Authors: Graham Sharp Paul
“I am.”
“Talk to Kalkuz. Ask him if the old buzzard is lying and if there are any more protocols we should know about. Tell him that I’ll dump him out the airlock unless he’s straight with us.”
“Wait one.”
Shinoda was gone less than a minute. “He swears Horda’s telling the truth, but there is a duress code word as well.”
“Which is?”
“It’s ‘ultimate’ in lowercase. You need to key that in as well, and the ship really is ours.”
“Got it.” Michael stepped back into the saloon. “Let’s go,” he said.
• • •
With ten minutes to go, an icon in the center of the command console’s holovid screen was flashing a lurid red. “Now what?” Michael asked Horda.
“I have to enter the command authority code, then do the DNA and retina checks.”
“Do it.”
When Horda finished, the icon vanished and the screen went blank.
I’ll give you another ten seconds to tell me about the duress code
, Michael thought,
and then I will kill
—
“One last thing,” Horda said, “is a code word to make sure I’m not being forced to do this—” He chuckled as his fingers flashed over the keypad. “—which of course I’m not. There, done.” He stepped back. “The
Matrix Starlight
is all yours.”
“It better be,” Michael said, grim-faced.
“Relax. I could have screwed you, but I didn’t, so let’s move on. I suspect you’ve got a lot to do and not much time to do it in, so let’s see what we can do to help.”
Thursday, June 24, 2404, UD
Brooks Reef
The man’s face loomed large on Captain Horda’s holovid screen. The bridge filled with the flattened vowels of a native-born Hammer. “Scobie’s World mership
Matrix Starlight
, this is Hammer Warship
Sapphire of Kraa
. Chop vidcomm channel 67. Over.”
“
Sapphire of Kraa
,
Matrix Starlight
. Going to 67. Out.”
There was a short pause before the Hammer officer’s face reappeared. Tucked safely out of view, Michael held his breath. The Hammers had no right to stop and search the
Starlight
, but they might. They had never worried too much about the niceties of international law.
“
Matrix Starlight
,
Sapphire of Kraa
. Transmit ship ID and flight plan on datacomm 441, over.”
“
Starlight
, roger, stand by … Okay,
Sapphire of Kraa;
you should have it now.”
“Confirmed, stand by … You are cleared for transit,
Starlight
. Be advised that any deviation from your flight plan will result in the use of deadly force without warning.”
“
Matrix Starlight
, acknowledged. Out.”
Horda cut the link without any of the usual niceties. He sat back and rubbed his face with both hands. “Assholes,” he muttered. “Okay, Michael, you can come out now. We’ll comm Matrix about the instability in the pinchspace generators once we’ve cleared the reef. It’s in our house code, so the Hammers won’t take long to crack it, but we’ll be in pinchspace by then.”
“Good. There’s nothing I can do here, so I’ll be down in the cargo bay if you need me.”
“I’ll be here.”
Michael left Horda to ease the
Starlight
into the queue of traffic waiting to cross Brooks Reef, a slash through the fabric of space-time hundreds of light-years across but less than half a million kilometers deep, a gravitational anomaly that no ship could transit in pinchspace and survive.
The cargo bay was a hive of activity. Helped by the first mate and the chief engineer, Shinoda and her marines were cutting the
Starlight
apart, the pieces pushed into towering heaps around the massive cargo bay door. Michael nodded his approval. If the Hammers were to be distracted long enough for him and his marines to survive, the more debris the better. He beckoned Shinoda over.
“This looks good.”
Shinoda looked around. She nodded. “You said you wanted 500 cubic meters of junk, so we’re got a ways to go yet, but we’ll get there.”
“I’m still worried about getting a decent spread. All that stuff is no good if it stays in one big clump.”
“I know,” Shinoda said. “Fifty kilos of plastic explosive would have come in handy.”
“Yeah, it would. I think I need to talk to Marty again.”
“You do that. I’ve got a ship to shred.”
Michael waited for Marty to finish. With exemplary forbearance, the chief engineer was busy explaining to Marine Prodi why using a laser cutter in close proximity to a high-pressure hydraulic system was a bad thing. Laser cutter … hydraulics; an idea popped into his head.
That might do it
, he thought.
When Marty had satisfied himself that they weren’t all about to be killed, Michael took him to one side.
“What pressure do you keep the ship’s atmosphere at, chief?”
