Death of a Starship (10 page)

The nöosphere showed him the
requested zoning overlay for the Sixth Wharf. He toggled for
historical use. And there it was, the godown four buildings west of
The Newt Trap. It was built on top of an old dry dock.

Pearl
was sitting in a dry dock. A real one, the original kind, not
the metaphorical sense of the word as applied to a Level Three ship
maintenance facility. A dry dock, at that, which had just
flooded.

So...he powered up the
gravimetrics, an inversion of the artificial gravity systems that
managed inertia during space maneuvers and doubled as a taxi system
under g force. That gave him slight positive buoyancy. He then
applied one half of one percent thrust, portside reaction clusters,
parallel to gravity plane only. That would shift the hull toward
the breach in the foundation wall. Locks, he thought they might
called. There was a lot of debris floating in that water, judging
from the camera feed. The boardwalk street must have collapsed when
those locks opened.

He powered up.
Pearl
rocked. Something
groaned as whatever had secured her pulled loose. On the
viewscreen, water boiled and steamed in response to the thrusters.
He wasn’t doing the building any favors, but at least he wasn’t
blowing it sky-high.

Albrecht steered the reaction
clusters on dead minimum power, moving the boat toward open water
outside the locks. And this, of course, was how they’d gotten in
here, he realized. Landed it somewhere out in the swamps, beyond
approach control’s oversight, then steered or towed it through the
waterways and on into the dock. Which probably already had a
superstructure framed over it to hide
Jenny’s Little Pearl
. Do the whole
operation late on a Saturday night, close the locks, drain the dry
dock and bring in enough bracing and fill to hold up the floor
above, finish the building, secure and power down the ship – a
secret hiding place, physically safe, with its own built-in escape
mechanism.

Much simpler than shutting down
approach control, as he’d first theorized. Damned clever, in fact.
But then whoever had been maintaining this thing had been a little
too hard-nosed among the watermen, until the locals’ hatred had
finally trumped their natural secretiveness.

All his screens lit up. The boat
was now riding low in open water, out in sunlight. Albrecht opened
the viewport shields as well, but all that did was let in the
light.

From the hull cameras, he had
several odd-angled views of the docks. There was a hell of a ruckus
going on out there. A riot, really. He spotted Public Safety
troopers in ballistic armor, water sailors swinging tools and
hooks, and a whole lot of ordinary people fighting it out.
Pearl
’s sensors helpfully
highlighted several knots of people in chameleon suits. That would
be whoever had tried to break into his hull, he figured. A few
people were shooting at him, but there was nothing in that crowd
which would make a dent in an atmosphere-rated
hull.

But he couldn’t light up his drives
out here, either. He’d cook several dozen people minimum, and
possibly set fire to the docks. All of them. So Albrecht upped his
reaction cluster power a few points and steered for open water,
ignoring the shuddering as he ran down slow-moving
waterboats.

In a few minutes, he’d have enough
clearance to fire off his drives and lift out of this damned
gravity well. Assuming approach control didn’t call down an orbital
interdiction strike or something equally drastic. Once he was in
orbit, there would be new problems, but a one-horse planet like
Halfsummer wouldn’t have much in the way of gunboats with which to
run down miscreants like himself.

He hoped.

‡

Golliwog: Halfsummer Solar
Space

Dr. Yee found him a few hours after
the ship emerged from c-transition. Golliwog had been violently
sick upon returning to realspace, and too weak since to clean his
spew.

She looked around his cabin
briefly, then stared into his misery. “It doesn’t affect human
beings, you know.”

“
Not human,” Golliwog croaked.
“Bione.” His systems all checked normal. He was pretty sure a
medical scan would show his physiology within baseline tolerances.
That the inside of his mind could be this disrupted frightened
him.

“
Of course. It doesn’t affect
biones, either.” Dr. Yee’s expression softened slightly, for a
moment. “The universe is a dangerous place. Dangerous places
sometimes call for dangerous people. Which leads me to wonder how
suitable you really are, if you can lie there groaning.”

“
Ma’am.” Golliwog reached for his
straps.

“
You left me a note.”

“
I did?” He tried to remember
doing that.

“
I assume it was you. You appeared
to sign it.”

“
Appeared, ma’am?”

“
Do you remember anything about
the c-transition, Golliwog?”

“
Colors,” he blurted.

“
Colors?”

Golliwog found his feet, towering
two heads taller than the woman who held his life at her word.
“Colors, ma’am.”

“
No one remembers c-transit. Ever.
It’s widely known to be an instantaneous process, relative to one’s
personal timeline. But strangely enough, I believe you.”

He wiped the spew off the front of
his shipsuit. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said in a very quiet voice.
The world was much stranger than even he had imagined.

Yee waited until Golliwog was
finished cleaning himself before touching his elbow. “I want to
show you something.”

“
Ma’am.”

He followed her into the
passageway, which seemed oddly spacious for some reason Golliwog
couldn’t quite parse out. They walked forward a few meters, and
into her cabin. She waved him to her workstation.

Her dataslate’s screen was
furrowed, plowed like a muddy field, with a note. It read, “WOKE
DURING C-TRNST TRIED TO REACH YOU - G.”

“
I don’t know anyone on this ship
who would have thought to enter my cabin,” Yee said. “It’s widely
viewed to be a terminal experience. Perceptive crew, these sailors.
You, however, possess a combination of naïveté and familiarity
sufficient to take that risk.

