Wandering Engineer 6: Pirates Bane

by Chris Hechtl

  Without much to do, John let Sprite process the mountains of data she had on hand while compiling a better image of the ship. The AI couldn't get into the ship's systems, there was a pretty good firewall and so he ordered them to process what they had on hand for now.

  John took the time to play chess with one of the ratings. It wasn't just out of boredom, he wanted to reduce his image, try to fit in a bit. They were denied a real board, so they used improvised pieces to play. The game board was drawn on the deck near the number three bunk. Irons had no problem sitting Indian style, though he didn't like having his back to a Horathian. He noted interest in their simple game from others in the compartment that should have been sleeping to husband their strength.

  “Why don't you two play checkers? It's all you can handle,” a voice said. Sprite identified the voice with a carat as Diegin, a sour faced rating in the back.

  “Just ignore him,” Diego said. “He's an ass.”

  John snorted softly, and moved his queen. Diego studied the board and then sighed. He flicked his king over. “Good game,” he said, shaking head. “Best two out of three?” he asked. John nodded. They reset the board.

  John won two out of three games. He'd let Diego win one, feigning distraction, saying he had mistaken the chip that represented a knight was a bishop. He shrugged off Diego's grin of triumph at winning.

  Finally when the third game was over Ian came over and quietly asked to play the winner. Irons nodded, hands moving to set up the board once more.

  Diego looked up to the former Captain and then got to his feet. “Good game,” he mumbled to John.

  “Play again sometime,” John said.

  “Basic rules fine? Playing Shogi, hexagonal, Chess960, or Janggi might be a bit much considering the board and pieces available,” John said.

  “Standard works. I didn't know there were other methods,” Ian replied, sounding amused and curious.

  “Oh hundreds of variations,” John replied. “Some you need a computer to keep track of. And I don't think we can manage three dee chess here.”

  “True. I only learned the basic,” Ian admitted.

  “One of the things I love about chess and board games, simple, easy to play, and you don't need a computer to do it.”

  Sprite made a rude noise.

  “True.”

  “Checkers is too simple for me, though king checkers can get complex. I loved chess since I was knee high.”

  The rating shrugged, clearly bemused by Irons rambling.

  “Chess is an ancient game. There have been many variations over the years. But the standard is still the one most sapients learn.”

  “I see. A bit of a historian?”

  “I'm a walking history project,” Irons replied dryly. “And as a spacer, I know how important it is to keep busy. Besides,” he smiled. “I love to read.”

  “Ah. Well, that's good,” the Captain, replied. “Not that there is anything to read now.”

  “True.”

  “I've always loved chess, there are so many things to learn from it. I'm glad humanities ancestors invented it.”

  “Oh?” Ian asked sounding amused.

  “Sure, it teaches foresight, circumspection, and most importantly caution,” John said, not certain the double entendre was getting through.

  Ian hesitated with his bishop in his hand, staring at the board for a long moment.

  “True,” he finally said, making his move.

  “It's a learning experience and educational tool too. Back in the bad old days before space flight it taught kings and queens many lessons. It saved people getting killed in the long run.”

  “Or got them killed when someone thought that war would go like a chess game. Simple, quick, and clean,” Ian replied.

  “True. I've seen a few quick games, but some of the games could be drawn out for weeks. And many a person has been tripped up by a plan going awry,” he said.

  “True.”

  “It was one of the ways rulers learned how to fight, and also connect politics to strategy. Some never got that connection.”

  Ian grunted. “Agreed.”

  “Also one of the earliest sims. People learned to anticipate the actions of others. And plan for them,” John said, castling his king and rook. “Check,” he said, sitting back. He glanced at the Horathian behind him who was watching them with hooded eyes. The man feigned a yawn.

  “True.” Ian frowned, inspecting the board. “Damn it, you've got me.”

  “Not yet,” John replied with a small smile. The check would force Ian to move his queen to cover his king. When he did that John would swoop in to pick it off with the rook, sacrificing it. With the queen gone Ian would have only his pawns and one knight left to fight with.

