Dubious Heroes: a novel

by Nicholas Blue

  "Of course", she said, as I cycled through the airlock, and left the ship.

  Of course, my ass.

  I found Cozi still talking to some of the workers. He saw me approaching, and wrapped up the conversation. I had to weave my way around several large piles of scrap. They hadn't wasted any time or used a lot of finesse when they'd ripped out the damaged stuff.

  "What now?" He asked, clearly tired of hearing about problems.

  "You tell me", I said. "I was wondering why there are still holes in my hull."

  "Holes in our hull wouldn't be an issue if you'd consider being a tad more careful", he said.

  "No problem", I said. "Next time the UPDF shows up, I'll send you over to negotiate with them."

  "Fine with me", he said. "Maybe I can get them to tell me what the fuck that hull is made of."

  "We don't have a clue?"

  "Well, I can't figure it out, and neither can any of the metallurgists here on Triton", he said.

  "I gathered that from your report", I said. "The rest of it was sort of over my head."

  "The problem is", he said, "the hull isn't actually metallic. It's a type of ceramic, which is why nothing magnetic will stick to it, and is also why we can't weld it."

  "I didn't think ceramic hulls were practical", I said. "At TGS, we even funded some of the research, a few years ago. Turned out that they were too fragile, and just about impossible to fix once they were damaged."

  "Which is what we're seeing here, sort of", he said. "I think these hull plates were formed, then baked in some sort of furnace or kiln. There's a big difference between this stuff, and what you were talking about, though. The ceramic portion of the plates aren't made of silica. It's some sort of element which isn't in any of our periodic tables, manmade or natural. It's very light and strong, with an insanely high albedo, which is why it's so reflective, and even looks like metal. On top of that, there's a carbon component. The material is interlaced with diamond nanotubes, making it even stronger."

  "Those I've heard of", I said. "They're pretty common, especially in construction. I think they're a component of plasteel."

  "Close", Cozi said. "Plasteel uses graphite nanotubes. Almost as strong, but a lot cheaper to grow."

  "Which is all nice to know", I said, "but isn't fixing the holes in our hull."

  "Well, the bottom line is this", Cozi said. "Those hull plates are about twice the strength of our best metal alloys. Not to mention the other weird properties they have."

  "I'm not hearing a solution, Cozi. How do we fix it?"

  "We probably can't", he said. "The shipyard that built it could, but I doubt we're among their favorite people right now. We did find that the adhesive used in the small hull patches will work for larger ones, so that's what we're using, with metal plates. Not very elegant, but it works. Look up there, and you can see one of them." He pointed to a meter-wide square on the Engineering Module.

  "That's ugly as hell", I said.

  "Beats breathing vacuum", he said. "I'll have someone paint them silver, so at least it'll look a little better."

  "How's the rest of it going?"

  "Depending on how the ramjet repairs go, we could be ready to lift in two, maybe three days."

  "Not bad", I said. "That's about twice as fast as I figured it would take."

  "I'm guessing that the local powers-that-be will sleep a little better once we're gone", he said.

  "Yeah, I hear that”, I said. “How's the reactor? Was it damaged?"

  "Nothing beyond a couple of damaged control rods, and they've already been replaced. Before we got here, I rerouted the circuit breakers, so the reactor going offline doesn't shut the ship down. I'm having our energy cells boosted, as well. That should double our storage capacity from one up to two megawatts. That ought to provide an element of surprise to any other UP ships we run into. Toe-to-toe, we can out-shoot and out-jump them."

  "I suspect it won't be that much of a surprise", I said. "After their little tet-a-tet with us, they're probably making some changes themselves. I'd bet we were the first time they'd been in combat with these new ships."

  "You may be right", Cozi said, "but if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer we wait awhile before we see who's learned what."

  "No argument there", I said. "Anyway, let me know if you need anything else. We're supposed to be doing interviews this afternoon. I was thinking of sneaking out for a quick lunch and a beer at a spacer joint Eng told me about. Wanna join me?"

