“The warden and I are old friends. Usually I pay him to let people out.”
“Augie and Paulie Pickles?”
“They work for me too,” Jack said.
“And my escape?”
“The guards were asked to look the other way,” Jack said, “and the night-watchman.”
This was the second time in six months that I’d been conned. I was definitely losing my edge.
“Are you going to open the vault for me, Quin?” Jack asked.
I stared into his eyes, trying to decide whether to lie to him. I shrugged. “It’s open.”
Old Jack smiled broadly, revealing a gold tooth I’d never seen before. “I knew you could do it.”
“Getting in was easier than getting out,” I said.
Old Jack slapped me on the back. “Come on, lad, we’ve got work to do.”
As it turned out, he meant I had work to do.
Old Jack hadn’t been exaggerating – they had landed the cargo lifter next to the Celestia. Right next to it. The lifter looked pretty ancient. I wouldn’t want to risk trying to take it up into orbit, though technically it was designed to shuttle cargo from a planet to a space station or orbiting craft. It was effectively a cockpit at the front connected by a long spine to the engines at the rear. The space in between was occupied by a large detachable container that you could fill with stuff. Stolen loot in the present instance. The pirates had opened one of the battleship’s larger hatches so they could get in and out with their takings.
The robot was standing immobile on the jungle floor between the two craft.
“That thing almost killed me,” I muttered.
“Lucky for you we came when we did,” the crewman with the platinum mohawk said. The others referred to him as Blondie.
“I’m counting my blessings,” I said, staring down at what he was fastening around my ankle. The bulge on one side of it was a tracking device. The bulge on the other side was an explosive. The tracker monitored my location in relation to a second device – a little box attached to Old Jack’s gun belt. If I moved beyond a certain range, the explosive would blow my leg off. I was familiar with the device – I’ve been in penitentiaries that use them. And I’ve seen wives fit them to their husbands.
Old Jack strode out of the Celestia and addressed me and the robot. “My boys are going through the ship, boxing up anything of value. I want you two to carry them into the hold.”
“You want us to carry your men?” the robot asked.
“I want you to carry the boxes up the ramp and stack them neatly inside the container. Do you understand?”
“Yes, master,” the robot said.
“Yes, master,” I mimicked.
Old Jack scowled at me. He looked up at the robot. “And if he tries to escape,” Jack pointed at me, “you are to stop him, before he gets far enough to blow himself up. Got it?”
The robot nodded its head slowly.
Old Jack turned to Blondie. “Watch both of them. I’m going for the Navigator.”
The old captain disappeared back inside the battleship. He was in for a big disappointment when he got to the vault.
The first of the crates of swag were sent out a few minutes later. I popped open one of the big black boxes – it was filled with handguns, rifles, and ammunition. Other boxes held the decapitated security robots. This was going to be quite a haul for the pirates. And it would probably be their first trip of many.
Our platinum blond pirate guard told us to stop looking and start loading. I was rapidly going off him. And the daylight showed up the flaws in his complexion. The robot picked up one of the big crates as if it weighed nothing. I struggled with one of the smaller ones.
After about twenty minutes, Old Jack Sterling stomped back out. His face was dark with anger. He was holding a Bertie the Bear toy in one hand and a big gun in the other.
“Where’s the Navigator?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Old Jack threw the stuffed toy at my feet. “Where is it?” he asked again. He pointed the big gun at the middle of my forehead.
Blondie decided he would rather be somewhere else and edged away.
“The Navigator was gone before I opened the vault,” I said. I was too tired to be scared. “Somebody switched it for Bertie.”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
I shrugged. “You’ll have to ask the robot. The Navigator wasn’t in there, I swear. But I did find your late crew member’s severed arms – they were on top of Bertie.”
Old Jack looked like he didn’t know what to believe. “Robot! Get over here.”
The robot ambled towards us. Old Jack pointed the big gun at its face. “Where is the Navigator?”
“The Navigator was taken from its vault immediately after the crash,” the robot said. “It is no longer on the Celestia.”
Old Jack turned towards me, keeping the gun on the robot. “Is it telling the truth?”
“Can robots lie?” I asked.
“Good point.” The old pirate turned back towards the robot. He lowered the gun. “Who could have taken it?” he wondered aloud.
“Who else knew it was here?” I asked. I knew Old Jack hadn’t been the only survivor of the battleship’s crew to make it down onto Saphira. I thought it best to direct his suspicions towards them – especially now that I had figured out where the Navigator was.
“I reckon it must have been Piggy Partridge,” Old Jack said to himself. “The sly old crook is getting his revenge from beyond the grave.”
“Piggy Partridge?” I said. “What happened to him?”
“Never you mind,” Jack snapped. “You two get back to work. I want everything loaded before nightfall.”
I watched him stomp away and wished him a slow and painful death. Neither I nor the robot made any move towards the pile of crates that needed loading. We were alone, for the moment. Blondie had beaten a hasty retreat when Old Jack appeared and had not yet returned.
