Looking around the cabin, I only noticed one thing out of place—a picture of a little girl. “Pretty girl,” I said, wondering why I hadn’t noticed it when we searched the place.
Rosalee didn’t say anything, but she turned her head to look at me. I raised an eyebrow. “How old is she?”
“Nineteen,” she said, “a week from Tuesday.”
“That’s nice,” I said lamely. “She really is pretty. Do you have any recent pictures of her?”
For a moment, I thought she was going to put the needle through the wall. She set it down without saying anything and picked up one of her dumbbells. When she let it drop, I saw it bounce. We were lucky we had steel underfoot, and Spooner probably had to do a minor course correction. I just sat there, wondering what it was I was using for brains.
Rosalee finally looked me in the eyes. “If you ever think about getting married again, don’t go through with it, Ken. It isn’t worth it.”
Then she picked up both dumbbells and began doing presses, and I let myself out quietly.
Ironsides was waiting for me out in the passageway, hopping mad. I sympathised—Davie Lloyd was so far out of his depth that you couldn’t see the bubbles coming up, and he needed somebody to be mad at.
“Goddamn you, mister,” he whispered hoarsely. “You come snooping around here with your nose in the air and your goddamned reserve commission. Well, this is my ship! If your goddamned vampire friend didn’t kill Frido, you tell me who did! You hear me, mister, you just tell me that!”
Bernie at least had his cat for company.
I looked Davie Lloyd over for a long minute before I left. He started to shake, and I think for a second he thought I was going to tell him.
I still had six suspects. Seven, if you counted Catarina. Eight if you counted the cat, but the cat still didn’t know how to chase her tail without banging her head on the wall.
I stopped by Catarina’s door to tell her how my inquiries had gone, and then I crashed for a few hours of sleep.
When I came to and made it up to the bridge, Clyde was just departing. Spooner turned around. Her face was drawn.
“Rough watch?” I asked.
“Hello, Ken. Yeah, she was pretty rough this shift. I don’t envy you. The board’s green, though; I’m ready to hand over whenever you like.”
“Fine.” I slid into the seat next to her. “How are things otherwise? Is Clyde working out?”
“He’s doing fine.” She smiled nervously and brushed her hair back with one hand. “ He’s been teaching me thieves’ cant.”
I looked up. “Say what?”
“Oh, he doesn’t call it that, he calls it ‘dive,’ but it’s the language thieves use. It’s fascinating.”
“I suppose,” I said. Wyma Jean liked to talk more than most of the people on board, and I usually humoured her.
“Oh, don’t be so reactive, Ken,” she scolded. “Clyde can’t help being what he is. It’s marvellous just watching him change.”
“Nurture over nature,” I said, trying not to smile. “All right, I’ll give him a chance. I ought to be grateful—the way he dresses, nobody can make fun of what I wear.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Wyma Jean said, leaving it unclear which part of the statement she disagreed with. “What have you been up to?”
I stared at her bleakly. “Still trying to find a murderer.”
I looked away as tears welled up in her eyes. She waved and got up. “See you later, Ken. Have a good watch.”
I didn’t.
The Scupper’s drives and her computer really did desperately need an overhaul. Every so often she’d throw a real fit. Halfway through my watch, she threw one for me. About the second time I had two red lights flashing on the board simultaneously and needed four hands, I began regretting having mouthed off to my previous skipper. It was a long and not very enjoyable watch, and I was thoroughly sorry Catarina wasn’t around to help out long before it was over.
Ironsides and Bobo were scheduled to relieve me. They were a few minutes late coming on, and I was unusually annoyed by the time they finally showed. I yelled out the door, “Hey, Davie Lloyd, you ready to take over? Any time, guy.”
Ironsides cautiously stuck his head in.
“Hi, Davie Lloyd,” I said. “You and your munchkin, get in here. The board is yours, and I’ve finally got it green. I’ve already signed the log. There is one thing of interest. We’ve got a ship coming up behind us at constant boost. She should pass us within the hour.”
“A ship?” Ironsides croaked. “What ship?”
