The Astoundingly True Tale of José Fabuloso

by Jolie Jaquinta

  Chapter 22

  Later they clustered around a stack of cargo palettes with some self heated food trays on them. They had spread cargo blankets on the floor to fight the chill and wrapped M’Elise, Squirrel and the old man in more to fight off the effects of what they had been drugged with. Each of them, comically, wore an eye patch over their left eye. What passed for the ship’s medic had been down to look at them. Fortunately the needler ammo used by Ninajatuli was small enough that no permanent damage was likely to occur. He just slapped on some anti-biotic and told them to wear the patches for a few days.

  “Is there hot sauce?” asked Squirrel. “This stuff needs some sort of taste.”

  “On your left,” said M’Elise. “Turn your head.”

  “Oh, sorry,” said Squirrel. “Damn eye patch.”

  The old man poked at his food. The mashed vegetables seemed to be the only thing that he could stomach on the plate.

  “Lost your family privileges?” O’Riley asked him.

  “So it would seem” he said morosely.

  “Well, welcome to the rest of us,” said O’Riley. He leaned over and scraped the mashed vegetables off his plate onto the old man’s. After a pause M’Elise did likewise. After a longer pause, Squirrel followed.

  “I’m sorry,” said José. “I’ve already eaten mine.”

  “It’s OK dad,” said the old man. “It’s the thought that counts.” He dabbed his eyes with the paper napkin. “That hot sauce stings from over here. Cap it will you?” José rushed to do so. “Thanks,” he said. To everyone.

  They continued to eat in silence. “Funny,” said Squirrel after a while. “What we go through. I’m really sorry. All that crap we went through on Lustersport to get my stupid letter and now it’s lost with the José Fabuloso.”

  “Nope,” said M’Elise.

  “We will get my ship back,” said José. “Then we will find your letter.”

  “Nope,” said M’Elise again. They looked at her quizzically. “It’s posted.”

  “What?” said Squirrel in agitation. “But… but… I wasn’t finished yet!”

  “Yes you were.”

  “You read my letter!” said Squirrel in indignation.

  “Not in detail,” said M’Elise, unabashed. “Just enough to see you had signed the bottom of it.”

  “You had no right to post it!”

  “I figured I’d save you the pain of agonizing over sending it, rewriting it, stalling and otherwise putting it off.” She looked at her deadpan. “Am I right?”

  Squirrel took several breaths, but didn’t challenge her.

  “Anyway. That’s why we missed our margin on Lustersport. My fault, not your fault.” She smiled wryly. “So stop beating yourself up over it. You can start beating me to send a real letter to my family.”

  “I aim to make you live to regret that,” Squirrel said, still agitated.

  They finished their trays and José stacked them under the ladder.

  “Any idea where we’re headed?” asked Squirrel.

  “We were already in transition when I woke up,” said O’Riley. “But from what I understand we’re heading to Blacksbelt.”

  “Wasn’t that where we were going anyway?” asked Squirrel. M’Elise nodded. “How does he work out where we’re going? Does he have a magic Navy transition directed detector?”

  “Maybe he planted a bug,” said O’Riley.

  “Worst case scenario planning,” said the old man. They turned to him. “He’s got ships and agents he can send in any direction just to be sure. But he’ll choose to go himself in the direction you might take that would be the worst possible option from his point of view.”

  “So we just, coincidentally, chose his worst nightmare of a course? What’s at Jopur he’s afraid of?” said Squirrel.

  “It’s the headquarters of The Sorority,” said the old man casually.

  “Scary ladies,” said José.

  “So this grandson of yours went off and stole some incredibly valuable swag from this big floozy right under the nose of a rival Cooperative?” asked O’Riley. The old man shrugged non-committaly. “Saints! No wonder you were pissed.”

  “Damn tyke threw away fifty years of bridge building in an eruption of ego to feed his lack of self confidence.” the old man muttered.

  “It’s OK son,” said José patting his arm. “You have a new family now.”

  The week passed uncomfortably. The crew didn’t trust them outside of the hold. They brought them meals and emptied their chamber pot and, after much loud protest escorted them individually up to the crew area to take showers.

  For entertainment one of the guards tossed them a well used (and well marked) deck of cards. They were forbidden from joining them in cards after the first mate watched a titanic battle of bluff and bravado between O’Riley and the old man. But it passed the time.