“You did not answer his question fully,” the robot said. It was the first time it had spoken to me directly since it had been restrained. It had a deep masculine voice – you could imagine him reading the news or reciting Shakespeare.
I looked up at him. “Did you want me to?”
“I am grateful that you did not.”
“The Navigator is inside you,” I said.
“How long have you known?”
“Long enough,” I said. Subconsciously, I had known for some time – or so I told myself. But it was only when I had seen the robot avoid direct answers to Old Jack’s questions that I really knew. The clumsy alterations to the robot’s chest cavity were an obvious clue that I had missed in all of the previous excitement.
“I would prefer that this fact not be shared with the others,” the robot said.
If Old Jack asked me directly, would I reveal the Navigator’s location? If he asked me, no. But if he tortured me, I’d probably give it up. And hope to be able to steal it back later.
“Your secret’s safe with me, chief,” I told the robot.
“Why are you two just standing there?” The blond numbskull had returned.
“Nobody told us what to do,” the robot said.
“Get back to work,” the young pirate said.
“Yes, master,” the robot and I said in unison.
Had the robot just lied to our guard? This question only occurred to me later.
When we were both inside the cargo lifter’s hold – and out of earshot of the leather-clad cyber-pirate – the robot stopped in front of me to prevent me from going back outside.
“I would like to request a favour,” it said.
Only a few hours ago, this hulking machine had been trying to kill me – and it had very nearly succeeded. More than once. Now we were both victims in the same predicament. But that didn’t mean that our common enemy made us friends all of a sudden. I looked up at its eye screens and frowned.
“What sort of favour?”
; “Will you cover for me?” It was an oddly human question. “I need to access the cockpit of this craft without being observed.”
“What’s the plan?” I asked.
“I will contact military command. I must send them the co-ordinates of this location and report the fate of the Celestia.”
I could have made another attempt to convince the robot that the war was over. But it needed evidence that I could not provide. Maybe if it received a reply to its coded message, it would realise that I had been telling the truth.
“I’ll cover for you,” I said. “How long do you need?”
“Ten minutes should be sufficient.”
I nodded and went back outside.
“Hey!” I attracted the attention of our guard. “It’s thirsty work. Can I have some water?”
Blondie looked at me suspiciously. “Where’s the robot?”
“He doesn’t need water,” I said.
“Where is he?”
“He’s restacking the crates – so we can fit more in. The fewer trips you have to make back here, the better – am I right?”
He didn’t return my friendly smile, but his frown wasn’t quite as deep. He went over to the solar-powered cooler box and pulled out a bottle. He tossed it to me. I deliberately missed the catch, letting the bottle fall to the ground. I had to use every ruse I could think of to prolong this. After I’d drained the water, I told him I needed a swazz. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. He kept an eye on me while I stood behind the bush but he didn’t try and sneak a peek. Maybe I wasn’t his type. As I was zipping up, I saw the robot leave the cargo lifter’s cockpit and go back into the hold.
The robot and I kept loading crates well into the afternoon. I wanted to ask him what he had learned, but a change of guard meant we never got much time to talk without being overheard. The twins were our new guardians. They were called Bella and Bolly – I kid you not. He stood just inside the hold and she took up a position near the crates that had come out of the Celestia. It was more than an hour before he became bored and went to join his sister-sweetheart.
“There is no military government anymore,” the robot said, as if it couldn’t quite believe this.
“Everything is run by civilians now,” I said.
“Is that better?”
“You’d hope so, wouldn’t you?”
“The Celestia no longer needs to be protected,” the robot said, looking up at the wreck of the battleship.
“But you must still make sure that the Navigator doesn’t fall into the wrong hands,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Did you call for reinforcements?” I asked.
“Why? Do you think we need help?” the robot asked. There was no expression on his face but if he’d been able to, I think he would have raised an eyebrow and smiled. I wasn’t sure what to make of this. I had a nagging feeling that I was missing something important. We carried on stacking crates.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The left arm that had been fitted to the robot was badly scratched and looked like it might have come from another robot. There was something stencilled on the upper arm but the only letters I could see clearly were L-J. Stacking boxes was mindless work, so I amused myself by trying to work out what the word or words might be. After an hour or so I hadn’t come up with anything close to a sensible answer. If it was a name I had Valjean, Pal Joey, Steel Jaw or Killjoy. If the metal had originally been the label on something I had metal jars, steel jugs, gerbil jello, snail juice, or weasel jizz. At which point I had become irritated by the whole thing. “What is that?” I asked, pointing.
“It is my arm.”
“No, the stencilling – what does it say?”
The robot looked at it. “Apple Juice,” it said.
The ‘e’ had obviously been worn away. “That’s just cheating.” I slammed down the crate I was holding and stalked out of the hold.