  “But you have. You're what, six moves ahead?”

  “Seven. Canned in this case,” Irons replied as the Captain flicked his king over. “As I said, foresight. There is a way out of it.”

  “No there isn't,” the Captain replied, sighing. He flicked his king over. “Besides, I need to rest.” He got up with a sigh and went to his bunk. He settled on his back. “I know when I'm beat.”

  “Why do I think he's referring to something other than the game?” Sprite asked. Irons didn't answer. “I do suggest you get some rest Admiral. There is no telling when you will be called.”

  John grunted and put the pieces away. He nodded to Diego and Ian. Ian ignored him, doing his business in the latrine and then he splashed some water on his face and went to bed down. John went to his corner. Xark, a rating, moved his legs out of the way. John hunkered down and rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes.

  <----*----*----*---->

  Captain McGuyver tucked his arm under his head and closed his eyes. He tried to sleep, but errant thoughts kept him awake. Clearly this 'Captain Doe' was more than he appeared. Much more. He frowned thoughtfully. For one the man was decidedly odd. He wasn't fearful. He wasn't off balance, which was interesting in itself. Everyone who was caught, everyone, had been bewildered, beaten, and some a near catatonic wreck. But not Doe.

  He scratched at his chin and then settled down once more. He replayed the man's activities in his mind. From the moment he entered the brig the man had acted like he was in command. Like he wasn't afraid.

  For a guy who worked alone, he sure knew his way around a room filled with hostile people. Taking down Bard had made him stand out like a sore thumb. Others would have accepted the beating, just ducked and covered until Bard was done showing off, then done their best to blend in. But not this guy.

  Could he be a plant, Ian thought, eyes slitting. He turned his head slightly until he spotted the man. Doe was leaning against the wall near Xark, seemingly oblivious. That was another thing. When a person came into the brig, they had a hell of a time sleeping if they were alone. Normally they banded to former shipmates. In some ways it was a relief to see a new face, a kindred soul to share in the misery. Not that he wished this on anyone.

  He frowned again and then let out a breath slowly. He was getting maudlin. The man could be a plant it was possible. They'd have to look out for it. So far though, all signs said no. They knew some of the Horathians were plants, Bard for one. You didn't become a master Chief to get brigged for backchat and certainly not for months. No. Bard was a plant, a spy.

  If Doe had been one too they wouldn't have gone like that. He wouldn't have torn Bard a new one. And made it look so easy too. That bothered the Horathian's he could tell.

  No, this man was an officer, with martial arts training. He had admitted to being a sleeper with implants. That too was interesting. He frowned again as another thought struck his tired brain. His implants. He'd seen the Horathian implants, crude. Doe's were practically perfect. Indeed a sleeper. They could use that.

  He stretched a bit and then rolled onto his side. Someone grumbled near his foot. He looked down to see eyes flash briefly. He shrugged and then sniffed, then settled.

  He missed his cabin on the
Deianira. His beautiful ship, now a prison ship. He fought the urge to think about it, to fall into the trap of thinking about the past. He needed to focus on survival. Not just for him, but for his surviving people. They deserved better.

  If Doe had a way of getting out of this trap, he'd follow him to the ends of the universe he vowed before sleep took him.

  <----*----*----*---->

  “You can't be serious about recruiting these people Admiral. How can you trust them any of them? And how are we going to communicate with them without being heard?” the AI demanded.

  “These are good people Commander, determined people. They haven't broken. They are beaten, but intensely determined people,” Irons replied through his text link.

  “You can what, feel that?”

  “If they had given up hope they would have died a long time ago. A few are close to that; they are just going through the motions. They have to do this. They will do this. They will rise. We just have to provide the tools, plan, and a spark to reignite their fire.”

  “Poetic Admiral. But poetry alone won't get you far,” Sprite replied. “You can't do this all alone.”

