Starship

by Michael D. Resnick

  She shrugged. “If your way works, fine. If not, we've still got my way. Let's go.”

  “Not so fast,” said Cole.

  “Why not?” she asked. “There's nothing to see here.”

  “We knew it was a hole in the ground before we left the ship. I came down to find some witnesses.”

  “What can they tell you?”

  “If I knew, I wouldn't need to find them, would I?” replied Cole.

  “Fine. Where do we find them?”

  “We check the police and the hospitals,” said Cole. “We're here on legitimate business, remember? Well, legitimate business as far as the authorities of Cyrano are concerned, anyway. We had millions of credits of goods stashed here, goods that we'd paid for and were about to pick up. We have every reason to want to know what happened, who was responsible for it, how many of Muscatel's ships were destroyed and how many survived. You've been thinking like a pirate for too long; we don't have anything to hide.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. “And the Navy took your ship away?”

  “Two of them,” said Cole. “Well, three actually, but I got the Teddy R back.”

  “No wonder we're losing the damned war.”

  “We're not losing it,” he said. “Correction: They're not losing it. They're just not winning it.”

  “If they treat all their competent officers the way they treated you, I can understand why.”

  “Sir?” said Briggs, who had been wandering around the site. “I can't be sure without further data, but I'd be willing to bet that there was only one ship moored here.”

  “How can you tell?” asked Cole, looking into the crater.

  “Not enough radiation for two nuclear piles,” said Briggs, holding up a small sensing device. “They're treated to go inert if anything damages them, but even so some trace radiation always escapes.”

  “But not enough for two ships?”

  “I don't think so, sir.”

  “Well, that's that,” said Cole. “I think we can assume that Muscatel's still got three ships.” He turned to Val. “I want the truth, now. Can the Pegasus outgun three ships at once? And don't tell me it depends on the ships. You know what kind Muscatel has, and I don't.”

  “No, probably not,” she admitted.

  “Then it makes more sense that they're pursuing him.”

  “In a rational universe that makes sense,” she said. “But you don't know the Shark.”

  “I know he's lived this long. That implies at least a certain cunning and a strong sense of self-preservation, if not intelligence.”

  “Sir,” put in Briggs, “it doesn't really matter if they're chasing him or he's chasing them. Sooner or later they're going to meet. Why don't we just sit back and let them destroy each other?”

  “You're talking about my ship!” bellowed Val.

  “That's one reason,” said Cole with a wry smile. “Seriously, we do have an agreement. Also, there's plunder to divide—but only if the Pegasus remains in one piece.”

  “It was just a thought, sir,” said Briggs uncomfortably.

  “And a good one,” said Cole. “It would be practical in ninety-nine out of a hundred situations.” Pause. “Welcome to the hundredth.” He took one last look at the wreckage. “Well, let's get over to the hospital we passed on the way in. If there are any survivors, or if anyone was close enough to be an eyewitness, that's where we're likely to find them.”

  They went back to the aircar and skimmed along, some eight inches above the ground, until they came to the hospital. They floated into an underground lot, moored the vehicle, then took an airlift to the registration desk.

  “Good afternoon,” said Cole to the portly human receptionist.

  “Good afternoon,” she answered. “How may I help you?”

  “I understand you've got some patients who were involved in the tragic attack on Mr. Muscatel's headquarters.”

  “Wasn't it terrible?” she said. “I don't believe we've ever experienced anything quite like it. I mean, military attacks are what everyone comes to the Frontier to avoid.”

  “Was it a military attack?” asked Cole. “I was told it was a dispute between pirates.”

  “What's the difference? It was a ship, and it fired on our planet.”

  “I defer to your judgment,” said Cole. “Have you any patients who were involved?”

  “Certainly. What names are you looking for?”

  “I don't know,” said Cole. “I did business with the company, not with any particular person other than Donovan Muscatel himself. Is he here?”

