“Any idea how far away they are?” asked the Tatar.
“Not within twenty feet, I believe with confidence. Ready?”
Noomi nodded, and Indri sent the required code from his comm badge.
The door slid open, and the Delphite priest sensed no alarm from the intruders – they had not heard anything.
Indri Mindsinger saw Noomi’s nose twitch as she picked up the scent of the pirates. While his hearing was on par with hers – or perhaps slightly better – her sense of smell was much keener. While Indri’s cetacean ancestors possessed an acute sense of taste, this had atrophied since they’d moved onto land millions of years earlier, and the modern Delph’s olfactory ability was no greater than that of a human.
Just inside the door lay the three cold fusion power plants that powered the Vishnu. Their positions practically created hallways around them. Tucking her pistols into her atmosphere suit, Noomi Bloodgood scrambled up the side of one of the power plants, from the top of which she could get a good look at the rest of the engine room.
Indri Mindsinger ignored the three doors on either side of the portal to Broadway; these were machine and electronics shops, and near enough that he sensed that they were empty, as well as being intact; their doors were undamaged. He proceeded toward the bow where the plasma thrusters lay, between the two power plants that his Tatar companion did not occupy. She was now perched on the starboard machine, which gave her a good view of that half of the engine room, including the monitoring station – where she spotted two of the pirates. One was near, the other farther back in the irregularly-shaped chamber, by the starboard thruster casings.
A low, involuntary growl escaped Noomi’s throat. The Bringle, one of the Tatar parent races, were as much predators as mankind was. Though they did not hunt to extinction as humans did, they did not turn their backs on their heritage, and their society functioned much like their pack predator forebears had. They lived together in small groups but hunted solo, unless the target was too large for a single Bringle. Then they cooperated for the common good. Noomi Bloodgood was equal parts human and Bringle. Both sides of her wanted to attack.
She withdrew her breastbone dagger from its sheath and waited. When the farther pirate disappeared from view around one of the machines, she leapt from the power plant, pouncing on the one near the monitor station. Her dagger slid into him before he knew what was happening. He went down without a fight, though the sound of his corpse hitting the hard floor of the engine room drew the attention of his compatriot.
But by the time the pirate came to check on his fallen comrade, Noomi was up on the control console, hidden from view. She struck as soon as her hearing told her that he was within range. Facing her, he put up more of a fight than the Tatar’s first victim had.
She swung the dagger down at his heart. He wore a metallic breastplate that turned her blade aside with a shriek. Before he could defend himself, she brought the dagger back around, swiping it across his exposed throat. He gurgled quietly as she released him, letting him fall to the floor where he died.
That left two. Noomi wondered what Indri was doing – she had not heard Zam gunfire, or any other type.
Indri Mindsinger ignored the staircases on either side of the main elevators. These only led one deck up, to maintenance access areas, and he sensed no one on the steps as he neared them. His quarry lay elsewhere.
Came a clank.
One of the pirates had knocked some metal part to the floor, either accidentally or while rummaging around. It didn’t matter to the Delph – the noise had told him what he needed to know. He crept toward the location of the sound, his H.E.L. gun ready. This was a high-energy light-based weapon from Earth’s twenty-third century, and quite effective, despite being considerably less powerful than the lethal beamers of the modern era. One shot from it would disable whatever body part it struck; hitting a vital spot, such as an unprotected face, would almost certainly be fatal.
Indri Mindsinger was no stranger to guns. It was not merely his vocal protestations about the Delph Consortium’s absorption by the Imperium that had put him on the list of convicts to be sent to Purgatory, but his violent actions in support of his belief that his people should withdraw from the fascist Imperium. For years he had preached secession, but his calls to action had fallen on deaf ears, for it was too easy for his fellow Delph, with their herd mentality, to just go along and not challenge the status quo. They were an important part of the Imperium economy and thus were not mistreated. They had no motive to revolt as Indri desired. Thus, he had turned to violence, and had been labeled a terrorist, and, in the eyes of the Delph, an outcast and a traitor. Thus, Indri Mindsinger, once a priest, knew how to handle guns and other objects of violence.
