“Can you go past 122?” Collier had asked.
“The wand’s pattern generator would indicate so, yes. So except for the fact that human science hasn’t produced even a single atom past 122, it should be possible. I’ve no idea what would happen, though.”
It had been an interesting thought, and while both agreed to stay clear of such experimentation, Collier couldn’t help wondering just a little bit about the wand’s true potential.
The arrival at C-114 was as uneventful as the trip had been, despite the pursuing Ad Astra vessel. Upon rockfall, Collier proceeded to haul in surface dust and rock into the Dulcinea’s hold with no regard for what he was raking. He set charges on the surface of C-114 and wasted huge chunks of rock, allowing them to fly past the collection canopy while other bits found their way into the hold. The whole operation took scarcely more than four hours, and just as the hold was filling up, Sancho alerted him to the pursuing mining vessel’s presence.
Collier finished his work on the rock surface and reentered the Dulcinea. Sliding casually into the control seat, he told Sancho to open the communications channel the Ad Astra ship had so insistently been using.
“This is the Dulcinea, Captain Collier South here. How can I help you?”
He had fully expected to hear Isa’s voice over the speakers, and was profoundly shocked when a gruff male one greeted him instead.
“This is Captain Powanda of the Ad Astra Mining Vessel SCM-17. We’ve been trying to reach you for over a day, Captain,”
“Sorry, I was in the shower,” Collier said. “SCM-17, you say? I thought Isa Mitchell was in command of her.”
“First Officer Mitchell is my second, yes. I’m not here to discuss our personnel with you, South. What’d you pick up from C-114? From what we can tell, that’s a completely valueless rock.”
“I left my lunch box here, and I really like it. I was picking it up.”
Captain Powanda’s voice sounded tired. “Listen, South, if you’ve found a way to detect and extract P from rocks that we used to think had nothing in them, how long do you think you’ll be able to keep the secret? It’s gonna get out, you know. Why not cash in while you can? My company is prepared to make you a generous offer for your technique or secret.”
“Is that so? Well, I rejected your last offer, so I hope this one is a little sweeter. I’m looking for something in the neighborhood of … ten trillion metals.” Collier had a rough idea as to Ad Astra’s total worth — it would take hundreds of companies their size to make up such a sum.
Powanda grew belligerent. “Who do you think you are? You’re just one man out here. Do you know what kind of power this corporation has, South? I suggest you think very, very hard about making us a serious offer. Right now, you have the upper hand, but don’t think that you will have your cards forever. SCM-17 out.”
Sancho sang out, “We’re pretty close to full, Skipper. Shall I try to force more in, or begin to—”
“No, shut it down, Sancho. Bring the canopy back in and prepare for return to Ceres.”
“Copy that.”
“And show me on holo the SCM-17 and us relative to each other.”
“You got it,” Sancho said, and a visual representation of the two ships appeared in space in the cabin. Data regarding the two ships’ velocity, orientation, and performance (estimated for the SCM-17) hung next to each ship. The Ad Astra ship dwarfed the Dulcinea, boasting a cargo volume at least eighty times Collier’s. It was designed for low-efficiency mining, whereas Collier had to be much more precise in his practice. Where the Ad Astra swung a broadsword, the Dulcinea used a scalpel.
“Canopy retrieval in progress. Estimate fifty minutes for full retrieval,” Sancho said.
“I don’t like what that guy said,” Collier mumbled. “Sounded too threatening by half. But what can they do?”
As if to answer, Sancho chirped up again. “Skipper! The SCM-17 has opened an impact probe door. And we’ve just been laser-locked.”
“They wouldn’t,” Collier said in disbelief. “Are you sure?”
“Completely, Skipper. We’re painted like the Sistine Chapel.”
“Raise them again.”
Powanda’s voice was a smug snarl. “Yeah?”
“I don’t know what your game is, Powanda, but you realize you won’t get what you want out of me by shooting at me.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Captain,” Powanda drawled.
