out of the active cool bunk. He’d died there, his body wracked by spasms as opposing muscle groups contracted simultaneously, tearing flesh free from bone as his cortical functions froze. Blood, now dry, had trickled from ears and eyes, and the Old Man had bitten through his tongue as well.

  “Well, at least we know why he came here,” said Prospero. He sat at the doctor’s workstation, and gestured to an active screen. “He was running some kind of biomedical analysis using your gear.”

  Mercutio stared at the screen and nodded.

  Prospero scowled. “This makes sense to you?”

  “Yeah. As soon as he left the cool bunk the smarties kicked in. He was trying to use it to find a cure before it killed him. He must have given up and tried to get back in a bunk to buy himself more time, and didn’t make it.” Mercutio glanced at the body and then back to the screen. “It will take me weeks to figure out how close he got.”

  “Not close enough,” said Prospero. He stood, and regarded Mercutio and then Book. “Move his corpse back to the infirmary; chill it for now. Once we’ve sorted the mining ship, then you can prepare the body for a vacuum burial; I know it’s not what he told you he wanted, but he doesn’t get a say any more. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go talk to the crew.”

  “What are you going to tell them?”

  Prospero paused, one hand on the door of the cabin. He spoke without looking back. “That Captain Book is dead, and that there’s a new Captain. As we discussed.” He walked out a different man than he’d entered.

  “I think I’m being generous,” said Captain Prospero. Two hours had passed and he’d assembled everyone in Declaration’s ward room. Mercutio knew the man had already made his decision; this was all for show.

  “Your physician’s oath won’t allow you the expedience of killing our three cap-tives, and I respect that. I think my solution is quite elegant.” “You’re taking my shares, in violation of the code,” said Mercutio. “No, I’m giving you your shares, and our late captain’s too, and then I’m swapping them back and trading you the Folio for them. And I’m throwing in the captives you’re so squeamish about. Keep them as crew or keep them in cool bunks until you drop them off, I don’t much care.

  “Time’s change, doctor. The letters of marque are in Book’s name, not mine. Sure I could likely get one or both transferred, but there’s more wealth and less risk in mining than in pirating. MacBeth and the rest of the crew agree. Not much need for a pilot of your talents, nor a doctor for all that. So it works out well for everyone.”

  “You’re cheating me,” said Mercutio, “and you’re trying to be rid of me. You’ve al-ready ripped out half the cool bunks and most of the armaments.” “I need ’em, and you don’t,” said Prospero. “And as for being rid of you, as Cap-tain I’m within my rights to kill you outright and there’s not a man here that doesn’t know it.”

  Mercutio gnawed his lip a moment. “That’d be true,” he conceded, “if you were still a pirate and not a miner. But fine, let your last act of piracy be robbing me of my fair shares. I’ll take the Folio, and chart a course where I can give Captain Book the send off he wanted. And I’ll take your prisoners and see they find their way some-wheres safe.”

  “That’s it then,” said Prospero, “save one last thing. Your word, that you’ll not prey upon this ship and crew of innocent miners in the future.” “No bump,” said Horatio.

  MacBeth eyed the doctor solemnly and nodded, “Aye, no bump,” And looked away.

  “You’ve my word on it,” said Mercutio. “Give me an escort to get the prisoners over and safely stowed; I’ll ungrapple and be gone in under an hour.” Without waiting for confirmation he turned and headed to his ship.

  The former crew of Declaration looked to slip into their new cool bunks almost willingly, given brutal murder was their only alternative. Mercutio sealed them in, and went to his own quarters next. The Old Man had asked not to be jettisoned into space, as was pirate tradition, but to have his remains drowned for all time in the seas beyond Old Britannia. Mercutio had no other plans. After his ship had tumbled away from Declaration he slid into his own cool bunk and connected to the ghosterizer to spin off a simulacrum to plot a course for Erth.

  The ghost he’d left running in the system greeted him first. “You’re not going to believe this,” the spectral Mercutio told the original.

  “Believe what? Merge and let me know what you’re going on about?

  “Now where would the fun be in that?” said his ghost, speaking around a grin, and in a deep and familiar voice.

  “Captain? I didn’t think you had a ghost in the system, not since you took ill.”

  “Crazy system, having to talk through your ghost,” said the Captain. “But he’s been very helpful. You know a lot more about medicine than you’ve let on, son.” “Captain, you do understand that you’re dead?”

  “Well, we both saw that coming, now didn’t we? But never mind me, did you get the heteropolymers?”

  “Yes, Sir. Only, well, what with you being dead and all, Prospero named himself captain, and with the rest of the men decided to take the mining ship and give up piracy. It’s just me here, Captain. We’ve no cargo.”

