by Scott Rhine
Reuben winced. “I can see where this is going already. Age seventeen, when the next Saurian ship visited, he wanted revenge.”
“Worse. Menelaus is a specialist.” A small portion of the Bat population were wired at the age of puberty to absorb everything about a necessary topic: medicine, law, self-defense. These talents became the top 10 percent of experts in whatever area they felt compelled to study. “He learned everything he could about Saurian ships, language, anatomy, and culture.”
“Oh, crap. Niisham isn’t self-sufficient yet. If he killed one of the Blue Claws, they’d never see another food shipment. Thousands would starve.”
“The prison colony’s mayor tried reason, but the kid is seventeen. He wouldn’t listen. He disobeyed the ruling council and snuck aboard the Saurian shuttle in a cargo crate. They caught him within minutes of boarding the ship based on his heat signature. The Saurians actually admired him for the effort and his ancient Spartan namesake. Instead of spacing him, they handed him over to the Bat sheriff in child restraints.”
“Which only pissed Menelaus off more.”
“Yeah. His people are hoping the kid can help us in our struggle against the clan and work out his issues without breaking the Union charter.”
Reuben pulled on his shock glove. “That explains why Kesh isn’t helping you. Why not pick Herb? With luck, a famous detective might be able to rechannel those impulses into fighting organized-crime activities.”
“I thought he might respond better to someone closer to his own age.” Max slid on his medical smart goggles. “Ready?”
After Reuben nodded, Max turned off the power and announced in Banker, “Hello. You’re safely in Human space now. I’m Max, the doctor. Are you dizzy?”
Menelaus blinked. His fur was a beautiful, tawny gold. “No. This other creature is the guard?” His Banker was halting and accented, but appropriate for a high-school level of education.
Max placed a scanning device on the Bat’s forehead and read the results with special goggles. “Absolutely not. Reuben doesn’t like authority. He’s a Goat. More specifically, he’s a Black Ram. Their job is to challenge the status quo. He’s a hacker and general jack of all trades. He’ll be your mentor and assign you shipboard duties.”
The newcomer grunted. “Where are his horns?”
“A common misconception,” Reuben said. “Our people had radio antennae on our earphones, and primitive Humans mistook them—”
“Why should I obey him?” interrupted Menelaus, already bored by the lecture.
“Other than repaying us for your rescue and the resources you consume?” Max asked rhetorically. “The Blue Claws are currently smuggling mimics off a restricted planet in order to hunt them for meals. We’re on a mission to prove these creatures are protosentient, which will mean what to their clan?”
A human teenager would have replied sarcastically, but as a specialist, Menelaus considered the implications seriously. “They will have to return every mimic in their possession, no matter how far, and give up planets in a safety zone. The cost to their clan will be obscene. They may show their hand and rebel, requiring armed suppression. Yes. I would even lower myself to supervision by a Goat for this worthy cause.”
Reuben raised his eyebrows at the insult but said nothing. Sparring would definitely need to be part of this kid’s orientation.
“You don’t appear to have any side effects from your time in suspended animation.” Max attached a photo ID badge to the Bat’s homespun vest. “If you have any weakness or sensory distortion, don’t hesitate to contact me. Tap the red button on back.”
“I’ll take you to your room on the cargo deck,” Reuben offered, opening the lift door with his own badge by way of demonstration. “Do you have a bag?”
“No. Just the clothes on my back.”
“We’ll fabricate some other gear for you,” Reuben said. “You can pay for whatever you want with the credits you earn working the cargo bay with me.”
“Cargo?”
“Yep. No such thing as a free ride.”
They stepped into the elevator together. After a short ride, Reuben led the way into the crew quarters. The teenager followed. “Everything here is so clean.” When they passed the jungle biozone, he just stared through the window. “This is a ship? In space?”
“Yep. The Magi travel in style.” Reuben opened the door to Grady’s stateroom. The old space hand had already cleaned out his gear. He was probably waiting at the airlock, counting the minutes. The bed was made tight as a drum and all the spare blankets and towels were folded neatly in the open closet.
