The Lion in Paradise

by Brindle, Nathan C.

  Three pistols clattered to the deck. Six hands went up in the air.

  "If my fellow passengers would pick up those pistols," Raven added, "I'd be grateful. Particularly if you know how to use them."

  The two male passengers and one of the women – a redhead, not the blonde – did so, quickly checked readiness, and pointed them at the pirates. Raven noted proper trigger discipline, and approved with a curt nod.

  "Pirates, face down on the deck. NOW!"

  They complied, with a little help from the former hostages. Raven glanced behind her, didn't see anyone else in the corridor, and let out a mental sigh of relief. While it was true she hadn't felt the presence of anyone back there, once the group in front of her had passed her hatch, it was entirely possible her innate but erratic "sense" of presence could have missed another pirate or two still looting one of the already-opened staterooms.

  She stepped up to the pirate who'd figured out who she was, and looked down, disdainfully. "What's your name, pirate scum?"

  "Parker," he said, trying to sound tough, but she could hear the fear underneath it.

  "Okay, pirate Parker, how many other pirates aboard? And how did you get aboard in the first place?"

  "Another team of six took the bridge. We bought tickets." He tried to sneer, but failed. "You know the only thing they scan for when you board is non-frangible ammo, so getting weapons aboard was no big deal."

  Raven laughed. "No ship latched on, in case you blew it and had to escape? You planned to do this in warp, instead of intercepting the Star when it came out like pirates who actually know what they're doing? My God, you people are dim. I doubt seriously your other team took the bridge, but who knows in the middle of the night." She glanced around and saw a nearby wall comm. Walking over to it, she punched the button. "Raven Wolff Fox, pax, calling the bridge."

  "Routing," said the communications system.

  "Communications Officer Ashraf, how may I help you?"

  "Hmm. Well, you can't, because you're not Ashraf; I know his voice," replied Raven. "You pirates have ten minutes to surrender, or one of the Lion of God's cubs is going to come up there and kick your fucking asses out an airlock."

  There was a slight chance she might be wrong about Ashraf; she'd only met him a few times, but his voice was distinctive and this guy did not sound like him. She got her confirmation a moment later when the wall comm clicked off.

  "Okay," said Raven, with a shrug. "These three need to be stuffed in an airlock and vented. Then we're going to go take the bridge back."

  The blonde looked at her in shock. "You weren't kidding about spacing them?"

  Raven sighed and rolled her eyes. "No. Pirates. Automatic death sentence, doesn't require a trial, out the airlock they go." She looked at the surviving pirates, who were staring at the floor, knowing they were screwed. "They know it, too. They knew it when they came on board. So if it makes y'all feel any better, help drag them to the airlock and toss 'em in," she pointed at the corridor junction about forty feet farther down, "and I'll push the button and take the responsibility."

  All told, there were thirteen passengers who'd been rousted out of their staterooms, plus Raven, and they were perfectly happy to help, even the blonde – who was now looking at Raven with a somewhat worshipful gaze, tinged with awe. Raven sighed again. She wasn't interested in a quick hookup, this trip, let alone with a woman – she didn't swing that way and never had, which didn't stop her from being hit on all the time.

  The shit I put up with in this business.

  In the end, they got the three pirates to the airlock, but the airlock controls were dead. Nice. The pirates on the bridge had figured out how to cut them off. Probably had them under camera surveillance as soon as Raven had called up there.

  She punched the nearby wall comm. "Hey assholes on the bridge," she said, "watch how I get around your stupidity and space your buddies whether you like it or not."

  "Sure," said the voice who'd claimed to be Ashraf, said voice dripping with sarcasm and disdain. "We'd like to see you do that."

  "Big talk, small penis," shrugged Raven. She popped open a non-obvious, unmarked panel next to the airlock controls, pulled out two cables with matching ends, and connected them. The controls came immediately to life.

  "You guys are not smart," she observed. "Didn't send anyone to engineering, did you?"

  "What – wait – how did you do that?"

  "I'd like to know that, too," murmured one of the male passengers, who was giving Raven an appraising look.

