A trickle of cold caution wormed its way into Phinneas’s gut and extinguished the fire that had been kindling there. What just happened? He couldn’t escape the certainty that she’d just tricked him somehow. “What’re ye playin’ at?”
“Do you want my father’s oil refining secret or not?”
Phinneas’s mouth gaped open. The wench had outsmarted him once more, and he realized that the men in Houston hadn’t hired him to kidnap some helpless little flower, but to snare a cobra. “I should’ve known ye had somethin’ up yer sleeve.”
“So sorry to disappoint you, Monsieur.” She smiled and flicked her eyes downward toward the shrinking bulge in his trousers.
He lashed out and seized her shoulder. Her cries of surprise and pain pleased him. “Ye best not forget who yer messin’ with, lass. I may not kill ye, but yer makin’ it worth the reduction in pay to deliver ye with every bone in yer body broken.”
Cecilie put on a show of pouting. “Is this how you treat me after I offer you all the riches in the world?”
He released his grip and shoved her away. “What would I want with some old quack’s scribblings? There’s no oil on the moon or in space. Them’s the concerns of earthworms.”
“I must have mistaken you for a man of vision. This technology will revolutionize space travel, not to mention our whole way of life on Earth. Vehicles that run on efficient refined oil rather than coal could travel farther and faster. Every industry could benefit from the use of refined petroleum. With the ability to control such a resource, you would be the richest and most powerful man on Earth or in space.”
“And ye’d share this with me, why?” He knew there would be a catch. There was always a catch with her.
She met his gaze with her own. “I don’t want to die, Phinneas. Those men will dispose of me without hesitation. You are a brute, but you are also a good man. I saw how you cared for your crew when they lost their mates.”
He snorted. “You’re wrong, lass. I steal and kill and do so gladly. Nothing’s beyond my capabilities, be it murder, or worse.” He didn’t expand upon worse. Let her fill in those blanks.
She folded her arms. “I don’t believe you. You’re a different man when you aren’t acting like a circus ringmaster before your big dumb savages who’d kill you if you didn’t demand their loyalty with fear. I’ve been thinking about this. We could work together, you and me. You hand me over only until you get the money from your employer. Then you take me back and we escape with the money. We invest in the technology and become millionaires. Perhaps even billionaires, given time.”
The thought of so much money gave him pause. Phinneas imagined leaving this life behind for good, but the notion terrified him. He hadn’t spent any appreciable time on the Big Blue since he escaped from a Barbados prison the night before he was to hang for smuggling, and he had no interest in returning for the long haul and settling down with a big fortune. “I like me life just fine. Or I did before I met yer troublesome arse, which I plan to unload on that stinking pile of rock just a few days from now. A deal’s a deal, and I already made mine.”
Cecilie sat back in her seat, arms crossed. “So this is how it will be? You leave me to my death after everything we just shared?”
Phinneas tossed up his hands in frustration. He remembered now why courting women had been low on his list of priorities, even when he was living Earthside. Most of them were bloody loons. “Stop talkin’ outta yer arse. I haven’t heard one reason why I should do ye any favors after all yer schemin’. I’m not about to risk everything just because ye pushed yer teats at me and gave me a kiss.”
She grinned. “You gambled and lost, barbare. You aren’t going to turn me over to those people on Earth, because you couldn’t bear to part with me. I have stolen the key to your heart.”
Phinneas burst out laughing, his rough guffaws making tinny echoes off the metal walls. He wiped his eyes in amusement and flung the tears across the cabin like tiny jewels “I suppose ye now expect me to compare thee to a summer’s day.”
Cecilie’s face didn’t change from the sly smile. Phinneas stared at her for a few moments before the coy nature of her words dawned on him. His hands flew to his neck, searching for the chain he’d put around it before they left the grotto. The literal key to his heart, without which he wouldn’t last five minutes on Earth. Then he remembered how her hands had been all over his neck as they kissed, likely feeling for the clasp.
“Give it back or I’ll crush yer cunning face!”
“Your threats are beginning to bore me.”
