A Light In The Dark (Tales of the Deep Dark)

by Nathan Lowell

  Smitty smiled and headed aboard, while Gunderson turned to the chief engineer. “Ralph, my compliments to Mr. Shackleton and would you let him know what's going on down here. If he'd cover the rest of my watch, I'd be obliged.”

  “Aye, aye, Cap. Will do.” Ralph nodded once and waited for the Captain to lead the way into the ship.

  The two men entered the cabin and Gunderson waved his guest into the visitor's chair. “More comfortable than the conference table,” he explained.

  “Yeah. Same on my ship.”

  The looked out to where the Virginia Deere loomed in the Deep Dark just outside the port. Smitty had turned off the lights in his own cabin, or they'd have been able to see in from where they stood. Gunderson looked up and saw the bridge-watch on the Deere looking down at him. One thing struck him immediately.

  “You're not sailing for Malthus-Ming anymore?” he asked, indicating the spot where the MM logo had been painted over on the hull.

  Smitty pulled a bulb out of the rack and tossed it to Gunderson. “Nope,” he said and pulled the tab. “Neither are you.” He up-ended the bulb and took a couple of hefty swallows.

  “I'm not?” Gunderson asked, cracking his own bulb and taking a pull from it.

  “Nope. Nobody is. MM is no longer in business.” Smitty settled into the chair and waited for Gunderson to follow suit.

  “Since when?”

  “Since about two weeks after you didn't jump into Breakall.”

  “What happened? Losing a cargo of beefalo steaks shouldn't have made that much difference.”

  Smitty chuckled. “I told ya. That Maloney guy. He made a move on MM and bought them out while they were still off balance from the loss of the ship.” Smitty looked around, assessing the room. “It looks okay, but Jordan says you took a rock that slagged your Burleson?”

  Gunderson grimaced and took another swig of beer before answering. “Yeah. Another gram or two of mass and we'd have lost the ship. It was bad enough as it was.”

  “I bet,” Smitty said. “I took a strike about five stanyers back. Straight hole through the mess deck. That was bad enough and it didn't hit anything solid.”

  “Wasn't that when you lost that crewman? What was his name?”

  Smitty took another swig and nodded. “Yeah. Paul Fisher. Rock went right through the poor bastard. Never knew what hit him.”

  “So what happened to MM?” Gunderson asked.

  “Well, Maloney bought up controlling interest, then ousted the board and replaced it with his own people. After that it was easy enough to liquidate the assets and merge what was left of MM into his own fleet.”

  “I don't see a new logo on the Deere...” Gunderson said.

  Smitty grimaced. “Yeah, well, he offered a deal for any of us that wanted to jump. While he was liquidating, he let captains buy their own ships if they wanted. Gave us all a good price and some took it. Some didn't.”

  “What happened to those that didn't?”

  A few got merged into Maloney's operation. Most got sent to the boneyard.” He looked at Gunderson over the top of his beer. “You're down as lost. Not sure where that leaves title of the Wanderer. MM is gone. I suspect the books are closed and you've been written off.”

  Gunderson nodded. “This hull's a write off. We aren't going to replace the drive out here and it would cost more than a new one to drag it back to Dree or Diurnia for refitting.”

  “Not much salvage value, huh?”

  Gunderson shook his head. “Not really. It's a solid hull, but with only the maneuvering thrusters, there's not much we can do with it.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.”

  They sat and drank for a few ticks in silence.

  “What happened to your eye?” Smitty asked, crumpling the empty bulb and tossing it onto the desk.

  “Jordan. Cracked my skull with a broom handle while he was stealing the pod.” Gunderson followed suit and held his hand out for another.

  “He musta hit you pretty hard.”

  Gunderson nodded, his hand going to the side of his head. “They tell me it was pretty bad. The auto-doc took a week to patch me up.”

  Smitty's eyebrows shot up and he stared in slack jawed amazement. “A week?”

  “Well, it woke me up after about four days, but kept me locked down for a week.”

  “And poked out your eye?” Smitty recovered enough to pull the tab on the beer and take a sip.