  “I know Commander.”

  “I still don't see it. They are half starved, badly beaten...”

  “Never, never under estimate the determination of the human spirit. It burns bright when lit. Theirs will once more.”

  “Will is not enough Admiral,” Sprite replied patiently. “The spirit may be willing but the flesh is weak. That's what I've been trying to tell you.”

  “Never underestimate spirit and determination. If they see the chance at freedom, the leaders will jump. They may hesitate, but they'll go for it. Give me freedom or give me death.”

  “Now your quoting history Admiral?”

  “It's true Sprite.”

  “Yes, in some cases.”

  “In this as well. Besides, as you said, I can't do this alone. Even with you four AI, my chances of success are under fifty percent.”

  “True.”

  “This is a team effort. They have to rise. Not just for me, but for themselves. Don't you understand that? Check the psychology involved Commander. A person who fights back, who helps end their captivity and refuses to submit to Stockholm syndrome, who show some backbone have a better chance of handling a rescue.”

  Sprite scanned the records on psychology and then reluctantly nodded.

  “See?” He demanded. “It is remarkable what a person can learn when in captivity under these conditions. It gets to you, and you hit a point where your mental processes clarify. You realize, all they can do if kill you if you fight back hard enough. You lose your fear, you control it.”

  “It is still a long way between pretty words and getting it done Admiral.”

  “I'm not going to give them speeches. We're just going to do it. We will do it. We have to do it. Or die trying,” he replied.

  “That's the part I'm afraid of,” Sprite sighed.

  <----*----*----*---->

  An hour and a half later a commotion at the door alerted Admiral Irons who had dropped into a semi sleep. He tapped his passives and overheard the blond haired exec listening to the guard, as the guard tried to inform him the new guy was dangerous. “I don't think he's stupid enough to try something, but by all means show him who's boss,” he said. “We have an order from the Captain and I for one am not going to disobey it. Got it?” he demanded icily.

  The guard nodded and fumbled for the keys.

  The door opened and two guards swinging batons stepped into the compartment, smacking prisoners out of their way or to look up at them so they could be identified. Weighing the odds, Admiral Irons realized now wasn’t the time to take them, so he continued to feign sleep. One pointed his baton at John.

  John allowed them to belt and kick him awake when they arrived at his side, then haul him to his feet as he feigned sleepiness. They beat him a few more times, setting his teeth on edge with anger, before roughly shoving him to the door.

  “You are still going through with this?” Defender asked. John nodded slightly, eyes down. He didn't need to look up, his senses could see around him just fine.

  When he exited the room, he was handcuffed, this time with his hands in front. “You,” the exec said, standing there.

  Irons looked up at him briefly, to keep in character. The exec, Sprite labeled him with a nametag as Lieutenant Blye, was a cold bastard dressed in black. He looked like some Nazi wannabee, with his blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and set jaw.

  “You locked your ship's computers down. You will give us the passwords and show us how to use them.”

  “I don't appreciate piracy,” John replied with a shrug. “And the password is me. Me,” he said, pointing a thumb up to his chest. “My implants.”

  “We have ways of making you talk,” the pirate growled.

  “Oh spirit of space! How cliché is that?” Sprite demanded as the exec pulled a knife.

  Defender came to attention but the Admiral overruled him for once. Warily he watched as the exec made a show of examining the knife, making sure it glittered in the light.

  The exec threatened him with a knife and Admiral Irons warily stepped back until the goons on either side of him grabbed him. His passive sensors reported half the guards were in the room, and the camera above wasn’t active. Smiling slightly, the exec advanced on him, thinking his frozen body denoted fear.

  “Let's see if we can loosen that tongue of yours. Or if you prefer, I could cut it out,” the exec said, grinning nastily.

  Grimly Admiral Irons watched the exec enter his attack range while he planned his own attack. He would spin up his shields first, rebuffing the two thugs and the exec, then snap the cuffs... he paused as he felt energy overhead.

