Starquest: Scourge of the Spaceways, page 4
Athos concluded, "And an unarmed approach, shields down, to that warship is also safe. They will welcome us, open their airlocks. That I also know."
Dudd the Blue Man said, "How can you know?"
But Sureshot the Iss hissed, "Ss-silence and obedience! Cross-ss not the captain!"
At this, Hob, leaning unsteadily on the Engine Order Telegraph, gave Athos a grog-soaked grin. "Sir! Dundering ol' Dudd, don't mean nothing by it! Heh! But he is a stinking and accursed Sphingali, so he be a mite jealous that your card-reading and crystal-gazing be better than his! How is he to bilk the crew, if the officers be so much better fortune-tellers!"
A bark from Wilco silenced the bridge. "Sir! Signal from the ship. She is the armed merchantman Dog-Faced Fortune, out of Rana, under Captain Vulk. She asks if we are with the convoy."
For answer, Athos plugged his comdisc into the panel at his elbow. "Give my compliments to Captain Vulk, and relay this message to him."
And his comdisc clicked. A small, gleaming image of Yeho garbed in his full regalia as a Lord of the Advocacy, highest of the ruling classes of the Batrachians, appeared in the air before Athos, even as it was transmitted to appear before the captain of the other ship. The recorded message, in booming words, began to speak: "I name me Groac Wroc Yehomelek, King-Makes-Life. I am an Advocate of the Elite Rank… "
And so on. The absurd little image demanded obeisance. Athos had pieced the wording together from the imperious messages Yeho had exchanged with the ships and traffic control during the approach to Rana.
Athos showed no outward sign of nerves. He was wagering that the ansibles of Rana had not had time to broadcast news of the fiery obliteration of the planet's capital city, the destruction of their temple, the violent death of the Viceroy or any other current news to the ships of the treasure fleet departing Rana, before the Navy landed in force and shut all broadcasts down. If news of the treason by the Devil's Delight against the Red Flag of Ahab were known, the next answer would be in particle beams, not radio-waves.
When Yeho's recorded message was done, Athos touched the comdisc to project his own image. "This is Captain Black Jack Rackstraw of the Devil's Delight, acting for Most Exulted High Lord Advocate Yehomelek. I bear the grave news that the Viceroy and High-Priestking Arshad of the Arson is no more in office, and a new order reigns. It is by command of the new Viceroy that this vessel is to join the treasure fleet, and to aid in escort duties."
An answering image formed above the comdisc. This was a human variant Athos had never seen before. From the neck down, he seemed akin to a normal Neanderthal one might find on any human planet. But his skull was long and doglike, with a protruding muzzle, and equipped with fangs like daggers. Above this solemn muzzle, beady eyes stared unwinkingly from beneath deeply sunken brows. His whole face was coated in fur, and his whiskers jutted a hand's breath from his jowls to either side, which only emphasized the sepulchral hollowness of his cheeks.
His expression was as grim as a gravedigger's, his voice like gravel under a millstone.
"This is Captain Amalric Vulk. Your name is strange to me, Blackjack. Where is Liska?"
The two ships were still far apart. There was an irksome delay between every message and reply. Athos wondered how anyone could live in a solar system that jammed all ansible signals without going mad.
Athos said, "Captain Liska was murdered in his mansion home, while trapped alone in his room, by the Ancient Mariner, or someone — or something — acting in his name."
"Who believes in such rot?" said Vulk. But he nonetheless made a sign against the Evil Eye.
"I do, for I witnessed it myself, and lived to tell the tale. Yehomelek, who was his First Mate, was voted Captain by the men, and picked me as First Mate. He has since been elevated to the rank of Lord Advocate, and the men voted me as captain."
Vulk snarled. "That don't mean nothing, now that Ahab has squirreled all the rules. No votes, not no more. You have to go before Captain Ahab and get his blessing."
Athos said, "I am eager to do so. Where do I find him? Is he in port?"
Vulk snorted, "Ahab, he don't whisper his comings and goings in this little ear of mine. You will know soon enough if you land. This new Viceroy, he give you the key to the planet before setting out?"
Athos had not been to the world before, but his crew had. They told him that, in order to part the continental force-shield to make a landing, a special passport key must be broadcast from the ship's antenna. Liska's passport key from his prior visit was nowhere to be found.
Athos said, "I have no key."
He did not bother to explain that if Liska's key had been found among his effects, Athos would have taken it, had the crew of the Devil's Delight arrested, and shed the name of Blackjack Rackstraw for once and all. Had Liska's key not been lost, Athos could have made landfall aboard the Sly Fox.
"No key? I was hoping to use a copy of yours. Well, stay clear of the planet, then. The accursed planet is shielded and guarded, and the dirtworms of Noctua are sly and careful creatures, most eager to burn a ship hauling gold into a molten lump, and separate the bullion from the dross for their own use." Vulk grinned bitterly and showed his fangs.
Athos said, "Captain, you were not issued a key? Surely the treasure fleet is bound for Noctua?"