  “Crushed the socket. Probably what saved me. If he'd had a clean shot at the side of my head...” Gunderson shrugged and took a long pull of his own beer. He made a face as he swallowed. “This really is nasty beer. Where'd you get it?”

  “Oh, here and there.” Smitty shrugged and took another pull. “Hard to find good beer out here.”

  Gunderson barked a laugh.

  After a few moments, Gunderson looked over at his friend. “You grabbed him about three weeks ago, didn't you.” It wasn't a question.

  Smitty shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “You've known that long?”

  Smitty sighed and nodded. “Yeah. They've known since almost the beginning, I think.” He jerked his chin up and out. “I got here just as young Mr. Jordan jumped ship.”

  Gunderson sipped his beer and didn't look at his friend. “What changed their mind?”

  “Changed their mind?”

  “Yeah. They were gonna let us just drift on through, weren't they?”

  Smitty didn't answer for a full tick. “Yeah,” he said at last.

  “Why?”

  “Didn't wanna take the chance that you'd put two and two together. Safer all around if there were no witnesses.”

  “If they'd known that long, then they coulda just picked us up months ago and we'd never known about this operation out here.”

  “What do you know now?” Smitty asked.

  “What do I know? Nothing. What do I suspect? Too much, probably.” he glanced at Smitty out of the corner of his eye. “You swapped cargoes on that last trip I saw you on, didn't you.”

  Smitty gave a short nod. “You see too much, my friend.”

  “Well, you been after me to join up for stanyers now. Not hard to guess what's happening.” He sipped his beer. “I have no idea how you do it...” He paused and turned. “You didn't have anything to do with that botched cargo back in Diurnia did you? You or them?” He nodded at the over head.

  Smitty shook his head. “Nope. That was strictly amateur hour. There's a group playing games with data out around Kazyanenko. We trip on them now and again. That data manipulation game is messy and risky.”

  “How do you do it? Get the cargoes around the system?” Gunderson asked.

  Smitty grinned around the mouth of the bulb. “If I told you that, I'd have to kill you.”

  Gunderson knew there was more truth than humor in the old saw and simply nodded.

  “I convinced them you'd be useful to us.” Smitty said after a few ticks passed in silence.

  Gunderson sipped his beer. “Useful how?” he asked.

  “The big risk we take is bein' out here.” Smitty made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “Sure, we meet off the beaten path but it's only a matter of time before somebody jumps wrong and sails right up to us.”

  Gunderson nodded. “We've seen you for weeks now.”

  Smitty shot his friend a look. “Really? How?”

  “Occlusions. We were drifting slow and your ships kept blocking stars.”

  Smitty frowned. “I'll be damned. I never thought of that.”

  Gunderson shook his head. “Most people would never spot it. They're only here for a little while and they've got other things to do than look out at the Deep Dark. Only reason we saw it is because we didn't.”

  Smitty shrugged. “Still. It makes my point. Sooner or later somebody's gonna spot us and ask a buncha questions.”

  Gunderson nodded. “I can see that. Where do I come in?”

  “Well. As you pointed out, there's no place to get a decent beer out here...”

/>   Gunderson turned to his friend and frowned.

  “Hear me out,” Smitty said. “That'll give us a chance to finish the rack.”

  Gunderson shrugged, upended his bulb and drained it. “You're fallin' behind.” He held out his hand for another and Smitty outlined the plan.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Deep Dark: December 23, 2333

  Mr. James Jordan, front and center.” The captain's voice sounded loud in the silence.

  Jordan marched into the cabin and stood at attention in front of Gunderson. “Ordinary Spacer James Jordan reporting as ordered, sar.”

  “Mr. Jordan, you are here on charges that you assaulted the captain of this vessel, stole a life-pod, and left your place of duty. Do you understand the charges?”

  “I do, Captain.”

  “These are serious charges, Mr. Jordan, and you would be within your rights to demand a hearing in front of an admiralty court. Are you aware of that right?”

  “I am, Captain.”

  “Are you also aware that, should you be found guilty in such a court, the penalty for these charges would be death by hanging?”

  Jordan paled. “I am now, Captain.”

