CHAPTER 6. BOARDED BY PIRATES.
I shrugged and reviewed what I wanted to broadcast as I didn't want the pirates knowing I was an interplanetary recovery agent. Not that I was too worried about our safety. Most pirates these days are only interested in collecting a big pay-off. Random murder and mayhem only brings you to the notice of the Multi World Council's navy and then they'll hunt you down, disable your ship and then aim it straight at the nearest sun. Allegedly. It was never proved at the Commodore's trial.
This isn't the bad old days of the interregnum when anything went. Whole worlds were picked clean with entire populations shipped off into slavery. When pirates operated in fleets and nearly brought civilisation to an end in some distant parts of Orion's Arm. When the larger, more powerful worlds ignored their differences and formed the Multi World Council, in part to tackle the pirate scourge.
But I was worried about the contents of the hold and more specifically, Sava's great big shell he'd paid a fortune for. I was tasked to protect it and I didn't want to fail in my mission. If the pirates discovered it, they'd ramp up their demands. Worse, I'd have Sava and all his hired goons after me, chasing me from one end of the Arm to another – from the Pit to the Wrist, as the saying has it. Probably. But I didn't want to take that chance.
Through the viewscreens, I watched as several small craft launched from the pirate and shot across the void. They were a random mix of lifeboats, a fast pinnace and something that looked as if it had been cobbled together from any old scraps.
"Last drink. It may be some time," I said and ordered us a magnum of the best champagne behind the bar.
"Put it on my tab – as a goodwill gesture from Economou," said Çrámerr. That was decent of him. We three clinked glasses.
"Hope we're not going to be held captive too long. Sava will miss me," Julianna said, wiping away a tear. Genuine emotions or just what she'd been programmed with? I was still none the wiser.
"Probably not," Çrámerr reassured her as he put his arm around her shoulders. A gesture that made me see red. Well, any red-blooded male would resent Çrámerr at that point. "Last time one of our ships was taken, we got it back in under three months. It's the endless negotiating that takes time."
By the time we'd finished our champagne, the pirate craft were out of sight and I reckoned they must have docked. Of course, they'd secure the bridge, power plant, life support systems first but I knew we'd be hearing from them soon.
And I wasn't mistaken. Shortly after, the Captain issued another broadcast requesting all passengers to assemble in the main atrium. It was the largest place on the ship, apart from the cargo holds of course, but the holds had no air.
"Let's go," I said and we made our way down to the atrium along with a couple of other passengers who had also ignored the Captain's request to return to their staterooms. We found ourselves in a crowd of people from many different worlds. There was a large number of Röötherspherians and they were all trying to look tough and unimpressed. There was even a few pale skinned Russians mixed in the crowd. And they were genuinely tough and unimpressed. Nobody can do dead-pan stoicism better than a Russian.
Then the door at the gallery at the top of the atrium opened and a man – I think it was originally a man – stood there. That's the trouble with the uncontrolled gene splicing that went on some centuries ago – not every hi-man is 100% homo sapiens.
He had a broad forehead, incredible heavy jaws which showed yellowed fangs when he yawned, more facial hair – okay, call it fur – than I liked, deep-set brown eyes with no trace of pity or mercy in them. Through his flattened, ape nose was a thick gold ring. He stood over two metres tall and was powerfully built. I reckoned he shared DNA with certain species of carnivorous anthropoid apes.
He wore blackened and battered, well worn battlefield armour put together from several different manufacturers. In his great paw he carried a M-88 Mettallist Hi-Ripper – about sixty centimetres long with an extended magazine. It's a stubby, brutal weapon that does what it says – if he pulled the trigger, it would rip through us standing down below, shredding us into ribbons. In short, it's a nasty but effective close-quarters weapon.
"Ugly lookin' booger there, Tavy," one of the Röötherspherians whispered.
"My name is Knofahgginarebagz," the ape-man announced in a deep bass voice. "Captain of the Objurgatory." He paused, as if we should be impressed by this news. Unfortunately, nobody had heard of the sesquipedalian named pirate or his ship before.
Another pirate stepped out from his Captain's shadow. Like his leader, he was tall. Unlike him, the top of his head was bald. The rest of his face was covered with fur except where an ink-brier scar defaced him, competing with a fading holo-tattoo of a moth-of-prey. He wore the bronzed armour of an officer of the Praetorian Guard which, if he'd taken that in combat, rather than merely stealing or buying it from another pirate, proved he was one tough dude. He'd give Norin a run for his money.