“I don’t know. Probably an alien. Looks like that Rodent we saw at Schuyler’s World. Want me to ask?” Bobo scuttled in from somewhere as I switched on the loud-hailer. “This is Rustam’s Slipper, Guild registry 19747. Identify yourself, please.”
There was no immediate response, so I stood up to make a place for Bernie. “All yours, Davie Lloyd. What’s wrong? You’re paler than Catarina.”
Davie Lloyd looked as though he’d been shaking hands with Frido’s ghost, and Bernie suddenly didn’t look much better. I eyed both of them and shook my head. There were too many question marks floating about the ship, including uncut emeralds and soap powder.
As I was walking away, we got a response from the other vessel. “Doubles-crossing rat-tes,” said something in unusually toneless English.
“Got you pegged, Davie. See you.” I chuckled and continued down the passageway. I saw McHugh and Dykstra in the galley consoling Spooner. The cabin doors on either side were wide open.
As I started to shut Spooner’s door, a flaming garbage can came whizzing past my eyebrows and disappeared into McHugh’s and Dykstra’s space. I turned my head in time to see a pretty little sunburst through one of the holes in the side of the ship before vacuum pulled the doors on both sides shut.
Spooner’s door took some skin off my hand, but I couldn’t complain. I know a missile when I see one close up, and a small distance either way and I ‘d have been watching the action from outside the ship just long enough to find it uncomfortable.
I felt the ship tremble underneath me. I said something profound, like, “Oh, hell,” and took off toward the bridge.
In the second seat, Bobo had his hands held over his face. Ironsides was seated beside him as stiff as wax. The other ship was closing the range, ready to fire more missiles.
The toneless, high-pitched voice from the other vessel came on again. “Dirty, rotten, double-crossing rat-tes. You are toast. Prepare yourselves to die.”
I reached over Davie Lloyd’s shoulder, slammed the abort, and shoved the ship into full astern. The u-channels dropped into place, and four different things lit up red on the board. As our forward momentum dropped off, the alien ineptly sped on by.
The other craft wasn’t a warship, but they had a warship’s weaponry. They must have assumed we had protective armour or a protective field; otherwise the missile that had gone past my nose probably would have gone off in my face. Glancing at the board, it looked like maybe another five had slammed through Number Two hold and out the other side.
“Friendly sort, wasn’t he?” I said, trying to sound calm. I looked around. “As Butch said to Sundance, who are those guys?”
Nobody volunteered an answer. “Bernie! Davie Lloyd!” I slapped Ironsides once, and he didn’t react. McHugh and Dykstra piled onto the bridge, followed by Spooner and Clyde.
“What the hell...” McHugh began.
McHugh got a reaction. Patience is not one of her virtues, and she can be fairly direct when she gets excited. Bobo must have seen her cock her fist. He moaned. “The ship shot at us. They tried to kill us!” which may have extended his life expectancy.
“My God. We’re dead!” I heard Spooner say. Before she could go catatonic on us, I saw Clyde’s hands tighten around her shoulders.
“Is he telling the truth?” McHugh asked.
I said, “There’s a certain novelty in it.”
“What in hell are we goi
ng to do?” McHugh demanded, looking from Ironsides to Bobo. She added pointedly, “There’s something my DI always said about wiping windows with soft-boiled eggs.”
I had forgotten she was a reserve petty officer second. Something clicked, which probably had a lot to do with the fact I was running on pure adrenaline. “Okay,” I said. “Ironsides, as the only reserve Navy officer on this vessel, I’m declaring an insurgency. I ‘m calling myself to active duty and taking your vessel into service pursuant to paragraph 147.2(a) of General Regulations. Clear out of that chair. Bobo, you too. Dykstra, help move these snow cones.”
Dykstra may have been slow, but she wasn’t stupid. Ironsides got hauled aside like limp fish.
“McHugh, you’re second-in-command, you take Bobo’s seat. Dykstra, you and Spooner get everyone out of here, then grab a crowbar. Break Lindquist out and send her up here.”