“Is something bothering you?” the robot asked, following me.
“Aside from being held prisoner and treated as a slave, you mean?”
“Yes, aside from that.”
I glared at it, trying to work out whether it was trying to be funny. But it was a robot. Robots don’t do funny.
“I’m hungry,” I said. “I get grouchy when I haven’t eaten.”
“Would you like to eat?” the robot asked. “The cargo lifter is quite well provisioned.”
“I can’t just walk in there and help myself to dinner.”
“Why not?”
Good question. “Well, because...” Because I was starting to think of myself as nothing but a labourer who must serve his pirate masters.
“Tell me what you require and I will fetch it,” the robot said.
“Surprise me.”
It disappeared back into the cargo lifter’s cabin and brought me back a beef stroganoff with rice in a silver self-heating pouch, two bright green apples, and two icy cold bottles of light beer. I activated the pouch and then dug in with my fingers – until I saw that the robot was watching me and shaking its head. It held out a spoon.
I drained the last of the beer and tucked the second apple in my pocket for later. “You were a firefighter originally?” I asked.
“This casing belonged to a fire control robot, yes.”
“Are the modifications your own?”
“I had to conduct my own maintenance. I also added armour as protection against attack from the Crichtorax.”
“You’ve fought dragons before?”
“I have been closer to them than one might wish to be.”
“You answer questions like a politician.”
“I did not lie.”
“But you also don’t tell the whole truth.”
“Perhaps we have more in common than you think.”
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“I do not have one.”
“I’ve got to call you something.”
“We are usually referred to by the name of our ship.”
“I’m not calling you Celestia,” I said. “I’m going to call you... L-J or... ‘Little John’, that’s it, you’re Little John.”
“Little John?”
“It’s either that or ‘Scrappy’.”
The robot said something that sounded like humph and walked away. “If you think you’re Robin Hood, you’re kidding yourself,” he said.
“I’ll have you know that I am an accomplished thief who is wanted on more than twenty worlds,” I said, following him over to the pile of crates that we still had to load.
“Fourteen,” the robot said. “I accessed your record while I was in the cockpit. Most of your exploits seem to end like this one.”
“That’s not true,” I protested. “I’ve just had a run of bad luck recently.”
The robot made the humph sound again. “It is true that you have led a colourful life,” he said. I think he knew he’d offended me and was trying to smooth things over.
“Not really,” I said. “I’ve been alive for thirty-two years and I have an ex-husband and an ex-wife. Well, two ex-wives – but the last one I was only married to for three weeks.”
“It took her that long to make up her mind?”
“It’s a complicated story.”
“Offspring?”
“None that I know of.”
The robot picked up the largest of the remaining crates and headed back into the cargo lifter. I lifted one of the smallest crates and followed.
“What about you?” I asked.
“Robots cannot produce children.”
“I mean – tell me about your life.”
“I was brought into service one month before the Celestia was launched – and I have been with her ever since.”
“I admire your loyalty.”
“It is just programming.”
I watched him for a few moments, trying to figure out what it was that was bothering me. “You’re not like any robot I’ve ever met.”
The robot just looke
d at me blankly.
“You seem more...” I shrugged. “Never mind. Let’s get this job done.”
“We should not hurry to complete the task,” the robot said.
I raised an eyebrow. “No?”
“When their plunder has been loaded into this vessel, you will have no further value to them.”
“They won’t kill me. They’ll take me back with them.”
“As a witness to their crimes?”
“They won’t kill me.” I was less certain the second time I said it.
“As salvage, will I fetch a good price?” the robot asked.
Despite its mismatched parts, the robot was still a valuable find – especially with its high calibre accessories. Military robots were now banned on most inhabited worlds – so they brought a great price on the black market. I explained this to him.
“Then they will take me back with them,” he said. “I would prefer not to be taken.”
“You want my advice?” I said. “Keep up the dumb slave act until they get you back to somewhere half-civilised and then make your escape.”
The robot considered this. “My advice to you would be to escape now before they are ready to leave.”
“I’m sure they won’t kill me,” I said.
Late in the day, all of the pirates came outside – ostensibly for coffee and fresh air. I think there were going a bit stir crazy, having been cooped up inside the battleship all day. I could sympathise with that. The coffee was terrible, but I drank some anyway because it gave me an excuse to stop work. The respite was short-lived.
“Drink up, lads,” Old Jack said. “And then help load some of these boxes on the ship. I want to be away from here before dark.”
Maybe he was afraid of giant bats. Or ghosts.
“Before we go back to work, I have something to say.” This came from the little rat-faced man. He looked around the rest of the group for support, but no one would meet his eye.
“Yes?” Old Jack’s face was expressionless. If I had been Ratty, I would have said ‘Never mind,’ and started loading crates.
“It’s about the shares...” the little man said, less confident than when he had started.
“What about them?”
Battleship Raider Page 19