He sprang from his seat, hands outstretched and ready to tear every piece of clothing off her to find the key. She lashed out and head butted him with a blow that might have stunned a full-grown ram. Try as he might to maintain consciousness, darkness consumed everything.
A hard slap across his cheek brought Phinneas out of the murky depths of his slumber. His head felt like it was two sizes too large. Cecilie hauled off and slapped him again.
“Wake up! Oh you stupid brute, we’ll die if you don’t!”
A bolt of pain slammed through Phinneas’s head as he sat up. Cecilie must have attempted to fly the ship while he was passed out. He could see from the gauges and the spinning stars through the leaded glass that the stovepipe was twisting out of control. The boilers were running into the red, and the cabin temperature had climbed past a hundred degrees. His radiators were likely white hot, announcing their presence to every single Space Guard vessel within hundreds of miles.
He wanted to scream at her, to make her pay for putting him in such a bind, but his head felt like it had been stabbed with a dozen ice picks, and there wasn’t much time left before they boiled alive in here. Instead, he climbed up to the pilot’s chair and through a combination of blowing steam pressure through auxiliary valves, venting the furnace to space, and swearing, he managed to bring the stovepipe’s corkscrew to a halt. She must have been trying to turn the ship around. Despite double vision from the blow to the head he’d sustained, he found a familiar star pattern and soon had the vessel on a dead reckoning course for the Sargasso.
“Have ye seen a ship whose boiler explodes in space? There’s naught left behind, even for the salvagers of the Sargasso.” He was growing weary of this chess match. “Ye may as well return my key. Ye know ye won’t have it for long. I’ll strip it from ye when we reach the Albatross.”
Cecilie shook her head and smiled. “It’s in a place where you’ll never find it.”
Phinneas laughed and winced at the stab of pain. “Even if ye swallowed it, I’d still get it once it passed through yer stinkin’ guts. I’m not afraid to dig through a little shit to get to the treasure.”
“You could dig through my shit and eat it for all I care. You still wouldn’t find it. I may give it back to you, but only after you agree to transfer me to the nearest airship once we reach Earth’s orbit. I tried to appeal to your better nature. I offered you a chance at a great fortune with my father’s technology, but you would rather live like a filthy troll in empty space, taking things that do not belong to you. Maybe you are not such an honorable man after all.”
Phinneas lunged to grab hold of Cecilie’s wrists. He pulled her close until their faces were at kissing distance once more. But instead of closing that final gap, he hissed at her. “I’m done lookin’ at yer stupid cow’s face.”
Her eyes grew wide with panic as he yanked her out of her seat. “What are you doing? Where are you taking me?”
He dragged her through the stovepipe’s living quarters to the tiny airlock. It would be cramped and cold, and she’d have just enough air to keep her alive until they reached the Sargasso, that is if she didn’t panic. “I think it’s best we don’t share the same space now. I might just snap yer neck otherwise. And I don’t fancy waking up with me guts on the outside if I fall asleep in yer company.”
“Don’t lock me in there. Please, Monsieur! It’s a coffin! I’ll suffocate!” She tried to wrench herself from
his grasp but to no avail.
“There’s plenty o’ air if ye don’t suck it all out with yer bleating.” He threw the door open and shoved. She fought back. Her magnetic-booted feet flailed at him. One ferocious kick almost jobbed him in the balls. Finally, he grabbed her by the throat and pulled her close. “Simmer down or I’ll knock ye out again. And the next blow from me will be the last thing ye ever feel.”
At that threat, she gave in. Phinneas stuffed her in the airlock and slammed the door shut before she could say another word. Blood pounding in his ears, he dogged the hatch tight and spun the wheel.
God, he hated her.
For the next two days, he allowed Cecilie out of the hatch twice daily to use the lavatory. Each time, he sent her back in with some food and water and once gave her a blanket. She remained meek and said not a word to him. At her haunted expression, he almost relented and let her back into the cabin. But then he remembered how she’d played him and forced himself to remain the heartless pirate he was supposed to be.