  "You're kidding, right?" Cozi said, looking around at the chaos. "Catch me next time. The sight of our propulsion system lying around on the ground isn't doing much for my appetite."

  "Alright", I said. "If anyone's looking for me, I wasn't here."

  Cozi mumbled something, and made a beeline for group of workers. I located one of the portable airlocks they'd set up, and cycled through it. I didn't think anyone would still be hanging around, and I was right. Aside from the normal port traffic, no one was around. Once they figured we were going to stay holed-up in our ship, interest had waned.

  Other than the trip to see the Governor, I hadn't seen much of Triton. It was late morning local time, and once I reached the main corridors, I saw a fair number of people going about their business. After a few minutes, I managed to find the Triton equivalent of Spacer's Alley, and shortly thereafter, the dive I was looking for; a place called the Dog Star Bar. The other bars and casinos I'd walked by had seemed largely deserted, due to the time of day, and the Dog Star was no different.

  I walked in, and sat at the bar. I was wearing my shades, and left them on. There were another half dozen people in the bar, all of them wearing shades, too. A tired looking woman sat on a stool behind the bar watching one of the news programs on a big vidscreen.

  I watched for a minute as well; video of more food riots on Earth. Must have been a slow news day. I didn't see any stories about us, or any AI rebellion, which was encouraging. Maybe this stuff would just blow over. I had an idea that wasn't likely to happen, but one could only hope.

  The bartender finally noticed me, and, marshalling her energy, came over to where I sat.

  "Well?" she asked, looking every bit as enthused as she sounded.

  "Beer", I said, just to keep the conversation going. She drew a mug from an honest-to-god tap, and sat it down in front of me.

  "What do you have to eat?" I asked, before she could resume her perch.

  "You want a menu?"

  "Sure."

  "We don't have a menu", she said, smiling. This was probably just as well, since I could hardly see a thing with the dark shades on. She continued. "We have Dog Stew."

  Eng had recommended I try the stew, so this must have been the stuff.

  "I guess I'll have the Dog Stew then", I said. "Is it made with real dog?"

  "Of course not", she said. "Soya. You can't get real dog out here. Come to think of it, you can't get real anything out here."

  "I'll try it anyway", I said. She rolled her eyes and wandered off, disappearing into a back room.

  My Pod beeped at me from my pocket, and sighing, I took it out, stuffing the ear bud into my ear.

  "Doon here", I said. So much for getting away for a little while.

  "Solomon Scott here. Would you have a free moment to talk, mate?'

  "Sure", I said. "What's up?"

  "I'd rather we talked in person", he said. "If that's possible."

  "That depends", I said. "How do you feel about beer?"

  "I’m quite passionate about it."

  "That makes two of us", I said. "I'm sitting in the Dog Star Bar. If you can get here, I'll buy you one."

  "I know the place", he said. "I can be there in ten minutes, if you don't mind waiting."

  "I'll be here", I said, and we ended the call. I stowed my Pod just as the bartender returned with a huge steaming bowl of stew, and a sizable chunk of bread.

  I was just getting into it, when, several minutes early, Scott walked in. I had an idea that someone
had told him my whereabouts, even before he'd called me. I turned on my stool to greet him. Tall and lanky, I realized he looked a lot like me, though with blonde hair. I probably had twenty or thirty pounds of weight on him, too.

  "Captain Scott", I said, as we shook.

  "Captain Doon. Sampling the local cuisine, eh?"

  "That was the plan", I said. "Have you eaten lunch?"

  "I could eat", he said. I motioned the bartender over, and eventually coaxed another beer and bowl of stew out of her. We chatted idly until his meal arrived.

  "What do you think of the stew?" he asked, nodding toward my bowl.

  "Not bad", I said, which was true. It didn't take much to beat shipboard food, though. "The stew is okay, but I think this bread is older than I am. I was considering having a go at it with my knife, but I didn't want to make a scene."

  "You're supposed to dunk it in the stew", he said, breaking off a piece and demonstrating. I followed his lead, and after it soaked for a minute, it was soft enough that I wasn't worried about breaking a tooth on it.