  The squawk of the overhead speaker interrupted the exec, and he like some of the guards looked up. Suddenly Irons noted the camera was live. He frowned so much for that. He couldn't afford an audience to the initial steps of the break out.

  The exec turned to see the red light on the camera, and then shook his head. He cursed softly under his breath before stepping to the communication panel and opening a channel. “Yes?”

  “Blye, what's the holdup Lieutenant?” a crisp voice replied.

  “Oh, um, sorry Captain,” the exec said, glancing at the new prisoner as he instinctively came to attention. “I beg to report that the former Captain of the Phoenix is being reluctant,” he said.

  “I see that.”

  “Captain, permission to use sterner measures,” the exec asked.

  “Denied. Why isn't he on the way here to me?” the Captain asked mildly.

  “He is. We're just, um, finishing up here Captain. Securing him,” the exec said, waffling the reply.

  John felt another camera activate and silently cursed. With an open channel and two views of the compartment his odds of a quick take over dropped.

  “He seems secure enough for me,” the Captain sarcastically said, calling the exec out on his white lie. “Bring him. Now,” the Captain growled, cutting the channel.

  “You heard the Captain,” the exec said, tugging on the hem of his jacket. He waved them out. “Bring the prisoner to the bridge.”

  <----*----*----*---->

  On the bridge Captain Hathaway silently assessed the new man, warily watching him on the cameras while reviewing the little information they had gathered from his ship. This 'Captain Doe' was an enigma; he had discipline, and was not afraid of his situation. That alone bothered him, the almost complete lack of fear. His lock down of the computers told them he was a good cyberneticist, and that he was prepared for contingencies.

  They would have to watch him carefully and keep him away from the computers. His self-discipline said he wasn't stupid in some ways. But he lacked fear. That was a problem, a man who lacked fear tended to do dangerous and damaging things. In the end utterly futile, but it could still be a risk if the Captain didn't plan for it.

  <----*----*----*---->

&nbs
p; Arriving on the bridge with his escort, Admiral Irons quietly scanned the rooms with passives as the exec came to attention before the Captain's chair, saluted, and then reported. The Captain made him wait, and Admiral Irons mentally smirked at the old tactic. Cooling his heels to show him who was boss was something he'd gotten used to over the decades as a spacer. He took the time to assess his opponents and the bridge.

  The bridge layout was typical, with the command position on a dais in the center of the compartment. Directly in front was the OPS and helm station. Off to the left was the navigator's station, on the right was tactical. What interested him was the state of the equipment and the new faces for Sprite to log.

  He heard a noise from the engineering station and noticed an officer torturing what looked like an avatar of a virtual person.

  He couldn't help frowning at the blurry image of a human in chains. That didn’t make sense, unless it was some sort of sick gratification. The Captain was chewing out the exec, so Admiral Irons logged their conversation and probed the engineering station with his expert eyes.

  The human asking the questions was Lieutenant Serall. Sprite identified the small man as the acting Chief engineer of the ship.

  The avatar he was interacting with was an AI, obviously. No one could torture someone through a holo, though some had wanted to. Well, one could with robots on the other end but... he set the distracting thought aside and focused. He didn't think the man was torturing a sim, on the bridge was stupid and sick. Hell, the entire thing was sick.

  The avatar was of a human male. That much he could discern. But he was chained, which didn't make sense. Also dressed in rags, and cowering in a heap. The Admiral frowned. He couldn't get any more out of him while the AI remained mute.

  It had taken him a few minutes to understand that the virtual person was the ship’s AI, cut off from the ship’s computers and placed into a separate computer. The AI was half mad with simulated pain, being shocked with amp spikes to its neural network, or tormented with cut outs of subroutines. For some reason he hadn't simply destroyed himself.

  Sprite brought up a wordless protest, but Admiral Irons silently signaled quiet. Sprite returned to her duty. She silently pulled up a top view of the room, and ID-ed the people in the room and their weapons.