He was fairly skilled with Zam guns, though his reflexes were nowhere near as swift or accurate as Noomi Bloodgood’s. Still, he was quite confident and had no reason to believe he would not be victorious striking with surprise – the back of one of the Red Shift gang was to him.
He took aim and fired the H.E.L. gun, which made very little sound. It struck the pirate full on, causing him to stagger as if drunk. Another incandescent beam dropped him.
Moving forward, the Delphite priest disarmed his opponent, taking his beamer carbine; he had used one of these before, and knew its power. It would come in quite handy if they ever encountered similar circumstances in the future, which seemed inevitable, considering that the crew of the Vishnu were escaped convicts on the run.
Indri suddenly heard movement behind him. He whirled, ready to fire but holding back in case it was Noomi Bloodgood. An unfamiliar voice disabused him of this hope before he had a chance to see for himself, for it said, “Drop the guns or I’ll beam you.”
The Delph did as instructed, moving slowly. He then turned to find the pirate at the foot of the stairs – he had been on the upper deck.
“Now,” said the pirate, who was tall and seemed little more than pale skin stretched over long, thin bones, “what are we gonna do with you?”
The answer to that question was closer than the Red Shift cutthroat knew, for Noomi Bloodgood was watching the scene play out before her. Palming one of her Zam guns, she waited for an opportunity to use it. It sent a jolt through the nervous system, and she did not want an uncontrolled twitch to cause the pirate to fire his beamer, shooting Indri.
When her chance came – the intruder waved the end of his carbine carelessly to direct the Delph – she aimed and fired. The Tatar had worried for nothing: He dropped without firing his weapon.
Stepping out from behind the port power plant, Noomi laughed, “You’re safe now.”
“My thanks,” Indri said sincerely.
“How’d you let him get the drop on you?”
“He was behind me.”
“And you didn’t sense him? I thought your psi power would alert you to that sort of thing. It doesn’t seem very useful if it doesn’t,” remarked the Tatar.
“My full attention was focused on that fellow,” Indri replied gesturing to the other pirate, who was still unconscious. “Now help me get these two into a room we can lock them in.”
“We won’t need to lock mine up,” Noomi explained to her colleague as she moved to assist him.
After depositing the two pirates into one of the side corridors – Indri Mindsinger pointed out that giving the men access to either the machine shops or the electronic shop might allow them to escape – the pair went to the bow elevators. Redbeard had been with Tully aft, so the front of the Vishnu might be clear of pirates. It was more probable that those who meant to do them harm would be waiting at the aft elevators than the bow pair.
As they walked, Indri activated his comm badge. “Wormwood, Noomi and I have subdued four on deck 6. We are proceeding to deck 7.”
“Very good,” came the plant man’s thin, reedy voice.
As Indri and Noomi took an elevator downward, they heard Rastheln’iq’s voice over the intercom. He was addressing the pirate leader. “Y
our four men on deck 6 have been captured, Redbeard. You are trapped. Surrender or suffer the consequences.”
No response was forthcoming. As the elevator stopped, and Indri stepped out – his psychomancy sense had told him none were in the elevator foyer – he wondered what that meant. “No one behind us, either.” There was just a short corridor to an airlock at the bow.
“That only leaves one place they could be,” said Noomi.
Noomi and Indri followed the trail. This led to the starboard rooms, which included men-at-arms’ quarters and the brig, where Tully had been placed, and Redbeard had been there, too. The quarters had been ransacked by the crew of the Vishnu, their contents traded at Commerce. They were now virtually empty.
“Odd,” murmured the Delphite priest. “I don’t sense anyone but Tully.”
“Maybe they figured out a way to open the doors and took an elevator up?”
“Perhaps,” Indri mouthed. Then, “Wormwood.”
