Starship

by Michael D. Resnick

  “Bull,” said Cole to Pampas, “you used to be Chief Gunnery Officer. I need your expertise.”

  “It sounded better than Sergeant, sir,” replied Pampas with a smile.

  “We're all officers since we became pirates,” said Cole. “Anyway, you know this section better than anyone else, so as of this moment you're the Temporary Chief Communications Officer.”

  “What do you want me to do, sir.”

  “I don't care if you do it yourself or supervise it,” said Cole. “First, I want you to rig the communication system here so that there's a constant visual of the bridge. One-way. I want Slick to be able to see the bridge, but I don't want anyone on the bridge to see the Gunnery Section.”

  “That's easy enough.”

  “There's more,” said Cole. “I also want Slick to be able to see the main hatch. When the pirates board the ship, I want him to know it.”

  “One-way again, sir?”

  Cole nodded his assent. “Right.”

  “Since the weapons will be aimed from the bridge, we don't need all the viewscreens that are tied in to them.” Pampas indicated one that was attached to a pulse cannon. “We'll have the hatch showing on this one. Is that all, sir?”

  “Not quite,” said Cole. “I also want you to make up a dozen explosive devices that can be detonated from wherever Slick happens to be, inside the ship or outside it.”

  “How powerful?”

  “Not powerful enough to ruin the structural integrity of a ship's hull, but strong enough to take out a weapons system.”

  “It would have to be an external weapon, sir,” said Pampas.

  “That's right.”

  “The pirates' weapons?”

  “Can you think of any other weapons we might want to disable today?”

  Pampas smiled. “No, sir. And by the way, thank you for putting me on the boarding party.”

  “I just hope you're as good at disabling pirates as you are at disabling your fellow crew members,” said Cole. Before Pampas could protest, Cole held up a hand. “That was said in admiring tones, Bull. After all, you did it on my orders.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Pampas uneasily.

  “Okay, you'd better get to work. Enlist any help you might need, but try to get it done in two hours.” Cole turned to Slick. “You've figured out most of it, I presume?”

  “You want me to attach the explosives to any external weapons on the pirate ship,” said the Tolobite.

  “And all but one of their shuttlecraft,” said Cole. “That's assuming they have any shuttles, and that they're attached on the ship's exterior.”

  “Why all the screens, sir?” asked Slick.

  “Because it's always possible that an ambulance ship, or simply a ship full of decent beings, will be the first to reach us. I don't want you to leave the Teddy R until your observations convince you that these really are pirates. If they shoot anyone when they enter the hatch, you'll know immediately. If they wait until they reach the bridge and try to take over the ship, you'll know then. But once you know, I want you to go out through the shuttle port, not the main hatch, and start attaching all the explosives.”

  “When do I detonate them, sir?”

  “I want you safely back in the ship first,” said Cole.

  “I'll be perfectly safe out there,” replied Slick. “There are no shock waves in space.”

  “I know—but there will be a lot of flying weapon fragments. Unless your symbiote is impervious to them, it could get chopped up pretty badly, and I have to assume once it's dead or even punctured, you can't survive in space any longer than I can.”

  “You're quite right, sir,” said Slick. “We hadn't thought of that.”

  “We?” repeated Cole.

  “Myself and my Gorib, sir.”

  “It understood what I said?” asked Cole. “As far as I can tell, it's just an epidermis. I didn't know it had any sensory receptors.”

  “We are telepathically connected. It doesn't need sensory inputs when it can use mine.”

  “You know, I've never really asked you about it. Do you and your Gorib ever argue?”

  “We are symbiotes, sir,” answered Slick, as if that explained everything.

  “Well, as I said, I want you back inside the ship so neither you nor your Gorib can be harmed by the explosions. Once you're back, wait for my signal.”

  “Yes, sir. Will there be anything else, sir?”

  “No,” said Cole. Then, “Yes.”

  “Sir?”

  “Has your Gorib got a name?”