  “You can, instead, submit yourself to a non-judicial hearing. That results of such a hearing are binding and not subject to appeal. I offer you that choice now, Mr. Jordan. Captain's mast or admiralty court when you return to Diurnia.”

  “I choose the captain's mast, sar.”

  Gunderson nodded. “Very well. Let the record show that Mr. Jordan has volunteered for the captain's mast and will be bound by the outcome without appeal.” He paused and surveyed the officers present. Ralph looked suitably stern but Nancy's face held a blank expression. “As I am party to this action, I must recuse myself from the proceedings and have asked Captain Smith to sit in my place. He has agreed. Captain Smith?”

  “As presiding officer, I hereby call this Mast to order,” Smitty said, stepping up beside Gunderson who, in turn, stepped back. “Who speaks for Mr. Jordan?”

  Nancy Gaston took one step forward. “I do, Captain.”

  “And who speaks for the prosecution?”

  Gunderson stepped forward. “I do.”

  Jordan's skin took on a slightly paler hue and Ralph frowned. “Sar...?” he said.

  “Who knows what he did better than I do, Ralph?” Gunderson said.

  “Gail Kravitz, but she's not allowed to prosecute,” Ralph said.

  “If you gentleman are through with your discussion...?” Smitty asked, exasperation obvious in his voice. “I've got someplace I'd rather be today.”

  Ralph stepped back and resumed his vigil.

  “Thank you, Chief Winslow.” Smitty turned to Jordan. “Mr. Jordan, you have heard the gross charges. Assaulting the Captain while underway, Stealing ships property. Dereliction of duty.”

  “Yes, sar.”

  “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  “I was scared, sar. Not in my right mind. We'd been out here for weeks and no end in sight...” His voice petered out as he saw his words bounce off Smitty's stoney face.

  “Ms. Gaston, what can you say on behalf of this man?”

  “He's an exemplary crewman who was pushed over the edge by the unprecedented circumstances. I've sailed with Mr. Jordan for four stanyers and have had no cause to complain about his performance.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Gaston. Captain Gunderson? What have you to say?”

  “Mr. Jordan took a broom and bashed me in the head hard enough that I lost an eye and nearly died. He then stole the life-pod and ejected from the ship after assaulting and restraining the remaining watch-stander on the bridge.” Gunderson paused and took a breath. “Each of these charges is answerable under the Articles.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” Smitty turned back to Jordan. “How do you plead, Mr. Jordan?”

  “Guilty, sar. I am terribly sorry, but I was just so scared. I--” his voice choked off. “I just didn't know what else to do.”

  “Your recommendations, Ms. Gaston?” Smitty asked.

  “Leniency, Captain. We were all under a great deal of stress—a stress that's unlikely to be repeated.”

  “Captain Gunderson?”

  Gunderson stood for nearly a full tick before speaking. “He endangered the ship and her crew. He assaulted the Captain. He stole safety equipment and abandoned his post. By most definitions, that's mutiny, Captain Smith. Common stress is no defense against mutiny.”

  “I agree, Captain,” Smith said and turned back to Jordan. “Having heard the charges against you and statements made for and against you, Mr. Jordan, I am ready to pronounce judgment on you as within my right as presiding officer in this hearing. Do you have anything else to say before I pass judgment?”

  “No, sar.”

  “Very well. With all due respect to the first mate, I must dismiss Ms. Gaston's plea for clemency. The actions of this man might have been catastrophic for the ship and her crew. I find that I agree with Captain Gunderson that his actions constitute mutiny.”

  A sharp silence filled the room as Captain Smith finished speaking. The silence held for a half tick before he spoke again.

  “Mr. James Jordan, I hereby find you guilty as charged with mutiny. You are sentenced to death by whatever means Captain Gunderson deems appropriate to the circumstances.”

  Jordan's eyes went round and his mouth opened as if to speak, but he found no words to utter.

  Ralph frowned and looked back and forth between the two captains. “Just a tick here...”

  “Belay that, Mr. Winslow,” Gunderson said, his voice a whip crack in the fear filled room.

  “But, Captain--”

  “Mr. Winslow.” The words were cold and hard.