“Yes,” came Rastheln’iq’ voice.
“Have the aft elevators moved since we used them?”
“No, why?”
“I’m not sure Redbeard and his gang are still here on deck 6.”
Indri and Noomi continued. When they opened the door to the brig, the vacuum of space sucked at them!
The Tatar – her magnetic boots off as she moved through the ship – threw herself across the opening, preventing both her and the Delph from being pulled into the next chamber, and thence out into space. Braced against Noomi, Indri got the door shut again.
“They must have breached the hull,” said Noomi.
“There is an airlock in there,” agreed Indri Mindsinger.
“Rattlesnake,” the Tatar girl said into her comm badge.
“Yes?”
“We think Redbeard and his gang went out the airlock – ”
The Viridian scientist cut her off: “Pal, command 21.”
“Yes, sir!” replied Pal.
Noomi and Indri felt the Vishnu lurch as it jumped from real space through the otherworldly realm of faster-than-light travel. Only an instant passed before they returned to normal space, although a week had elapsed for the rest of the universe.
“What was that all about?” Noomi demanded as the Delphite priest pulled on his helmet.
“I am going to get Tully,” he said quietly as he opened the door again.
The Tatar quickly pulled her own helmet on, listening as Rastheln’iq explained his action: “If I were Redbeard and I escaped out into space, I would be heading back to my ship, from which I would destroy the Vishnu. As you know, we are almost defenseless. Our shields are not up to the task of protecting the ship from anything other than normal space debris, and I have not had time to fully examine the ancient missiles on board for effectiveness. I did not think now was the time to find out.”
“You did it again, Rattlesnake,” Noomi laughed, poking her head into the aft elevator foyer. The airlock had indeed been breached, both of its doors blasted open by a heavy beamer. These weapons were made for that sort of work, and it would be quite useful for a pirate.
Moving into the foyer and shutting the door behind her, the Tatar saw the storage locker where atmosphere suits were kept – near each airlock and assorted other places throughout the ship – was open, and several were missing. Redbeard and his men had indeed escaped as she’d guessed. Even if they were not returning to their own ship, as the Vir suggested, they would have been left a parsec away, posing no further threat to the Vishnu and its crew.
Presently, Indri and Tully – now wearing an atmosphere suit – came out of the brig. The Earthman had been beaten, but suffered from no permanent injuries, apparently. He moved slowly but was not limping.
“You don’t look much worse for the wear, skivver,” Noomi grinned at Tully.
“Har-de-har-har,” the human muttered as the trio stepped into the after elevator and took it up to meet Lannisport on the bridge.
As the Vishnu pulled into orbit above Commerce, Indri Mindsinger gave Lannisport the remainder of the money they’d promised him. The old man eyed it for a moment, and then said, “You owe me quite a bit more’n that, sonny.”
Puzzled, the Delph asked, “What do you mean?”
“I get a share of the reward for the pirates.”
“Of course,” Indri said knowingly. Everyone had overlooked that particular aspect of their adventure. Everyone but Lannisport. “We can’t pay you until we get paid.”
“You’ve been straight shooters thus far,” said the old space dog. “That was some mighty fine maneuverin’ you did back there. You fought like real pros.
“All that’s left to do is turn over your security vid to the local law office and collect the reward.”
“What do you mean?” asked Noomi.
“Those fellas may not be on file as pirates,” explained Lannisport. “The vid of them forcing their way onto your ship and taking it over will be sufficient evidence of piracy. Open and shut.”
“That makes sense,” said Tully.
Rastheln’iq spent the next few days installing the Overdrive 2 software after replacing the components he’d described. By the time this was complete, they had collected the reward, eight thousand stellars, as easy as Lannisport had predicted, and gotten their Overdrive 2 installed. Pal announced the work done by the mechanic to be satisfactory. Then they paid off Lannisport, who departed, and the Viridian scientist was able to make final adjustments to get the drive working. A jump proved that everything was working fine. The ride was as smooth any could hope for. It called for a celebration.