“Nothing could surprise me now.”
Reuben smiled. “I wouldn’t bet on that. Before we get to work, try on these boots and the jumpsuit.”
“I have clean clothes.”
“The boots are magnetic and keep you attached to the hull. The belt on the flight suit is reinforced for your safety line. If we lose air or gravity while you’re mid-step, you won’t fly out into vacuum.”
That convinced the young Bat to change. As he did so, Reuben described the other crewmembers. He saved Kesh for last. “Just so you don’t panic, we do have a Saurian on the crew.”
“How could Humans ever ally themselves with a race that hunts mammals?”
“Good public relations with the name selection. Everyone likes dinosaurs. Kesh isn’t a Blue Claw. In fact, they tortured and are hunting him. You two may have more in common than you think.”
Again, the Bat grunted. “He can help me practice my hand-to-hand combat.”
“We work eight-hour shifts, rotating until the job is done. I’ll demonstrate each task before you do it. There’s no shame in questions. I just don’t want to lose another forklift.”
“Forklift?”
Reuben switched to his Bat translator and described the cargo-moving vehicle. Menelaus had never operated heavy equipment before, unless he counted a fishing-net winch on a trawler. He gave a translator earbud to the new guy and checked the boot latches. “Good enough. Follow me.” Reuben navigated toward the shuttle-bay airlock.
In the cargo bay on the way, Reuben bumped into Herb, who introduced himself. The retiree said, “We dock in twenty minutes. Alyssa is too embarrassed after last station. She sent me to move the radioactives while she bargains for some moa eggs. Hopefully, they’ll be a delicacy in Overlook. We can trade them for power gems.”
Reuben shook his head. “Overlook is too far above the ecliptic. I heard Roz say we’re going to Azure next.” The Blue Giant Fuel stop was halfway between Venice and Anodyne, founded when Earth had been quarantined for several decades. The route was a shortcut from Anodyne to any spinward world, saving four hops.
The flood of new words overwhelmed Menelaus, and he listened to the delayed Bat version as they walked.
Herb grunted. “So much for making a profit on this leg.”
“Have you been hanging out with Bankers so much you’re starting to think like one?”
The amiable look on Herb’s face vanished. “You have no idea how evil they are. Never lump me in with them.”
The low gravity in the outer ring threw Menelaus for a loop. Reuben had to show the new guy how to bounce without hurting himself. Then he replied, “My relatives don’t get along with Bankers, but the little guys can’t be all bad.”
Roz’s stepfather lowered his voice and spoke in English, which the earbud wouldn’t translate. “I don’t think the gnomes are the Bankers. I think they’re a servitor race. The real Bankers never leave the Fortress of Nivaar, the center of their web. They send out ansibles, and ships arrive back with stolen riches.”
Raising a hand as they entered the shuttle bay, Reuben prevented the sharing of more secrets in mixed company.
A yellow light near the airlock rotated, warning of the docking maneuver underway. They stood in uncomfortable silence for several minutes until Menelaus asked Reuben, “Why are you so loyal to the doctor?”
Herb replied for him. “Max mentore
d him in Turtle Special Forces. You don’t see many Goats there.”
In fair exchange for all he knew about Herb and Menelaus, Reuben decided to share. “Goats only resort to violence to protect the herd from predators. The Black Ram is their protector from more abstract things they’re not equipped to understand: global warming and what not.”
“Then why the loyalty?” repeated the Bat.
“As nulls, the Ellisons have a unique perspective on prejudice. They accept me as an equal, something exceedingly rare in this galaxy.”
Herb said, “That’s a jaded attitude.”
“The university on Anodyne doesn’t have many Goat engineers, and none in the computer building. My senior year, I won second place in a programming competition. It was kind of a big deal, but I had nobody to brag to. The judges awarded me a cash prize and an internship at one of the big Lunar software companies.”