"I'm Ghomatzaki McGraw." Unlike his apish leader, he didn't pause for acknowledgements. "Behave and you'll come to no harm."
Unfortunately, his leader chose that moment to open his fanged mouth in a wide grin which rather spoiled the effect. A few women screamed. And, in fairness, so did some men.
"We will start checking passenger IDs while mech-bots complete repairs to the hull and drives before we enter hyper-jump," Ghomatzaki told us. Two pirates brought in a table and hand scanners and set them up near the atrium's doors. Obediently, we formed an orderly queue and proceeded to be verified while the pirates checked us off against the President's register. I wasn't too concerned as I usually travel pretending to be a moderately successful freelance writer. I altered my broadcasts to reflect this.
There was nobody of interest among the passengers. Sure, some of the Röötherspherian executives might have been worth holding for ransom but Röötherspherians are notoriously tight-fisted and hate parting with 'brass' as they call Hydrans so it's not worth the hassle of holding onto them.
Trouble only started when it was our little group's turn. As a senior Vice-President of Economou with a stratospheric salary, Çrámerr was definitely worth hanging onto. "But you're not seeing the whole game-play here," Çrámerr blustered to the pirate. "You need me batting on your side in order to maximise your return."
I wondered why he hadn't adjusted his broadcasts to make out that he was merely some lowly overworked and underpaid junior exec with his foot on the first rungs of the corporate ladder. Then the pirates would have taken little notice of him and included him in the general release. As it was, he was a valuable bargaining chip.
The pirate, an ugly looking Cyclops – yet another by-product of gene-splicing – called his leader over. The ape-man Knofahgginarebagz looked Çrámerr over. "Bet you think you're something special, big chief. Bet you think you own the universe, don't you?"
Keep silent, I mentally willed Çrámerr. But he couldn't resist boasting. His broadcast changed to show a rocky moon orbiting a pink-and-blue swirled gas giant.
"Well, actually, I bought this moon a few years back. Only a little home-from-home, somewhere to decompress and let off steam from my high-pressure job. You wouldn't believe the mortgage repayments on the place..."
The pirates looked on in amazement.
"We're in the wrong jobs, lads," Knofahgginarebagz said to his crew. Turning back to Çrámerr, he said, "Your ransom's just gone up by ten mill. Hope Economou thinks you're worth it, otherwise..." And Knofahgginarebagz made a throat slitting gesture.
Despite being in the running for most irritating hi-man in the universe, Çrámerr wasn't lacking in the courage department. He merely looked coolly at the brutal features of the pirate captain. "I am."
For a moment, I thought Knofahgginarebagz would strike Çrámerr to the floor – or should that be deck? – but he mastered himself. "Fifteen mill, then," he snarled.
Turning to Julianna, who was next in line, the pirate captain seemed taken aback by her extreme beauty. He deepened his already bass
voice until it was a subterranean rumble. "Well, hello," he said, running his great paw through her golden tresses while ogling her figure. "I could make your captivity very comfortable, you know what I mean?"
Displaying incredible self control, Julianna didn't scream or shudder. "I am Yemelyanovich Fedoseyev's girl. You don't want to get on the wrong side of him."
The big ape-man checked his data banks and whistled – or at least tried to make a whistling sound. "Very impressive. No doubt he'd pay a lot to get you back. But he's not here and I am. Maybe I should offer him a reduction for damaged goods, what d'you think?"
Under her tan, Julianna paled and I saw Çrámerr bunch his fists. The exec went up in my estimation. However, I stepped forwards.
"Excuse me. Sava told me that she is a gynoid. He's programmed her so that if anyone other than himself uses her, then she'll explode. Great way to go, I guess, but a hell of a price to pay for one night's passion."
Julianna looked at me wide-eyed. Did she really think I was telling the truth? Knofahgginarebagz looked at me from those deep eyes of his.
"And who are you?" he rumbled, turning to me. He checked my broadcasts. "Writer are you, Vargo? Written anything I might have read?"
I doubted if he'd ever read anything. "Historical fiction mostly, set during the Second World War. Back on old Earth."
"Never heard of it."
"No? Well, it was one of the worst wars before the Space Age. Tens of millions got wiped out. Well over a millennia ago so don't suppose it matters now...," I was waffling and then disaster struck. The bald ape-man, Ghomatzaki McGraw, approached.
"If he's a writer, then I'm a Röötherspherian oil changer. That's Vic Vargo – an interplanetary recovery agent. He broke up my smuggling ring from out of Wilfred's World."