  "Direct power feed for backup in case the controls from the bridge fail," said Raven. "Provides independent local control. Also for situations like this where assholes take over the bridge and try to lock out the airlock controls so we can't space their asshole buddies." She punched a sequence into the panel, and the airlock's inner hatch swung open. "Toss 'em in," she said.

  The other passengers shoved the three pirates, now kicking and pleading, into the airlock. The three with guns pointed them directly at the pirates, intimidating them from trying to jump back out.

  Raven punched another sequence, and the inner hatch swung shut. She looked through the aliglass port, and saw the pirates screaming and pounding on the hatch. Importantly, though, they were out of the way of the outer hatch's arc of travel. Airlock hatches always swung toward pressure, same as on atmospheric airliners, to prevent the hatch from opening – or being opened – when there was no pressure on the other side.

  Except when you knew the right override codes to open the emergency pressure breaker . . .

  "Bye," she said, punching a third sequence into the control panel.

  Suddenly the airlock was empty, as the outer hatch slammed open and the airlock instantly, explosively, decompressed. She hit a final button and the hatch closed, slowly, followed by the airlock repressurizing.

  "Wow," said the same man who'd murmured before. "No words for the condemned or anything? Just, 'Bye'? That's hard-core, ma'am."

  Raven shook her head. "Nope. Pirates, like commies, aren't human, don't have souls, don't need anyone to pray for them." She looked at him. "You have to take the Space Force Marines attitude on this, or you dawdle around forever trying to decide if you're doing the right thing. What if the pirate had a wife and kids at home? Or a sickly mother? Tough. When you become a pirate, you lose any claim to humanity and humane treatment. You're just a rabid dog to be put down as any rabid dog would be."

  "But surely you'd feel sorry for the dog," persisted the man.

  "Sure," agreed Raven. "Because I love dogs. Contrariwise, I purely hate pirates."

  "Wait," came a now-nervous voice from the comm. "There were seven of them, where are the other four?"

  "Dead, back in the corridor," replied Raven. "I shot them all. One bullet each. Ready to surrender? I can override the bridge's blast doors, too."

  "Who the fuck are you?"

  Raven grinned. "To quote your late unlamented colleague Tiny, 'your worst nightmare.'" She thought for a moment and grinned again. "You may call me . . . The Musician."

  The comm clicked off again.

  Raven snorted. "Okay, everyone, you have five minutes to go back to your staterooms and throw on some actual clothes. Then we're going to storm the bridge."

  "They can lock us in our staterooms," pointed out the same man.

  "True – so stick your desk chair in the way of the hatch," she replied. "Move it."

  They moved.

  Raven ran back to her own stateroom, where, in the event, she did not need to put her chair in the door; Tiny's corpse was still lying half in and half out of it. Jumping over the body, she then rummaged through her clothes. She tore her nightgown off, stepped into briefs and strapped on a bra, then, grabbing one of the outfits she normally used for gigs – blue jean shorts, black leggings under them, tank top, jeans jacket – she threw them on, quickly. Next, she pulled on a pair of mid-calf leather boots. Finally, she strapped on a gun belt, with the holster for the M1911 and several
holstered reload magazines.

  The whole evolution took under five minutes.

  "No hat?"

  She looked through the hatchway at the man who'd been asking her questions. "What? No, never wear one, musses my hair." She shook out her long, straight, nearly-waist-length chestnut brown tresses.

  "Pete Moore," the man introduced himself. He'd changed into something that looked like a civilian version of military fatigues. The gun he'd picked up was stuck in his belt. "Figure you should know, since we're going to storm the bridge together."

  She smiled. "Nice to meet you, Pete. Just call me Raven. I figure you for special ops. Am I right?"

  "Holy shit. Is it that obvious?" the man deadpanned, his eyes flashing with suppressed laughter.

  "Yes, because my sister is Colonel Delaney Wolff Fox, and her husband is Lieutenant Colonel Norman Harbinger," said Raven. "So I know the type."

  "Wow," said Pete. "I guess I have no chance at all, then."

