Refugee

by Piers Anthony

  “Hope, she means it,” Spirit said. “Do it. She will not harm me, for I have the same secret. I can be the cabin boy, and I will not be molested. You must go free, to complete your mission.”

  My nonexistent courier mission. “My father, my mother, my fiancée—all sacrificed themselves for me!” I exclaimed in anguish. “You are all I have left, Spirit! I can’t let you go!”

  “Hope, I said I would die for you,” Spirit replied. “This is not nearly as bad. We may someday meet again.” And I saw the tears on her face, and knew she was determined to make this final sacrifice for me. I had to do it.

  “Agreed,” I said to the captain, almost choking over the word. Spirit—I did not know whether I could survive without her, or whether I wanted to. Yet it seemed it had to be done. “We are children and you are pirates—but we have seen as much of death as you have. Do not test us unduly. I refuse to use my courier status to win free; find another pretext to put me on the lifeboat.” I was serious; I was on the verge of throwing it all in, screaming out the captain’s secret, and letting things follow as they would.

  “We understand each other,” the captain said. “I will send you back to the bed. You will hijack the ship instead, using our detonation-control panel. Your sister will have to do it.” She glanced at Spirit. “You have the nerve, girl?”

  “I have the nerve—girl,” Spirit replied.

  “No more of this!” I said immediately, knowing that mayhem was in the near offing. Either of those two would destroy the ship if pressed, herself with it. “You are both male, henceforth. And I will exit as I am.”

  “Then listen, lad,” Captain Brinker said to Spirit, and my sense informed me that she was not entirely displeased about this development. I realized that it must be a lonely thing, being the only woman in a crew of cutthroat men, anonymously, unable ever to let down her guard lest she be relegated to perpetual slave duty in the guest room. She surely had to sleep in a locked chamber. She might wish for the company of her own kind, while preserving her secret—and we had handed that opportunity to her.

  Brinker was letting it be understood that she was compromising in the face of necessity. But in reality she was arranging exactly what she wanted: to be rid of me and to keep my sister. This insight did not dismay me; it reassured me. The captain had no reason to betray us.

  The captain tersely explained how to arm the detonator panel, so that the pirate ship would be blown up if anything happened to the one in control. Then we were ready; I would not need my space suit in the lifeboat, and I already had a fair notion how to pilot it, and where I was going. Except—

  “The ephemeris!” I exclaimed. “I must have that!”

  “You know how to get it,” the Captain said.

  I nodded. I looked at Spirit.

  “One thing,” Spirit said to the captain. “If my brother doesn’t make it safely away—”

  “You will do what I would do in the circumstance,” Brinker finished.

  “Yes.”

  “Spirit isn’t bluffing,” I said.

  The captain smiled grimly. “I think we shall get along.”

  I thought they would, too. There was an underlying similarity between them.

  I embraced Spirit. “Beloved brother—farewell,” I said, not caring that a feminine tear showed on my face.

  She looked so small, trying to be brave, her face scarred, one finger missing. But I knew she would blow up the ship if she had to.

  “Beloved sister,” she responded. “I love you.” She kissed me with a passion that disconcerted me.

  I turned to the captain. “You will see that my brother is well treated,” I said, and was surprised at the coldness in my voice. I had the fake weapon of QYV and the real one of the captain’s secret, but in fact I believed I would find a way to come for Brinker and kill her in the most humiliating and painful way if she harmed Spirit, and this was manifest in my tone. I would somehow in due course destroy all pirates; this I had already vowed. But Spirit was special.

  “You can be sure of it.” Captain Brinker was no gentle creature, but she understood. There was no bluffing in any of this; we were all killers.

  The captain activated her buzzer, summoning the guard pirates. “Take the girl back to the guest room; her protection is fake, and she will have to cooperate. Leave the boy with her for now; we’ll lock them up together until we tire of her.”

  The arriving pirates smiled broadly. “Yes, sir!” one said, crunching my elbow with his huge hand. I must have made a very fetching image of a girl. The other grabbed for Spirit, who looked so cowed it was obviously not necessary to hold her securely.