After each trip to the lavatory, he’d set about the unpleasant task of checking the tank for the missing key. He never found it. He knew where she had most likely hidden it, and it galled him that he wasn’t the kind of man who would harm a woman in that way to find it. Luckily, there were excellent artisans in the Sargasso. He would find someone who could make him a new key. It would take both time and money he didn’t have, but he wouldn’t lower himself for her benefit. She could keep the old one as a memento.
After what felt like an eternity of hours, they were nearly there. The Albatross always reminded Phinneas of a human heart covered in burnished metal and rivets, with dozens of tubes and pipes sprouting from it like veins and arteries. Its radiators always glowed dull red, while steam vents shot snowy vapor into the void outside. Nikola Tesla had originally designed and built the structure as a proof of concept to demonstrate the need for a dedicated research laboratory in space. Unfortunately for Tesla, others didn’t quite share his vision, and the funding eventually dried up once governments and schools realized the immense resources need to operate such a facility. Eventually, Tesla went bankrupt and the station was towed out to the Lagrange Sargasso, past the moon’s orbit, where it remained abandoned amid other junked equipment and debris. A few years later, Tesla renounced his citizenship of Earth and went off to live in his giant space laboratory, never to be seen again. Phinneas figured he’d probably died there, which was why the squatters had moved upon it.
Over time, it became a hub to which only the hardiest spacers ventured and lived. Not even the Space Guard dared to approach the Sargasso, despite the seedy things that happened within the halls and walls of the Albatross and its outbuildings. Sargassians were rightly distrustful of outsiders, and flashing the wrong semaphore code at the entrance would incur certain death from the many gun turrets that encircled the Sargasso’s outer perimeter.
He was always welcome, but Phinneas didn’t spend as much time in the Sargasso as he used to. Though a dedicated spacer, he distrusted the mental states of people who had lived so long without gravity. Most of the younger folk had never even set foot on the moon, much less Earth, and the environment had affected their bodies in strange ways. Some of them had long, spindly limbs that reminded him of spiders, and they’d populated a fair share of his nightmares. Most times, his visits lasted long enough to meet with contacts for jobs, get parts for the ‘Shark, or occasionally satisfy his more carnal demands. A few men inside also owed him favors, and he intended to cash one in for passage to Earth.
Phinneas pulled the levers releasing colored flags in the specific order that would gain him entrance: blue-white-blue-red-white-green. A few moments later, the turrets raised green flags, a sign that he was free to proceed. If he’d gotten even one color wrong, he’d have been dead before even seeing a flag.
He guided the ship into an empty dock and cranked the clamps around the airlock. After shutting down the boiler, he went to fetch his cargo. When he threw open the door, Cecilie looked up at him but made no move to leave the tiny space. He held out his hand to help her up, but she gave it an imperious glare.
Phinneas sighed. “Look, lass, ye can come along quiet-like, or ye can come along unconscious. One’s a lot less pleasant. What’s yer choice?”
Cecilie’s sigh matched his and she stood up, eschewing his offered hand.
“Listen, I’m gonna tell ye somethin’ about where we just landed. Even the most horrible things ye’ve heard about the Sargasso back home can’t prepare ye for the danger here. If ye try to run and find help here, ye’ll like as not find trouble far worse than any ye’ve had with me. Most likely ye’d be impressed into a brothel and live out the rest o’ your days as a set of orifices fer dozens of lonely, diseased wankers. Do ye ken?”
Cecilie’s face went pale, and she gave a shaky nod.
“Good. Now, I don’t wanna bind ye up like a prisoner. It’s likely to draw bad attention. If one of these vagrants sees yer of value to me, they’ll try and take ye for themselves. Trust me when I say that right now, I’m the only friend ye have.”
“Oui.”
From the set of her jaw, Phinneas could tell she didn’t believe him. Well, she’d get her schooling soon enough. “Good. Now keep yer mouth shut and let me handle everything. The sooner we can get out of here, the better.” He opened the airlock door and stepped onto the Albatross. Smells of human sweat, piss, and exotic spices assaulted his nose. The air filtration here was as shoddy as ever. Men and women who were tall, reedy, and dark-skinned—the typical build of lifelong spacers—strolled along the dock in their magnetic boots. Some of the women sported dresses better described as kerchiefs that just barely covered their unmentionables. Their skeletally thin arms and hair undulated like plants at the bottom of the ocean as they walked.