  "What, with me? Sir, I'll have you know I'm a lady." She considered that for a moment. "Sort of. And I expect more than just a couple of extremely nice, expensive dates before I even begin to consider a relationship of any length or nature," she laughed. "Besides . . . how old are you?"

  "Born in 2075. Can't be bothered to count anymore."

  "Well, that's at least in the ballpark. I'm 189, this year; born in 2060."

  "Sure, not much difference between that and, I guess, 174."

  "Ain't nanos grand?"

  Pete shrugged. "Sometimes. Some days I remember something like it happened yesterday, and then realize it really happened over a century ago. It's weird." He smiled. "But it beats getting old and dying before you've really had a chance to live, though."

  "Hmm." She looked thoughtful. "I could use that in a song. Mind? I'll give you credit."

  "Certainly, I'd like that. I heard you play, years ago, on Coleridge. Lovely voice, great technique. I love the blues, and you can make that guitar lay down and wail."

  "Well, thanks," said Raven, "so let's go fuck us up some pirates, and then we can talk and I'll get my guitar out – if I don't fall over asleep as soon as we finish."

  Pete sketched a salute. "Aye, aye, ma'am."

  "'Okay, Raven,' would be sufficient," said Raven, uncomfortably. "I never served."

  "You'd never know it," replied Pete. "You've got Space Force Marines brat written all over you." He grinned.

  Raven rolled her eyes, then jumped back over Tiny's corpse to find the other man and the redheaded female in the corridor, too, and dressed pretty much the same as Pete. The rest of the group hung back a little, dressed, but unsure of their role.

  "Nobody locked in?" asked Raven.

  "Doesn't seem like they bothered to try, after you mentioned stymying that with the desk chairs," noted the redhead. "I'm Blake, by the way. Blake Sanders."

  "Rafe Sorensen," said the other man, not offering anything else, but sketching a salute like Pete had done.

  "Both spec ops like me, if you hadn't figured that out," added Pete.

  "Makes sense," nodded Raven.

  "What's the plan?" asked Blake.

  "Walk up to the bridge, jump the blast doors like we did that airlock, I should think four of us could take out six of them, and then the rest of the folks can help us restrain them and drag them to the airlock for disposal," said Raven, nonchalantly.

  The three spec ops looked at each other, then back at Raven. "Sounds good to us," said Pete. "That's actually more direction and detail than we usually get."

  "I can't believe they tried this while we were in warp," said Blake.

  "Does seem kind of dumb," agreed Raven, "but on the other hand, so far they haven't acted like they were the smartest pirates in the spaceways."

  "Suggests they haven't killed the bridge crew, though," offered Sorensen.

  "Probably not," agreed Pete. "They'll need the pilot and navigator to bring the ship out of warp, and the captain or his relief, and the communications officer to talk their way past any Space Force high guard. Also, that bridge is going to be cramped with all ten of them in there, so we'll need to be careful what we shoot at."

  "Even with frangible rounds we need to be careful," concurred Blake.

  "Everybody clear, then?" said Raven, looking around. "Then back to the corridor junction, and we'll use the manual hatches and manways to get moving up to the command deck."

  "Why not the lifts?" asked the blonde.

  Of course.

  "They can disable the lifts just as easily as they can disable the airlocks and lock down the passenger staterooms," explained Raven, patiently. "The difference is, I don't think there's an override for the lifts."

  "There probably is," said Pete, "but I doubt you have the code for it, and I don't have it, either. At least not for this ship."

  "Okay, then we're climbing," said Raven. "It's only three decks. Anyone who doesn't feel up to a 1G climb of three decks is excused and may remain here."

  There was some murmuring, but nobody seemed to want to stay belowdecks.

  "I'll lead," said Raven, "with Pete, Blake, and Rafe behind me. If I understand the layout of this ship correctly, and I'm pretty sure I do since I've seen the blueprints, when we reach the top deck, the bridge will be one frame forward. I want everyone who is not armed to remain on Deck Two – that's the promenade deck, if you aren't sure which deck is which, and I'm pretty sure you all know it by that name."

  Even the blonde smiled.

  Maybe she's not as vacant as I thought. Well. Still don't want to do her.

