by Blaze Ward
He pointed at the logo as he spoke.
It was a blue circle, reasonably thick, with a green ellipse painted across that. Overall, exactly fifty–two centimeters tall and fifty wide.
It had been painted by a human, rather than an AI. AI’s were too fussy for that level of wobbliness.
Okay, most AI’s. I might have done it in a lighter green, and added some sparkles to the paint. And maybe a few stars for effect. You know, ART.
From her knowledge of human eyesight, it might appear to be a planet with rings. Weird looking rings, but rings. There were a lot of weird–looking things out there. She had been a galactic surveyor for years. She could testify.
“What is that?” Sykora asked over the clamor as the rest of the boarding crew caught up.
“Something the Neu Berne military programs probably didn’t cover,” Javier said quietly, forcing her to lean down to listen.
She hated that, according to Javier. Suvi got the impression Sykora might be grinding her teeth right now. Certainly, she took a breath before she answered.
“Oh?”
“I only know it because I spent a weekend at a religious retreat a while back with the modern incarnation of those people,” Javier said evasively. “Weird folks. Generally harmless, but weird.”
“Pot, kettle,” the short, brunette pathfinder injected into the conversation as she arrived. Sascha was an extremely smart woman, from what Suvi had been able to surreptitiously observe.
Javier made a face at her.
“I got over it,” he snapped sarcastically. “Anyway, that is the emblem of a group of pacifists from a very long time ago.”
“Pacifists?” Sykora asked, dripping sarcastic honey on her words.
Suvi loved to listen to the tone and inflections the woman used. It was so different from Javier’s, or anyone she had known in the Concord. One of these days, she needed to convince Javier to take her to Neu Berne.
Sykora did something with her hands. Suvi watched Sascha and Hajna, the other pathfinder Javier played cards with, take up station looking fore and aft, guns drawn. The others stayed back in the side hallway, prepared to run or fight.
As far as Suvi could tell, Sykora was the most dangerous thing on the ship right now.
Javier watched, bemused.
“Pacifists,” he repeated. “Shepherds of the Word.”
“Which word, Javier?” Hajna asked, kneeling beside Javier and covering the aft hallway to engineering.
“Aritza,” Captain Sokolov’s voice came suddenly over the radio. “What are you talking about?”
Suvi got a headstart and transmitted the image of the logo back to the ship. They would think he had done it. He would back her up, later.
A moment of silence passed, breaths baited.
Suvi imagined the Captain asking his ship’s computer for more information. She envisioned an ancient butler, shambling along looking through a musty library for an ancient book. She giggled.
“Javier,” the Captain continued, “are you sure?”
“Sure enough,” Javier responded. “Plus, it’s been a very long time, so it’s not like there’s anybody here to bother us.”
“Agreed,” the Captain replied. “Sykora, stand down for now. Those people really were pacifists. Pay attention for surprises, but you should be safe from booby–traps.”
Part Five
Javier refrained from smugness. Outside. Inside? Different story. After all, Dad loved him best. See?
That thing on the wall had brought back a lot of memories. Most of them things he’d rather not remember, these days. He’d kinda forgotten how ugly things had gotten in his life after his first ex–wife left and his career with the Concord Navy started to ramp down with the budget cuts.
Out of work. Out of married. Down on his luck and himself. Amazing he had survived. Even gave religion a try at one point. For a long weekend. Those people had just been too weird to be believed.
He was much better now. Even Sykora really only occasionally got him mad enough to go back there. Okay, weekly. But that was down from daily. Hourly. Whatever.
The Shepherds of the Word. The Prophet of the People. The Union of Man. Things from the history books.
That painting there meant that this ship had, at one time, belonged to one of the actual Shepherds, one of the close followers of Rama Treadwell himself. The Prophet who had preached a universal brotherhood of man that should be reflected in a union of worlds. The Union of Worlds.
The battle that had destroyed A’Nacia had been, in its own bizarre way, the culmination of Treadwell’s life and teachings, twisted though the outcome had been. Even after he simply disappeared from history while traveling in deep space, his words had resonated. Some people had thought that that disappearance was what triggered the Unification War.
Javier wasn’t sure. He was kind of sketchy on that history anyway. After all, it was just about 650 years ago. And the Battle of A’Nacia was nearly 600 years ago, at the other end of the Unification War.
The Shepherds had faded, down the centuries, until they were only a few small monasteries tucked in out of the way places that were too damned cold and frowned on gambling and drinking. Silly people didn’t understand what made human organizations successful.
For luck, Javier touched the painting. He spun in place and scanned the hallway, correlating naval architecture with what he had learned in school.
Skinsuits didn’t allow it, or he would have cracked his knuckles.
“Right,” he said, mostly to Sykora. She and Ilan Yu were the only two looking at him, anyway. “Bridge at that end. Two cabins right behind it on one side, office and stores on the other. Wardroom and Rec room behind the hallway, most likely. Big engineering section back there.”
“Recommendations?” Sykora asked. There was no doubt she was in charge here. None. Devil take the hindmost if you asked her.
“We have power,” Javier replied. “Heat would be nice, and I want to see if the environmental system is up to handling a dozen people.” He smiled extra evil at Ilan. “You’ll get to practice on a very old system.”