  “You couldn't pronounce it, sir.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You can't pronounce my name, sir, and we share it. If you wish to refer to my Gorib, call it Slick.”

  “I call you Slick.”

  “We are symbiotes.”

  Cole got the feeling that every line of inquiry about the Gorib would end with that same answer, so he left Pampas and Slick and went up to the mess hall. All but two tables were empty, and he sat down in a corner and ordered coffee and a sandwich. One of the other diners, tall, slender, young, with close-cropped blond hair, stood up and walked over, carrying his drink and what was left of a rather plain dessert.

  “Do you mind if I join you, sir?” asked Luthor Chadwick.

  “The man who broke me out of the brig can join me any time he wants,” replied Cole.

  “The whole ship broke you out, sir.”

  “But you were the prison guard with the code to the locks. What can I do for you, Mr. Chadwick?”

  “I just want to thank you for the opportunity, sir,” said the blond man.

  “The opportunity to be a member of an outlaw ship that's wanted by the Republic and the Teroni Federation?” said Cole with a smile. “You're an easy man to please.”

  “No, sir,” said Chadwick seriously. “I meant the opportunity to be part of the boarding party.”

  “It's no great honor. You'll be the first to get killed if this doesn't work out.”

  “I've been feeling like I'm not earning my pay,” began Chadwick.

  “You're not getting any pay,” interrupted Cole.

  “I mean my keep, sir,” Chadwick corrected himself. “We're carrying a crew of thirty-three, and there simply isn't much for an Assistant Chief of Security to do, especially with Colonel Blacksmith around. She is so efficient and has things so much under control that I've felt totally useless, sir, and I'm just glad that I'm finally being given something to do.”

  “You may feel differently about it when the shooting starts,” said Cole.

  “I doubt it, sir.”

  “Just be careful, Mr. Chadwick,” said Cole. “We're traveling with less than half the normal contingent of crew members. Nothing on any pirate ship is worth as much as any of your lives. If it looks bad, if you smell a trap, if you have any reason to think we've bit off more than we can chew, I strongly suggest that the boarding party gets the hell off the pirate ship and lives to fight another day.”

  Chadwick smiled. “That's just what Commander Forrice told me not half an hour ago, sir.”

  “Just goes to show that even a hardheaded, stubborn, sarcastic Molarian can learn,” said Cole.

  “You two have been together a long time, haven't you?” asked Chadwick.

  “On and off,” said Cole. “We've known each other for years. He's probably as good a friend as I've ever had. I don't begin to understand eighty percent of the aliens I meet, including some on this ship, but Four Eyes feels like a brother. Hell, all Molarians do; in ways they're more human than Men are.”

  “I've noticed that, sir,” said Chadwick. “I never heard any other being laugh—just Men and Molarians.”

  “Let's hope all the Teddy R's Men and Molarians are still laughing tomorrow,” said Cole.

  “They will be. After all, you're Wilson Cole.”

  “If I thought that was the real reason for the crew's confidence, even you would find me unbearable,” said Cole. He finished his sandwich and drained his co
ffee container. “I'm off to the bridge. I'd recommend that you try to get some rest. It could be a few hours, or even a couple of days, before anyone shows up.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Chadwick, standing up and saluting. “And thank you again, sir.”

  The young man turned and left the mess hall, and somehow Cole knew that, far from sleeping, the blond man was going to get more excited and tense by the minute. Finally Cole stood up, walked to the nearest airlift, and went up to the bridge.

  “How soon?” he asked Christine Mboya.

  “Maybe ten minutes,” she said. “Wxakgini tells me we've been braking to sublight speeds for about two minutes now.”

  “I barely felt it,” said Cole.

  “That is precisely what you can expect to feel, as long as I'm the pilot of this vessel,” said Wxakgini from his pod high above them.

  “That's what I like in a pilot,” said Cole. “Modesty.” He turned to Christine. “You're relieved. Go get some sleep.”

  “But my shift isn't over yet,” she protested.

