Space Captain Smith

by Toby Frost

  ‘That ain’t fair now,’ Francois called as he walked up from the boat. ‘I ain’t saying I can fix their drive, sure. But it ain’t just tractors. Jets, stabilisers, I know all about them. You remember that car I fitted up last year?’

  ‘That lawnmower?’ Marie said.

  ‘That weren’t just any lawnmower: it was jet-powered. It cut the grass fine, but I gave up using it. Burned my shins.’ He looked at Smith. Smith’s eyes moved from one to the other, across the faces of the three locals to the doubting expression on his pilot’s face.

  ‘Righty-ho,’ Smith said. ‘We’ll bring the ship down to you right away.’

  Suruk and Rhianna passed an interesting hour together in the hold. Indeed, they were getting on so well that neither paid much attention when the upper hatch opened and Carveth looked inside.

  ‘Holy cack!’ she exclaimed. ‘He’s throwing knives at her head, Cap!’

  Smith put his head through the hatch, next to Carveth’s.

  ‘You there!’ he called. ‘Stop throwing knives at Rhianna, Suruk.’

  The alien looked up. ‘But—’

  ‘Right, that’s it. If you two can’t be nice I’ll just have to come down.’

  Smith climbed down the rungs and into the hold. It was an odd sight, more suited to a circus than a spacecraft. Rhianna sat against the cargo doors, eyes closed in concentration. A number of knives were scattered around her, including most of the ship’s cutlery. Suruk, always a tad freakish at the best of times, stood at the far end of the hold beside a tray full of forks.

  ‘It seems I can’t leave you for five minutes without the carnival coming to town,’ said Smith. ‘What the Dickens has been going on here?’

  Carveth jumped down behind him. ‘Hello Rhianna, hello Thing.’ She peered at the blades laid out around Rhianna’s feet. ‘Looks like you’ve been playing patience with sharp objects. You’ve got a two-pair of flick-knives there.’

  Smith folded his arms and tapped his foot. ‘Well, Suruk?’

  ‘The woman is immune to blades,’ Suruk said.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  The alien flexed his tusks. ‘She appears to be able to deflect the weapons as they approach. The knives you see around her are ones I threw to test this theory. She entered a state of concentration and my blades could not strike.’

  Rhianna opened her eyes. ‘It’s totally weird. He throws, and I think, and it just goes away! Really weird. You look kind of sceptical.’

  Smith said quietly, ‘Does this ship carry sedatives, Carveth?’

  ‘Even if it did, they’d be in me by now.’

  ‘Well, that’s odd,’ the captain said. ‘Dangerous, though. I think you’d best stop in case Rhianna loses concentration and you give her antennae by mistake. And pick up the cutlery, would you? I don’t want that going back into the dresser unwashed. We’re going downriver, by the way,’ he added, striding towards the living room.

  ‘There’s a couple of chaps there who think they can repair the jets.’

  As he reached the door, Carveth called, ‘Captain?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Sorry to stop you there. I know you’re busy. But, just out of interest, has anyone else noticed that this woman is an unnatural freak?’

  ‘No,’ said Smith.

  ‘No,’ said Suruk.

  ‘I prefer “alternative”,’ Rhianna said.

  Carveth raised her hands and made a placating gesture with her palms. ‘Right. Alright, then. I’m clearly in a minority. I appreciate that my views may seem out of place, or even extreme – but this is really really weird! ’

  She looked around the room. ‘Doesn’t this whole magic force-field thing strike anyone as wrong?’ she concluded, piteously.

  Smith rubbed his chin. ‘See your point there,’ he said.

  ‘But we do have a spacecraft to get going. We can test this out later, but first we need to get the ship moved. Carveth, you’re the expert. On paper, anyway. Which you forged. Could you steer us downriver, please?’

  It was raining. It never stopped on Carver’s Rock. Rain sliced across the rooftops, over neon signs and the backs of vast apartment blocks, steady and relentless as if God was trying to wash the sin from the dirty streets. God might be omnipotent, Rick Dreckitt thought, but He’d never manage that.

  He pulled his coat close around him and wandered through the street, past pedestrians of a thousand different sorts, guilty of a thousand different crimes. He thought about the gun in his jacket, warm against his side. A floating billboard crawled across the sky above his head. ‘Go to a different off-world colony!’ it cried. ‘Why stay here when you can begin again?’