“Wow. What did you buy?” asked Menelaus.
“First, a suit.”
Menelaus twitched his ears in mild confusion. “To impress people on your new job?”
“No. To get laid! I was the only virgin in my class, and we were in Computer Science.” Reuben sat on a crate. “I celebrated at a Goat-run resort on the coast, which seemed my best chance to get lucky before graduation. I found one of the staff who seemed to like me, and I hung around waiting for her to get off work.”
“Stalker,” joked Herb.
“Takes one to know one. Turns out, she needed a man around. I saw three Human guests in their teens harassing the maid in question, rich trust-fund brats. They were playing keep-away with her towels and toilet paper. The unfairness angered me, so I ordered them to stop. I had dreams of a grateful ewe rewarding me.” Reuben paused. “Although I got in a few good kicks, they beat the crap out of me.”
“Three on one doesn’t seem fair,” said Menelaus.
“When security showed up, they all claimed I tried to rob them.”
Herb asked, “And the maid said nothing?”
“One more complaint and she would’ve been fired. She didn’t dare. Even if she had, their lawyer would argue incomplete moral development for the kids.” Reuben stared at the spinning light. “I graduated but missed my ceremony because I was stuck in a cell. I couldn’t attend grad school as a troublemaker with a prison record. The life I had fought so hard for was over. One night, MI-23 rescued me … at a price.” The military intelligence organization was dedicated to the preservation of the Black Ram legacy.
“Serve your country and all of it goes away,” Herb deduced. “Did you learn anything from the experience?”
“To fight with my hacking skill instead. The guys who beat me all donated generously to Mnamnabonian relief organizations.”
Menelaus thumped him on the back. “You will make a good comrade on my quest.”
Chapter 9 – Humble Pie
Reuben tried bonding with the new kid over music. As they worked, Reuben played him a sample. The loud chords of rock failed to impress Menelaus. In fact, he plugged his sensitive ears. “You’re going to stampede the moas. They dislike screaming.”
“This was our most popular song in the rebellious, young Bat package,” Reuben explained.
“As someone who’s never been oppressed by the Church of the Void, I have very little to rebel against. Do you have anything structured with no shouting?”
Mozart soothed everyone, but an hour later, people were yawning. Herb almost drove the forklift into the egg crates the others had stacked. To avoid accidents, Reuben randomized the selection over all the instrumental pieces gathered from a five-hundred-year span, skipping lullabies. Menelaus listened intently for the first four hours until the meal break.
For lunch, Alyssa boiled a side of grubs, a dish popular with previous Bat crewmembers. Reuben could eat them if he thought of them as mashed potatoes and applied liberal amounts of gravy. After a little prodding from Herb, Reuben thanked the cook for her multi-cultural efforts.
Instead of trying the meal, Menelaus wrinkled his nose in disgust and ate peanut butter off a spoon. “I like the marching-band music. Can you play more Sousa?”
Offended by his rudeness, Herb said, “I’d prefer silence because it’s safer. You can find entertainment on your own time.”
While the group sipped herbal tea guaranteed to relieve muscle aches, Kesh trundled into the dining room wearing crisp dress blues.
Menelaus gaped. “You have served in the military?”
“Of course he has,” explained Reuben. “His father was the great General Keshmandar. All ten thousand of his children served.”
“The author of Wrestling Strategies for Modern Warfare?” Menelaus asked with awe.
Herb said, “Kesh is the last survivor of the general’s clutches, the best of the best. He’s a genius at finance.”
Kesh preened, straightening his vest.
Menelaus bowed. “Sir, I would be honored to do battle with you.”
The Saurian captain ignored the young Bat’s request. “Reuben, how far are you on the ore transfer?”
“The eggs are all loaded. Sixteen out of the sixty crates have been delivered. I figured we’d need them all. The crates are about two-hundred-fifty thousand credits each. We need almost half a tank.”
Kesh shook his head. “Hold back eight crates, plus the artwork. The further we get from the source, the higher the price goes.”