  “You're relieved anyway.” He turned on the intercom. “Ensign Marcos to the bridge.” He turned to Domak. “Are you good for another six or seven hours, Lieutenant, or do you need some sleep or nutrition?”

  “I am fully capable of remaining at my post for the next seven hours,” replied the Polonoi.

  “I'm sure you are—but in all probability nothing's going to happen right away. Would you like some rest?”

  “Like?” repeated Domak with a frown, as if she didn't comprehend the word.

  “Forget I asked,” said Cole. “Stay at your post.” Suddenly he raised his voice. “Is Security monitoring the bridge?”

  “You don't have to yell,” said Sharon's image, which appeared instantly before him.

  “How's that boarding team?” he asked as Rachel Marcos came onto the bridge. “All chosen?”

  “All chosen.”

  “How many races?”

  Domak, Christine, and Rachel all turned and stared at him curiously.

  “Three,” replied Sharon. “Four Men, Forrice, and Jack-in-the-Box.”

  “Lose one of the men and get me another member of another race.”

  “I picked the best crew members for the job,” replied Sharon.

  “I don't doubt it, and I'm not being a bigot,” said Cole. “But we don't know what race will be on the ship we're hoping to attract. Probably it'll be Men, just because there are more Men than anything else on the Inner Frontier—but if it's some other race, let's try to increase the chance of their finding a fellow member in our boarding party. It may encourage them to talk rather than shoot.”

  “I doubt it,” said Sharon.

  “To tell you the truth, I doubt it too,” agreed Cole. “But it couldn't hurt, and there's a very slight chance that it might help.”

  “Okay,” she said. “You can have Lieutenant Sokolov back if you need him.”

  “Not right now. Tell him he's replacing Lieutenant Domak in six hours. In the meantime, if he's awake, send him down to the Gunnery Section and have him help Pampas. I want Bull leading our boarding party. In fact, if Sokolov knows how to finish the job, have him relieve Bull instead of just helping him. The same with Braxite. If he's not doing anything vital, send him down to Gunnery to help.”

  “Right,” said Sharon, breaking the connection.

  “Rachel, get over to the computer station,” said Cole. “Christine, get the hell off the bridge and go to bed.”

  Rachel Marcos seated herself in front of the computers, and Christine Mboya sighed, grimaced, and otherwise made her unhappiness at being relieved clear, then walked to the airlift and went to her quarters.

  “Sharon, is Slick tied in to the bridge and the hatch yet?” asked Cole, raising his voice.

  “You don't have to shout,” said Sharon's image, appearing once again. “We monitor the bridge every second even on days when we don't expect all hell to break loose. And in answer to your question, yes, Slick can watch everything that happens on the bridge and at the hatch.”

  “At some point he's going to leave the ship,” said Cole. “Once he gets back, I want him to be able to hear me wherever he is.”

  “No problem.”

  “You're sure?”

  “I'm sure.”

  “Okay, you can vanish again.”

  Sharon's image disappeared.

  A few minutes later Wxakgini announced that the ship had come to a stop.

  “Start it spinning,” said Cole. He turned to Rachel. “Start sending out that SOS Christine created—the one that says our power died, our external stabilizer has been damaged, and we're helpless. And patch me through to Odom.”

  Mustapha Odom's image instantly appeared.

  “All right, Mr. Odom,” announced Cole. “We're stopped and we're spinning. I think it's time to turn off the drive and put the ship on emergency life-support power.”

  “It'll take about three minutes to shut the power down,” said Odom.

  “How long does it take to power up again, if we need it in a hurry?” asked Cole.

  “Maybe a minute, but remember—you can't be spinning when we start moving.”

  “I know. Shut it down now, Mr. Odom.”

  With the emergency life-support power on, there was no noticeable change inside the Theodore Roosevelt. If Cole hadn't gotten dizzy watching one of the viewscreens, he'd have sworn that they were still speeding across the Frontier.

  “How long do you think it'll be, sir?” asked Rachel Marcos.

  Cole shrugged. “More than an hour, less than a Standard day.”

  “I wonder what they'll be like?” she mused.

