by Phil Geusz
I blinked. "You mean you've never even named your own ship?"
"Whyever would I?" he replied, shaking his head. "Names are all a bunch of tommyrot nonsense." Then he scowled and flipped a switch on his console. "Wilkes control, this is 483. I'm requesting direct clearance to Point Three, skipping a hold in parking orbit. Check your records— my cargo is priority red, and I was inspected on the ground."
There was a long pause. "You're cleared as requested, 483," the Imperial controller eventually replied. "Safe voyages and long Jumps!"
Jeffries didn't bother to reply to the standard traffic controller's farewell; instead he snapped the switch and stared down at his controls for a moment. "People are fools," he explained as he worked out a rough course—refinements would come later. "They waste their lives on trivia."
"Right," I agreed, looking out the starboard porthole—ships as small as 88-483 had actual windows instead of viewscreens, though of course other views could be called up on the computers as needed. "Complete and total trivia." Like friends and duty and obligations to one's fellows and maybe even love, I didn't add aloud. Then, as our ship's engines spooled up to their truly impressive full-power rating and started us on the long journey home, I took a moment to feel a bit sorry for the lieutenant.
How would it feel, I wondered, to live one's entire life without a heart?
49
Jeffries's plan for getting us back home was solid, if unimaginative. The smuggling trade was only practical because space was so large, communications were so slow, and there were far more Jump points than could ever be monitored. His flight plan with the Imperials called for him to begin his journey by taking Point Three towards Imperious. So, that much of our trip was pretty much locked in—every Imperial vessel in the system knew we were expected to take that routing, and if we deviated from it they'd immediately grow suspicious. However, beyond Point Three it was unlikely that anyone either knew or cared that our flight plan called for us to take Point One from there. We'd do it anyway, however, on the off-chance someone might be paying unusually close attention—it was wartime, and Wilkes Prime was after all currently a major Fleet base. But there were seven such Jumps to be made before we arrived at Imperious, and given how fast our ship was there was no way that anyone two or three hops away would have any idea what our authorized course was supposed to be, nor was it likely that anyone present would particularly care. That was when, with no one looking over our shoulder, we'd sort of ease our way out of the main shipping lanes, ignoring and if necessary outrunning anyone who took too much of an interest in our personal business. Before we knew it we'd be back in Royal space with a holdful of stolen Imperial engine parts to sweeten the deal.
We fell into the obvious shipboard routine quite easily, all things considering. Jeffries, Heinrich and I divided the day up into three watches so that someone was manning the bridge at all times but none of us were being worked to death. It appeared on the surface that Jeffries trusted us entirely, though I wouldn't have been surprised to learn that he had remote readouts in his cabin. A Field was an inherently unstable entity and no computer program ever written could fine-tune one as well as a living, thinking brain; of all the many mysteries of Field science, this was perhaps the greatest. Therefore we made better time with three pilots than one, and our already swift vessel effectively became faster still.
I worked the afternoon watch, taking over from Jeffries at eight bells. Nestor was just arriving with a cup of tea on the second day out when I noticed something unusual on the main plot. "Well," I observed to my aide as we sat and sipped our hot drinks together—Nestor had recently begun drinking coffee, an unusual trait in a Rabbit. Then I tapped the computer screen with my forefinger. "A destroyer's coming through, hell for leather."
Nestor nodded and leaned forward, watching as a vessel labeled as V-237 came tearing into local space at Point Three as if her tail were on fire. Almost instantly she began transmitting in code, which of course we couldn't translate. All we could tell was that the message was very long.
"We're headed that way ourselves, aren't we?" Nestor asked.
I nodded and frowned. While there were never anything like enough resources to cover more than a few key locations, it was common practice for fleets and fleet bases to keep a destroyer or lesser ship standing by on the far side of local Points, ready to Jump back and relay news at a moment's notice.
"Wonder what she's saying?" Nestor asked, echoing my own thoughts.
"There's no way to know," I replied. "It could be anything from the Emperor announcing a new holiday to an attack warning."
"True," Nestor agreed.