“A bit under three-quarters of normal atmospheric pressure.”
“What’s the hull rated to?”
“Ah, now there’s a question.”
Starlight
’s chief engineer thought for a minute. “Test pressure is two atmospheres,” he went on, “but she’s designed to cope with three, though I think that’s optimistic given her age.”
“And can you boost the pressure in just one compartment, say, this one?”
“Sure.”
“And the cargo bay door will still open despite that overpressure?”
“All our doors and hatches have to. It’s a safety requirement.”
“Is your hydraulic fluid flammable?”
“Of course it is,” Marty snapped. “You think those penny-pinching management assholes would let me buy the good stuff?”
“How much oxygen do you carry?”
“Oxygen?” By now Marty looked completely baffled. “Um, let me see … We have reserves of 4,000 cubic meters in cryogenic tanks. That’s at one atmosphere, of course.”
“Sounds like a lot.”
“It is, but we’re certificated to carry eight crew and forty passengers. We have to be able to keep them alive for three weeks if we have problems with our carbon dioxide scrubbers.”
“So if you wanted to fill this cargo bay with oxygen, you could do that?”
“So many questions. I hope you’ll tell me what the hell you’re talking about, Mister Helfort.”
“Sorry, chief, I will. Just bear with me.”
Marty sighed and shook his head. “Let me think … not completely, but near enough. The only problem is that you’d have a huge—” The chief engineer stopped as realization dawned. “I see what you’re getting at,” he said. “Leave it to me. I think I need to do a few calculations.”
Shinoda came over to where Michael stood. “We’ve missed something, sir. Kalkuz. He’s no fool. Asking him about the backup protocols would have told him that Horda helped us.”
“Damn,” Michael said. “I didn’t think … and if DocSec get their hands on Kalkuz—and they will—Horda’s as good as dead.”
“Along with the rest of the crew.”
Michael nodded. He felt sick. “No need to ask what I have to do.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“My fault. I should have thought things through before I got you to talk to Kalkuz. Leave it to me. I need to talk to Horda.”
Friday, June 25, 2404, UD
Deepspace
Horda sat and stared at the holovid screen. He looked worried; a finger tapped out his concern on the tabletop. “The
Starlight
is not one of your fancy warships,” he said after a while. “You do know that?”
“Of course I do,” Michael replied; he looked equally troubled. “All I ask is that you get the best you can out of your ship.”
“I’ll do my best, but will it be enough? I don’t believe in committing suicide.”
“I don’t either, but we have to try. There’s too much at stake.”
“So you keep telling me,” Horda muttered, scowling, “even though you won’t tell me exactly why you have to get back to Commitment in such a hurry.”
Michael bit his lip in frustration. “Can you drop the
Starlight
where I want it or not?” he asked.
“What if I can’t?”
Michael stared at Horda for a long time. “If you can’t,” he said at last, “then we’re screwed and you know it, so do me a favor and answer the fucking question.”
“Okay, okay,” Horda said, putting his hands out to pacify Michael. “Keep your hair on. Now, let me see. You want me to drop this ship not just into Commitment nearspace but here—” He stabbed a finger out at the screen. “—only 300 or so kilometers above the planet’s surface. Right?”
“Right.”
“And you want me to do that after a 33-light-year pinchspace jump.” Horda shook his head. “The last time you pulled this stunt, you said you dropped your ships 8,000 kilometers out, not 300. And you had the benefit of military-grade AIs. The
Starlight
’s were built before you were even born, and even then they weren’t state of the art. Oh, yes, and the Hammers weren’t expecting visitors. They are this time.”
“Listen,” Michael said taking a deep breath to keep a lid on his temper. “I appreciate the positive spin you’re putting on things, but can you answer the damn question? Can you put us on the drop datum, yes or no?”
“You’re lucky because I’ve been captain of this ship for twenty-two years, and here—” Horda brought a new screen up on the holovid. “—are the results of every drop I’ve done in the last five years.”
“Holy shit!” Michael hissed after a moment’s study. “That’s very, very impressive.”
Horda nodded. “Yes, it is,” he said looking very pleased with himself. “Better than any of your fancy mil-spec AIs can do, and you know why?”
“Why?”
“You space fleet guys don’t spend more than a couple of years in a ship. Me? I’ve spent years talking to the AIs that run this ship. Oh, I know they’re not people, but they might as well be. When I first took command of the
Starlight
, the navigation AI had trouble dropping us into the right system. But we worked on it together, and there are the results.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“From what I’ve heard, I think you already are.”