  I had seen that cowed look before. That was when Spirit was most deadly dangerous.

  We accompanied the men docilely enough. I noted how other pirates nodded; their captain had come through again, penetrating the difficult matter of the Kife ploy. It was not just Brinker’s ready laser that compelled respect; it was her ability to solve the tricky problems, protecting the ship when some other person might have blundered. Brinker was a good captain, setting aside the issue of legality. Even the way the bubble had been holed—that had defused our trap before we had a chance. Brinker took no unnecessary chances.

  We entered the longitudinal hall—and Spirit exploded. She kicked her guard pirate in the leg, punched him in the gut, and used him as a brace to shove off violently. In a moment she was plunging down the passage toward the control room at the end.

  “Hey!” the man cried stupidly, going after her. My own guard kept his hand on me, and I, being supposedly female and helpless, made no move.

  He hauled me toward the control room. We passed through the door and stood on the floor, which could serve as a wall when the ship was accelerating. Our heads were pointed toward the center of the ship, far up the center passage.

  Spirit had made it to the Destruct Control panel and stood with her small hands locked on a lever. “Let my sister go!” she cried, spying us.

  The pirate on duty gaped. “That’s the detonator!” he said. “One tug on that lever and all our ammo blows!”

  Spirit smiled and tugged the lever down. Every pirate in sight blanched. “Tried to fool me, huh?” she demanded. “I’ve seen these things before. Now I’ve armed it; if I let go, it’ll snap back, and that’d blow a hole in your ship, wouldn’t it! See how you bastards like breathing vacuum, same’s you did for our people. Turn my sister loose!”

  Hastily, my guard did so. I rubbed my elbow. “Brother,” I asked, “do you know what you’re doing? We’ll die, if—”

  “But we’ll take all these apes with us,” she said zestfully. “That’s the way I like to go!”

  I spoke to the pirates. “I know my brother. He’s a power crazy brat. He thinks killing people is a game. He used to smash all his toys for the fun of it. He’s not afraid of death. If you don’t do what he says—”

  Captain Brinker appeared. “What?”

  “We’re hijacking your ship, sir,” Spirit called. “You pilot it where we say, or I’ll blow it right out of Jupiter orbit!”

  “You ungrateful brat!” Brinker exclaimed. The laser pistol appeared in her hand. “I spare your life, and you pull this. Get away from that panel!”

  “Go ahead, kill me!” Spirit gibed. “When I let go of this handle, we’ll all go! Boom!”

  “Sir!” a sweating pirate cried. “It’s true! We can’t take the chance!”

  The captain’s weapon swung to cover him. “Don’t tell me what to do!” Brinker snapped. “Who let that brat go?”

  The pirate closest to Spirit turned, his face turning waxy. “It was so quick—”

  The beam of the laser speared him through the right eye. Steam and fluid puffed out as the eyeball was burned and punctured. The man staggered back, clapping one hand to his face.

  “When I give an order, I expect it to be carried out competently,” the Captain said. “I had this matter settled, and you have bungled us into a problem.” She turned back to Spirit. �
�What do you want, boy?”

  “Pilot this ship to Leda,” Spirit said.

  “The Jupe military base? They’d blow us out of space! You might as well turn that handle loose now and get it done with.”

  Spirit looked at the handle. “Oh. Well—” She made as if to let it go, and again the pirates blanched.

  I stepped in. “The captain’s not bluffing, kid. We can’t hijack this ship there.”

  Spirit scowled. “I know. But I sort of like explosions anyway.” She let go the handle—and caught it halfway back.

  A pirate grunted in horror, but the captain didn’t flinch. It was evident whose nerves were steadiest. “We’ll give you safe conduct to our lifeboat,” Brinker said. “It’s fueled and stocked; it can easily reach Leda.”

  “No good,” I said. “We can’t even find Leda without our ephemeris, and we don’t know how to pilot a spacecraft.”

  The captain spoke to a pirate. “Suit up, go to the bubble, and fetch its ephemeris.” Then, to me: “There are instructions on the boat. It is designed to be operated by any fool who may survive disaster in space, even a teenage girl. You can operate it, if you can read English.”