  “No, I'd know if he was,” she said. “I hope he'd not dead. He donated the east wing of the hospital, you know.”

  “I hope so too,” said Cole. “How many men and women survived the attack?”

  “It was more than men and women,” said the receptionist. “There was a Pepon as well.”

  “A Pepon?”

  “From Peponi. Well, that's what they call themselves, anyway. I'm sure there's an official name and probably a medical name as well.”

  “Who else?”

  “Two men. There's a woman in surgery, but she's not expected to survive.” She glanced at a hidden screen. “Yes, we just lost her about three minutes ago.”

  “How about any eyewitnesses to the attack?”

  “Are you a businessman or a reporter?” she asked suspiciously.

  “A businessman. May I speak to the survivors?”

  “Let me check.” She studied another hidden screen. “All right. They're not tranquilized, and in fact they'll be released before nightfall. They're just here for observation.”

  “The Pepon too?”

  She glanced down again. “Yes.”

  “Where can I find them?”

  “I'll have an orderly escort you there.”

  “I'd like my friends to come along,” he said, gesturing to Val and Briggs.

  “Only two visitors are allowed at one time,” she replied. “Hospital rules.”

  “All right,” said Cole. He put an arm around Briggs's shoulders and walked him toward an exit, speaking only when they were too far away for the receptionist to overhear. “It's probably a dead end, but hunt up the jail and see if they've got any survivors or eyewitnesses, then report back here.”

  “Why would they be in jail?” asked Briggs.

  “Maybe they were eyewitnesses who were caught looting,” answered Cole. “Maybe they were employees with prices on their heads, and their protector is dead or gone. You want a catalogue of all the possible reasons?”

  “No, sir. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

  Briggs left, and Cole returned to the desk. “We're ready,” he announced.

  A robot rolled up to him. “Follow me, please,” it grated in a scratchy metallic voice.

  Cole and Val fell into step as it swiveled and rolled to an airlift. They emerged on the fourth floor and followed the mechanical orderly down a corridor until it stopped by an open door. “Humans Nichols and Moyer are in this room. Pepon Bujandi is four rooms farther down. I will post myself by the door to his room.”

  Cole and Val entered the room. Two men, neither wearing hospital gowns, were sitting on a pair of floating beds, staring at them curiously.

  “Which one of you is Nichols and which is Moyer?” asked Cole.

  “I'm Jim Nichols,” said the smaller of them. “He's Dan Moyer. Who wants to know?”

  “I want to know,” said Cole. “You work for Donavan Muscatel, don't you?”

  “We've got nothing to hide,” said Moyer. “Yeah, we work for him.”

  “How come you're still alive?”

  They exchanged looks. “We were returning from town with some supplies when they hit the warehouse. The force of the pulse explosions knocked us off the road and shook us up a little, but we're getting out of here in another hour or two.”

  “Were the two of you alone in the vehicle?”

  “You know we weren't,” said Nichols.

  “How m
any were with you?”

  “Just the Pepon.”

  “I'm told a woman from your group just died in surgery.”

  “That was Wanda,” said Nichols. “Obviously she wasn't in the building when they hit it. I don't know what she was doing. They told us they brought her in pretty banged up. That's all we know about it.”

  “One last question,” said Cole. “Is Muscatel alive?”

  “No more answers until you tell us who the hell you are and why you're asking all these questions,” said Moyer.

  Suddenly they were looking down the barrels of Val's burner and screecher. “You can tell us or you can die,” she said coldly.

  “Put the guns away,” said Cole.

  She glared at him and didn't move.

  “These men aren't our enemies, and they're not likely to answer our questions if you kill them.”

  “I know you,” said Moyer as Val reluctantly holstered her weapons. “At least I've heard of you. Bigger than any man, armed to the teeth, drop-dead gorgeous, red hair—you've got to be her! You've got no name, or a hundred names, no one's sure which, but you're the captain of the Pegasus. You've got a reputation from here to the Rim. What the hell are you doing on a little dirtball like Cyrano?”