  Ralph shut his mouth and stepped back in line.

  “Ms. Gaston, please escort the prisoner to the forward lock.” Gunderson said.

  “Aye, aye, sar.” The first mate took Jordan by the upper arm and led him out of the cabin. He walked like a man in a dream, his head slowly shaking back and forth, his mouth shaping the words, “No, no, no,” over and over even as the only sound he uttered was a thin keening.

  Gunderson crossed to his desk and keyed the mic on his console. “Now here this. This is the Captain speaking. All hands not presently on duty are ordered to the forward lock to witness punishment detail. All hands to the forward lock, please. That is all.”

  Ralph Winslow looked at the captain with horror growing across his face.

  Gunderson stared back, his face cold and impassive. “That includes you, Mr. Winslow.”

  The party trouped to the lock where they found the only other member of the crew not on watch—Gail Kravitz—waiting.

  Gunderson crossed to the lock controls and closed the outer door. He nodded to the first mate who thrust Jordan into the interior of the lock, then he keyed the inner door closed.

  “Captain, you can't seriously be thinking--” Ralph Winslow started to speak but Gunderson's head snapped around and the look on his face made the chief engineer's jaw click shut.

  Gunderson peered through the port at the young man inside. Jordan's face was slack in disbelief and he began looking around more and more frantically as the reality of his situation sank home. He ran to the port and pressed his hand against the armor glass. Everyone could see his face. Ralph looked away.

  Gunderson keyed the mic. “Mr. Jordan, you have been sentenced to death and it is my duty to declare the means by which you will die. Are you ready to hear my judgment?”

  “No, please, Captain,” Jordan begged.“I'm sorry. I really am. I didn't mean to hurt you or anybody. I was just so scared...” His voice trailed off and his sobs filled the entry.

  “Very well, Mr. Jordan.” Gunderson reached for the lever and gave it a tug. The mechanical sounds filled the room but didn't drown out Jordan's terrified screams.

  Slowly the inner door opened and Jordan's screams faded to sobs and finally to silence as he stood in the middle of the lock
, a dark stain spreading from the crotch of his shipsuit.

  “I sentence you to die of old age, Mr. Jordan,” the captain said, “And in the many long stanyers ahead of you, may you never, ever forget that your actions nearly took my life, and threatened the lives of those who trusted you as a shipmate.” He turned to Captain Smith. “Does that satisfy the court, Captain Smith?”

  “Perfectly, Captain Gunderson.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Deep Dark: December 25, 2333

  Gunderson smiled as he watched his crew head through the main lock and board the Virginia Deere. Each one stopped to shake his hand on the way off the ship, even Jordan seemed to have recovered a bit from his ordeal.

  “Thank you, Captain,” he said. “And I'm really sorry about ...” he looked the bandage over Gunderson's eye socket. “About everything,” he finished.

  “You've got a lot to recover from, lad. So do I. Try not to make the same mistakes again, okay?”

  “Aye, aye, sar,” Jordan said. He looked like he was about to say something else, but changed his mind and hefted his duffel onto his shoulder and walked through the locks.

  Ernest and Ralph dragged their grav trunks down the passageway next.

  “You gonna be okay with this power plant, Skipper?” Ralph asked.

  “Oh, sure. It's not like I'm gonna be doing a lot but laying about here and nudging the ship around a bit.”

  “You're not licensed for this class of power plant, Captain,” Ralph reminded him.

  “Yeah, but I'm also outside of CPJCT jurisdiction. Long as I don't try to fly her home, I'm good." Gunderson smiled and shook his old friend's hand. "Now scoot. Go find a berth on Maloney's new line. I bet he needs a few good engineers."

  Ralph gave him a lopsided smile. "I really thought you were gonna space the kid."

  "So did he." Gunderson said.

  Ernest stepped up and shook the Captain's hand. "Better you than me, Skipper. I'm about out of reading material and another month on this boat, I'd go out of my mind!'

  Gunderson snickered. "Without all you lot driving me crazy and keeping me busy, I'm looking forward to a long vacation and some sleep. Now scoot. Captain Smith here need to get moving."