by David Drake
“We complained about the food on the Grandee,” another Singh said. “We do not eat meat and the captain put us off the ship here.”
Rajiv frowned but nodded agreement. “What Rahul says is true,” he said. “The captain cursed us.”
“What we’ve got is what we could take aboard on ben Yusuf,” I said. “I haven’t checked it over, but I think a lot of it is meat or it’s been cooked in meat fat. If that’s a problem, then …”
“We can bring our own food,” Rajiv said. “If you advance us our pay?”
I motioned him back, then turned to Monica and whispered, “I don’t think they’re going to run off if we advance them twenty thalers and I’d like some help in the rigging. But I sure won’t pretend I like the snotty bastard.”
“If they take the twenty thalers and disappear,” Monica replied, “then it’s better to learn it now than in space. I won’t miss the twenty thalers when we’ve reached home.”
I nodded and faced the Singhs. “All right,” I said. “If you’ve got the skills you claim, you’re hired at able rates and Mistress Monica will advance you money to buy food. Unless perhaps you’re too proud to accept it from her hands?”
Instead of answering, Rajiv drew himself up straight. “Test us, then, and then give us our money for food.”
I decided that was good enough. “All right,” I said. “I’ll erect the dorsal antenna and you can show me how quick you get up it and down.”
I went inside to the console.
* * *
I put the brothers in air suits and sent them up the antenna. The topsail helpfully jammed, which it had twice done since we lifted from ben Yusuf. The Singhs shook it out in approved fashion.
Sanjay wasn’t really of able quality in the rigging, but he turned out to have at least as much knowledge of a fusion bottle as I did. Our unit had an integral display, but the bottle couldn’t be observed from the console.
That was a terrible situation, though it hadn’t been a problem for us since we were keeping the cargo hold pressurized. The main hatch sealed well enough for that to work, though I disliked going into the hold to check readings. Given that the hatch between the cabin and hold wasn’t an airlock, it would have been bloody impossible under some circumstances.
I tried Rajiv on the console. His astrogation wasn’t up to the standard expected of an entering-second-year cadet at the Academy, but he knew the basics.
At the end of the morning, I told the Singhs to wait for a moment and joined Monica, who’d returned from a shopping trip with Lal. “If you’re willing,” I said, “I recommend that we hire them. They’ll save us about a day on our run to Saguntum. We’ll clear rigging problems faster, and I don’t have to recalibrate as often.”
Monica shrugged. “If you think so,” she said, “of course. Certainly getting home a day sooner appeals to me.”
I called the brothers to us and hired them as able spacers while Lal watched. Monica then gave them an advance to buy food.
I hadn’t been considering Saguntum except as a destination. I thought further as I watched Monica hand each brother seven thalers and noted that it was an advance.
Rejoining the Sunray’s complement might not be as simple as I’d been assuming. I was probably being carried on the books as Run, meaning I’d left without permission or explanation. My story was simple and innocent—I was surely not the first spacer to get drunk on liberty—but it sounded increasingly thin as I went over it in my mind.
It only made sense if Maeve had deliberately sold me off planet. I couldn’t come up with a believable—believable to me, I mean—reason that she should have done so. I wasn’t looking forward to explaining to Captain Leary, and especially to Lady Mundy, that it had happened.
When Monica had paid the Singhs their advance—a five thaler coin and two ones, each, they went off.
I said, “I’m going to take Lal off to pick up more stores. Ricardo may be here before we get back, but he knows what to do. All right?”
She tried a smile. Aloud she said, “I’m looking forward to getting home.”
“Me too,” I said, trying to sound more cheerful than I felt. “But I’ll settle for getting back to Saguntum.”
Lal and I headed for Trident House, carrying one of the air suits between us. When Rajiv was running up and down the rigging, his suit’s hip and torso sections separated. A wrist joint I might have been willing to tape; possibly even a knee if we really needed to use the suit. Not the waist, though.
I needed Lal to help with the load, but I also wanted a chance to talk with him.
