Refugee

by Piers Anthony

  Why was it that each pirate vessel we encountered seemed worse than the last? Even the Horse had been worse the second time.

  Now we were at an intersection. On either side a long passage extended down. That’s right; we were floating at the null-gee axis, and the opposite directions were both down, because of that endwise rotation. We had to pick one or the other without delay, for a pirate was coming through the lock behind us. I saw an arrow pointing, decided that would be toward the residential section (for no good reason; male intuition is suspect), and jumped. Spirit followed.

  Of course, we did not sail blithely down the center of the passage. That is not the nature of free fall, as our experience in the bubble had amply shown. We slid down one wall, and as the pressure of that wall increased our angular momentum—that is, the speed of our revolution around the axis—our centrifugal force increased, and we slid faster. The process fed on itself. So it was a bit like being on a giant slide, whose slant increased as it progressed, so that not only one’s velocity but one’s rate of increase of velocity quickened. Soon we were bumping along at an uncomfortable rate, and had to catch the inset rungs to break our falls. The packages sprang from our arms and went tumbling on down ahead.

  A pirate emerged from a side hall—just in time to be pelted by the onrushing packages. He did not take it well. A laser pistol appeared in his hand, pointing with excellent accuracy at me as I clung to the descent ladder.

  So we were caught. But that had been inevitable. So far, we survived.

  I lifted back my helmet, surrendering for the moment. There was no point in getting shot, or in getting Spirit shot. Perhaps we could talk our way into something less unpromising.

  “A woman!” he exclaimed in English.

  I still had the red ribbon in my hair! I started to protest, but Spirit nudged me. “So what’d you expect my sister to be—a frog?” she demanded.

  The pirate’s lips quirked. It seemed he had some minor sense of humor. “You escaped from the derelict bubble?”

  “Derelict?” Spirit demanded. “It wasn’t a derelict! Not until you blasted a hole in it!”

  “So it would seem.” The pistol still covered us. “Come in here and get out of those suits.”

  We entered his chamber and climbed out of our suits. I had a problem with modesty, as my dress tended to snag above my waist; how did girls stand it? Of course my bloomer-panties protected the essentials. I lost a slipper in the suit and had to fish for it. I realized now why girls often seemed so inefficient; their costumes did it to them. But at length I stood, somewhat bedraggled, before the pirate. Spirit, in masculine attire, was better off. I knew that only the seriousness of our situation prevented her from teasing me about my feminine ineptitude.

  “How old are you?” the pirate asked. He was evidently an officer, as he wore some sort of insignia, and seemed better spoken than the usual brutes. Probably he originated from Uranus, whose moon Titania was the home of the English-speaking people) and which moon had a longstanding Navy tradition. Mainly, he was calmly self assured.

  “Fifteen,” I said. No point in concealing that fact.

  “Twelve,” Spirit said.

  He gazed at me appreciatively and appraisingly, and I became aware of one reason women can cringe under the cynosure of men. I wished I could be anywhere but here.

  “You are young,” the pirate officer said. “But that perhaps makes you cleaner. You will serve one man per night, commencing this night. You will cooperate gladly—”

  “No!” I cried, horrified with better reason than he could know.

  “Otherwise your little brother will be flogged—by the man you do not please—and you will go without food or water till the next. I believe in time you will cooperate willingly enough.”

  I was silent. These pirates certainly knew how to make a girl perform! All we could do now was stall for time.

  The officer raised his voice to address the other pirates that were arriving now. “Take these two to the guest room. You will draw straws for order of satisfaction.”

  Stunned, we went to the indicated chamber. It was near the end of the ship, where gravity approached one gee. It occurred to me that this end-over-end rotation could be the normal mode for this ship, as a slower turning rate led to greater effective gravity at the extremes, compared to the other mode. We had enough trouble establishing half or quarter gee in the bubble; the ship’s smaller diameter would force a very high rate of spin to get similar effect, and the difference in effect as a person moved inward from the hull would be formidable. Just standing could be uncomfortable. But the present way, there was relatively little differentiation; it was almost like standing on a planet. When not accelerating or shooting at a helpless bubble, this ship needed no specific orientation in space. And when it was accelerating, that would provide temporary gee. So this odd mode wasn’t nearly as odd as it looked. I had never seen it in holo shows depicting navy vessels, but probably those were censored to avoid the undramatic aspects.

  The guest room was set up in the fashion of an antique boudoir of the salacious version, with mirrors on walls and ceiling and virtually the entire floor covered by the mattress. Evidently these pirates had entertained women before. This was intended for only one type of guest. I realized that this was the type of situation my sister Faith had walked into.

  For a moment we were alone, while the pirates drew their straws. I looked at Spirit. “We’re in trouble,” I said in a gross understatement.

  “You’re in trouble, paleface!” she quipped. But she turned serious immediately. “I can take your place. We can change clothes—”

  I tried to conceal the extent of my horror at the notion. “No good,” I said. “They won’t fit.”

  “We could make it dark—”

  “I won’t stand by and watch you be raped!” I said.

  She sighed like an adult. “That too, of course.”