“Joy,” Ilan replied with a tired sarcasm. Still, it was his job, and he was pretty good at it over on Storm Gauntlet. This should be a much less complicated system to fix up.
“Very good,” Sykora decided. “Drone first, then pathfinders, then me. Civilians behind that and one guarding the rear.”
Javier shrugged, pretty sure he and Ilan were the civilians. Still, let the gun bunnies absorb any incoming fire. Better that way. He pushed a button and let Suvi take point. She would protect him better than Sykora. She’d already proven that.
So he ambled along. Sykora’s Skinsuit just emphasized how nice her butt was. He could follow her around, pretending to pay attention to the remote, while Suvi was actually doing all the work. Too bad the rest of the Dragoon was so much less fun.
The words on the door didn’t really catch his attention. It was just another one of the side doors headed back to engineering. There were a lot of them. Turned out the ship was a little longer than he had expected. Or had smaller rooms.
After a beat, his brain clicked. Cryonics Lab.
“Oh, crap,” he whispered, forgetting that he was arm’s length from a keyed–up, heavily–armed lunatic.
She spun in place and drew her pistol in one motion, even before he could say anything to stop her.
Next thing he knew, she had it pointed between him and Ilan, safety off, prepared to unleash complete mayhem. Or what she probably called Tuesday.
“What?” she whispered hard at him. There was nobody to shoot. She sounded disappointed.
Rather than speak, Javier stuck out one hand and touched the little brass plate next to the door. He tapped it twice for emphasis.
“You don’t suppose…” He let the rest of the sentence trail off into the surf of its own accord.
“How old did you say this ship was?” she asked, standing a little more erect and holstering the weapon.
She was no longer eye level with him.
He looked up and shrugged. “The design dates back about five centuries or so. I’d have to look at the deck plate on the bridge for her actual keel date.”
He thought about it for a few seconds. “Really freaking long ago.”
She looked at him hard. Javier nearly jumped in surprise when she shrugged back at him. “Anyone in there isn’t going anywhere, anytime soon. Let’s get engineering ship–shape.”
Hopefully, she wasn’t relaxing around him. He’d have to do something stupid, or personal, or both, if that happened. Little miss amazon ramrod never relaxed. He would bet money she slept at attention, although he had no intention of ever finding out.
“Move it, people,” she called out.
Suvi was already hovering at the hatch to engineering.
Javier knew she was just waiting, as she could have triggered the mechanism herself. But a remote wasn’t supposed to be that smart, so she played along.
Javier just pretended as though anything he pushed on the console actually did something. He made a mental note to ask her what actually happened, next time they were alone. It was probably something pretty silly, knowing her.
Sascha had to open the big armoured hatch to engineering instead. Hajna and Sykora covered her with weapons out. He and Ilan just stood around. The guy at the rear walked backwards with a cannon pointed up the hall.
Some people.
Like all good, military–grade starships, engineering was separated from the rest of the hull by a fairly solid internal airlock. Fires didn’t breath deep space, and if something went wrong back there, sometimes that was the only solution. Sucked to be an engineer at that moment, but they kept emergency breathers in every drawer for a reason.
Suvi passed through the airlock first. Javier typed away on the keyboard as she provided a running commentary.
Not as big as I was expecting.
Older design. Significant technological leaps during the Great War. It’s what made you possible, young lady.
Still, it looks rough. Unpolished.
He had to agree. What she showed inside there had an almost amateur look. Maybe civilian was the word. Almost every starship he had been on in three decades was either active–duty military or retired surplus. There were certain rules of architecture that every navy followed. Physics were physics.
This looked like something thrown together from parts someone had salvaged from a junk yard. While drunk.
Of course, if they had been as serious about the whole vow of poverty thing in those days as now, they might not have the funds to build custom ships to spec.
Not that poverty had been the breaking point with him, that weekend he had spent at the monastery. No, it had been that stupid requisite vow of chastity. And sobriety.
Javier could see the jumpdrive. Big, honking monster sitting there in front of twin pulse thrusters. That thing over there was probably an auxiliary power reactor, just from the color. Air scrubbers all along that wall. Way smaller than he expected, so either more efficient design than he thought, or smaller crew.
“Looks good,” he said finally. “Everything accounted for. Environment safe. Only wandering monsters are out in the hallway.”
That got him a sour look from all three girls. Of course, he wasn’t holding a gun on a closed hatch. In a ship that was centuries old, stuck inside a minefield. Did they think they needed the whole van Helsing routine?
“Sascha and me next,” Sykora commanded. “Hajna with Aritza and Yu last.”
“Aye, sir,” replied the girls and the gun bunny, on cue.
Javier nodded sloppily. Her, he might salute, just to piss her off. He might even do it right, just to show her, exactly once, that he could.
He refrained. Barely.
He typed instead. Company coming. Stay sharp.
Si, commandante.
See? That, right there, was how you did snark. He was so proud of his girl.
Javier thought about going back up to the Cryonics facility while the amazon was elsewhere, but decided that the gun bunny would just interfere and stop him before he could do anything interesting.