Still, just to amuse the two of us I pulled up the local Jump chart so we could look the situation over. The nexus at Point Three was a very tight one, so much so that only a few hours separated the most widely-spaced Points. If one wanted to surprise an enemy as thoroughly as possible, such a Point was exactly the right sort to attack through. It gave the other side the minimum possible amount of warning. "Hrmm," I said to myself. Then I took another sip of tea.
"It could be the Fleet," Nestor pointed out. "Couldn't it?"
"It could," I agreed. "Or it could also be that the Emperor suffered a hangnail and he wants to reassure all his subjects everywhere that the corrective surgery was a success." I sighed. "We can't be sure of anything. And even if we were…" I frowned to myself. "I don't see where we're in much of a position to do much with the information anyway. We're an Imperial cargo vessel, you see. And unlike Richard, we really are a cargo vessel. Unarmed for real."
Nestor nodded, his face grim. "Yes, sir."
I shifted in the pilot's seat, which was suddenly extra-uncomfortable. Being designed for a human, it was never really what might be called pleasant for a Rabbit to sit in. But now… There was nothing in the rule book that said an on-duty watch-officer in a merchantman couldn't pace the bridge. So I did so, even though my walking-space was only three steps wide. "Hrmmm…." If the destroyer was warning of the presence of the Royal Fleet, how and when would I know for sure? And, what should I do about it?"
Then, startling me silly, the communications center came to life. "483, this is Wilkes traffic central. Are you reading me?"
I practically leapt back to the console, then remembering Josiah's studied incompetence when imitating a merchie I let the controller ask four more times before replying. "483," I typed into the keyboard. "What gives? I was taking a nap."
"You've been diverted," the slightly-annoyed controller replied verbally. "Alter course for Point Four immediately. That's an order, Captain."
"But…" I typed. "That's another four weeks to Imperious! With a red-rated cargo!"
"Just be glad you weren't further along," he answered. "Then it'd take you even longer. Alter course immediately, Captain. Control out."
"Out," I typed back. Then I looked at Nestor, and he looked at me. It was obvious now that there was something large and Royal coming our way. Under the circumstances, a force any smaller than the main line of battle didn't make any sense. So they'd listened to me and adopted my plan after all!
But was it too late?
50
The very first thing any military officer worth his salt does when confronted with a sudden change in his local situation is to guarantee the security of his flanks and rear areas. I achieved this first by digging into the bridge's wiring and exercising my long-dormant engineering skills, then calling an unofficial meeting on the bridge. A meeting to which Lieutenant Jeffries wasn't invited, of course. The upshot of it all was that our beloved host found himself suddenly awakened out of a sound sleep with my Sword at his throat. "Remember how I was wondering back when I first came on board if maybe you killed the former owner of this ship in his sleep?" I asked sweetly.
"I... Uh..." Jeffries sputtered, his eyes the size of softballs. "I mean—"
"You said I'd do the same under similar circumstances," I interrupted, not giving him the chance to get in a word edgewise. "And you
know what? The more I thought about it, the smarter it seemed. You're right, Lieutenant. I always knew we had certain things in common. But actually, we're more alike than I'd have ever imagined."
Impossibly, his eyes grew wider still. "I... David, I mean.... You're not—"
"Don't worry," I interrupted again as I pulled the blade away from his throat. "I won't actually kill you—that's where the differences kick in. You'll even get your pardon, and probably a goodly sum in gold as well. But a little something's come up, you see. And it so happens that I need this ship rather urgently. So, I'm commandeering it in the name of His Majesty."
Jeffries's eyes narrowed and he glanced at his lamp. "Well, then! How about if I just sit up and—"
Suddenly my weapon was at his throat again. "You've run tripwires and placed hidden switches all over this damned ship," I replied. "It took me almost three hours just to disconnect everything leading to this room; I'll never get around to sanitizing the whole works. Presumably you've hidden weapons as well," I pointed out the lamp to Nestor, who stood behind me with an improvised quarterstaff. He nodded, set his weapon down, and sure enough found a palm-blaster in the lamp's shade. "I can't trust you anywhere aboard," I explained. "So I've created new quarters for you in the hold. You'll be as comfortable as circumstances allow, and my Rabbits will see that you have everything you need. In the meantime..." I gestured again, and Heinrich stepped forward with a hank of rope. "I fear you'll have to be restrained. Please, think of it as a sort of protective custody. I'd hate to see you try something that might get you killed when you're about to be rich and a truly free man at long last.."