  “I can read English,” I said. “Spirit, maybe we should—”

  “Okay, take my sister there,” Spirit said. Then she did a dismayed double-take, fine little actress that she was. “Oops—how can I go? I have to keep my hand on this handle!”

  “I will hold the lever for you,” the captain said.

  Spirit laughed so hard she seemed almost to lose control of the handle. Even I, who knew her propensity for such seeming mischief, was alarmed. “Oh, no, you don’t, sir! The moment I quit this handle, you’ll shoot me and plant my sister in that bed!”

  Captain Brinker smiled, and the pirates smiled with her. This was rough humor they understood. The captain, too, was playing to an audience. Obviously I ran the danger of the bed. “Then it seems you must remain here, guarding your handle, while your sister departs. Is that good enough?”

  “But I can’t stay here forever,” Spirit said, playing it out with uncomfortably accurate intuition. “Once my sister’s gone, the moment I quit, my life’ll be out the air lock!” She shook her head. “I guess I just better blow it up now, and be done with it.”

  Again the pirates froze nervously. No one liked being subject to the whim of this vacillating child. Again the captain interceded with a skillful compromise. “I could use a nervy lad like you for my cabin boy. Spare the ship, and I’ll see that you’re protected.”

  Spirit considered with childlike solemnity. “Will you make a Pirate’s Oath on that?”

  “Pirate’s Oath,” the Captain agreed. “Now just let me have that lever.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t, sir!” Spirit repeated, grasping the lever more tightly and lifting it part of the way back. “Not till my sister’s safe! You’re probably lying, but at least I can save her!”

  “Accuse me of lying again and I will burn you where you stand,” the captain said evenly.

  “The captain’s right, kid,” a pirate called. “He never breaks a real promise.”

  So now the pirate crew knew that the Captain had to keep her word, or stand diminished. Cleverly played, indeed! There would be no back-talk or grumbling when Spirit was spared. And of course it was true: Spirit was a nervy kid, and would make a good cabin boy.

  The pirate returned with the ephemeris. I took it. “Thanks, brother,” I said to Spirit. “Don’t blow up the ship until I get clear.” I reveled in the expression of the nearest pirate. We had them scared, all right.

  I took one last look at Spirit. She met my gaze squarely, and somehow it reminded me of the time I had tried to question her about the events of the night I had dreamed of Helse. It wrenched my heart to part from her.

  Then I turned and moved toward the passage to the lifeboat.

  CHAPTER 20

  SALVATION

  After that it was routine. I found myself in the lifeboat, and the instructions were there, and the controls were simple. Those instructions made all the difference; had we had them for the last lifeboat, we could have mastered it as readily. The captain had kept her word.

  I activated the drive and jetted off. “Farewell, Spirit!” I cried as I saw the pirate ship and attached bubble receding behind me. I did not yet know how to work the radio, so could not broadcast any message, but it wasn’t necessary. Anyway, such a broadcast might have alerted other pirates to my presence, and I didn’t want that.

  I watched the pirate ship for some time, making sure it didn’t explode, as if my concentration could affect it. As time passed, I was reassured that the rest of the bargain had been honored. Spirit was becoming the captain’s cabin boy.

  Now I let the tears flow. It hardly mattered; I was dressed for it. It was all right for a girl to cry.

  I have no heart to detail my solitary journey to Leda. The mechanics of it were absolutely boring, and the mental and emotional aspect was horrendous. Now I had time to realize that I had in fact sold my little sister into more than a masquerade. Captain Brinker evidently had no use for men in the emotional sense— which meant she might have use for women. Cabin boys, historically, had been notoriously employed as homosexual objects. Now the captain had a cabin girl. Why hadn’t I thought of that before?

  Because I could not afford to jeopardize my escape? Had I forced my sister into that bed after all, to benefit myself? I could not be sure, but there was no joy in the contemplation.

  I was the sole survivor of the original bubble-trek to the better life. All the others had sacrificed themselves, many of them directly for me. At this stage I hardly seemed worth it. Over and over I rehearsed this in my mind, trying to come to terms with my fundamental unworthiness. On Io I had known that no merit of mine justified my survival; now, as I neared Leda, I had no better assurance.