  “Maybe we can overpower the first pirate.”

  “I could ram a knitting needle in his ear,” she said. “That works pretty well. If I had a needle.”

  “Still no good. They’d be on us when he didn’t come out.” We no longer had our laser pistols; the officer had competently deprived us of them at the outset.

  “We need to get to the captain and hold him up and hijack the ship,” she said.

  “If we could get to the captain, and if we could make him do our will,” I said. “Spirit, these are pirates! They’d as soon kill us as rape us! We just don’t have the—”

  The panel opened. A gross, burly, bearded pirate came in. “Girl, get on the bed and spread ‘em!” he said to me. “Boy, get to the side and watch. When you get old enough, you’ll get to do it too; meanwhile you can learn.” He started to strip.

  Spirit’s gaze darted about the room, seeking some possible weapon, but I knew there was none. Her finger-whip had also been taken from her; pirates knew about such things. Her finger-stump had been sprayed with plastic bandage; they knew about that sort of thing too. These were English-speaking pirates, but they differed from the Spanish-speaking ones we had encountered only in their language and efficiency. Maybe we had floated from the Hispanic territory to the British; elsewhere in Jupiter space there might be French-speaking pirates too. Certainly there had been in the past, in Callisto’s history.

  I hesitated. I really wasn’t taking time to think all these things out as lucidly as I present them here; our fleeting thoughts may be more suggestive than complete. I could use the anti-rape measures against this man, poking his eyes out—but that would surely mean a most unpleasant death for Spirit and me. There had to be a better way.

  “Move, girl!” the pirate cried, grabbing my arm and yanking me onto the bed. I fell, and he jumped on top of me, his clothing only partly undone. His liquor-sodden breath seared my face as his foul hand grasped at my padded front. Yet again I appreciated the position young women may be placed in; no person in her right mind would enjoy this approach! Helse had been very smart to conc
eal her gender.

  “Kife,” I said. I hadn’t known I was going to do it, but the chain of thought leading to Helse had lead naturally to her identity as courier, so brutally fresh in my mind. This did seem worth a try.

  The man froze in mid grasp. “Oh, no!” he muttered.

  “You think a girl survives in space because of her muscle?” I asked, following up my advantage. I could tell the man was really shaken. Evidently QYV’s notoriety extended throughout piratedom.

  He backed off. “Why didn’t you say something before?”

  “Kife wants it private,” I explained. “I’ll probably get in trouble just for giving away my status.” And, really, I had become Kife’s courier, for I retained the key in the capsule. “Take me to your captain.”

  “Damn!” he swore. “I’m tempted to—”

  “Yes, I heard about someone who did that once,” I said blithely. “Thought he was real smart, thought Kife wouldn’t know. But Kife always knows. You know how long it took that man to die, once Kife caught him?”

  The pirate was uncertain again. “Look, girl, I just drew straws! I didn’t know—”

  I saw Spirit smirking. “At the end, he couldn’t even scream,” I said. “Though he sure was trying to! Because of the blood, you know, in his throat. They ran a hose into him, up his nose and down his windpipe, so he wouldn’t choke to death on the gore before they were ready. Kife doesn’t like it when someone dies before he’s ready. They hadn’t done the eyes yet, or the liver—”

  The pirate retreated farther. “What do you want, girl?” He had evidently forgotten my demand to see the captain, or hadn’t taken it seriously. I decided to play with this some more. I was hurt and angry about the holing of our bubble and the callous murder of the other six children. This might be a small vengeance, but it helped.

  “I just thought you’d like to know what you’re missing. They gave me one of his gonads for a souvenir, pickled in brine. ‘Course it was sort of ragged, because he kicked some while they were pulling it off—”

  I don’t think I ever saw so rugged a man look so sick so suddenly. “I never touched you, girl! I didn’t know!”

  “Take me to your captain,” I repeated, tiring of this sport. But mixed with my fiendish glee at the nature of this reprieve was my sense of irony. Had Helse employed her weapon of the name more freely, she need never have died. She hadn’t really known what she had.

  Thus we found ourselves in the presence of the captain, called Brinker. He was not one of the bushy-bearded types; he was clean-shaven and his jacket fitted well. He was small, but looked very much like a Nordic officer, with pale blond hair and sharp, almost chiseled facial features. I became more certain than ever that he had deserted from the Titanian navy, taking his ship and crew with him. I understood such things happened. Space around Uranus wouldn’t have been safe for him, so he had crossed to Jupiter and taken up the trade of piracy. He seemed completely self-assured and carried a needle-laser sidearm in a holster visible in his left armpit, its butt forward. I wondered how this physically unprepossessing person maintained discipline over rough pirates, now that he was not supported by the weight of military law and custom. This was obviously a fairly taut ship.

  “Say the word,” Captain Brinker said to me.

  “Not in public,” I said, aware that I was being tested.

  I did not see Brinker’s hand move, but abruptly the pistol was in it and there was the tingle of heated air beside my left ear. Suddenly I saw how Brinker kept discipline. He must be the fastest gun in space! He could have burned me instead of firing past my head, and I would not have had time to blink. The pistol was already back in the holster.