  Dreckitt paused at the entrance to Joleen’s. ‘Damn right,’ he said at the billboard.

  ‘So go already!’ it replied, and he ducked under the lintel and stepped out of the rain and into the smoke. A Nick Cave record was playing on the jukebox at the wrong speed. Mr Cave was describing, in elaborate and unnecessary detail, how he had single-handedly slaughtered the patrons of a bar not unlike this one. He was currently killing a man with an ashtray as big as a really big brick. Dreckitt glanced at the ashtray on a nearby table. Some other time.

  Behind the bar, a thin woman slowly rubbed a towel along a row of dusty glasses. The ceiling fan turned lazily, just fast enough to prevent anyone throwing a rope over it. A fat man sat in a booth, weeping.

  ‘Home,’ Dreckitt said. He walked to the bar. ‘What kind of rye do you deal in a two-bit joint like this?’

  ‘Same as last night, pal,’ the woman said, not looking up.

  ‘Same as last night, then.’ He took his drink and sat down, alone. Nobody joined him. He sipped. Someone prodded him in the back. ‘Rick.’

  ‘Waldo,’ he said, not looking round.

  Waldo was sweating: his dirty face seemed to drip the stuff. He wore a dirty hat and a dirty leather jacket wrapped around his gut. He was quite dirty. Dreckitt looked around. ‘You’re dirty, Waldo,’ he said.

  ‘Good to see ya, Rick.’

  ‘Sit down,’ he replied. ‘You’re blocking my view of some dead flies.’

  Waldo sat down. ‘I saw what you did last night, Rick. Impressive piece of work.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Waldo glanced around the room. ‘You celebrating, then?’

  ‘Yep. I’m throwing a party. Jim Beam’s here already and I’m expecting Johnny Walker to drop by later on.’

  ‘You and Jim Beam, huh? That’s good. You always were a funny guy, Rick.’

  ‘Yeah. Drinking here, while in the neon city outside the rich get richer and the bullets cut the night. Where everyone bets on the long shots and tomorrow never comes. When I sit here and remember things I wish weren’t real.’

  ‘You do know it’s happy hour down at Hooters, don’t you?’

  ‘You think I want to spend my time with a bunch of other people, drinking cheep beer and staring at waitresses’ tits all night?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Waldo, I look at them and I see death. I see a whole load of blood.’

  ‘Tits? You’re unwell, Rick.’

  ‘People. I’ve gone down this dark street a long way, Waldo. Too long, further than any android ought to go. And it’s getting to me. I don’t know what to think in this fake town of cheap dreams and broken futures.’

  ‘You ever think of taking a break from the juice, Rick?’

  ‘I’m taking a break alright. From this. From the killing. For good.’

  ‘What’re you telling me?’

  ‘I’m quit.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m quit. I’m an android. I shouldn’t be doing this. I should stick my elbows out and say pansy things about protocol, not go round killing people.’

  ‘Hey, don’t give me that! You do what you’re made to do!’

  ‘The four I killed last night . . . they could have been me. That last one, the guy in the suit – I shot him, and I looked into his eyes as he died. He could have been a
n android, just like me. There was nothing there: no soul, no mercy, just coldness. Less human than human. Like me.’

  ‘Which one was he?’

  ‘The lawyer.’

  Waldo shrugged. ‘Well, that explains it. It happens to a lot of androids, Rick. They kill some human with no morals or compassion, and they think it could be them. You’re not the first.’

  ‘I look at these people and think, they could be simulants.’

  ‘You’re not quitting, Rick. You’re the best. I need you to work your magic on somebody.’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘Yes way. Because things happen to androids who don’t help. Androids who start with this crazy talk about seeing humans like machines. Who start to see no feelings when there’s feelings there. You want to be careful, Rick, turning me down like this. You might wake up one morning and find a severed head gasket on the pillow next to you.’

  Waldo wiped sweat from his brow. ‘The target’s a woman. Full of life. Friendly, instinctive, humane. All the things you’re not. Nothing like an android.’

  Dreckitt looked up, but he said nothing. He waited.

  ‘She’s a human,’ Waldo said again. ‘A meatbag. The company wants her dead.’