  “Not a problem, doctor. Between your ghosts and mine, the Folio will do fine. “About that, Sir. I saw your notes, I get what you were trying to do, but even with the smarties hyping your brain there just wasn’t time to work out a cure. It would have taken you months at least.”

  “You might have told me that,” chided the ghost. “It would have saved me at least three minutes. But no harm, I had time to get to your cabin and plug in. I’m not an old spirit. I’ve filled your buffer with a couple dozen fresh ghosts.”

>   Mercutio paused a moment, trying to wrap his head around the notion of his ghost channeling the ghost of his dead captain. “Why? Captain, no offense, but that doesn’t change things. You’re still dead. Are you planning on haunting me?”

  “No, son, I’m planning on finding a cure. My ghosts are copies of me, so they’re smartie ghosts.”

  Mercutio wiped at his eyes, half surprised to find them wet. “Nothing like that has ever been done,” he said.

  “But even if it doesn’t work, well, I just want to say I’m glad to have you back, Captain.”

  “Of course it will work. All my buffered copies are dialed down as low as their time sense can go. They’re more suspended than any cool bunk could slow flesh and bone. When this ghost nears its limit, I’ll wake up another and so on. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve work to do. I’ll let you get caught up and get us bound for Erth. If you have any questions, you know where to find me.”

  Mercutio nodded to himself as his ghost merged and a flood of wild and ragged medical conversations poured into his memory, more than his conscious mind could process at once. But that wasn’t a problem. It would all get sorted out in his uncon-scious while he slept. His goals as a pirate and a physician had merged as neatly as he had with his ghost. There was medical adventure ahead, a course plotted for the unknown, and treasure the like of which no man, be he doctor or pilot, had ever be-held. He pressed his forehead against the activation plate, generated a replacement ghost to handle navigation, and let the cool bunk take him down into dreamless sleep.

  Back to Contents

  ALLIANCE

  Bud Sparhawk

  HOW’S YER HEAD?” I OPENED MY EYES TO BLINKING LIGHTS AND THE SOUNDS OF A COMPRESSOR rattling loudly near my ear. Sheila Foster, the Captain of the ship we highjacked was leaning over me. I had vague memories of headlong flight down a corridor and a struggle to get her through the lifeboat lock before something hit me in the back.

  When I tried to sit up cords cut into my legs. She’d tied me to the bunk. “Did you have to pull them so damn tight?”

  “If y’knew how tight, y’know why, y’damn fool.” A while back she’d been our prisoner and now I was hers. Why hadn’t she shot me while I was unconscious? Merchant captains were not known for kindness toward hijackers.

  “Here,” she said and dribbled a ration of water between my parched lips. It hurt when I tried to smile. “Sorry I’ve no salve for yer burns. Nor for my own, y’see.” I took another look at her face and saw the ring of blisters where her face mask hadn’t protected her from the blast that had hit us just as we reached the lifeboat.

  “My back hurts,” I said and tried to turn, hoping she would loosen the cords.

  “That’s yer burns from the blast,” she said. “Naught I can do, y’see, until we get rescued. They can fix yer burns when they pick us up. Then it’s off to prison with ye, I’d wager.”

  That was a certainty. Had the lifeboat ejected before we blinked or after? If afterward, had there been another blink to get away from the Fleet ship? If so, we could be stranded anywhere within a light year of where we’d been discovered.

  “More likely Fleet will dump me out the lock instead of bothering with prison. I guess that would give you a bit of pleasure—the revenge, I mean.” “Revenge? For stealing my ship, y’mean? Pfaugh, While it might give me a jot of joy to see y’spaced it’ll do nothing to fill my empty wallet. No, I figure yer smart enough to bargain clear by telling where Fleet might find yer shipmates.”

  “I’d never tell the Fleet a damn thing,” I protested.

  She shrugged and stood up. “In that case, yer out the lock and good riddance. I might need the water and food y’would otherwise consume until rescue comes.” As she reached over to loose the cords that held my legs immobile I tensed my muscles, ready to strike out.

  Her hand hesitated and then pulled back. “No, best I not be judge and jury. Besides,” she smiled wickedly and poked my thigh, “I might need fresh meat if things get too bad.”

  “Why y’be a pirate,” she asked the next day after we’d shared a biscuit and another dot of water. “Why y’prey on we poor merchants?”

  “We needed your ship,” I said. “It’s the only way we can become independent. Earth won’t sell us transports. That’s why we needed yours,” I said and wondered about the extent of the damage Fleet might have inflicted on her ship.

  Seeing her puzzled expression, I explained the reasons. “Don’t you know that Earth restricts what they send to the colonies? Oh, they send a trickle of medicines, trace minerals, and low-technology gadgets while they hold back the tools that would let us build quantum drives.”

  “The corporations have a right to protect what they own,” she said, but there was a note of doubt in her voice.