  "Much better", I said. "I should have thought of that myself. Guess I've been eating from too many food packets lately. He smiled, but didn't say anything. I continued. "I assume you didn't track me down for the food and some company. What's on your mind?"

  "Well", he said, "this is sort of embarrassing. I was hoping you might be able to help us get paid."

  "I was under the impression that Governor Arris was going to see that you were paid", I said. "At least, that's what I was told. Are you saying that hasn’t happened?"

  "No, it has not", Scott said. "Here's the problem. Most everyone else is doing their work pro bono, or at most, charging the colony for materials, and donating their labor. Arris made it clear that if we insisted on being paid, then he'd see that it became public knowledge."

  "So, you can eat the cost of our rescue", I said, "and everyone thinks you're a good sport. Or, you can get paid, and Arris will put out the word that you guys are assholes."

  "That's about it", he said, taking another bite of stew. "Being called an asshole is one thing, but I have a ship to run, and bills to pay."

  I sat and thought for a moment.

  "Don't take this the wrong way", I said, "but isn't your hundred grand bill a bit... excessive?"

  "Given the circumstances", he said, "No. Consider this. You're drifting out there in deep space, in a very odd looking ship that doesn't show up on radar. You hail passing ships, but you don't identify yourselves. On top of that, you're in a vessel that's been thoroughly and professionally shot up. If that doesn't sound high risk, I don't know what is."

  "Point taken", I said. "I may have an easy solution. Why don't I just pay you, as we originally agreed? I won't tell Arris, and you don't have to, either. Sound fair?"

  "It sounds fair, if you can do it", he said. "You can access that kind of money without Arris finding out about it?"

  "I don't have that much cash on me", I said, "But if you'll come with me to the Revenge, I can give you cash chips for the full amount. Thanks to the, ah... friends we have, our resources far exceed our ability to spend them."

  "Damn", he said, smiling. "That's a problem I wouldn't mind having. I'm thinking I should have asked for more." And he could have, though I wasn’t about to tell him we had several million in my little office safe.

  "It's all a bit surreal", I said. "Anyway, I should be getting back to the ship. They'll be missing me, any time now."

  We finished our meals, settled the tab, and left the bar. There still weren't many people in Spacer's Alley, but it wasn't an area where you'd find much of a lunch crowd. We retraced the path I'd taken from the docks, talking as we went.

  "Where are most of the people here, from?" I asked.

  "Triton is sort of an odd mixture", he said. "I’m sure you know how it is; when things get particularly bad on Earth, there’s always a mass exodus of people who leave the planet for space. Really, most of them are just glorified refugees. About eighty years ago, during one of those bad periods, a bunch of Serbians pooled their resources and tried to buy passage off the planet."

  "Serbians?" I asked. I'd never heard of them.

  "Small ethnic group, from Eastern Europe. Survivors of one of the Holy Wars, I think. Anyway, they didn't have enough money or the people to charter a ship all by themselves, so they found someone else with the same problem; a bunch of New Zealanders."

  "I've heard of them", I said, if for no other reason than to show him I wasn't completely ignorant. I was okay, as long as he didn't ask me to point to it on a map.

  "Well, these two groups agreed to pool their resources, and bought passage out to Triton, which, at that time, was nothing so much as an overgrown mining camp. A couple of corporations were willing to assist with building a colony, if someone could just get out there with enough manpower. They did, and here they still are."

  "Do you get anymore Serbians or New Zealanders ever show up now?" I asked. "You know, the ones who stayed behind, for a while."

  "A few New Zealanders", he said. "Serbians, not really. A couple of years after most of them had left, someone thoroughly nuked Serbia. Part of the Second or Third Holy War, I can't remember which. My people were from Down Under."

  "Down under what?" I asked, when I heard a metallic clink, and a round, fist-sized object rolled across the floor toward us. I was wondering what it was, and where it had come from, when Scott shoved me hard.

  "Grenade", he yelled, just as a bright flash split the subdued gloom of the corridor. I thought I might be falling toward the floor, until I turned my head, just in time for the wall smack me in the face.