  He passed Dreckitt a photograph. Dreckitt studied it, committing the face to memory. It was a pleasant, quirkylooking woman, quite pretty but not remarkable. He tilted the picture to get a better view of the sides of her face, and turned it over so he could see the back of her head. He had a feeling that she would be small.

  ‘What did she do?’

  ‘What do you care? Company wants her dead. And Company means Republic round here. And Republic means a one-way ticket to the scrapheap for godless androids who don’t play ball.’

  Dreckitt snorted. ‘I’ll do it. But this is the last, and I mean it. This dirty city sickens me. Don’t you think I get tired of the blood, the corruption, the Panama hats? I’m getting out, Waldo. I’ve got savings. I’m going to retire somewhere warm, get me some metal claws and carry off some dames.’ He downed his drink and stood. ‘But until then, I’ll do it. Make sure there’s a ship down at the strip.’

  He peered at the name under the photograph. ‘Polly Carveth. Too bad for you, Miss Carveth.’

  Waldo watched Dreckitt disappear into the rain, and then walked down the road to Hooters.

  They climbed out of the roof hatch and looked at Andy’s farm.

  ‘Hey boys,’ Andy called, strolling over. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Not a lot,’ Smith said.

  ‘Got some fish on the barbecue,’ Andy said. ‘Way I see it, if we’re going to get custom like yours, might as well make sure you come back a second time.’

  Carveth glanced back at Smith as she climbed down onto the wing. ‘How’re we paying for all this?’

  Smith whispered, ‘I’m working on a plan for that.’

  ‘This doesn’t involve shiny used rifle cartridges, does it?’

  The ship lay in the water like a boat, and Andy walked to the edge to help the crew step onto land. ‘Ma’am,’ he said, nodding to Carveth.

  Smith gestured back towards the ship. ‘And this is Miss Mitchell, a friend of mine.’

  Andy nodded. ‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Mitchell. I trust – Sacre merde! What the hell is that?’

  ‘Suruk the Slayer, doom purveyor,’ the alien proclaimed, kicking the hatch closed behind him. His first thumbs were hooked over his belt, his tusks lowered in a friendly greeting. ‘Son of Agshad Nine-Swords, grandson of Urgar the Miffed. I offer you my hand in friendship and my blade as a warrior. You name it, I’ll maim it.’

  Andy chuckled. ‘You learn yourself all that?’

  ‘It’s teach. And yes, I did.’ Suruk bowed. Thoughtfully, Andy shook his head. ‘Well, he sure is something. What, I’m not quite sure. Thank you, Mr Suruk. And I’m Andy Delacroix, victor of absolutely nothing. Over there’s Francois Laveille, lord of the lawnmower. It’s a pleasure, all of you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Smith. ‘It’s good of you.’

  Francois wandered over, half a sandwich in his hand. He stood there, studying the four of them, his mouth moving slowly as if chewing the cud. ‘So now,’ he declared, ‘which one of you’s ship’s engineer?’

  ‘Me,’ Carveth said. ‘At least, I’ve been in the engine room.’

  ‘Any chance of the tour?’

  ‘Why of course,’ she replied. ‘Hop on.’

  Smith watched as Francois climbed onto the John Pym. Then he turned and walked up the bank with Andy, Suruk and Rhianna at his side.

  ‘Here,’ Andy said, gesturing to a plastic table and some chairs. ‘’Fraid it’s probably not what you’re used to, back in your ship.’

  ‘Well, it’s not rusty, but I can get used to it.’ The four of them sat down in front of what seemed to be Andy’s house: a long metal building like a scaled-up, polished Nissen hut. It looked at once ancient and advanced, like a 1950’s idea of what the future might be. Marie strode over. She was tallish, with handsome features and quick, clever eyes. ‘You people hungry?’

  Andy slapped his large belly, setting his T-shirt rippling.

  ‘Sure am.’

  ‘Food’ll take a little while. We should be ready about four.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Smith. ‘Very good of you.’

  ‘That’s alright. Besides, this is the only place you’ll get something to eat outside Dulac, and that’s a half hour away.’

  ‘A town?’ Rhianna said.