“So …” I said. I was carrying the front end of the suit so I spoke back over my shoulder. “Where did you meet the Singhs?”
“At the hostel where I’m staying,” Lal said. “They were being put out of it because they hadn’t paid the rent. I paid for last night, and I said that I would introduce to them to my captain.”
“They’re not relatives, then?” I said.
Lal laughed. “They would be very insulted to hear you say that,” he said. “They are of much higher status than I.”
He laughed again. “Almost everyone is of higher status than I. Not you, of course.”
“Of course,” I said. “And I gather the Singhs weren’t too proud to accept your money?”
“That is their right,” said Lal. I didn’t hear any touch of emotion in his voice. “As it is my duty to offer such help as one of my class is able to offer to persons of theirs.”
“They’re not friends, then?” I said.
“Scarcely.”
Bagnelli was in the back when we entered the shop, but the boy ran to the back and fetched him without needing to be told. He appeared, still chewing his lunch. “Roy,” he called cheerfully. “You have brought me a repair job, perhaps?”
“I’ve brought you a trade-in,” I said. “And we want two refurbed air suits along with a few other items. We lift off tomorrow, Pietro. Heaven willing and the creeks don’t rise.”
By the time we headed back toward the Alfraz, it was getting toward evening. Lal was helping Bagnelli’s boy with the cart—two air suits and considerably more in the way of supplies. The boy would carry the partial hard suit back in the cart; the transaction wasn’t quite a wash, but I wasn’t pissing Monica’s money away either.
Lal and the boy were chatting. I walked behind, thinking. Thinking about Monica, mostly.
She was obviously somebody in Saguntum, and she probably had parents with ideas about who their daughter ought to be seeing. Spacers with twenty-two Alliance thalers to their name weren’t likely to be high on their list of suitors.
At least I hadn’t had to spend the twenty-two thalers. I wasn’t raking off any of Monica’s credit chip, though. Frankly, I don’t think my father would have either. Robbing the Republic wasn’t the same as robbing your girlfriend.
Monica was my girlfriend for now. For tonight.
* * *
When we got to the Alfraz, the pump was already chugging and Ricardo and his boy were loading their tricycle to leave. “It’s been running twenty minutes,” he told me. “I turned it on and off twice from the console. I didn’t touch that bloody switch on the box. I sure wish you’d have let me rewire that.”
“The next time I land on Plaquemines,” I said, shaking his hand. “But I don’t expect that to be any time soon.”
It occurred to me that I had at least a claim to the Alfraz. Worst case—and I didn’t know how angry Captain Leary was going to be—I might be able to set up as captain of a tramp freighter. Because I wasn’t in the RCN, he couldn’t have me spaced as a deserter.
I smiled vaguely. Ricardo took it as a friendly expression. “Well, I’ll be happy to do the work,” he said. He waved as he pedaled off with his son.
Lal and Bagnelli’s boy were stowing away our purchases, leaving me alone with Monica. I cleared my throat and said, “I expect our water tank to be full by midnight, though I’ll check the flow in a minute to be sure. In the morning you c
an look over the complete bill at Trident and sign. Then we’re ready to lift as soon as the Singhs board, if they haven’t done already.”
“I thought we’d use the houseboat again tonight,” Monica said. “If that’s all right with you?”
“Yes,” I said. Neither of us were looking the other in the face. “Yes.” I cleared my throat again and said, “I put the repairs on the bill to Trident. It’s higher by Trident’s profit that way, but Ricardo didn’t know me from Adam. I think the whole business will run well under a thousand thalers.”
“I trust you,” Monica said. She smiled, but she still wasn’t looking right at me.
“Yes,” I said again. I prayed that I’d never give her reason not to. “Well, I’d better give the others a hand with the suits we’re trading to Trident. The hard suit is pretty awkward.”
I reached out and squeezed her hand. Then I went up the ramp to help Lal and the boy.