“Sacre bleu,” whispered Cecilie. “Why are they so thin?”
“People were meant to live in gravity, and to eat better food than they can get out here,” said Phinneas. “Get a move on. The less time we spend here, the better.”
The pair hadn’t taken more than three steps from the airlock when the inevitable happened. Cecile dashed toward one of the prostitutes standing nearby.
“Help me! Please, this man is keeping me prisoner and he intends to kill me!” She lost her footing and drifted into the air, flailing and helpless.
The prostitute rolled her eyes and turned away as Phinneas reached up and grabbed one of Cecilie’s ankles. “This is almost funny.” He removed the coil of cord he’d tucked into his back pocket. “Ye don’t believe a word out of my mouth, and yet yer the biggest liar this side of hell.” He wrapped the cording around her wrist and tied it in the most complicated knot he knew.
“I told you I wasn’t going to make this easy for you, you stinking pig. May you choke on your own shit and die. You are a king of filth, a low man among low men, and I will see to it that you pay for everything you’ve put me through.”
Phinneas pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and stuffed it in her mouth. “That’s better. I like ye much better this way.” Suddenly screams erupted all around them, and several people pointed straight up.
“Bozhe moy! It’s gonna hit!” screamed the prostitute who’d ignored Cecilie a moment ago. Phinneas whipped his head up see the impossible: a Fulton under full thrust, radiators aglow, was about to collide with the Albatross.
Chapter Nine
Jonathan watched through the telescope as Gusarov piloted the Condor closer to the ascending Palmetto. The schooner resembled a strange insect, boasting a single wide oval-shaped deck and bulbous boilers that thickened the Fulton’s stern. Crane arms extended from port and starboard like grasshopper legs, and steam jetted from multiple curved nozzles. The radiators were gossamer wings, with sails that spread from the ship’s dorsal surfaces and glowed bright as they shed heat.
“She flying any colors?” Gusarov worked the levers of the Condor, steering the stovepipe ever closer toward the Fulton. To slow the
ship, he’d spun it on its axis to point its drive nozzles toward Earth. Now it climbed away from the world, and the Palmetto approached fast from astern. Busy with his piloting, Gusarov ordered Jonathan to the observation blister on the bulkhead where he could report on the Fulton’s position.
Jonathan saw two long poles emerge from the Palmetto’s prow like the antennae of a cockroach. Two yellow flags hung from one line, the first with a black circle in the center and the second with a thick horizontal blue line crossing it. He reported that information to Gusarov.
“Bozhe moy, she is paranoid. Muñoz must think we are pirates. Bastard cannot see past end of his nose or he would know Condor by sight. Can you run semaphore line for me here, Gospodin Porter? My hands are tied at moment.” Gusarov spun a wheel to increase steam pressure and pulled a lever to deploy the auxiliary radiator fins.
“Yes, sir,” said Porter. “I’m familiar with semaphore codes from my time in the army.”
“Send Peaceful Intent and Request Communication. Flags are in bin to my left. Run them out on spring line just below it.”
Jonathan glanced back to watch Porter select four flags made from thin sheets of tin. He clipped them to a coiled spring and then shut them inside a small cabinet. He pulled a lever and the spring uncoiled out past the hull of the Condor, unveiling the flags. Jonathan turned his attention back to the Palmetto. Her flags were already being withdrawn from the first line and a single new flag emerged on the second.
“Five horizontal lines. Blue, white, red, white, blue.”
“Good.” Gusarov frowned at a gauge and tapped it until the needle spun to a point he liked. “Gospodin Porter, send Important to Communicate by Signaling Lamp. You know Morse code?”
“Yes, sir.” Porter reeled in the spring line and added new flags.
“Lamp is up by the blister.”
“They sent out the same flag again.” Jonathan looked at Porter as the man squeezed in beside him. “You’re a handy fellow to have around. I should increase your salary. Remind me when we’re back home.”
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