He went to the Cargo Master’s console. “I’m sharp now.”
Patterson gave him a questioning look, then a nod. “Go to it.”
Give the man his due, he never said another word, even when Wen made a mistake that meant a little extra work on the other end. When loading the next workboat, Wen realized what he had done. He turned to Dave.
“Caught it this time, did you? And realize what you did wrong last time?” Patterson asked. “You get points for that.”
The Cargo Master believed in letting people make their own mistakes and learning from them. Wen hoped that he would say something if the mistake were serious. He glanced up at the chrono.
“Better take over, Dave. I’m due for a shift on the workboats.”
Out in space, everything made more sense. He had no trouble concentrating, though he could have done the job almost in his sleep. While one part of his mind kept a close watch on his work, another played with the scenario.
However, by the time the day ended, he wanted nothing so much as to go to sleep. And the next day would be just like this one. No time for playing games. And he would have to put in some hours on the Cargo Master module, as well. He couldn’t let that slip.
Between his work, the cargo stuff, guitar lessons, eating and sleeping, there weren’t too many hours left to work on his module. He hadn’t even fired it up in the last two days.
However, as soon as Venture finished unloading onto Haida Gwaii, he would have opportunity during its return to FTL-1 to put in some time.
* * *
Sunday 08 August
Wen waited for everyone else to clear out of the study hall. They went to supper. He stayed. He would eat later.
His freighter dropped, and the pirate appeared, boosting to close the distance. Instead of running, he turned around to meet it head-on. Firing his thrusters, the distance between them lessened rapidly. The pirate simply turned away and launched missiles. They destroyed him.
He hadn’t expected anything different; this was his base run. Everything else, he would compare to it.
He restarted the program. This time, he dropped shields instead of pushing them to maximum deflection. He then lit his beam, and targeted the pirate. The pirate’s shields flared with the strike from the beam. Not able to drop shields to launch missiles, the distance between them rapidly dwindled without Revenge receiving fire. The pirate turned to the side, but Wen kept the beam locked on. No letting him escape the beam, no letting him launch missiles.
When the beam would no longer come to bear, Wen raised his own shields. He went careening past the pirate, who turned, dropped shields, and fired missiles. He came to within an ace of outrunning them, but failed. His freighter blew.
“Damn!” He hadn’t wanted to drop cargo yet, had hoped that he might escape, cargo intact.
Angry, he started again. This time, he aimed his ship directly for the pirate. The pirate continued on, straight for him, and he rammed it. If he couldn’t save himself and his passengers, at least he would ensure that the pirate never again hit another ship.
A feeling of euphoria came over him. He could end all the pain, and do good at the same time. The euphoria wore off quickly. This wasn’t the victory for which he strived.
“Again!” He wanted that feeling once more. However, he had programmed the pirate vessel to learn from its mistakes, too, and this time the pirate veered off to avoid him. He veered with the pirate, and once more they collided. The euphoria did not return.
Another thought hit. This time, when the pirate veered away, he started to follow it, causing it to boost at full thrust. At which point he turned in the opposite direction and went to full thrust, himself. He almost made it. Damn those ships and their acceleration.
Once more. This time, he ceased applying thrust as he screamed past the pirate, but instead used attitudinal thrusters to turn his ship around such that it flew backwards, keeping its bow to the pirate, and thus allowing the beam to bear. He waited until the pirate had turned around, with raised shields, and began to apply thrust to do the same. The pirate then dropped shields. Its beam struck him, but he opened the range rapidly, and started to jink side to side.
He had made it outside missile range. Missiles fired would run out of fuel before they reached him and, as he continued to accelerate, would come either to a relative halt, or he could manoeuvre while they lacked the ability to change course.
The pirate would eventually catch up enough to fire missiles, but by then he hoped to be able to jump.
Jump engines recharged, he checked. Pirate now closing but still further away than it had ever been at this point, and its beam scarcely on him at all. He fired manoeuvring thrusters and, as soon as the beam had lost him, and before the pirate could re-engage, he jumped. And the screen went grey. He had made it into hyperspace!
He stared at the grey a long time, not believing it. He had won! He closed down the game. A single victory didn’t mean that he had found the answer, it merely meant that he had gained a single victory. Only when he could repeat the process without failure, could he say he had achieved his goal.
He called up the Cargo Master program, and began working on the next level. It grew more difficult with each level, just as Sean had said. One thing, however, became abundantly clear: William had made no mistake when he told him that even failing to go far in any of the courses left the individual more knowledgeable about the ship’s functions in general, and how they worked together to produce a working entity that made money.
When he returned to Amalgamated, he would have a greater appreciation for the cargo masters and their teams. If he ever went for Admin, and became a ship’s officer, or even captain, having gone even this far in the program would enable him to operate the ship that much more effectively. He would owe the Yrdens for as long as he worked in space.
“Still here?” William asked. “You missed supper.”
“I’ll dine on leftovers, or make myself something from the sandwich department.”