  "Normally I'd argue for point," observed Pete, "but you seem to be doing fine."

  Blake nodded. Rafe just looked unperturbed.

  Raven started climbing. When she reached the first pressure hatch at the ceiling, she stopped, looped one arm around a ladder rung, and popped open another non-obvious panel. Again, she reached in, drew out two cables, and hooked them together.

  "Damn, girl," observed Rafe, "you know all about this ship, don't you?"

  "I should," said Raven, stuffing the cables back into the panel so they wouldn't hang loose. "I was married to the lead designer at BaeNorGrumLockMart for thirty years. And since I traveled so much between planets in these liners, he clued me in on all the safety override features." She smiled, gently, at the memory. "Just in case."

  Blake laughed. "Those guys on the bridge really picked the wrong ship to hijack."

  A nearby wall comm went live. "Hey, girl climbing the ladder. This is engineering. Need any help?"

  "Maybe," said Raven, as she started climbing again. "Can you tell me anything about Cross-Connect X-69?"

  She heard a chuckle. "Honey, you really do know your stuff. This is Anse Scott, chief engineer. And please don't make any Star Trek jokes at my expense."

  "I won't make any," puffed Raven, climbing hard, "if you'll give me the countersign."

  "'A good time was had by all.' Who was your husband?"

  "If you're Anse Scott, your great uncle Duncan."

  "Holy shit. No kidding? You don't look a day over nineteen."

  "Nanos. He liked his girlfriends young, and turns out I like looking young, too. He liked that well enough to marry me back around 2150 or so." She sighed a little. "Got himself killed in an industrial accident in 2181, or we'd probably still be married."

  "Yeah, I remember that. So you're my great aunt Raven I've heard so much about. Small galaxy."

  "Yep. Just call me Raven, we can do the family thing later. Can you override those next two hatches from engineering, or do I have to do it manually?"

  "Unfortunately, it's a manual thing. Anything I can do from here can be overridden from the bridge. We can fight it back and forth all day long, but that will just wear out the actuators."

  "Okay. Anything else you can do?"

  "Can't override the bridge's blast doors from here, either, but I could cut power to the bridge just before you open them. They have aux, but it has to be cut in manually for anything but emerg
ency lighting."

  "What about ventilation?"

  Anse demurred. "Raven, we could suck all the air out of there and leave them in a vacuum, but they weren't able to figure out how to disable the surveillance cameras, and we can see the bridge crew are still alive. Unfortunately, sleep gas isn't a thing, except in the holos, so we can't do that, either."

  "Can you cut off their comms with the rest of the ship?"

  There was silence while Anse thought about it.

  "Maybe. Comms aren't my specialty. There's a main board down here for their power, but I think the system has local auxiliary power for just that sort of problem. I'll ask the comms guy."

  Raven thought about it as she reached the next hatch and rigged it. "Go ahead and do it; they might not be able to figure out how to turn on the aux."

  "Okay." Anse turned away from the microphone and yelled at someone else. He came back. "What else?"

  "I know there's an auxiliary control room for emergencies. Can anybody in your black gang fly this thing?"

  "What, you mean, like bring us out of warp?"

  "If it becomes necessary, yes. I'm thinking in terms of them shooting things up when they realize they're done for."

  "Actually, we can call on the CO for that. Third shift, the second mate is holding down the bridge watch. The Captain is awake, and was going to try to take the bridge back himself, but they managed to lock down the armory, and that doesn't have a manual override."

  "Yeah, I know," sighed Raven, at the third and final hatch. "Figured. Is he in the circuit?"

  "I can cut him in." She heard a buzz and a click.

  "This is Captain Jackson," came another, more authoritative voice. "Who are you talking to, Anse?"

  "Raven Wolff Fox," replied Anse. "Pax. She's reached the last manway hatch before Deck One, and has some people with her. They're going to storm the bridge."

  "Miss Fox," said the Captain, "one presumes you're armed."

  "Yes, sir," said Raven. "I also have three spec ops folks at my back. They've got the guns from the pirates we spaced down on the first class stateroom deck."

  Jackson chuckled. "You already spaced them?"