  “Protect the exorbitant fees they extract, you mean? Listen to me! The worlds of the Alliance want to craft their own destiny. They want to trade freely instead of having Earth dictate every damn thing. What’s the good of having interstellar travel if we’re prisoners of our systems?”

  “That be the dumbest pile of crap I ever heard,” she sneered. “There’s free trade aplenty, so long as y’follow the rules.”

  “It’s Earth’s rules we object to,” I countered. “We want to build our own drives so we can ship our own cargo. It’s the rules that are keeping us tied to Earth’s obsolete, failed economic system.” Quite unintentionally I was shouting angrily instead of maintaining a calm, reasoned voice.

  “The rules protect us all, y’damned fool. Have y’any idea of how yer economies would fare were Earth not regulating trade? Do y’think the weaker colonies share the dreams of the rich ones? Don’t y’see how disruptive free trade would be? If it weren’t for Earth yer be at each other’s throats in a heartbeat.”

  “Easy for you to say, while you merchants make a tidy profit off us.”

  “That’s a bloody lie,” she yelled back. “After the fees, I barely make payments on my ship and crew, much less make a profit. Y’think we merchants sell dear? Well, it’s a fairer price than y’d get from the other colonies, I’d wager.”

  “Earth propaganda!”

  “Rebel lies!”

  “These cords really hurt,” I said to change the subject. “Look, there’s nothing I can do with my arms tied. Why don’t you at least untie my legs so I can sit up?” I hoped that we had gotten to a point where she saw me less of a threat. “Besides, what could I do? We’re stuck together in this lifeboat, like it or not.”

  She nodded. “Yes, that’s so and y’don’t seem a bad sort, for a pirate, I mean.”

  Still, she held a stunner on me as she loosened the cords.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’m actually an Alliance officer.” There was no sense hiding my identity. The Fleet would learn that much when they showed up. “Pirates have ranks?” she shrugged. “Well, I guess it makes y’feel legitimate.” “Stop calling me a pirate,” I answered. “I’m a Lieutenant.”

  She grinned. “The Alliance isn’t exactly a real military force. It has what—a halfdozen ships?”

  That hurt. “We’re growing,” I answered, hoping my crew still had her fat transport. “Much as I might sympathize with yer plight, I’ve my own worries. Insurance won’t cover all the costs, y’know and the corporations are not known to take kindly to those that lose their ships.”

  “I did save you,” I reminded her. “I could have left you behind.”

  “I’d be an ungrateful fool if I forgot that,” she said. “But why?”

  “Two reasons,” I replied. “First, I admired your spunk and didn’t want to see you killed.”

  She cocked and eyebrow at the compliment. “And the other reason?” A flirtatious smile played on her lips.

  “You were the only one I had time to get to.”

  The smile disappeared, but not completely. I started to think that waiting for rescue with her wouldn’t be unpleasant and, if I played my cards right, she might start thinking the same way.

&nb
sp; I’d work on that.

  A week later the proximity alarm shrilled. Sheila jumped from our bunk. She looked puzzled. “Can’t be Fleet or there’d be a hail.”

  I doubted that it was my shipmates either. They wouldn’t come back for a junior lieutenant. But, if it wasn’t them or Fleet who could it be? There weren’t many others out here.

  An abrupt shift and a commotion at the lock told us that we’d been pulled aboard another ship. Sheila glanced at me. “Best we be prepared whichever way this goes,” she said. “If it’s Fleet, yer my prisoner, and vice versa.”

  “I won’t tell if you won’t,” I promised as the hatch opened.

  A man with a bushy red beard came through. “Well, I’ll be damned. If it isn’t my old friend Hart Kapor and, what’s this? Brought your girlfriend along, did you?” he said.

  “Nice to see you too, Spratt,” I replied bitterly. “Sheila is,” I hesitated for a second and then continued, “a passenger of mine.”

  Spratt cocked an eyebrow. “And when would it be that an Alliance raider took on passengers? No, Hart, I think she’s something other than that, say, the missing Cap-tain from that hijacked ship Fleet was after? What say we check her name against the registry?”

  “Yeah, y’be right,” Sheila answered. “I was ship’s master; that is, the former master, New Caledonia bound from Earth until yer pirates grabbed her.” She turn-ed to me. “Well, I guess I lost the gamble, Hart. At least remember that I didn’t space ya.”

  Spratt laughed. “Better for me if you had, my dear. Would have saved me the trouble of doing it myself.”

  Sheila spun about and stared at me. “I though he was another damned pirate.” “Hardly,” I answered. “A while back you told me Earth was concerned about war breaking out between the colonies. Well, it’s happened. Say hello to Pitr Spratt of the Eagle Consortium. He’s my worse nightmare.”