  “Waiting for you to answer the question,” said Val coldly. “Is Donovan alive?”

  “Yes,” replied Moyer. “He's out in the Delphini system somewhere.”

  “He's not coming back,” said Cole.

  “How do you know?” demanded Nichols.

  “He's got nothing to come back to. That means you're stranded here.”

  “We'll latch on somewhere else,” said Moyer.

  “Right,” said Nichols. “We've got a score to settle. We lost a lot of friends today.”

  “Maybe we can help you settle your score,” said Cole.

  They exchanged looks again. “You talk, we'll listen,” said Nichols at last.

  “Your warehouse was blown apart by the Pegasus.”

  Moyer frowned. “I thought the Pegasus was her ship.”

  “It was, until the Hammerhead Shark stole it from me,” said Val.

  “The Shark?” repeated Moyer. “I thought he was in the Spiral Arm.”

  “Not for the last two years,” said Val.

  “He's the one who attacked you today,” added Cole, “and there's every chance that he'll be going after Muscatel and the rest of your organization.”

  “You said you can help nail the bastard. How?”

  “I've got a ship, and we're running with a skeleton crew. Whether you sign on or not, my ship is going after the Shark—but we can use all the crew we can get. If you do sign on, you'll each receive one percent of whatever we take, but I want you to know up front you'll be on a military ship, and military discipline will be demanded of you. That's my offer. Take it or leave it.”

  “There aren't a lot of military ships out here on the Frontier,” said Moyer. “Offhand I can only think of one.” Suddenly he grinned. “You bet your ass I'll take it!”

  Nichols frowned. “Are you who I think you are?”

  “I have no idea who you think I am,” said Cole. “Are you in or out?”

  “In,” said Nichols. “What about Bujandi?”

  “I'm going to walk down the hall and make him the same offer.”

  “When do we leave?”

  “One of my officers is at the jail right now. As soon as he comes back we're out of here.”

  “Once we're on your ship we'll be able to help you contact Donovan,” said Moyer.

  “I never doubted it,” said Cole.

  A few minutes later Bujandi agreed to join the crew. Then Briggs returned, and the landing party, with three new crew members, took off for the Teddy R.

  While the three new crew members were being processed, Cole went up to the bridge to see if they'd had any luck tracing the Pegasus.

  “Captain on the bridge!” announced a young man, snapping to attention and saluting.

  “Well, I'll be damned,” said Cole. “When did you get back?”

  “A few hours ago, sir,” said Luthor Chadwick.

  “And you're feeling okay?”

  “Yes, sir. They gave me two new eardrums, and fixed some laser burns on my rib cage while they were at it.”

  “Well, we're all glad to have you back. Has anyone filled you in on what's happened since you've been hospitalized?”

  “Commander Forrice did, sir.”

  “I wish I had something positive to add,” said Cole. “Carry on, and if you feel you need some bed rest, just tell whoever's in charge of the shift and we'll get you replaced.”

  “Thank you, sir, but I feel fine,” insisted Chadwick. “Really I do.”

  “Okay. Have you met Crewman Esteban Morales yet?”

  “No, sir. I'm not acquainted with the name.”

  “He choose to join us after we took the Achilles.”

  “Is there some reason why you asked me that, sir?” asked Chadwick.

  “Only you and he would know for sure,” said Cole, “but there's a possibility that he's the guy who caught you with the screecher. What's your reaction to that?”

  “We were on opposite sides then. If we're on the same side now, it's forgotten, sir. And I assume he'll forget that I killed two of his shipmates.”

  “He assures me that he carries no grudge, that he understands that the situation has changed.”

  “Then there will be no problem, sir.”

  “Good. I just wanted to make certain.” Cole looked around the bridge, couldn't see any need to remain there, and headed for the mess hall. He wasn't hungry, but he didn't want to go to his room, and the cramped interior of the Teddy R didn't offer him that many choices.