  Chapter 37

  The next thing I felt was the sensation of lying down, in what felt like a bed. I cautiously opened one eye and saw that this was true, sort of. I recognized the place; I was aboard the Revenge, in the MedLab. I opened my other eye. The room was quiet, except for the steady beep of a heart monitor, which, by coincidence, seemed to match my own pulse. I could sense someone in the room, although they were outside of my field of vision. I tried to turn my head, but nothing happened. I tried harder, and was rewarded with a wave of white hot pain flowing through me. I stopped, and waited for my vision to clear again.

  "You're awake", a voice said. It sounded like Kyra.

  "Mmph", I said. At least my mouth sort of worked.

  "You probably can't talk", she said. "You're still heavily sedated. Donovan said you'd be out until tomorrow, so you might as well go back to sleep."

  I had things to do, and there was no time for lying around sleeping. I told her so.

  "Aigh", I said. As I drifted off, I felt her softly touch my forehead.

  The next time I opened my eyes, a man was leaning over me. He had close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair, and a matching beard.

  "Thought that would do it", he said.

  "Do what?" I asked. Ha. I could talk.

  "Wake you up", he said. "Just gave you a stimulant highball."

  I turned my head to look at him, as he moved away. He was wearing a black Revenge jumpsuit.

  "Who are you?" I asked.

  "A fair question", he said. "If you'll sit up, I'll tell you." Slowly, he helped me ease up into a sitting position.

  "Now lean back", he said, and I did so, finding that the back of the couch had risen to support me. I felt some pain, although it was hard to pinpoint exactly where it was coming from.

  "That's better", he said. "I'm Jack Donovan, and I'm your new Medical Officer." He stuck out his hand, and I shook it, weakly.

  "We have a new doctor?" I asked. "How long have I been out?"

  "I can imagine you have quite a few questions", he said. "Commander Kane is on her way down, and I'd rather not spoil her fun. What I can tell you is yes, I am the new Medical Officer, but no, I'm not a doctor, per se. I'm what's called a combat medic. Trained as a soldier, then a lot of the same training as a physician, but with more emphasis on trauma medicine. Plus, we're trained to work in hostile si
tuations, like when someone is shooting at us, but just between you and me, I'd rather not. Anyway, you guys were looking for a new Med Officer, and apparently Mister Eng believed enough of my bullshit, and I got the job."

  "Exactly what bullshit would that be, Donovan?" Kyra asked, as she walked into the MedLab. She was wearing her skintight black outfit, and I was glad I that the heart monitor thing wasn’t still beeping.

  "The usual", he said. "Now that sleepyhead here is awake, I'm going to go take a leak, and scrounge up some lunch. Don't keep him up for more than an hour; I should be back by then, anyway."

  Kyra told him to take his time, then dragged over one of the loose chairs, to sit by the exam couch. Her long red hair, normally curly, hung straight, flowing over one shoulder, gleaming like spun copper. As she sat there, I realized I was in love with her, although not in any way I'd ever loved anyone before. I wasn't sure what that meant. For now, there was a lot of other stuff I needed to know.

  "How's Captain Scott?" I asked. "He did make it, didn't he?"

  "Yes, he did", she said. "He's doing fine."

  "We owe him a hundred grand", I said. "We were on our way back here so I could pay him."

  "You owe him a lot more than that", she said. "He saved your life." I didn't know how to respond to that, so I didn't. She continued.

  "Anyway, he's doing fine. Banged up about as badly as you were."

  "Which is how much?"

  "Donovan could tell you better than I can", she said, "But the gist of it is, you both took a blast from a fragmentation grenade. Donovan and another doctor spent several hours picking pieces of metal out of you, plus, you had a broken arm, a broken nose, and there was some internal organ damage. Still, the word is, you're healing up nicely."

  "Damn", I said. "How long have I been out?"

  "Six days", she said. "Yesterday was the first time the doc let you wake up. Something about the regen drugs working better when you're asleep."

  "What the hell happened?" I asked. "Short version, please."