Now he mentioned it, I remembered that job. Unfortunately, I'd deleted and stored most of my memories from that time – you know how it is. I vaguely recalled something about a gang smuggling hi-tech military computer components to an interdicted dictatorship somewhere.
Knofahgginarebagz looked at me with new respect. "Nice try, Vargo. Should we throw you out the airlock now – or later?"
"Later would be better. But you should ask yourself why I'm on board." I was willing to trade information for my life.
"Go on – but it better be good," Knofahgginarebagz told me.
"Well, I've already saved your life by telling you about Sava's gynoid's surprise package. Now I'm going to make you rich. In the hold is a shell I'm guarding – a Kississ shell – which Sava paid sixty-six million for. That's got to be worth something."
The two pirate leaders looked at each other. "Okay – you've earned yourself passage – a passage to hell," Knofahgginarebagz said. Turning to the Cyclops, he told the pirate to lock us in Çrámerr's stateroom and keep us under guard.
Jabbing a laser-pistol at us, the Cyclops escorted us to Çrámerr's suite and locked us in. The pirates knew what they were doing as we had no access to the President's onboard computer and the viewscreens were disabled. We sat in the luxury stateroom and waited. I knew the pirates would be processing the other passengers, but I doubted if they would find any as valuable as us three. While we cooled our heels, I heard mech-bots repairing the damage caused by the battle and preparing the ship for hyper-jump.
Eventually, long after we had run out of things to say, everything must have been in order for Knofahgginarebagz's voice came over the tannoy, ordering us to lie on our G-cocoons and relax. Çrámerr pressed a button and three cocoons ascended from the floor. We lay back and the cocoons moulded themselves perfectly to our bodies. They were comfortable and their combination of mild hypnotics and massage ensured we were sufficiently relaxed to enter hyper-space.
Then came that unusual and indescribable sensation of entering hyper-space. The best I can do is to say that it's not unlike being sucked up a series of plug holes. Yes, up. And if that sounds odd, it's because it is. People aren't meant for hyper-space.
Anyway, we were there and once we'd entered, our bodies soon adjusted to the sensation and we stepped out of our cocoons as soon as we felt able. As the view-screens had been disabled and we had no access to the computer, we were left with plain walls to look at. Fortunately, Çrámerr had brought plenty to read.
"Where do you think we're going?" Julianna asked.
"Some out of the way hole," I said. "Somewhere the MWC navy won't find us."
And that was more true than I knew. Apart from one time when I was taken to the hold to show Knofahgginarebagz and Ghomatzaki McGraw the crate containing the Kississ shell, we were confined within Çrámerr's stateroom. We entered and exited hyper-space several times over the next couple of months but, with no idea where we were, we could have been almost anywhere in the Arm.
The pirates behaved decently towards us – apart from leering at Julianna when they brought us food. We were obviously far more valuable alive than dead. Eventually we popped out of hyper-space for the last time. The pirates reactivated the view-screens and I saw our destination. There was nothing to get excited about – or so I thought at the time. How wrong I was. All I saw was an Earth sized world smothered with dense, grey clouds. It looked depressing. Not long after, the pirates herded us all to the atrium and took us to the shuttle bays.
"Where is this place?" I asked one of the more civilised looking pirates – one who didn't look like he'd kill you just for the fun of watching you bleed out before him.
"You won't have heard of it but it's called Sepharvaim."
As the shuttle ferried us down to the surface, I checked the limited data I could gather from the shuttle's tenuous connection to the Galactoweb. What do they say? Forewarned is forearmed but what I read made my heart sink. The pirates couldn't have found a more inhospitable base for their captives if they'd searched out the entire galaxy. There would be no escape.
Sepharvaim is a much younger planet than Earth – only about one billion years old instead of Earth's four and a half billion. Like with Earth at that stage of its development, the major cometary bombardment had stopped, allowing a rocky crust to form. At that stage, Earth had a poisonous atmosphere of methane, ammonia, carbon dioxide and water vapour. The water vapour stayed in gaseous form until the bombardment stopped allowing the planet's surface to cool below a hundred degrees Celsius.
Only then did water condense into rain and pour down onto the land. Gradually, water collected in low lying areas which eventually became primitive oceans. This all took several million years to accomplish so I guess Sepharvaim was looking at a never ending rain storm. I guess that, maybe in a few billion years, this planet would be a pleasant place to live.
But I'd never live long enough to see that time.
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