The quartet and Pal gathered in the mess hall, which was on deck 4, and was now quite a spacious dining room when seating four. The three escaped convicts were discussing what to do next.
“The Borderlands is an excellent place to hide,” Rastheln’iq stated.
“True,” agreed Indri Mindsinger, “but I am anxious to resume my campaign to free my people from the yoke of the Imperium.”
“Anxious to go to Purgatory, are you?” Noomi Bloodgood asked unkindly. “We’d be recognized at practically every spaceport in the Imperium. Here, we have some anonymity. I vote we stay for awhile.”
After a moment of reconsideration, the Delphite priest admitted, “Yes, you are right. I need time to plan and stock supplies and make contacts. You’ve convinced me that we should roam the Borderlands for a time.”
Presently, Tully appeared with four glasses filled with a bluish liquid.
Noomi’s nose scrunched up its odor. “What is this?”
“Something I made,” explained the human. “I bought parts for a still on Commerce. Try it.”
Sniffing it, Indri determined that it was alcohol, and declined, but the others partook. “What is a still?”
“It’s a machine that makes alcohol,” explained the Earthman. “I used to have one until my last captain confiscated it. Never had the chance to build one here on the Vishnu. Now it feels like home.”
“Can’t you just buy it like everyone else?” inquired Noomi.
Tully shook his head. “You guys may be really advanced in some ways but you screwed up making liquor. I’ll take this stuff any day over that swill they serve on Commerce.”
“I liked it,” the Tatar said.
While Tully gulped his down, Noomi sipped at it, coughing once. Beside her, Rastheln’iq buzzed slightly. She felt more than heard his slight vibration. She found this fascinating, not knowing a thing about plant physiology. She wondered if he was happy, or in pain. He gave no outward sign.
“Rattlesnake, you all right?” the Tatar demanded.
“Yes,” replied the Viridian scientist. His voice sounded odd. It had a hum to it, a reflection of his own vibrating perhaps. His chest had become a resonating chamber. “What is this?”
“Moonshine,” explained Tully.
“What does moonlight have to do with this?”
“Not moonlight – moonshine. Because traditionally it’s made in the dark.”
“Is that why it tastes this way?” Noomi asked in all seriousness. Humans had many strange customs, she knew.
“Well, I like it,” Tully said, quoting the Tatar girl. He gulped down another shot. “Mud in your eye!”
“Why should we have mud in our eyes?” asked Indri in an innocent tone.
“Aw, you guys are hopeless,” muttered Tully as he poured another round for everyone.
Jeff Deischer is best known for his chronologically-minded essays, particularly the book-length The Man of Bronze: a Definitive Chronology, about the pulp DOC SAVAGE series. It is a definitive chronology, rather than the definitive chronology, he explains, because each chronologist of the DOC SAVAGE series has his own rules for constructing his own chronology. Jeff believes his own chronology to be the definitive one – using his rules, which were set down by Philip Jose Farmer in his book, Doc Savage: His Apocalyptic Life.
Jeff was born in 1961, a few years too late, in his opinion. He missed out on the Beatles, the beginning of the Marvel Age of comic books and the early years of the Bantam reprints of the DOC SAVAGE series, the latter two of which he began reading when he was about ten years old (on the other hand, he was too young to go to Viet Nam ….).
Jeff had become enamored of Heroes – with a capital “H”, for these were not ordinary men – at a very young age. He grew up watching DANIEL BOONE (to whom he is distantly related, by marriage), TARZAN, BATMAN, THE LONE RANGER and ZORRO on television. There is a large “Z” carved into his mother’s sewing machine that can attest to this fact (as you might imagine, it did not impress her the way it always did the peasants and soldiers on ZORRO).
This genre of fiction made a lasting impression on his creative view, and everything he writes has Good Guys and Bad Guys – in capital letters. As an adult writer, he tries to make his characters human, as well.
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