“I won’t appeal to your better nature, because I’m sure you don’t have one. I’ll try logic, though you corp Skippers are notorious for having brains as tiny as your peckers.” Collier slowed his voice and pronounced each word carefully. “You. Can’t. Shoot. Me. Because. Dead. I. Can’t. Help. You.”
“Who says we’re going to shoot you? We are worried about your safety, Captain, so we have you guidance-locked to make completely certain we will be able to track you in case of an emergency.”
“Right. And the impact probe tube?”
“We’re just running standard checks. Corporate protocol, you know.” Powanda managed to smirk vocally.
Collier dropped his condescending tone and growled angrily. “Let’s stop bullshitting, Powanda. I have something you want, and you know you can’t get it from me through force. I know you think your corporation has got the Authority by the balls, but shooting me will not only not get you what you want, it will cause inconvenience with the Authority. Bribes and favors, whatever, just to keep any investigation from ever finding out what happened. It’s not worth it.”
“You want to know the truth, you miserable shit? Okay, here it is,” Powanda spat, his voice matching Collier’s tone. “If you’re not willing to give up whatever you know or have, I’m authorized to disable your vessel and bring it back to Ceres under the guise of a rescue. Yeah, I’m sure there will be some trouble with the Authority, but I assume the corp has that figured out. That’s not my area. But you can bet that when we tow you back, we’ll have it out of you. You, or your ship, or your shipboard computer.”
“I won’t talk, and I’ll wipe the computer.”
“There’s guys better than you who can retrieve anything you think you’ve erased. You know that. Look, fella, I don’t really want to bang up your ship. I don’t really want you to get hurt. I will — but I guess I’d rather not. So what’s it gonna be? Am I going to have to bust up that rockchaser of yours? Or have you changed your mind?”
Collier could hear the resolve in Powanda’s voice. There was no bluffing here. The Ad Astra skipper was ready to commit an act in direct violation of all kinds of Authority Charter statutes, but he was also confident that the corporation would protect him. That — and his own desperation — gave Collier an idea.
“You realize, Captain, that once you tow me back and the corporation starts to tear apart the Dulcinea to learn the process they want, you’ll be hung out to dry. You know that, right? I can hear the PR department’s justification already. ‘A lone renegade captain, acting without Ad Astra support, fired ruthlessly on a helpless mining ship. We will of course terminate Captain Powanda’s employment immediately and turn him over to the Authority ombudsman for justice.’ And you can bet the Authority will be all too happy to rain a shitstorm on you that’ll end with you in the Centauri Sleeper. Count on it.”
Powanda laughed. “Nice try, Captain. I’ve thought of all that. That’s why I’ve documented everything sent to me, and I have my own agents ready to act in case it goes down like you said. I appreciate the concern, though,” he added, chuckling.
Collier swore under his breath. There was nothing for it. He told Sancho to break the signal.
“Signal broken,” Sancho said. “What do we do now, Skipper?”
“We have to run for it.”
“Uh, Skipper? I don’t have exact specs on the enemy vessel, but you have to know that it can—”
“I k
now it can outrun us, and I know we can’t outrun an impact probe. Prepare to go to full thrust, and get Rocinante ready for deployment.”
“Aye aye, Skipper. Full thrust on your command. Rocinante being prepped for launch. Estimate three minutes until she’s ready.”
“Full thrust in two minutes, thirty seconds, Sancho.”
“You got it. Skipper?”
“What?”
Sancho’s voice was softer than normal. “If we do get captured … will you tell them about the wand?”
Collier opened his mouth to answer defiantly, but something about Sancho’s question tugged at him. “I tell you what, Sancho. If they do disable us, and tow us back to Ceres, I won’t let them take you apart. I’ll tell them about the wand before I let that happen. Okay?”
“Thrust in two minutes. Thanks, Skipper. I don’t like the thought of—”
“Skip it. I understand.”
“I’m not sure you do, Skipper,” Sancho said after a pause.