“But the door’s welded shut,” Dykstra countered.
“I’m sure Davie Lloyd handled the torch with his usual flair, so you’ve got five minutes. After you spring her, go down and clear the lifeboat.”
The bridge emptied. “McHugh, ease the pressure in Number Two hold completely. We’re holed, and we must be spilling toad guano all over space.”
“Aye-aye, Cap’n. What did the other ship do, overrun us?”
“That they did.”
“If the clowns running her had half a brain between them we’d be toad shit ourselves. I’ll bet they can decelerate better than us, and they’ll be back quick.” McHugh felt for the controls.
“Let me think on that. As you were, on Number Two. We’re leaking out, and we can’t patch the holes. All that stuff is travelling with us at the same velocity and making us easier to spot. Pressurise and dump it instead. It’ll form a cloud, and we’ll use it for a smoke screen.”
“Not Number Two!” moaned Ironsides from the corridor.
McHugh dumped Number Two. “You hear something? We got mice in the wall,” she commented.
“Belay that out there!” I yelled. I looked at McHugh. “They’ve still got electronic eyes. What have we got in Number Three?”
McHugh thought for a second. “Puffed wheat.”
“No. What about the auxiliary holds? What’s in Number Four?”
“A couple tons of Christmas tinsel.”
“That’s it, tinsel! Dump Number Four!”
“No, not Number Four!” moaned Ironsides and Bobo in unison from the corridor. I heard Catarina say, “What’s happened?” behind me.
McHugh dumped Number Four. Wads of tinsel spun around our axis, looking, I hoped, like the radar reflection of a Kobold-class ship. “Christ,” she said. “Guano and tinsel. It’s going to look like a Polish Christmas.”
I turned to Catarina. “Trouble. There’s another ship out there. It looks to be a Rodent merchantman configured as a warship. It’s got missiles and probably guns, and we’re getting shot at. I’ve dumped Number Two and Number Four holds to give us a smoke screen. Let me think ...” I punched some numbers into the ship’s computer, called up some figures, and built a quick and sloppy model.
“It looks like you’ve been pouring soil on troubled waters,” Catarina observed. “What can I do?”
“In a minute I’m going to want you in McHugh’s place. McHugh, while you were on active duty, you went through Woolmera. Did you go through the Indian’s demolition course?”
“Filthy, sexist pig!”
“That’s the man. We’ve got four shaped charges in the locker for clearing obstructions. Think you can rig them into a daisy chain and hook the last one on a fifty-meter line with a half-second delay?”
“Sure, we’ve got the stuff, but that other ship is not exactly going to sit still and let us hang a charge on her nose. We can’t guide the thing, and those charges aren’t real big—they’re maybe a kilogram apiece.”
“That’s not what I have in mind. Grab Dykstra and Spooner and rig a hoist. Haul one of the big oxygen cylinders up to the air lock, hang the daisy chain on it, and set the timer for three minutes. When I give you the word, pull the pin and shove it out. And do something about Tweedledum and Tweedledee while you’re at it.”
Clyde stuck his head in. “I, uh, couldn’t help overhearing.” He rubbed his fingers on his jacket and blew on them. “I am pretty good with my hands. I could help her.”
“Why not?” Catarina said.
“It’s your funeral, too. Go, McHugh!”
“Aye-aye, Cap’n.” McHugh said, still puzzled, as she hurried off.
Catarina slid into her seat. “Why are they shooting at us?”
“Damned if I know.”
“When a warship takes on a merchantman, there are two things the merchantman can hope for: luck and stupidity, or stupidity and luck. Dykstra said you gave Davie Lloyd the heave-ho. How hysterical are you?”
“Not too bad. Considering.”
“Look.” She pointed to the screen. There were a few hundred little white bags floating among the tinsel and guano. “They must have come out of Number Four.”
“Damn if this isn’t getting more interesting by the minute.”
“That it is. Ken, I hate to be a pessimist, but even if the other guys can’t see us through the silver lining in your little brown cloud, the cloud is expanding. I think we’re going to have a problem.”