Jeffries's upper lip formed a snarl as feral as that of any coyote. "This is my ship!" he snapped. "There's a bomb that I must reset every—"
I reached down under the side of the lieutenant's bunk and lifted the device up where he could see it. "It was very clever of you, hiding it in the ship's solid waste system," I explained with another smile. "That was the second place I looked, actually. Once I realized it wasn't sitting nestled up against the control rods, which is where conventional-thinking people would've put it. Silly me; I should've saved myself the time and just straight-off looked where I'd have stashed the thing."
Jeffries's mouth opened one last time, then closed in resigned silence.
"Good," I replied, nodding. "You're not trying to claim a second bomb after all. Which is just as well, because I'm satisfied there isn't one. One daily reset is enough of a pain in the butt, eh? And what does two accomplish that one doesn't?" I shook my head and gestured Heinrich and his rope over. "Don't fight him, Lieutenant. Because if you do, I'll have to hurt you. And that might prove to be so pleasant that I'd find it difficult to stop."
Jeffries didn't say anything; instead he just sort of slumped back and relaxed to the inevitable. He didn't even protest when we deposited him into a nicely ventilated cargo container, onto which I'd added a pass-through lock for meals and such. "It should only be a few days," I predicted. "Then it'll be safe to let you out again. Or we'll all be dead, in which case it doesn't matter."
"But.... We're still weeks from anywhere!" he sputtered. "What... I mean."
I could've answered him, but decided it'd be safer if I didn't. So instead of speaking I flipped down my steel mask, fired up my torch and laid down four nice, straight welds that would certainly be proof against mere muscle and tendons. "There," I said when I was finished. "That ought to do the trick."
"Yes, sir!" Heinrich agreed. "I'd certainly say so."
Then Nestor came in with little tumblers full of something. "Try one," he encouraged us all.
"Yech!" I declared, spitting the vile stuff all over the deck. So did all my fellow Rabbits, though Heinrich grinned wide and strong.
"Rum, by god!" he declared. "Good stuff, too!"
I turned and looked at Nestor. "What's this all about?"
His ears drooped. "Sorry, sir. But I thought a rum-drunk was sort of traditional after deposing a pirate captain and clapping him in irons. We're supposed to sing morbid sea chanties too, I think—the darker the better." He blinked. "You're not going to make me walk the plank over this, are you?"
51
And just that easily, the universe was a sunny place again. Not literally, of course—we were headed almost directly out into the Big Dark, our course practically a straight line away from all the local brightness and warmth. Still, Nestor and I were smiling and having a good time with each other again. It'd been ages since we'd laughed and carried on so—for what seemed like a lifetime now I'd begun to wonder if we'd outgrown all forms of fun and games so that the future would be a somber and sober place forevermore. But all it took was the right chemistry and we were our old selves again. For Nestor, I suspected, the largest factor was having helped arrest his former master in such an undignified manner. By the time I'd arrived aboard Beechwood Nestor had long since been taken over entirely by the captain for his own dark purposes, but presumably there'd been a time prior to that when my small friend had been bullied and mistreated by Jeffries as well. Certainly the lieutenant was a terrible tyrant to the rest of the Rabbits—every single one of my furry charges had feared and loathed him. So there was certainly no reason to doubt that Nestor had a score to settle with him that if anything probably far exceeded my own. It was even possible that Jeffries had also forced Nestor to... Well, there wasn't any profit that I could see in going down that road. I had no proof beyond a strong gut feeling that the scenario fit the known personalities, facts and opportunities, and that was hardly enough to condemn even a man like Jeffries of an unspeakable crime that he just maybe hadn't actually committed. Nestor was the only surviving potential witness, and until he spoke up of his own free will I wasn't about to pry, especially with him suddenly so buoyant and joyful.