  After a week there was that small stomach lurch that signaled the end of transition. “What do you feel, José?” asked M’Elise.

  He was squatting on the deck with his hands spread on the floor feeling vibrations. “We are turning. The power plant is on full, but the engines are at idle,” he reported.

  “I never knew he was a mecha psychic,” laughed Squirrel.

  “Our José is full of surprises,” said O’Riley.

  “Engines coming alive!” he said a moment before there was a slight lurch as the artificial gravity synched acceleration with the maneuver drive. “We are in combat.”

  “How can he tell?” whispered Squirrel.

  O’Riley was listening intently as well. “The power plant is on full. (That’s the higher pitched tone.) But the engines aren’t. (That’s the kind of thumping.) So they must be reserving power for sudden maneuvers or weapon discharge. Also do you hear the way the thumping flutters? That’s changes in acceleration. Judging by the frequency I’d say we’re doing evasive maneuvers.”

  “Geeks,” said M’Elise. She moved over to the comm console and tried to log in.

  There was a teeth vibrating clunk followed by a loud explosion. “Torpedo away!” cried José.

  “Seriously,” said Squirrel. “I got that.” There were several more torpedo launches.

  “It sounds pretty one sided. I don’t hear them launching any countermeasures or pulsers” said O’Riley.

  “They don’t have any,” said M’Elise. “Just torpedoes. They must be using them as point defense.”

  “How do you know what they are armed with?” asked O’Riley.

  “There’s a disabled menu option for accessing the torpedo controls” she explained. “There are no disabled options for accessing countermeasures or pulsers.”

  “Sweet!” said Squirrel. “Can you hack into them.”

  M’Elise shook her head. “Not without time or the password. Besides, they know I’m trying.” She nodded to side of the console where she had been holding her hand over the camera.

  There was a cacophonous clatter as several more torpedoes were launched and the sounds of the engines rose to their highest pitch yet. “One got through!” shouted José. “Brace!”

  A huge lurch shuddered through the ship and everyone who hadn’t been able to grab something was flung several meters across the room. The lighting dipped from bright to red-hue. After some sputters, the engines came back on-line again, but the lights remained red. “The ship’s gone to emergency stations,” said M’Elise, picking herself up from a tangle of cargo blankets.

  “Clearly they’re fighting more than the José Fabuloso,” said Squirrel.

  Further conversation was halted by the near continuous firing of torpedoes. After a few ear splitting minutes it stopped. “Out of ammo,” said José.

  “Ballsy,” said O’Riley. Squirrel looked quizzical. “They just shot everything they have in one huge attack. Probably trying to overwhelm their defenses. They may have saved a few for point defense, but if that doesn’t do it, they have no recourse.”

  They waited in silence to see what the nex
t move would be. After a while the engines cranked up again. “Are we running?” O’Riley asked José.

  José shook his head. “No. Engines are steady. No dodging. We’re going in.”

  “I guess that’s good,” said Squirrel.

  “Better than being blown arse over head,” said O’Riley.

  Heavy boots sounded overhead and all eight of the guards descended boisterously into the cargo hold. “You lot, up against the wall,” said the first mate. They complied slowly as the rest started unlocking and cranking open several cargo canisters.

  “Cheeky move,” said O’Riley conversationally to the first mate. “But I assume it worked.”

  She gave him a sidelong look. “Yes,” she said slowly.

  “So what are we up against? It certainly isn’t our little piece of glitter.”

  She smirked. “No telling exactly what it was. Scanned like a big bulky cargo ship. Didn’t move like one though.”

  “I’ll bet it’s the ‘bulk carrier’ that scammed us back at Peche. Bastards,” he spat. “So what’s the operation.”

  She looked at him sidelong again, then seemed to come to a decision. “Boarding operation. We’ve scraped their weapon mounts off and holed their fuel tanks so they’re dead in the water. No lifeboats so their environmentals are still intact. We’re going to hard dock, airlock to airlock, and take them.”

  “Great!” said O’Riley enthusiastically. “What can you arm us with?”

  “Oh, ha ha,” she said. “You guys get to stay here. If we find anything from your ship we’ll call you in.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to have all hands on deck? I’ve seen these bitches fight. It’s pretty messy.”