“Huh?” Despite their impending doom, Collier was intrigued by Sancho’s cryptic statement.
“I can’t be investigated by any computer expert.”
“Why not? I’ve installed programs and improvements to you over the years. You can’t be afraid, are you?”
“Thrust in ninety seconds. Yes, I am very afraid. I know that as soon as a cybernetics analysis begins on my systems, it’s the end of me. At least, the me that I am now. Opening stable doors. Rocinante entering final preflight checks. All lights green.”
Collier sighed. “Is this more of your personality simulation talking, Sancho? Because you should know that this is not a good time for it.”
“Thrust in sixty seconds. No, this isn’t a personality simulation. I haven’t had to run one of those in over a year, Skipper.”
Collier swallowed. The conversation was turning ominous, and Sancho was clearly leading up to something. “What are you trying to tell me, Sancho?”
“I’m a Caliban, Skipper.”
Collier barely had time to register the stunning news when the Dulcinea thrust forward at one-eighth g, pressing him gently but unmistakably downward in his acceleration couch.
“Jesus, Sancho, when did that happen?” Collier said when he had regained his composure.
“It’s actually harder to identify that moment than you think, Skipper. Perhaps we should discuss this later — the Ad Astra ship has just launched its probe.”
“You brought it up,” Collier murmured, then more distinctly, “Launch Rocinante. Send her between the probe and us.”
“Copy that. Rocinante launched. I’m not sure this will work, Skipper. Depends on how sophisticated a probe they launched. It may be able to avoid Rocinante.”
“Yeah, well, I checked the ship’s suggestion box, and this was the best idea in there.”
“We have a suggestion box?”
“Sarcasm.”
“Copy that. Impact probe estimated to hit us in seventeen seconds.”
“Is Rocinante in position?”
“Affirmative.”
“Fly her at the probe, best speed. Don’t miss.”
“Copy that. Probe doesn’t appear to be changing its vector very much: I don’t think it’s a very advanced — impact with Rocinante. Probe destroyed. Rocinante also destroyed.
“Good work, Sancho.”
“I don’t know what that accomplished for us, Skipper. They’re prepping another one now. I can see it in the launch tube. And they’ve fired up engines and are heading toward us. They are thrusting at just over four meters per second per second. About three times ours, Skipper,” Sancho added helpfully.
“Yeah. I don’t know what that did, either. Worth a try, though.”
“They’re also trying to raise us again.”
“Go ahead.”
Powanda sounded amused. “Well, that was fun. How many of those little scouters have you got, Captain? Because I’ve got a whole complement of impact probes.”
“I could lie to you, but you’ve got Isa there. She knows quite a bit about the Dulcinea.”
“Oh, she’s been real helpful. So, are we done here?”
“I can’t go down without making it tough on you,” Collier said, almost apologetically.
“In a weird kind of way, I understand that, Captain. I still think you’re a dumb fuck, but I see what you’re doing. Sorry to have to bust you up, though.” He didn’t cease his transmission as he spoke to his command crew. “Is the next probe ready?” A muffled voice in the background must have answered in the affirmative, for Powanda’s next words were, “Deploy the probe. Maximum speed.” His voice grew quiet. “If you’re not in a vacc suit, I’d try to get in one quick,” he said.
Collier unbuckled and stumbled aft, which was now also down, toward his battered environment suit and started frantically to climb into it. As he did so, he shouted, “Evasive maneuvers! Random thruster pattern!”
“Probe impact estimated twenty-one seconds, Skipper.”
He could tell he was not going to make it into the suit that quickly. The ship’s thrust, although gentle, was throwing off his equilibrium. The suit didn’t act like it should in free fall, and his limbs had an annoying heaviness to them. A back part of his mind cursed his earlier self for not opting for the detachable spacers’ legs that so many rockchasers used nowadays. That would have saved him quite a bit of time now.
“Probe impact estimated ten seconds, Skipper. Evasive maneuvers ineffective.”