“We’re wobbling—help steer us straight. I’m thinking one of the u-channels didn’t drop in place when I reversed thrust. That’s it, good job. Yeah, I know what you mean, but we have a couple things in our favour. One is that they’ll be able to see those little white bags, and I’m guessing they’re not going to want to shoot indiscriminately if they think they can collect them up.”
“Good enough. What’s another thing in our favour?”
“I’ll let you know when I think of one.” I punched the button on the intercom. “McHugh, are you in position?”
“Hell, no!” was the reply.
“Something big and close,” Catarina volunteered, tracking our meteor guide.
“Company?”
“Company, it is. We’re hit pretty bad. This rust trap isn’t in any shape to absorb punishment. What’s the plan, Ken?”
“I want a big cloud of guano and oxygen. I want a spark. Ideally, I want there to be a big bang when the cloud blows up.”
“Where are we going to be?”
“Far, far away, I hope. Maximum acceleration. I think I see them at about a hundred degrees, paralleling our course.”
“That’s them. Assuming we don’t get shot up before we get far enough to worry about it, what do you call our chance of having the guano and oxygen mixed well enough to go off?”
“As it says in the Bible, slim, son of none.”
She looked over, punched up my model, and began working it. “I make it about one in three thousand.”
“That sounds about right.”
“That’s what I thought,” she said. “I understand you quoted General Regulations when you took command?”
“I quoted paragraph 147.2(a), which may or may not exist. In brief, my assumption of command was also guano, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. You want to take over?”
“No, you’re doing fine.”
“Sorry you signed up?”
“I never regret anything that doesn’t add up to my waistline.” She corrected a power fluctuation. “Scared?”
“Hell, no,” I said, putting a brave face on things. “I was scared when the first one came whizzing past my nose. Since then, I’ve worked my way up to terrified.”
“So, while we’re waiting, did you figure out who killed Frido?”
“Two votes for you, Annalee says the gimp did it, and nobody else has a clue. I voted for the cat.”
She reached out a free hand and tousled my hair.
“Anna Catarina, you know what’s really annoying?”
“What?”
“When I reach out to people, I’ve mostly been counting my fingers to make sure I get all of
them back...”
“Try not to make this too soppy. Your ex-wife?”
“She’s merely illustrative of the general principle. What’s annoying is realising that the best friend I’ve got is a vampire who’s probably an axe-murderer.”
She tried to smile. “Ken, for what it’s worth...” She tweaked my nose. “You’re kind of cute.”
I thought for a minute, leaned over, and kissed her. “I’ve been meaning to say this for a while. You’re not so bad yourself.”
“All this flattery is going to my head. Should we try and surrender?”
I hit the intercom. “McHugh, how’s it coming?”
There was a burst of profanity. “Son-of-a-bitching thing is stuck. Give me fifteen minutes.”
“We’re getting there,” Clyde chimed in.
“Where’s Iron-Ass?” I asked.
“He’s locked himself in the lifeboat,” Dykstra reported.
“What’s he doing?”
“Wait a minute... Spooner says he’s in there playing with himself... No, sorry. She meant pleading with himself.”
“Thanks.” I snapped off the intercom.
She smiled. “I deduce.”
“You got it. Davie Lloyd is using the radio in there. If they haven’t accepted his surrender by now, I don’t think they’ll bother.”
“So what do we do, fly straight and level for fifteen minutes and pray a lot?”
“I’m open to suggestions.”
“You really think we’re going to make it out of here?”
I was busy trying to figure out how to say what was on my mind without being too messy about it. “No,” I said, distracted.
My face must be an absolutely open file. She smiled, put her hand up, and ran it through my hair. “Let me suggest something, then.”
We locked the door to the bridge, and it beat hell out of any ideas I had on how to spend my last fifteen minutes. Catarina made me keep one hand close to the board to keep the ship straight, which wasn’t fair. It was pretty interesting by the time McHugh called in over the intercom.
“Okay,” she said. “Clyde and I have got this thing about as set as it’s ever going to be. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
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