  When he arrived, he sat down and was joined a moment later by Sharon Blacksmith.

  “Welcome back,” she said. “You made some interesting new friends.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” asked Cole.

  “Just that I've been doing my job, part of which is finding out exactly what you've saddled us with,” replied Sharon. “Daniel Moyer arrived on the Inner Frontier eleven years ago, just ahead of the Republic's police. There are two outstanding warrants for murder against him, dating back twelve and fourteen years. Do you want to know who he murdered?”

  “Not unless it was a starship captain.”

  “James Nichols is even more interesting,” she continued. “He was a bounty hunter. He had to find a new profession when the Republic found that they'd paid him for five ringers, innocent men he'd passed off as wanted killers.”

  “They're pirates,” said Cole. “And we're not heading toward any church socials.”

  “Damn it, Wilson! They're just this side of being psychopaths. We may have chosen to be pirates, but we're a military ship with military discipline. They could be incredibly disruptive, and that's even without the likelihood of their killing someone.”

  “Have either of them served in the Navy?”

  “They came from the Republic,” answered Sharon. “Every able-bodied man and woman served in the Navy as soon as they reached their majority. These two are no different.”

  “Were either of them cashiered out?”

  “No.”

  “Then they can accept discipline and exercise self-control,” said Cole. “If we find they can't, we'll set them off at the next oxygen world we come to. But they want the Shark badly enough to behave until we catch him.”

  “At which point everybody's favorite pirate queen will lop their heads off before she'll let anyone else kill the Shark,” said Sharon.

  “We'll worry about that when we come to it,” said Cole. “These guys worked for Muscatel. They know his communication codes. They know his hideouts. They know how his mind works. They could prove very useful to us. Val knows the Shark, but no one except these guys knows Donovan Muscatel.” He paused. “You haven't mentioned the Pepon yet.”

  “You don't want to know.”

  “No, I really don't,” said
Cole. “They start today with a clean slate. If they dirty it, they'll suffer the consequences, but a pirate ship operating with half the crew it needs can't be too fussy about who it recruits.”

  “They're killers, Wilson.”

  “So is the young man on the bridge, the one with two new eardrums,” responded Cole. “So is Forrice. So are half the men and aliens on this ship.”

  “The men and aliens on this ship killed the enemy during wartime,” said Sharon. “This is different.”

  “It certainly is,” said Cole. “They were drafted. These three volunteered.”

  “But—”

  “The subject is closed. When they start misbehaving, it'll be open again.”

  “Misbehaving is a hell of a euphemism for murder.”

  “The only person they want to murder is the Hammerhead Shark,” said Cole. “Now let it drop.”

  “You can't just order me to shut up.”

  “Of course I can. I'm the Captain.”

  “Well, you're going to be a lonely Captain tonight.”

  “I read somewhere that loneliness goes with command,” replied Cole.

  “It goes with insensitivity.”

  He smiled. “That too.”

  Suddenly Val's image appeared next to him.

  “What's up?” asked Cole.

  “I just remembered something,” she said. “The Pegasus picked up some Meladotian crystals just before the Shark showed up.”

  “Okay, I give up. What are Meladotian crystals?”

  “They a very rare, very delicate crystal that's found only in the Meladotian system. They use it in jewelry on the Canphor Twins.”

  “Fine. They use it in jewelry on Canphor VI and VII. So what?”

  “Meladotia II is a very inhospitable world,” said Val. “A couple of hundred degrees Fahrenheit, and an ammonia atmosphere. Humans almost never go there, even to mine it.”

  A look of dawning comprehension crossed Cole's face. “You took it from an alien miner.”

  “A Balimond,” she said.

  “Let me take a wild guess: for whatever reason, Balimonds don't believe in insurance.”

  “It's a human institution, and they don't have much use for humans.”