William glanced at the screen. “Progress. I’ve never seen anyone put so much effort into this program. You’ve gone farther, faster than anyone else.”
He grinned. “Sean still beats me on hours per level, but he didn’t – probably couldn’t – put in as many hours a day.”
“Come into my office, if you will,” William said.
When they arrived, William pointed to a chair. “Sit down, please. I’d like to talk with you, if I may.”
Wen sat, and waited the man out. He wouldn’t ask. He hoped that the Yrdens hadn’t decided to make the study hall and its programs off-limits to him. He felt his heart starting to beat faster. What if they did?
“Sean outed you.”
“What?”
“At the lunch table the other day, he told others about the game you played, Pirates, he called it. That raised the interest of one of the pilots who came to check it out. He discovered that you had restricted it to yourself only.”
“Which pilot?”
“I don’t think it matters.” William looked into his eyes. “The pilot took it to the captain; the captain came to me. I opened it for her – her orders.”
Wen took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Not William’s fault. You couldn’t disobey a direct order from the captain. He told the man so.
“No, I couldn’t, though I suggested it was an invasion of your privacy. I thought she should go to you personally.”
“And now what?” His anger began to grow. “They don’t want me playing it any longer?” Too late, he already had his answer. One more reason to hate this prison ship.
“On the contrary,” William said, startling him. “Bettina asks that you open it up to other pilots. She thinks that the more different minds on the subject, the better for all. She played the game, lost, and didn’t like what it implied: surrender or die – especially as surrendering might mean dying anyway.
“She had nothing but praise for you for creating the program. Said that you truly
earned your ‘first pilot’ status with Amalgamated Shipping.”
“What? Why would she think that?”
“Oh, she watched the record of one of your simulations – where you sent every boat on the ship to suicide against the pirate in order to gain you time. She only faulted you on one thing.” And William smiled at that.
“Oh, what?” He didn’t know whether to be annoyed or pleased by the captain’s interest and praise.
“Said you might be a little obsessive.”
Wen couldn’t help himself, he had to chuckle. “Guilty as charged. Then, I don’t have to close down the game; don’t have to leave the study hall?”
William drew down his brows. “What on Earth would make you think that? Of course not. You don’t even have to open your simulation to the other pilots, Wen. Certainly, if you don’t, Bettina will ask someone to create a similar program.”
“No. Not necessary. Open it to pilots – but only to pilots. I don’t want anyone getting depressed over our chances when the likelihood of an attack remains so small. It would have everyone fearing every drop, instead of enjoying it.”
“I agree. Morale would take a hit. I think I’ll restrict playing the game to my office console. For you, too. Sean’s too bright, and he’s been watching you. You have become his hero.”
“Me?” How had that come about?
“You treat him as an adult in every interaction you have with him. He loves that. No one else does. Most everyone else has seen him as a baby, a toddler, a child.”
“Yeah, so I’ve been told. Doesn’t make me a hero.”
“Perhaps not. But to him – doesn’t matter. Point is, he watches everything you do, and, as I said, he’s bright.”
“Gotcha.”
A knock came at the door. William looked up.
“I’ve just asked him, Captain. He says okay.”
Bettina Yrden stepped in. “Good. Thank you, pilot.”
Wen began to stand, then relaxed again, as she negated the motion. He wondered what else she might have to say.
“You’ve made a very interesting program, Wen. Frightening in its implications.”
“Actually,” he replied. “Not so frightening.”
She cocked her head. “No?”
“William,” Wen asked, “may we have the room?”
He turned his head slightly, while keeping his gaze on Wen, wondering, no doubt what the pilot had to say. But he stood. “I’ll just check some of the consoles.”
Bettina took another seat so as to not be above him. She waited until the door closed before speaking.
“What is it? Why is it not so frightening? And why did you ask William to leave?”
“There’s an easier way to evade the pirates. And that makes my program not so frightening. I asked William to leave because I didn’t know if he knows what we know.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “He doesn’t. And what easier way have you found?”
“I would have thought you’d have figured it out – that’s why I didn’t say anything.”
She gave a small laugh. “I’ve had my hands full with other matters. Haven’t had time to think hard on it. Please, don’t make me.”
“Right.” Wen looked at the console, then back to her. “We know who the pirates are. From that, we can guess how they intercept our ships.”
“Because we tell them where we’ll be and when,” Bettina said, starting to get interested.
“Exactly. And you’ll only find them at the regular waypoints.”
“Because each Family – and TPC, for all I know – uses different routes, and only the common ones, the standard ones, are a sure thing. You’re suggesting we avoid the waypoints?”
“No, I’m not. That would foul up the mail delivery system and the messages between ships, wouldn’t it? However, when coming into the standard waypoints, you just drop a little early – another hundred thousand kilometres out. For a pirate to catch you before you can jump again, he has to get to you before you can recharge your jump engines and—”
“And so he’ll wait near the buoy, and accelerate towards the dropping freighter to get within range before she can do anything,” Bettina completed for him.