“
I am further at
loss to explain how someone even with your powers and skills could
carve cultured diamond lattice. That would ordinarily require
industrial machine tools.” Golliwog realized Yee was nervous – he’d
never seen her rattle on quite like this. She continued: “And the
furrowing effect, as if the diamond had been liquid. This...” Yee
tapped the slate, “is why I believe you.” She leaned in close, her
breath hot against the bottom of his chin. “
How
, Golliwog?
How
?”

“
I...I don’t know, ma’am. I don’t
remember.”

“
It’s important. Very important. I
suggest you consider remembering. When we are done with our
business here in Halfsummer, we shall investigate this most
thoroughly.”

Golliwog shrank inside.
“Investigate” to Dr. Yee meant going back inside the world of labs
and clinics and operating rooms. Possibly for the rest of his life.
Which might not be long at all.

The unfamiliar seed of protest
lodged in his heart. Golliwog was smart enough to say
nothing.

“
As to our business here on
Halfsummer, I expect to be updated shortly on local conditions. You
should spend some time in the ship’s gym, as we may soon be
transferring to a fast boat.”

“
Yes ma’am.” Golliwog saluted and
left. A workout would give him time to think and burn away some of
this newfound fear and anger.

‡

Later, Golliwog watched a virteo in
the ship’s tiny closet of a training room. It was a roughcut of
various security feeds and system control records, documenting the
whys and hows of starship disappearances – hijackings and insurance
scams for the most part.

He knew his combat ship types, but
civilian vessels were a blur to Golliwog. All the talk of switching
keel numbers, hacking transponders and IFF codes was logical
enough, but it wasn’t sinking in very well.

People do
wrong
, Golliwog thought. That idea had
never made sense to him back on Powell station. There were
attackers and defenders, people to be supported and people to be
eliminated. That one might deliberately violate a regulation had
always seemed something between stupid and suicidal, especially on
a ship or station.

But he thought he was beginning to
understand wrong. Breaking ranks. Running away. Ignoring
orders.

He was afraid of what would be done
to him, because he’d damaged Dr. Yee’s slate.

Maybe those people who stole
starships were afraid, too. Was fear the basis of
wrongdoing?

Golliwog was fairly certain that
someone somewhere understood this question, but it wasn’t him. Then
the virteo caught his attention again, with an image of ragged men
in ragged shipsuits being slammed against a bulkhead by a squad of
Marines in combat armor. Some of the slammings looked fatal to
Golliwog’s practiced eye. Not that he needed the power assist of
combat armor to do that to someone.

“
...Black Flag, routed from a
hideout in the belt of the Feodora system,” said the narrator.
“These criminals proclaim a political agenda, but financial gain is
very clearly their highest priority. In the past five baseline
years, the Black Flag has executed over two thousand
innocent...”

His attention drifted again. Hiding
in a belt. What could a Golliwog do on his own in an asteroid belt?
Not much. But those men had stolen ships, protected
themselves.

No matter
, he told himself. It was an impossible thought. Dr. Yee was
his controller, and thus she would remain.

But what could someone who walked
during c-transition do to a ship?

He folded that thought away along
with his fear, and watched a discussion of dark beacons and
c-transition navigational diversions on the virteo.

‡

Menard: Halfsummer Solar
Space

CPO Kewitt woke the Chor Episcopos
from his doze in the ward room.

“
Sir,” said the old man without a
trace of irony. “You’ve a priority message in the comm queue, sir.
From His Grace. The Bishop of Halfsummer, sir.”

Menard’s eyes ached with sleep and
the pressure of blood where his face had been pressed against his
dataslate. “Fine,” he said, stifling a yawn. His breath smelled
like stale coffee. Only one cure for that – more coffee. “I’ll look
at it immediately.”

“
Can I get you some coffee, sir?”
Kewitt asked.

“
That’s alright, Chief. I’ll fetch
it myself.” Menard stood, wobbled slightly, then made it to the
little coffeemaker. It was still percolating. Percolating again?
How long had he been asleep?

“
Very well, sir.”
The elderly CPO left. Menard got new coffee, sat down, tried to see
if the angel’s red, stabbing fingernail had damaged his dataslate.
Surely he hadn’t dreamt that?
Oh
Lord
, he prayed,
preserve me from my own fears.

Fear was perhaps a greater enemy of
faith than superstition, after all.

Message. From the bishop. Menard
squinted at the timestamp on the slate. He’d only sent his message
about four hours previously. Allowing for lightspeed lag from the
outer system, that meant that the bishop, or someone on his staff,
had responded almost instantly. He called it up and
read.

‡

To: Chor. Ep. J. Menard/St.
Gaatha/In Transit

Fr: Diocesan Offices/Gryphon
Landing/Halfsummer

Re: URGENT re Your inbound
message

Chor Episcopos –

I pray for Your Reverence’s
blessing and beg forgiveness for this hasty, too familiar
correspondence. Speed seemed to be of superior virtue to etiquette
in this matter, given the content of your recent message,
specifically its reference to a starship known as
Jenny’s Diamond Bright
.

A major incident broke out two days
ago along the water docks here in Gryphon Landing. In a peculiar
coincidence, a boat from the ship you named in your message seems
to have been involved. The local authorities permitted the ship to
make an illegal departure rather than engage it on the ground in an
inhabited area. The Imperial Resident has ordered orbital defenses
to intercept the wayward boat. Our poor solar system’s one Naval
Reserve light cruiser is currently in the process of being deployed
to that end.

His Grace advises that if you
have an interest in this
Jenny’s Diamond
Bright
you might wish to put whatever
influence you have to bear toward breaking off the current pursuit.
His Grace further offered several colorful metaphors regarding the
chances of the rogue pilot surviving the
intercept.