  Slowly I concluded that though I was unworthy, I might be able to redeem myself in part. I resolved to dedicate my life to the justification of the sacrifices that had been made for me. I did not know exactly how I would do it, but somehow I would. I would make the universe know that the lives of all the gallant refugees had not been in vain.

  With the powerful jet of the lifeboat, I made it much faster than would have been possible in the bubble. I called ahead, having mastered the radio by this time, and they gave me landing instructions and took me into custody when I turned off the jet and emerged. They took me in at the station, listened to part of my statement, and told me there was no proof for it, because I was a minor and there were no corroborative witnesses. What irony! There were no witnesses because they all had been captured or killed. No wonder the pirates had free rein in space.

  They shipped me to a refugee-detention-camp bubble orbiting Jupiter not far above the roiling atmosphere, and dumped me in with a thousand other refugees gleaned from all around the Jupiter system. I had had no idea there were so many. We had never seen another bubble during our odyssey, but they must have been there. If each of these people represented the lone survivor of an expedition like mine, bounced back from Jupiter on the pretext of a changed policy when in fact they had merely come to the wrong station for admission, it was appalling. What monsters ran the government of mighty Jupiter?

  We were strangers to each other, yet not strangers in experience. The others had indeed suffered grievously, and learned in the harshest possible way the realities of space. They were not necessarily nice people, these survivors. They too had learned to steal and lie and kill, just to get by. They had eaten human flesh. They understood full well the horror of our situation. I did not like being among them; I would have felt more comfortable in the company of the nicer people who had made the sacrifices, such as my own parents and sisters and fiancée. Part of the horror of my situation was the knowledge that if I had been a better person, I would long since have died.

  The commandant of the detention center summoned us all to an assembly to announce that current United States of Jupiter policy, whi
ch was relevant for us, would admit only those refugees who possessed viable commercial or artistic skills, and therefore would not be a burden on society. The rest would be returned to their planets of origin.

  Returned to Callisto! Or, for the others, to Ganymede or Europa or some lesser moon. Horror overwhelmed us, and the assembly became a riot. They had to flood the bubble with sleep gas to break it up. We well knew the fate most of us would face on our home moons. Few of us would be kindly treated, and those who were would still be locked into the very situation they had risked everything to escape. I, personally, would face a charge of attempted murder, because of the scion. The verdict was sure.

  Callisto meant death for me. I was not concerned so much for myself, as death had brushed past me too many times to be any specter of the unknown. I was concerned for my mission: to vindicate the effort of the refugees who had already died. I was the only one of our original party who remained to make that attempt.

  Yet I seemed to possess no skills or arts the authorities considered worthwhile. They weren’t interested in information about Half-cal history or culture. They had passed out assorted tests in Spanish, and many forms, and I had duly filled them all out, but they were coded by numbers, not names, and the authorities weren’t paying much attention. I wasn’t sure they were even reading the completed forms, or whether the number designated for me actually matched the one on the forms I had been given. Probably my answers had been credited to somebody else, and vice versa. This sort of thing happens when men are treated like cattle.

  My name was duly posted on the list of scheduled returnees. I would have perhaps a month longer here, while the remaining refugees were processed and the bureaucracy ground its inefficient wheels to produce the necessary transportation. Then a Jupiter ship, in the name of the Home of the Brave and the World of the Free, would deliver me to my doom.

  So I am whiling away my time by writing this private history, as it may become the only record of the travails of my family and the other ill-fated refugees. I have all day, every day, to rehearse my memories and piece it out to the best of my ability. Probably these poor sheets, written in English to prevent comprehension by other refugees—somehow I value this immediate aspect of my privacy, for all that I do want my story to be known after I am gone— will be destroyed with the other refuse of our camp, once we are excised from the detention globe. That will be a secret tragedy. But even so, this writing is a necessary therapy, a coming to terms with my situation. I am about to be eliminated, and my dreams and vows with me. I must tell someone of my pain, even if only a sheaf of papers. At least, for a little while, this enables my family and friends to live again, if only in my appreciation.