  ‘About the only one. I’m being a bad host.’ Andy stood up, walked to a cool-box and opened it. ‘Y’all drink beer?’ He set four beers on the table, took out a penknife and opened one for Marie. She wandered back inside. Andy swigged and sighed. ‘Ah, that’s good. Dulac’s the only real settlement on this whole rock. Most of the rest’s just farms, and most of them’re automated. Only two things happen round here, to be honest: farming and wrecking. They say living on Paradis is like getting cheap breast implants: you stay put and you just get weighed down – try to run, and you end up with two black eyes. As for us, we stay put. We live off of repairing the farm machines, most of the time.’

  Rhianna was examining the label on her bottle. She shrugged and took a cautious sip. ‘So, if you don’t mind me asking, how come the names of everything here are French?’

  ‘This used to be a French world,’ Andy said. ‘Back in the war – War of Disarmament, that is – the Republic of Eden grabbed a hold of it and haven’t let go since. If I had my way, we’d be with the United Free States, but that’s how it goes. The Republic must think four thousand people on a rock like this is worth something.’

  ‘It is if they can get ships down here,’ Smith said.

  ‘True. We’re on a trade route, and you’d be surprised how many touch down near Dulac for supplies. They’ve got a shuttle pad there and everything. Then the crews find that they’re locked into the missile grid, and if they want to get out, they have to pay up. Simple, but nasty.’

  Smith frowned. It reminded him of the stories he’d heard about wreckers in Cornwall. He’d read about it in a Daphne du Maurier book: something about gnomes in red coats wrecking boats with killer birds. That kind of stuff.

  ‘But dammit, that’s not on,’ Smith said. ‘It’s a dirty trick to pull on a man. Why doesn’t someone send a warship and bomb the place from orbit? Dreadnought diplomacy: that’s how we’d do it in the Empire. Teach the buggers some courtesy. Or just blow them up.’

  ‘No way. Governor Corveau’s got serious backing.

  ’Sides, wouldn’t that be a breach of airspace?’

  ‘Ah. That. Good point there.’

  The dog stood up and wandered over. Rhianna leaned over and beckoned it, and it flopped against her side.

  ‘It’s sewn up tight,’ Andy said. ‘More’s the pity. You okay with the dog, there?’

  Rhianna glanced up and smiled. She looked pretty, Smith thought. ‘Oh, I’m fine. My cousin’s got a dog. All he does is lie around and scratch h
imself.’

  ‘My cousin does that too,’ said Smith. ‘So, how should I go about meeting this Corveau fellow, then?’

  ‘Meeting him?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll need to persuade him to let us go. Or is he off-world?’

  Andy shook his head. ‘He’s here alright. There’s no way of leaving, even for him. The Democratic Republic’s careful who they give interstellar travel to.’

  ‘Then perhaps we could arrange to give him a lift to somewhere better.’

  ‘They wouldn’t like it.’

  ‘They wouldn’t see.’

  Andy laughed. He threw the dog’s toy across the grass and it bounded after it.

  ‘You don’t like the governor, do you?’ Rhianna said.

  ‘Nope, not one bit. He’s everything about Eden that I don’t like, and I don’t like anything about it anyway. They’ve always hated me and Marie being together, so I reckon I’ve got a right to hate them back for it.’

  ‘Why don’t they like that?’ Smith demanded. ‘You seem like a reasonable sort.’

  ‘Take a look,’ Andy said, gesturing at himself. ‘See what’s wrong?’

  Smith looked at him closely. ‘Well, you’re a bit of a fatty, I suppose.’

  ‘I think he means on account of him being black, and Marie being white,’ Rhianna said. ‘I’ve heard that the socalled Democratic Republic of Eden isn’t fond of inter-racial marriages.’

  ‘Oh yes, so you are!’ said Smith. ‘You know, I really didn’t notice that. Very sharp, Rhianna.’

  ‘We ain’t even married,’ Andy said, grinning. ‘That’s a trip to hell twice.’

  For no obvious reason, Suruk had pushed almost all of a beer-bottle into his mouth. ‘Humans are stupid,’ he declared, pulling it out. ‘Petty prejudice does not interest my people. A wise warrior once told me: “Respect your brother M’Lak, no matter what shade of greenish-grey he may be.”’

  ‘Those are beautiful words, Suruk,’ Rhianna said.

  ‘–“Then, while various races of stupid human are fighting one another, you can steal their goods. And cut off their ridiculous little heads. And laugh. In their blood.”’

  ‘Those words are also’ – she groped for the right word – ‘honest.’