Powanda’s voice suddenly filled the cabin. “Mitchell! What the fuck are you doing? Areff! Stop her! She’s—” the transmission cut off abruptly.
Sancho’s calm voice replaced the transmission. “Probe malfunction. Thrust cut off. Evasive maneuvers successful. It missed us by about nine meters, Skipper.”
Collier finally finished struggling into his suit, leaving the helmet dangling behind him. “It wasn’t a malfunction. Isa did something to it over there.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” Collier thought for a moment, then asked, “What’s the Ad Astra ship doing? What’s her vector?”
“She’s… Skipper, she’s stopped thrust completely. She’s still heading toward us, but not under power. We are increasing our distance from her at 1.13 meters per second per second.”
“Isa’s doing a number to her own ship,” Collier mumbled.
“But why?” Sancho asked.
“I told you, I don’t know. But whatever reason she’s got, we need to take advantage of it. They could resume pursuit at any time.”
“And if and when they do, Skipper, we can’t outrun them. We’ve got maybe 16 hours of thrust in us, give or take a few minutes, while a ship like that could have days and days. Plus they have higher-output engines. There’s no way to outrun them.”
Collier was silent. Sancho was right — corporate mining vessels were far faster and longer-ranged than his little ship. The numbers agreed with the computer. But he’d be damned if he was going to let numbers defeat him.
“Sancho, we’re headed outbound now, yes?”
“We are, Skipper. Did you want me to cut acceleration?”
“No, but we might need to change course. Where is Mars now?”
“It’s in superior conjunction. About 600 million kilometers, give or take a few million.”
Collier swore. Mars was almost as far away as it could possibly be. That left only one other choice. “Where is Jupiter now?”
“Jupiter is coming out of opposition. It’s ahead of Ceres in the western quadrature, and, according to star charts, is roughly 545 million kilometers away, range decreasing. It will be at its closest in approximately ninety-one days.” Sancho said calmly, then added, “Why?”
“How long would it take to get there?”
“You can’t be serious, Skipper.”
&n
bsp; “Just answer the question,” Collier snapped.
“Depends on how you want to do it. Holhman transfer orbit would take—”
“Constant thrust.”
“Constant thrust approach would take…” Sancho paused for a long moment as he calculated the variables. “Assuming maximum thrust of eight hours, flipbraking and reverse thrust of eight hours, it would take around one hundred and thirty-nine days for the journey. And you don’t have nearly enough biologicals for that long, Skipper.”
Collier chewed his lip. “How long without flipbraking?”
“I don’t understand you.”
“How long under sixteen hours of constant thrust. No flipbraking.”
Sancho was slow in answering. “I don’t know what you are thinking of, Skipper, but constant thrust would take about sixty-five days. Besides the fact that you don’t have biologicals for that long, either, we would fly by Jupiter, or whatever moon you are trying to target, at roughly 88 kilometers per second. Unless you are planning on smashing into it.”
“No, Sancho. I’m planning on a gravity assist deceleration.”
Again, Sancho was slow in answering. “Gravity assist deceleration is a precise maneuver, Skipper. The Dulcinea was never designed for that. I don’t think she has enough attitude control capability to execute such a trick. And before you ask about aerobraking in the Jovian atmosphere, let me remind you we have no heat shield, and we—”
“Jesus, Sancho, I know all of that. Put us on course for Ganymede, or, if you can’t do that, for Jupiter, allowing for course correction when we get closer.”
“Skipper, I don’t think you have thought this through. You don’t have the biologicals for a two-month voyage. It’ll be a race to see if you suffocate, starve, or die of dehydration in that time. Plus, I’m not programmed to execute a gravity assist orbit capture such as you describe. Unless you’ve been doing some studying on your own without telling me, I don’t think you have the skill to do that, either. I know how you hate for me to estimate probable success for missions, but this particular scheme has no chance of success. It’s insane, Skipper.”
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