Stealing Endeavour: Book 1 of the Forever Endeavour, Amen Trilogy

by Martin Tays

  The newsman interrupted. “That would be Moses Dunn, formerly a crewman on board the Endeavour along with you, yes?”

  “… um, yes, Moses Dunn. Formerly a…” He waved his hand. “What you said. I think that Moses just wanted a chance to see the ship in a shirt sleeved environment. Can’t blame him, really. I’m glad he did. There’s something a bit impersonal about a pressure suit.”

  “I see.”

  “Good for you. I would assume that Moses… formerly a crewman, yada, yada… is going to be in the control room. This way.” He gestured forward.

  The reporter waved the newsbug close and muttered to it. It obligingly shut off. He turned back to Rafe. “Okay. You’re doing great!”

  “Am I? Oh, good.”

  “But could you be a little more, oh, I don’t know, upbeat? We’re doing something fun, you know!”

  Rafe paused, then looked back. “Are we? We’re two old farts saying maudlin and pathetic goodbyes to a hunk of tin that no one but us cares about. And I’m low enough to drag a reporter along for what should be a private moment because I thought my friend could use some positive if simple minded feedback from the media.” By now, Rafe had turned completely around and come back to hover face to face with Jin. “Fun? Don’t… I tell you what, let’s just not go there. ‘Kay?”

  Jin blinked, twice, muttered something under his breath, then ordered the newsbug back on. “We’re approaching the control room of the ancient ship, and I can tell Raphael is excited. The ship seems almost alive, again, around us… it’s like I can hear music in the air.”

  Rafe paused. “Well, actually, you can hear music in the air.” He replied, confused. He almost recognized the tune.

  Then he caught the lyrics.

  “Well, I don't know,

  but I've been told.

  You never slow down,

  you never grow old...”

  The newsman looked over at Rafe, started to speak, then cut the camera. “Okay, so what the hell is that?”

  Rafe shrugged. “Tom Petty, I think.”

  “Who?”

  Rafe ignored him and looked forward. The control room hatch was closed. If it was this loud out here…

  Jin reactivated the camera again. “Well, we’ve had an interesting surprise. On nearing the control room, we heard music! Tom Penny, if I’m not mistaken, playing from inside the room. Moses must be feeling nostalgic.”

  “Petty, you git.” Rafe pushed past the reporter and up to the control room hatch. He reached out and gingerly unlatched it, pulling it open. The music volume trebled, then faded. Petty’s scratchy voice was replaced by a driving note and a simple ― if quite loud ― musical motif. Rafe placed it just at the lyrics began.

  “You let me violate you

  You let me desecrate you

  You let me penetrate you

  You let me complicate you…”

  Rafe smiled and said “Ah, Nine Inch Nails ― now that takes me back.”

  “This is music?”

  “Of a sort, and welcome to the twentieth century. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

  “I want to fuck you like an animal

  I want to feel you from the inside…”

  Jin looked so appalled that Rafe had to laugh. He looked through the now open hatch.

  No one had noticed them. No one could. The bridge lights had been rigged to strobe to the beat of the music, effectively blinding those inside to the shadows around the entryway.

  The viewscreen was on, showing an old flattie movie. Really old. A sad looking man was being chased by what appeared to be an entire army of comical policemen in faded black and white. No one seemed to be watching it ― a pity, really. It was actually kind of funny.

  An empty bottle drifted toward the door. Rafe absently snagged it as it came close and read the label. “Wow. I’m impressed. Quite a drink for…” He looked up again, “… what appears to be a room full of baboons.”

  Over by the engineering console, a man with red hair was lounging bonelessly, strapped into the console’s chair. He was holding the ankles of a quite pretty and exquisitely drunken brunette, who was standing ― so to speak ― on his thighs and flailing both joyfully and artlessly to the beat.

  “That, um, girl…” Said Jin, “… what’s she wearing, exactly?”

  Rafe glanced over. “She appears to be wearing… well, honestly she seems to be wearing pretty much nothing. It’s also, apparently, fairly cold in here.”

  “Thought so.” Turning to the bug, Jin said “First quadrant. Female. Zoom. Light enhance.”

  “Pervert.”

  “I’ll send you a copy.”

  “That’s better.” Rafe looked around the room. There was two more people in mid air, dancing about as well as anyone can dance in mid air in zero gravity while drunk as Lords. The girl was beautiful, dark skinned and intent on her partner. The boy was… white. Remarkably white. Disconcertingly white.

  The reporter turned toward Rafe. “Tell me. Is it me, or is that boy…”

  Rafe blinked, then answered. “Yes. White. He’s white. He's really, really white. Something wrong with that?”

  “No, no, of course not.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.” The reporter shook his head, then turned to look at the pair of people lounging against the forward bulkhead. A blond boy and a dark haired girl. The boy was apparently passed out, and the girl had taken advantage of the opportunity to make his face up and spike his hair. He looked like the world’s most pathetic and underemployed hooker ― and the miniskirt didn’t help matters much. She began painting his fingernails a bright pulsing electric green, frowning in deep concentration.

  Jin stared at them for a moment, then turned back to examine the remaining two occupants of the compartment.