  “Greedy.”

  “So are we,” said Domak. “There is no difference.”

  “There's one,” said Cole.

  “What is that, sir?”

  “If we saw a ship spinning helplessly in space,” answered Cole, “a ship that was broadcasting an SOS, we'd help it. They're coming to rob it.”

  “Then we're not very efficient pirates,” concluded Domak, her fierce face displaying no expression.

  “We're new at the game,” replied Cole easily. “We're still learning.” He paused, then continued more seriously: “But if we ever reach the point where we'd attack and plunder a ship that had put out an SOS, then we're no better than the ships we're planning to loot. And on that day, the Teddy R can find itself a new captain.”

  Domak fell silent, Rachel continued monitoring her computers, Wxakgini remained blissfully remote from everything except the navigational computer that was wired into his brain, and after a few minutes Cole decided to go to the tiny officers' lounge and relax. He called up a musical entertainment, and had watched about half of it when the singers and dancers suddenly disappeared, to be replaced by Sharon Blacksmith's holograph.

  “Would the Captain condescend to move his ass back up to the bridge?” she said.

  “What's up?” asked Cole.

  “We're about to have company.”

  Cole's first words as he walked onto the bridge were: “What kind of ship is it?”

  “Class LJD, sir,” replied Rachel.

  “Armaments?”

  “The LJD is a luxury space yacht, sir. It isn't built with any weaponry, but they've jury-rigged two pulse cannons, one on each side of her nose.”

  “Can they rotate?”

  “I'm sure they can spray their fire,” answered Rachel. “But if you mean, can they do a one-eighty and fire behind the ship, I can't tell.”

  “And there's just two cannons?” asked Cole. “You're sure of that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “A luxury yacht? Well, they like their comfort, I'll give them that,” said Cole. “If it was me, I'd have bought a heavily armed and armored military ship from a defeated power like the Sett and adapted it for my crew's needs.” He turned to Domak. “Any indication what kind of crew it's carrying?”

  “The sensors pick up fourteen life-forms,” answered the Polonoi. “But I
can't tell yet—Wait! They are oxygen breathers.”

  “Men?”

  She shrugged. “Bipeds. I won't know their race until they get a little closer.”

  “Are their cannons armed?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Suddenly Christine Mboya appeared on the bridge. “I saw that they've arrived, sir. I request permission to take my station.”

  “You don't have a station,” said Cole. “You're the Second Officer, remember?”

  “I request permission to take my former station,” she amended.

  Cole stood stock-still for a few seconds, making up his mind. Then he nodded his assent. “Rachel, you're relieved.”

  “But sir—” protested Rachel.

  “I haven't got time to be diplomatic,” said Cole. “Christine's the best we've got at what she does, and we're putting our lives at risk. You can still make yourself useful. Slick is going to be moving some things down to the shuttle bay. Give him a hand.” Rachel looked as if she was about to cry, which was the last thing he needed at this moment. “It's not busywork,” he assured her. “You drop anything and the pirates won't have to blow us out of the ether. We'll do it for them.”

  Rachel saluted and left the bridge, and Cole turned his attention back to Domak. “Do we know what they are yet?”

  Domak shook her head. “Soon.”

  “Christine, can those cannons rotate or can they only shoot ahead of the ship?”

  “I can't tell from the configuration, sir,” answered Christine, “but all logic says they can. A pirate ship is more likely to fire at pursuers than prey; after all, it can't loot what it's totally destroyed.”

  “Makes sense.” Yes, he thought, at a time like this, you're the one I need at this station.

  “Sir?” said Slick's voice, and his image appeared in front of Cole. “If we're using explosives on the weapons, what difference does it make if they can fire behind the ship or not?”

  “Not to cause you undue consternation,” replied Cole, “but while we'll be doing our best to distract them and hide your presence, there's always a chance they might spot you and blow you and your Gorib to hell and gone. Under those circumstances, I would have to assume they're watching for replacements, and I'd just be wasting anyone else I sent out to complete the job.”