* * *
Our crewmen—the Singh brothers followed by Lal, walking two paces behind them—arrived shortly after dawn. I left the Singhs to strike down their gear—thin bindles, plus a wicker hamper of food which Sanjay and Rahul carried between them—while Lal performed a final surface check of the rigging.
Monica and I went to Trident to clear our account with Pietro. That was business, but it was also my last time alone with Monica before Saguntum and everything changing. That was how I felt about it, anyway.
I didn’t say anything like that to her, of course. It was hard enough to frame the thought in my own mind. Saying it would make it real a week or so before it had to be.
The charge from Monica’s credit chip was 880 thalers. I was tempted to give Pietro another fifty; but it wasn’t my money, and I guess he knew what he was doing.
When we returned to the Alfraz, I saw that the brothers had taken the three starboard bunks. I switched on the console, checked the readouts, and turned to the crew.
“All right,” I said, speaking to Rajiv but sweeping all three with my eyes. “While I prep for lift-off, the three of you remake the bunks. The bottom one”—I pointed—“is Mistress Smith’s. Rajiv, since you seem to have stripped it, you’ll remake it. You’ll put your bedding on the top bunk in that rack. The middle one is Lal’s, so you, Rahul, remake it for him. I’ve got the bottom bunk on the other stack, so you take either of the two that’re open.”
“This is not right!” Rajiv said in a furious voice.
“It bloody well is!” I said. “Or you can get off the ship right now! Do you think you’re on your own piss-pot world still? Well, you’re not. The Alfraz may not be Cinnabar, but it’s going to be run like it is so long as I’m captain!”
I wouldn’t generally have talked like that, but seeing the bunks unmade and the bedding tossed onto the deck had lit my fuse. I was beginning to regret hiring the Singhs.
“Your choice, Rajiv!” I said. I didn’t imagine that I could take all three, but Plaquemines had police. I was pretty sure that Pietro could find me help to put things right without going the formal route, too.
“You are the captain,” Rajiv said after a moment. He bowed slightly with his hands together. He and his brothers remade the bunks while I went over my course calculations. Again.
* * *
I stayed at the console while the Alfraz accelerated out of orbit; Lal and the Singh brothers went out on the hull. There were only four suits so I couldn’t have joined them, even if I’d felt there was a reason to.
Lal returned to report after half an hour, as I’d directed. The port mainsail had only deployed partway. The Singhs were working on it.
While I waited for them to return from the hull, I inserted a chip into the console and dipped into one of my purchases from Trident: Annotated Charts of Region 37, Edition 12. It was the Alliance equivalent of the Sailing Directions. Pietro had said that the update was about five years old.
We didn’t really need it for a run to Saguntum, but I remembered the horror I’d felt when I checked the console and found only cursory data on points directly between Karst and ben Yusuf. I’d been diffident when I mentioned the Charts as a possible expense to Monica, but she’d merely waved a hand and said, “Of course.”
I located the world where we’d touched down to fill the mass tank. The data was cursory as I’d expected regarding an uninhabited world. It mentioned dangerous sea life, though not the worms we’d had to deal with.
The Singhs came in from the hull about an hour later than I’d expected from what Lal had told me of the situation. “Problems?” I said to Rajiv as he took his suit off.
“The starboard topsail yard doesn’t extend properly,” he said. “The motor is burned out, I think.”
Rahul added, “We hauled the yard into place, but this cannot go on. There must be repairs.”
“I think I know what’s wrong,” I said. “Well, get the suits off. Lal and I will go out after we’ve inserted.”
It sounded like my jury rig with the tower gear hadn’t been as satisfactory as I’d hoped. I should’ve replaced it with a new part when we were in Plaquemines, but it’d been working fine … and I’d forgotten about it.
Monica got up from her bunk and bent over me at the console. “What does that mean?” she asked. She didn’t sound exactly frightened, but I heard a perfectly reasonable note of concern in her voice.
“If I can’t fix it,” I said, “and I may not be able to … it means I’ll have to program our course for three working antennas instead of four. That’ll work, there’s plenty of tramp ships doing it right now, but it’ll take longer because we can’t transition between universes as smoothly as we should.”