  The final two ― a nondescript brown haired man with a beard and a well built but somewhat tomboyish young redheaded girl ― were anchored by foot grabs to opposite sides of the chart table. They were leaning toward each other and staring intently down at a small but lovingly reproduced 3D image of a muddy brown building while passing between them what appeared to be a plastic pouch. The man was talking animatedly, pointing at the building.

  Around the projected building, tiny little blue suited troops fired at tiny little defenders. A tiny little cannon fired, blasting a tiny little crater in the wall of the miniature adobe structure and blowing several of the tiny little defenders up into even tinier little pieces.

  The reporter looked back at his companion. Rafe sighed and nodded. “Yeah. That’s him.”

  Jin smiled. “Oh, this is so great.” He pushed over toward the table, recording as he went.

  The two at the table were arguing with a drunken intensity, enough so that they hadn’t noticed the approach of the newsman. Rafe came up behind, just in time to hear Moses speak in a solemnly authoritative tone of voice.

  “No, yeah, I mean… okay, so sure, you’re right, he was a putz. But he was a putz with over four thousand troops. Seasoned veterans with a hatred of gringos.” Moses gestured grandly at the adobe mission. “And there were a hundred and thirty some odd defenders. Really, they never had a chance. They all died.” He hiccupped mournfully and waved his hand. “Very sad.”

  Rafe cleared his throat. “Actually, legend has it that Crockett and a handful of others survived, only to have Santa Ana put them up against a wall and perforate ‘em afterward.”

  “Yeah, but that’s… oh, hi, Rafe… that’s never been… um… proven. Rafe!?” The last came out in a squeak.

  “Hi, Moses. Nice party. What say we go ahead and burn the barn and bugger the sheep, then we can call it a night. Sound good?”

  Moses looked over at Ami, who was staring, wide eyed and frozen, at Rafe. She looked a bit like a bunny in the headlight
s of a very large and very bad thing.

  That had headlights.

  He turned back to Rafe, took in the grinning reporter and his newsbug, then spoke. “Um... I can explain?”

  Rafe smiled back, showing a lot of teeth. “Oh, please, yes. This ought to be fascinating.”

  ☼

  The little 3D logo of Haven2Night! (H2N!, not surprisingly) spun in the corner of a lovingly imaged view of baccalaurean frat night hell. Moses stuck his head back between his knees and spoke quietly to the office carpet. “Oh, for the love of God, Rafe. Turn it off?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that. They’re just getting to my favorite part.” On the viewscreen, in beautiful, three dimensional detail, Sher was jiggling her nicely proportioned and utterly unencumbered assets as she danced on the plotting table while Santa Ana’s troops futilely assaulted her feet. The angle of the shot left exceptionally little to the imagination. “Ah.” Said Rafe, pointing at the display. “You know, I love a girl that shaves. Personal hygiene is very important to me.”

  Moses glared at him but didn’t respond.

  In the viewscreen image, Al Jolson’s Al Jolsoney rendition of “I’m Sittin’ on Top of the World” was replaced by the twenty third century grunge polka band Yankovic’s Revenge break out hit “Dancin’ Floozy.”

  “The stripper never meant a thing,

  Just there to entertain us.

  For though her rear did shake and fling

  I thought of just Uranus!”

  The view switched to a medium shot of Moses, who was looking up at Sher with an appalled expression on his face. Ami came into the screen from behind him and covered his eyes. She then looked straight at the newsbug and said “Poor thing. Shocked. He doesn’t get out much, you know.”

  Off screen, someone spoke. The voice was too low to make out the words, but Ami responded with an insulted “Of course I can do better! Watch this!” She managed, somehow, to get out of her shipsuit, but seemed confused by the fastener on her bra. She shrugged and started dancing in her underwear, rotating and slowly precessing as she drifted up out of view. The newsbug tilted up to follow, but the view was suddenly obscured by the shipsuit the 3D image Moses had thrown over the lens.

  “Off.” Rafe curtly commanded. The image faded. He looked back at Moses questioningly. “Tell me… was that girl actually wearing ‘happy face’ underwear?”

  Moses sat up and groaned. “She’s a history nut. I don’t know where the hell she got ‘em. She also has a pair with Smurfs.” He continued, making what appeared to be the international sign for ‘Smurf’ with his hands.

  “That’s sad.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Rafe abruptly stood and walked over to a console set into the wall. He muttered to it for a moment, then brought back the two resultant glasses. “Here.” Rafe said ruefully, handing one to the hung over Moses. “Hair of the dog.”

  “Oh, God. I hate you. Thanks.” Moses convulsively swallowed half the glass, then looked at it with an appalled expression on his face. “What the hell is this?”

  “Gin and tonic.”

  “Of course. I hate you some more.”

  Rafe returned to his desk, sat and took a small sip from his glass. He set it down and looked dourly at Moses. “Did you know that that’s been the most viewed episode of Haven 2Night! in the show’s entire one hundred and twenty one year history?”

  Moses let his head fall back. He spoke to the ceiling in a conversational tone of voice. “Do us both a favor and put me out of your misery.”