Wen nodded. “And if you drop further out, he won’t be able to close in time – not with you running away.”
“We’d have to brake before jumping – too fast and we’d kill ourselves in the jump.”
“True. And jumping from non-standard points might cause problems.” Like ending up in a star, he thought.
“Better than a sure death at the hands of a pirate.” She sighed. “I – and probably every other captain – would have thought of that, maybe has thought of that already. You’re right. So why the obsession with the game?”
“Because no matter what we do to avoid it, we may still drop next to a pirate.” He didn’t lie, though he didn’t tell the whole truth either. “A good pilot will have a plan in that case – if only one to scatter the cargo widely to make sure the pirates don’t profit from their piracy.”
Bettina stood, and he got up with her.
“Thank you, Pilot. I appreciate your thoughts on the matter.”
But not enough to invite him to the bridge, he thought.
“Here’s something to consider. I saw how you kept altering course while ejecting cargo so it would spread out, making it more difficult for the pirate to recover it. There’s an easier way.”
“Oh?”
“Spin the ship about its longitudinal axis. Let centrifugal force do the work for you.”
Wen stood stock still for a moment, and the idea blossomed in his mind. “Brilliant! Thank you, Captain. I’ll try that.”
As Bettina left the room, a new idea came rushing in on top of the last – made possible by it. With burning eyes, he turned to follow the captain out, startling William with his intensity.
* * *
Monday 09 August
Wen saw a small blond head cutting across the corridor.
“Hey, Cargo Master.”
Sean backtracked, and looked around the corner. “Hi, Wen. Did you call me?”
“That I did. Remember you told me that you could buy up to 200 kilos of trade goods – spec cargo, I think you called it.”
The kid nodded, serious. “Yes, I remember.”
“How do you order it? Is there anything special I need to know?”
Sean shook his head. “No, nothing special. Just order what you want.”
Which didn’t really answer his question, though the kid thought it did. He spread out his hands, palms up.
“Can you help me, Cargo Master? I don’t know where or how to order – or what choices we have.”
Sean stared at him, as if he were perpetrating a joke of some kind. He studied Wen’s face for a minute before replying.
“Really?”
“Really. We didn’t have that option working for Amalgamated. No spec cargo. There, if I wanted something personal, I’d have to contact a store myself, and have it mailed to my ship care of Amalgamated. Is that what you do?”
Laughter greeted that explanation.
“Come with me,” Sean said, and led him to a room he’d never before entered. Inside he saw several consoles, some with crew in front of them, two empty. Sean led him to one of the empty ones.
“Put in your crew name and authorization number,” Sean instructed.
His personal account came up, and he could see, if he wished, the funds available to him. He didn’t care if the kid saw, so he called it up. A full year’s salary from Amalgamated, plus that which the Yrdens had paid him thus far, sat in his account.
“Wow!” Sean said. “That’s a lot. You can get whatever you want, I guess.”
Wen closed the window. “Right. I have funds I can spend. Now what?”
“Open the catalogues, do a search for what you want, put in the order, and it goes to the trade office. The ship orders it, pays for your stuff and any shipping charges, takes the money from your account, and
brings your stuff up. You have a pallet?”
“Nope.”
“Okay. Apply for a pallet.” He pointed to the proper field. It took all of three seconds for the ship to assign him S43.
“S stands for speculative,” Sean informed him. “You have pallet 43 in the speculative section. When your stuff comes up, if it’s not damaged, you sign for it.” He smiled. “And just like in the game, you pack it away on your pallet. You can get containers from shipping – same as we do when we’re dividing up incoming between pallets.”
“Got it,” Wen said. “Now, where are the catalogues?” He had already seen the tab for them, but allowed Sean to point it out. He let out a low whistle at the number available.
“And,” Sean finished, “if you can’t find what you want, you can always do a Web search and find a store. If they’ll ship it to us, all you have to do is fill in all the blanks on the order form, and the traders will order it.”
“Thank you, Cargo Master. I think I can handle it, now.”
But Sean didn’t leave. He wanted to see what Wen might order.
Wen entered a search for “marbles”.
“What are marbles?” Sean wanted to know.
“Small glass balls – like ball bearings.”
Sean looked up at him, suspicious. “If you use glass for ball bearings, they’ll get crushed. Won’t work.”
Wen had to laugh out loud, which got the attention of others. Carly looked around. He hadn’t seen her when he came in. She sat with another crewmember, looking on as that one ordered. Curious, she stood. She walked over to them, and glanced at the screen.
“What’s funny?” she asked.
“Wen wants to use glass balls for ball bearings,” Sean reported. “I told him they would get crushed, and he laughed.”
“Well,” Carly said. “It depends on what kind of weight they’ll have to support, what sort of friction they’ll have to undergo.”
Wen held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t say I wanted them for ball bearings, I said they looked like them. Marbles. It’s a game poor kids play. On low-tech worlds, they’d probably appreciate them. So, I’ll sell them on Liberty or New Brittain, or somewhere.”
Not With A Whimper: Survivors Page 21