I scowled and said, “Look, I screwed up. I should’ve got this looked at and fixed before we lifted.”
Monica patted me on the shoulder. “I didn’t want to spend extra time on the ground,” she said. She went back to her bunk.
I checked the series of sail-plan corrections to hold the course I’d chosen. It’d be three hours before the starboard topsail had to be furled, and after that I might be able to tweak the mainsail so that we didn’t lose too much agility.
Well, that was after I’d had a look at the problem. It might not be as bad as I was imagining anyway.
Monica and the Singhs were in their bunks. Lal was facing me through the display, from the striker’s seat.
“Crew,” I said over the PA system, “prepare for insertion into the Matrix. Inserting …”
I let the countdown clock actually execute the command while I watched.
“now!”
We shivered into the Matrix. The Alfraz, cranky as she was in too many ways, had inserted slickly every time.
* * *
Lal and I went out on the hull wearing the two refurbished air suits I’d gotten from Trident. Mine was stiffer than the trio which we’d found aboard the Alfraz when we took her over. I suppose that was good, though I’d have new scrapes and bruises tomorrow.
Lal paused, looking out at the Matrix. I stopped—I was on my way to the starboard antenna—and did the same. It was the usual pastel wash, rather on the cooler end of the spectrum according to what my brain was telling me: greens, blues, and even half-glimpsed violet.
I wondered if I’d ever understand the Matrix the way Captain Leary did. Probably not: It seemed to be something you felt, not something you learned. But Lal might have been able to talk to Captain Leary in terms they both understood.
I opened the cover of the drive mechanism at the base of the starboard antenna. The clamp that held the tower gear in position had become loose. My removing the spring and snapping it back into place had weakened it; now the drive gear rode over the teeth of what should have been the driven gear. There wasn’t a spare on the Alfraz, of course.
I laid my helmet alongside Lal’s and said, “Go on back in. I want to stay out for a while.” I was going to have to plot a course for three antennas. I didn’t expect to gain major insights on the hull, but I’d learned a bit from Captain Leary.
>
While Lal trudged to the airlock, I mounted to the dorsal mainyard. I didn’t see the face of the divine in the color patterns, but I did get an inkling of a course. It was critical to keep as slight a change as possible in energy from each bubble universe to the next. So long as I could achieve that, our inability to dodge in and out quickly wouldn’t be too big a handicap.
I came in when my oxygen tank peeped at the last half hour. I’d been out less than two hours—there must be a problem with the tank or the suit—but that was still considerably longer than I’d intended.
As usual, I took the helmet off in the lock. As I tramped in, working the catches of the suit, I said, “I think we’ll be all right as-is to Saguntum, though if we’re making a lot less time than I—”
I looked up without attention. Rajiv faced me with a set expression; he was holding a small pistol. Rahul was at the back of the cabin. My own pistol—the one I’d thrown into the storage locker after Monica killed the consul with it—was in Rahul’s hand, though he wasn’t pointing it at anything.
Monica lay on her bunk, roped to an upright. She spat out a wad of cloth and snarled, “They’ve mutinied! They’re going to murder us!”
“You will not be harmed!” Rajiv said. “Do not resist and you both will be delivered unharmed on a developed planet. We—don’t reach for a tool! I will shoot you!”
I’d been thinking about rushing Rajiv, true, but I hadn’t been reaching for a tool. I put my right hand flat on the bulkhead beside me, which was the only way I could be sure my arm wouldn’t flop down toward a wrench hanging from my belt.
I was about to be enslaved again. That would be something to talk about at cocktail parties when I got back to Cinnabar. If I ever went to another cocktail party—the invitations had stopped when Dad shot himself. If I ever got back to Cinnabar …
“He’s lying!” Monica said. “They’ll kill us!”
“No, no,” I said. “They’ll sell us for slaves. We’re worth too much money for them to kill us.”
I was worth money. The lovely, blond Monica was worth a lot of money. I smiled warmly.