  But I sensed that it would be wrong to back down in the face of such a threat. Captain Brinker did not respect those he could readily cow. That much my talent of human understanding indicated, though we had not interacted long enough for me to gain a clearer comprehension of the captain’s nature. So though I was frightened, I bluffed. “Shoot me. You know to whom you will answer.”

  The pistol appeared in his hand again, its lens-muzzle bearing on my right eye. But I had never been daunted by such threats.

  Afterwards, when I had time to consider, I might shudder with reaction, but at the time of crisis I always stiffened my opposition when threatened. This wasn’t courage, just the way I am. Some circuit in my brain cuts out under pressure. So I stared into that lens and waited, unspeaking.

  Again the weapon snapped back to its holster. “Very well,” Brinker said. “You shall have your private interview.”

  The pirate guards left, the panel sealing behind them. My sense was continuing to operate; there was something amiss about the captain. I had felt a similar unease when first meeting Helse in her guise as a boy.

  That was the key. “Spirit,” I said in a normal voice. “Do you remember Helse’s secret?”

  She looked puzzled. “I remember.”

  “Another shares it.”

  Her brow furrowed, then straightened. She was catching on. “Are you sure?”

  “Almost. In a moment I’ll tell.”

  Captain Brinker frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “You asked me to say the word,” I said while Spirit unobtrusively moved away from me. “I can do better than that. I can write it out for you.” I glanced about the chamber, the Captain’s small office. “Do you have something to write with?”

  “Just spell it,” Brinker snapped.

  That, of course, was the test. If I spelled Kife the way it sounded, I would show up as an imposter. But I had another ploy now. I saw that Spirit had gotten herself close to an anchored metal cabinet, so might have a baffle. I took the plunge. “FEMALE,” I spelled aloud.

  The pistol was back in the Captain’s hand, aiming at my eye. “Explain yourself, girl.”

  “I suggest you not fire until you consider the consequence,” I said evenly, though the cold clutch of fear almost brought me down. I dread the thought of blindness! “If you are not concerned with the vengeance of Kife, you should think of the more immediate result of action against us.” I had slipped in the other key word deliberately, so that it would seem like no bluff, with the spelling held in reserve. “The secret you value most will be exposed if you kill us. This chamber is not completely soundproofed; one of us will scream the word while you kill the other.” I glanced toward Spirit, who now stood behind the cabinet, out of the line of fire. “Your men will hear, and wonder—and when they discover the nature of our bodies, they will understand the potential.”

  “You are speaking gibberish,” the Captain said.

  “No,” I said. “Here is the secret: None of the three of us here are the sex we seem.”

  The captain did not seem to react. “Be more specific.”

  “I am male,” I said. “Spirit is my sister. And you—”

  “Show me,” the Captain snapped, the laser still zeroed on my eye.

  I lifted my skirt and dropped my bloomers, displaying my masculine parts. This was hardly the occasion for modesty! I signaled to Spirit, who stepped out and started to drop her trousers.

  “Enough,” the captain said. “You have made your point. How did you know?”

  I covered my private region, straightening out my dress. “I have had experience with transvestitism, as you can see. I have learned to recognize it. In my profession, such abilities are often necessary. My employer does not like to have his name bandied about, so I avoid the use of it when possible by using other means to conceal my nature.” Again I was implying that my position as courier was to be taken for granted.

  “In a dozen years, no one has realized I am a woman,” Captain Brinker said, putting away the pistol. “I killed any who suspected. If my crew knew, I would lose my command—and more.”

  “Much more,” I agreed. “It is not to the advantage of any of us to have our natures revealed. Shall we deal on that basis, and leave QYV out of it?” Now at last I spelled it, to remove the last trace of doubt
about my connection.

  “What do you want?”

  “I want my freedom,” I said. “To pursue my mission. If I fail my mission, I will have to seek a very fast, very sure extinction. I also want the freedom of my sister.”

  “She is a courier too?”

  I was aware that she was testing me again, so I steered clear of unnecessary elaboration. “No. Couriers don’t travel in pairs. She is only my sister—but I will not make any agreement unless she is free.”

  “If I set you free, I have no guarantee of your silence,” Brinker pointed out. “Rather than risk that, I will destroy the whole ship.”

  But first she would try to eliminate us cleanly, hoping somehow to conceal our natures and hers from her crew. I saw that she could not be moved on this aspect. “That would certainly protect you from my employer’s vengeance,” I agreed. “I trust you have no blood relatives he can trace. Yet I would rather live, and you would too. Is there no compromise?”

  “Yes. I will give you the lifeboat. Your sister remains with me.”

  As hostage! It did make sense, as I would never betray the captain’s secret while my sister was subject to her will, and the captain would not kill Spirit as long as Spirit’s life guaranteed my discretion. Yet I could not do it. Spirit was all I had left, the only remaining barrier between me and total desolation. “Make another offer,” I said curtly.

  “No other offer,” the captain said, now assured that Spirit was important to me. “I may neither kill you nor let you go entirely free without imperiling myself. It must be all or nothing—or this. Take the compromise—or the consequence.”