Might as well wait.
He was quickly bored, waiting the three minutes for the two women to cycle through the airlock.
Anything you want me to do while we wait?
Not that wouldn’t give you away. Look for rat droppings. That will be the clue that the environmental systems are compromised.
Fresh or dried?
After this long, anything you can see is a problem.
It would, however, give Sykora something to shoot. That would probably improve her humor. Silver linings.
It seemed like forever before he and Ilan finally made it onto the big deck. It was noticeably warmer back here. Not warm, but the various machines seemed to be turning over regularly to provide power from the solar batteries. And the life support systems had been left on. That was a good sign.
Or a bad one. Hard to tell. Still, Javier had three armed women handy. Not exactly a harem, but this wasn’t exactly his idea of a bordello. Generally.
“Ilan,” he said, shaking himself from his reverie and dragging the machinist’s mate along with him, “this is the environmental system. I’m familiar with the theoretical design. You get to learn it. Don’t do anything stupid. Yet.”
“Gosh, sir,” Yu replied with an equal–parts sloppy and sarcastic salute, “I shall endeavor to live up to the standards of excellence you embody.”
Javier did a double–take, just to make sure the man was kidding. You never knew with engineers. He might have gone all professional and stuff. Bad juju.
Javier gave him the stink–eye, just in case, and then headed in the direction of the APU. It seemed to be putting out a baseline.
What, however, needed a baseline? Life support would barely require a quarter of the juice flowing out. The other options made him nervous. More nervous. Almost as nervous as his paranoid cohorts.
Okay, maybe not that bad, but bad.
Mentally, he made a list as he cracked open an access panel and shined a pocket light in. Storm Gauntlet’s Chief Engineer, Andreea Dalca, could probably have it tuned and humming in half an hour. She was that good. One of her people would probably take a half–day, just to be sure. They might need to string a power–line over from the big ship, if what was using the juice was what he feared. Not a good thing to interrupt.
Engines were next. Primary tanks were long since drained, but could be filled up pretty quickly by cracking hydrogen from the water tanks that showed mostly full. In a pinch, Javier had once hijacked a comet and used a small pulsar to cut a section out to melt for the water.
If all else failed, there was a whole planet below. Water would not be a problem. Whether the fusion torch would work, that was a different question. And not his concern. Let Dalca’s people solve it. Tomorrow.
“Javier, I thought you said this would be hard,” Ilan mock–whined from the corner.
“Nope,” he replied with a smile. “Sledge–hammer stupid. Brute force machine.”
“I know,” Ilan smiled. “Wash the screens, flush the primary coolant and recycle it. I don’t have all the tools I need, but this won’t take more than an hour. Why do we use bio–scrubbers?”
“A quarter the size, Ilan,” Javier noted, “and about a thousand times more efficient. This air would get pretty stale after a month.”
Javier looked around at the jump engines and the thrusters. “Ship like this is designed to sail point to point in small jumps, and land on a planet every two to three weeks, or dock with a station. Not to make long sails like Storm Gauntlet does. And it would still have a very small crew doing it.”
“Well,” the machinist’s mate said smugly, “I can fix this easy enough.”
“Good,” Javier said. “Make a list of what you think you need and then go do the same thing on the APU. I expect we’ll need to bring over a portable generator or run lines across the way so we can
bring it off–line and work on it. Don’t worry about the engines until the Chief comes over and inspects them.”
“Roger that, sir.”
Javier turned and realized that all three women were staring at him. Not hostile. More like open–mouthed shock. It was a weird feeling, surprising this particular group. Felt good.
He forgot, sometimes, that they never saw him in his engineering and fix–it mode. Concord Fleet officers were trained for this sort of thing as a matter of course. Hell, fixing the bio–scrubbers on Storm Gauntlet when he first arrived was the original reason he hadn’t ended up as a slave on a farming world.
He smiled innocently at Sykora. “Nobody to shoot here,” he needled. “Orders?”
Part Six
Javier stood outside the hatch and took a deep breath. Ilan and the male gun bunny had been left in engineering to clean things up. He had the three women with him, four with Suvi, as he contemplated the little brass plaque hung at eyeball level.
Cryonics Lab.
To Sykora and Hajna and Sascha, just words. They weren’t trained in this sort of thing. Hell, almost nobody was, these days. The technology was used so much less today than it used to be. Mostly for medical purposes, in a total catastrophe. Ships didn’t need it, as life support systems were so much better now and Jumpdrives could hop so much farther in one go.
He took a second deep breath.
“Why are you nervous, Aritza?” the amazon asked, her voice almost blowing warm air in his ear.
He did not, quite, jump out of his skin. He did turn and look her in the eye, from a distance of about eight centimeters. Biting her seemed rude. Kissing her, more so. Both would be equal amounts of surprise as payback. Maybe tomorrow.
“What’s on the other side of this door,” he said, just loud enough for the three to hear him.
Safeties clicked off in the ominous silence.
“Oh, put them away,” he half–snarled. “There’s nothing in there to worry you. You’re the bogeyman, remember?”
That nearly got him punched. By more than just Sykora.
They did holster the weapons, though, so Javier could relax.