For my own part, I had plenty of reasons for feeling better myself. The first and most important was of course that the carnage I'd brought about on Wilkes Prime might yet turn out to be for good purpose after all. I still didn't know what was coming through Point Three; it could merely be Javelin reappearing for some unknown reason, for example, or a fast-moving Royal cruiser squadron sent out by some bonehead to verify my "outlandish" claims that the Imperial main battle line was about to move its primary base. But at least I felt hope in my heart now, instead the weight of ten thousand miserable and pointless graves. I hated getting men killed under any circumstances, but so long as it was for the greater good I could at least live with myself afterwards. And that's what I was again, alive and whole after far, far too long!
It didn't hurt any that I had a ship to command once again, and more than enough engineering work to keep me busy every minute of the few hours we had left before something Royal would be appearing in our space. We'd had plenty of room for luggage, so Heinrich brought along a Royal Navy beacon in order to avoid needless accidents. Since it now appeared we might need it a lot sooner than expected, I wired it into our ship's systems right away, so that when the proper moment arrived we'd be able to let the whole world know unmistakably who we were. I whistled as I worked, it was so pleasant to have something to do besides be in charge and worry for once, and even took the time to set up our running lights so that with the flip of a switch we could identify ourselves that way as well. Between me with my soldering iron and Nestor with his endless serving trays full of delicious food soon everyone was in good cheer, excepting of course poor Jeffries trapped down in his private cell.
"So, David," Heinrich asked me on one of my visits to the bridge to check out some new circuits. He was monitoring the Imperial fleet as it gathered like angry bees into a single massive swarm. It was amazing how much he was learning that way—the battleship Equalitie, for example, was late into the formation and even now still had dozens of ship's boats and ferries lined up at her locks. Something was clearly amiss with her, though we couldn't be sure what. And her sister Fraternitie still hadn't even left parking orbit to join the Line. Soon she'd miss her chance entirely. "What's
the plan?"
I smiled and unplugged my soldering tool. "There isn't any," I replied. "Unless you have a suggestion? There's still too many unknowns."
"Aye," Heinrich agreed reluctantly. "I decided the same, but was hoping that twisted mind of yours might've done better." Then he sighed. "Until we know exactly what's coming through, it's better to just play along and keep our options open."
"Right," I agreed. Then I yawned. "Tell you what, Heinrich. Once we do know, difficult choices will have to be made in a hurry. We'll need to be at our best to make them. I reckon that we probably have three, maybe four hours left before anything important happens. How about you grab yourself some rack time first, then I'll catch up later?"
52
I slept a good bit longer than expected before Nestor woke me up by gently shaking my right foot. "Sir," he whispered. "Two Royal destroyers just came through the Point. Both were lost immediately to torpedo attack."
"Erf," I muttered, sitting up and grooming my whiskers back into shape. Then I looked at the clock. "Whoever's in command on our side is taking his lovely time, isn't he?"
"Sir?" Nestor asked.
"He's hesitating already," I explained. "Taking half-measures. First, he's dithered for at least two hours on the other side of the Point—for what purpose I can't possibly imagine." I met my friend's eye. "That's why you let me have the extra sleep; because nothing happened."
"Commander von Schtolen told me it was okay," he answered, looking away.
I nodded. "Don't worry; it was the right thing to do. But… To get back to my point, even the slowest battleships should've been here by now." I shook my head again. "And, why did the admiral throw away those destroyers with so many good men aboard them? He wouldn't be here in the first place unless he suspected the presence of the Imperial line of battle—otherwise from the Royal point of view a cruise out this way makes no sense. Yet if the enemy is indeed present in strength, what's the point of sacrificing ships like that? It's standard doctrine to send a destroyer or two ahead if you're not sure what's lurking on the other end of the Jump, but… When you have reason to suspect that the entire enemy line of battle is awaiting you, then why bother? The right answer in that case is to come barreling through full-bore just as quickly as possible, with minimal space between the ships. Yes, you take hits that way. Maybe even painful losses. But when it's over at least you're through to the other side where you need to be! Not sitting there sucking your thumb and still not knowing anything!"