“Roger.” Reuben saluted as the captain left for the elevator.
“Why didn’t he acknowledge my challenge?” asked Menelaus.
Herb smirked, hazing the new guy. “Oh, you can’t skip straight to the top. You have to start at Reuben.”
“Absolutely not. Facing a mere Goat would throw off my training.”
Alyssa supported her husband’s gambit. “At war with the Blue Claws, we could be boarded by other ships at any time. Not all the opponents will be Saurians, and we want to be able to disable others without killing.”
“I suppose.”
Herb said, “Then you can work your way up—me, Max, and then Kesh.”
Menelaus nodded. “Of course. When can I get the Goat out of the way?”
Someone needs a lesson in humility. Goats could work just about every other species into the ground. The newcomer would likely be sore and exhausted after using muscles in unaccustomed ways for so long. Reuben replied, “Tonight, after our shift ends. We work until the receiving bay closes.”
“That’ll give you both an hour to exercise before dinner. We’ll still finish by lunch tomorrow,” Herb said. “I’ll show Menelaus how to offload the shrimp tanks.”
“Since I’m the one challenged, I pick staves as the weapon. He can choose the location.”
“The birch forest will suit me,” said Menelaus confidently, “but I’ve never fought with sticks before. They don’t seem manly.”
Reuben remembered being pummeled black-and-blue for months before he could compete with Max. This was going to be a memorable lesson for the cocky Bat. “I’ll show you the basics before we spar. I’m sure Roz can fabricate a couple practice sticks.”
“Why practice?” Menelaus asked.
“So the staff will break before your bones,” Herb said, with an implied “idiot” at the end.
Menelaus grunted. “Only until I am ready for the real combat.”
****
As predicted, by the end of the cargo shuffling, Menelaus shambled back to the dining hall, hunched over. “I may skip the marginal meal and go directly to bed.”
Reuben chuckled. “You challenged me to a duel.”
The Bat groaned. Together, the three workers went out to the gazebo in the serene birch forest. Without the usual walls of crates, they could see into both adjoining cargo areas.
“I’ve never seen the place this empty,” remarked Herb. Half the ship was visible from the raised, round platform by the koi pond. The statement echoed slightly in the artificial cavern.
Reuben picked up one of the new bo sticks and flexed it a littl
e. The gray staff was lighter and less sturdy than the wooden one he had smashed. “We’ll put up the partitions during the long trip to the nexus in order to keep the compartments segmented. Roz says lower mass burns less fuel and gives us better maneuverability.” He tossed the staff to Menelaus. Reuben used his toe to flip the second staff into the air and caught it with a flourish. “Hit me.”
The Bat closed rapidly, but his swing was clumsy.
Reuben avoided the blow and tripped the newbie off the platform.
“Point,” said Herb.
Menelaus grumbled as he dusted grass off his knees. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Herb explained, “He could have hit you while you were down. You were also out of bounds. Points indicate how many times he could have harmed you but didn’t.”
“Like coup?”
“We don’t want to put you in the hospital and have to do all the work ourselves,” Herb said. “Three points wins a match.”
“Mortal combat is not a game.” Menelaus resumed his starting position in the circle.
Reuben bowed. “According to Keshmandar, games sharpen the claws and wits.” He struck first, disarming his opponent. When the weary Menelaus bent over to reclaim his staff, Reuben shoved him into the pond.
“Point.”
Angry and dripping, Menelaus emerged. “Forget the staff. I will break you with my bare hands.” He charged with dazzling speed.
Reuben clashed foreheads with him at the last moment, using the Bat’s velocity against him. Menelaus collapsed, holding his skull. “Goats are notoriously hardheaded. That’s three.”
Herb handed the loser a towel and an ice pack. “Maybe tomorrow you’ll listen to some pointers and do exercises first.”
“Perhaps. Can we fight bare-handed?”
“No,” Reuben replied. “We picked the staff because you’re weaker than most Saurian warriors and need the leverage as a multiplier.”