  She nodded her head in agreement. “I’d much rather have you gutted on their swords than my people. But it’s not my call.”

  O’Riley shrugged and patted her on the back. “Best of luck them. Give them regards from Wiley O’Riley!” He grinned and winked at her.

  She nodded and began to shout her troops into line. She took a wide barreled pistol, but the rest were arming with long swords, short daggers and some sort of woven mesh body plates.

  The mate was eventually satisfied, latched down the canisters again, and started marching them up the ladder. O’Riley gave her a 'thumbs up' and she nodded back at him.

  “We’re close,” said José. The engines had dropped to idle speed.

  “Grand,” said O’Riley. “M’Elise darling. Could you sit pretty at the comm console like before. Right in front of the camera.” She looked at him questioningly but moved over and leaned her hand on the camera pickup again.

  He moved gingerly under the ladder, checked that the bulkhead valve was closed, and then over to the crates. From an inside pocket he fished out a key card, flashed it at the rest and grinned. He slapped it against the control panel on several of the canisters and they hissed open. “It’s Christmas in Allston!”

  “That was pretty smooth,” said the old man as they wandered over. “I guess they taught you something in that state crèche of yours.”

  “I’m a firm believer in higher education,” said O’Riley, rummaging through the contents. He passed out a variety of weapons, both sharp and projectile, to each of them. “Ever been in a fight?” he asked Squirrel.

  “Only with other dancers,” she replied.

  He cocked his head to one side. “I’d have paid good money to see that.”

  “They did,” she said, grinning.

  He laughed. “Stick to the knives for now. Don’t ever set off anything explosive inside a ship that you ever intend to fly again. Bullets will go through walls as easily as through body armor. If you don’t blow some system away it’ll ricochet off the hull and hit something or someone else.”

  “Check,” she said swinging the blade around a bit. “I used to do a sword dance. Could come in handy.”

  “Entertaining anyway,” said the old man.

  There was a crash as they heard their ship mate with the other. Shortly there were more clangs as airlock doors were forced open and boots stomping through them. O’Riley had relieved M’Elise at the camera while she pulled on some mismatched mesh. “Any luck with the computer.”

  “It’s locked down tighter than Frigg’s prenuptials.” She shook her head. “I hate when people actually pay attention and implement the advised security procedures.”

  “Try a system password of ‘Mister Purrmeister’,” said the old man who had wandered over stiffly, using a sword as a walking stick. She looked at him skeptically. “It was his first pet. I gave it to him when he was seven.”

  She took station at the computer and keyed it in. All the menus enabled and her eyebrows shot up. “I’ll be audited.”

  “He was a changed man after it died” said the old man sadly. “He never got over it.”

  M'Elise's hands flew over the keyboard. “Cameras off. You can put your hand down now.” O’Riley did so. The rest crowded around.

  “How many are left?” O'Riley asked.

  “What are we docked to?” asked José.

  “Can you get us out of here?” asked Squirrel.

  “They’ve all gone,” said M’Elise. “Tactical shows them running up and down the corridors of something. Looks like the Together as One alright from the outside. I’ve got command and control authority. We could cut lose and leave them there.”

  “There’s my ship!” said José.

  “I don’t think so José,” said M’Elise. “It’s not on scan, it’s not on record. It’s not here.”

  “There it is!” cried José, tapping the screen

  M’Elise looked up, puzzled. He was pointing at the tactical display she had brought up. It was a point of view shot of one of the goons engaged in advanced swordplay with two other cloaked figures with rapiers. It was some sort of large hold and, sure enough, in the background was the José Fabuloso strapped to the deck.

  “It’s inside the other ship?” asked Squirrel.

  The view changed to that of a slanted view of the ceiling as the goon went down. “Looks like,” said M’Elise. “Pretty clever actually. Better than trying to switch the transponder id.”

  “Fabuloso!” cheered José.

  “Let’s get it!” said O’Riley.

  “It’s in the middle of a war zone,” said M’Elise.

  “Exactly,” said O’Riley. “They’ll be busy.”

  “I hate to say it,” said Squirrel. “But it’s probably the best chance we’re going to get.”

  M’Elise shut the console down. “Let’s get our ship then.”