  “Don’t think the idea hasn’t crossed my mind.” Rafe slapped his hand on the desk. “And speaking of which, what in God's name were you thinking, you idiot?”

  Moses shook his head, then winced and reached up to wrap a palm gingerly across his forehead. He spoke quietly. “It just… seemed a good idea at the time. I know, I know. Famous last words. I just thought it’d be fun to see how they reacted to the ship. And I appreciated the fact that someone, anyone, still remembered her.” He looked over at Rafe, pain in his eyes. “Even if that someone was just a bunch of kids.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry about that, friend. Everyone remembers her, now. And you. Do you know they’ve even resurrected that old footage from the landing? Ada’s probably spinning in her grave.” He pushed back angrily from the desk and stalked over to the window. When he finaly spoke, it was in a surprisingly gentle tone of voice. “What am I going to do with you, Moses?”

  “I don’t know. Fire me, I guess. That’s what I’d do, anyway.”

  “And would you blame me?”

  “No. Of course not. It’s my own damn fault. Everything’s my own damn fault. I’ve no one to blame but me.” He swallowed the last of the drink and shuddered.

  “Quit being a martyr. It annoys me.”

  “Sorry.” Moses finally smiled. “My fault, again.”

  “Ass.”

  “That’s me. Ass all over, so to speak.” He looked back down and began to toy with the empty glass. “So what will you do?”

  Rafe shrugged. “Haven’t a fucking clue.”

  Moses looked back up quickly. He hadn’t realized before that point just how angry Rafe was. “How long have we known each other?”

  Rafe looked back from the window, the stared out again before replying. “Two hundred and too many years. Why?”

  “You know, in all that time I’ve never heard you curse like that. Not once.”

  “You’re a broadening experience, Moses.” He wheeled away from the window, walked back to the desk, and sat. “Okay, let’s say I do this. I’ll release a statement that you had been under the weather during your trip out from Earth. You had contracted a new strain of flu that your nanonannies didn’t recognize, and therefore weren’t in complete control of whatever pathetic excuse you have for faculties.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Then the kids invited themselves along. Things got out of hand.” He shrugged. “No one’s to blame.”

  “And no one’ll buy it, either.”

  “So? “ Rafe shot back, annoyed. “It’ll save a bit of face for you and — more importantly — me. If I fire you I just admit to everyone that I made a mistake by inviting you here in the first place.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “Don’t get me started.” Rafe pointed at the door imperiously. “Get out. Go home. Try to avoid doing anything overtly moronic for the next twenty four hours or so.”

  Moses looked at the carpet, started to speak, then stopped. There was nothing he could say. He finally rose, walked over to set his empty glass on Rafe’s desk, and turned to leave.

  Just as he reached the door, though, Rafe spoke one last time. “Moses? Just so you understand… this is it. We’re even. I won’t save you again, period, ‘cause the well’s gone dry. Got it?”

  Moses opened the door, went through, paused, then turned back to Rafe. He stared at him for a beat, nodded sharply, and left. The door slid shut.

  Rafe stared at the door for a long time, swearing in a manner that would have astonished Moses. When he finally ran out of words he sat down and made a vid call, still mumbling under his breath.

  He stared at the ‘Waiting for connection.’ screen for a long time. Just when he was about to give up, the screen cleared. In it, a woman sat down and peered intently out. Rafe started talking.

  ☼

  Outside the admin building Ami had been anxiously hovering. She ran over to Moses and spoke. “So. Um. How’d it go?”

  Moses stopped, hands in his pockets, and looked down at the girl. She was in worse shape than him, which helped a bit. He considered her pale face for a moment, then abruptly turned and started off down the sidewalk. Ami stared at his back, then half ran to join him.

  Without looking ove
r at her, he began speaking. “We keep having conversations that start with that sentence. It’s weird.”

  “Slow down.” She replied.

  Moses stopped, but still didn’t look at her, just stared off levelly down the street.

  “Please?”

  He quickly turned, anger in his face and in his voice. “How did it go? How do you think it went? I got handed my ass in a bucket, babe, that’s how it went.” Moses paused, then asked in a quieter tone of voice “So how’s your head?”

  “My what?” Asked Ami, confused.

  “Your head. How’s your head?” Moses tapped his own still throbbing head in demonstration. “I’m a pro at this stuff, but you? You’re still a rank amateur. You’ve got to have God’s own hangover.”

  “Oh.” Ami looked puzzled. “I just keyed my ‘nannies to clean up the alcohol and fatigue poisons while I was asleep. And to keep me hydrated, of course.” She shrugged. “I’m a little tired, I guess, a little washed out, but other than that I’m fine. Why? You mean you…”

  Moses shook his head carefully. “Never used them that way.”

  “That’s just… weird.” She replied, studying his face. “Why?”

  “Don’t you get it? I’m an alcoholic. I drink. I drink a lot. If I didn’t have the hangovers…” He paused, waving his hands futilely.

  “You’d have no way to punish yourself for it at all.” She finished for him softly.

  “Yeah.” He grinned a ghostly grin, then grimaced. “I guess I’m just a traditionalist.”

  “No, you’re a masochist. I’ll show you the difference, sometime.” She reached out and touched his arm.