“Thanks. So you’re saying you can do it?”
“As long as you accept that there’s no margin for error, none at all, and that we’ll all be dead if we miss the drop datum, then yes.”
“Thank you.”
“You remember I said that I’d miss the
Starlight
, that she was our home?”
“I do.”
“It’s not the ship I’ll miss,” Horda said, his voice soft and his eyes glittering with tears. “It’s just a whole lot of metal and plasfiber. No, it’s those damned AIs …” His voice choked up, and he stopped. “They’re like people to me, you know?” he whispered. “No, not people … my friends.”
“What can I say?”
“Nothing.” Horda took a deep breath. “I’ll do what I have to. You said you wanted to talk about Kalkuz?”
“I did. Look, there’s no easy way to say this, but the man knows too much. I’m going to have to—”
“Stop!” Horda barked. “I don’t want to know. He’s your problem. You fix it. Now go.”
Michael left, too wracked with guilt to say another word.
• • •
“On your feet, Mister Kalkuz,” Michael said.
The man looked up. He must have sensed something was wrong. His hands shook. His face was a pasty gray. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. “Why? I’ve told you everything, I swear.”
“Just do it.”
“What do you want?” Kalkuz’s voice trembled. He got to his feet with obvious reluctance.
“You’ll find out.”
Mitchell stepped forward and pulled out his stunner. He pointed it at Kalkuz and stunshot him in the chest. Kalkuz dropped to the deck in a twitching, moaning heap. Michael stunshot him again. He stopped moving.
“Let’s go,” Michael said. He waved Mitchell and Akuna to pick the man up.
Dragging Kalkuz between them, the marines followed Michael. He threaded his way along corridors and down ladders until the group reached one of the midships airlocks. Shinoda was waiting for them; she opened the inner door. “Dump him in there,” she said. She looked at Michael. “Let me do this, sir.”
Michael turned away and opened an emergency locker to pull out a skinsuit. “We’ve had that discussion,” he replied. “It’s my screwup, so I’ll fix it.”
Shinoda put her mouth to Michael’s ear. “Fuck that,” she whispered. “I won’t let you do this on your own.” She leaned past him to pull out a second skinsuit. “And don’t argue with me … sir.”
Michael was too demoralized to try. “Okay, okay,” he muttered. A minute later, he was suited up. “All set?”
Shinoda nodded. “All set,” she said.
Michael commed Horda as the two of them stepped into the airlock. The door shut behind them with a soft hiss. “We’re ready.”
“Roger … External door interlocks released.”
Sick to his soul, Michael started the scavenge pump. In seconds the air in the lock had turned to white mist as the pressure dropped. To Michael’s horror, Kalkuz’s eyes opened; they were wild with fear and stared up at him until anoxia closed them forever. He knew those eyes would come back to haunt him. A lifetime later, the red light over the external door turned to green. Michael froze. He could not finish what his stupidity had started.
“Let me, sir,” Shinoda muttered. She pushed Michael aside and punched the controls to open the outer airlock.
Shamed into action, Michael reached down to take hold of Kalkuz. Together he and Shinoda dragged the man’s awkward mass to the door.
“On three,” Shinoda said. “Stand by … one, two, three!”
Kalkuz’s body vanished into the gray mist of pinchspace. Michael threw up.
Saturday, June 26, 2404, UD
New Varanasi nearspace
“All set?” Michael asked.
“All set,” Captain Horda replied.
“Let’s do it.”
Horda nodded. Fingers flew, and he initiated the drop. Michael’s world turned itself inside out. A moment later, the navigation plot stabilized.
“Aha,” Captain Horda said. He pointed at the string of digits displaying the ship’s position. “Read that, spacer boy, and weep. We’ve jumped a quadrillion kilometers, give or take a few, and we’re less than a hundred klicks from the datum.”
“Now
that
is very impressive,” Michael said. And he meant it. For a beat-up old mership, it was extraordinary.
Horda shrugged. “Thank a great AI. And it helps that we’ve done the Scobie’s-to-Varanasi route more times than I can remember. I swear we know every last ripple and bump in pinchspace. Anyway, that’s enough self-congratulation. Let’s get the sob story on its way, and then we can piss off.”