"Surely it is, but we are not. The Dog-Faced Fortune is hauling gold, but we are also armed to the teeth. We are counted as a warship. Warships are not to approach the planet all on our lonesome, see? We must meet with the treasure fleet, and follow down a proper flagship with the proper key, and land with a proper fighter escort, same as we did with Rana. With this much gold, none trusts none. Only the cargo ships were given keys. The Frog did not tell you this?"
Athos spoke nonchalantly. "Changes of regime can be hectic, and perhaps some details were overlooked in the haste."
Vulk nodded his thin and sardonic head. "Perhaps, yes. Did your Frog send messages ahead, telling The Fixer you'd be making landfall? The Night-Suns will blast unexpected guests, and The Fixer, he's been awful twitchy on the trigger-finger of late."
Athos had no idea who The Fixer was, so he merely nodded and grunted, noises he hoped Vulk would interpret favorably. Then Athos said, "You seem to have been separated from the convoy also."
"By mischance, we misjumped. We have been in contact with space traffic control on Noctua, but the ansibles are jammed in this damned, dark system. We must wait on the lightspeed lag before our lasercast can go to the planet, which will cast our position to the fleet, so they can reveal theirs to us. Who ever heard of a solar system where it was dark? When we get their position, we'll meet them."
Athos said, "Excellent. In this case, we can learn the orbital elements when you do, and meet the convoy together. May we arrange a rendezvous?"
And it was as simple as that.
2. Slavebots, Swordfish, Sirens
Galactic Year 12821, Noctua System, aboard the Dog-Faced Fortune
Aboard the crowded pinnace from the Devil's Delight, Athos, bedecked in his tricorn hat, cravat, and gold-cuffed coat of pirate Captain Blackjack Rackstraw, focused a viewplate on the Dog-Faced Fortune.
The Dog-Faced Fortune was larger than the Devil's Delight, but with fewer weapons and crew. She was basically a cargo ship with oversized gun turrets fore and aft, studded with missile racks. She was of Iss design, hence morbid and vaguely organic in appearance, something like a skeletal centipede. The ship consisted of a long spine outfitted with life support, from which girders like the ribs of a ribcage curved, embracing a line of blocky standardized freight modules. Observation nacelles and communication dishes protruding from the bow emphasized the ship's insectoid appearance. Engineering and propulsion were aft, and the bridge was amidships.
Fate smiled at the outset. When the pinnace docked, and the airlock cycled, a detachment of four warbots, but no living men, met Captain Rackstraw's party.
Athos strode forward boldly. At his shoulder, like a balloon of iron, floated his flybot pilot. On his right hand was Tisquantum, javelins in hand, terrifying in his war-paint and feathered bonnet, looming over him. To his left was Sureshot the Iss, slithering in his silken scarlet robes and freshly-polished emerald scales. Behind came Hard-Drink Hob. The Electrician was scowling and twitching, for Athos had locked him in the brig for three watches running without grog, to keep him safely away from the liquor stores, and the man was sober for once.
Behind, were four braves from the Fears-No-Death tribe, faces painted into masks of fury, named Redhawk, Thunderwind, Deep Lake, and Angry Bison.
With them were brawny Cnut with his scars, devil-eyed Stab Lee with his knives, and lean Takelot the Iss with a spiked mace affixed to his tail. Underfoot was Ethelred the Duck, standing only belt buckle-high. Bringing up the rear was Greedy Hudd, his bald skull overpainted tattoos, wearing his new vest. This vest consisted of vertical metallic strips on which no gold coins won in any massacres were displayed.
The inhibition of these robots against taking intelligent life had been crippled by the Murder Code, allowing them to serve as soldiers and bodyguards; but they nevertheless lacked the power of creative thought. Hence, when a dozen crewmen filed out of a four-seater spaceboat, of course, the killer robots evinced no suspicion, no surprise.
A security unit confronted Athos. The killer robot was shaped like a pointy-headed torpedo, complete with fins and propeller, standing upright on spindly, retractable legs. The designation number stenciled on its frame read C-CQET-01. Above this were the triple chevrons of sergeant rank.
"Captain Rackstraw! This unit is Sergeant Sea Security Unit Owen. Please surrender weaponry before being escorted to Captain Vulk."
Athos raised his arms overhead, saying, "Frisk me."
The lights in the robot's skullbox blinked uncertainty. "Sir, Captain Vulk did not instruct me to lay hands the person of a fellow captain."
"No need for niceties. Make sure. Frisk me. I am carrying no weapons."
Technically, it was a true statement: Athos had taken the precaution of hiding his lance pistols inside the ray-shielded case being carried by the flybot hovering at his shoulder.
A slavebot, even one allowed by warped programming to maim and kill living men, would not naturally be eager to disobey one. So the sergeant reached out with arms as spindly as its legs and frisked Athos, as ordered. Athos nonchalantly put a hand near the robot's information port, flicked it open, and touched it with the collet of his signet ring. The robot, of course, had no sense of personal privacy, and did not object to what seemed a harmless touch. Athos felt a slight vibration pass through his ring as the circuits went into highspeed transfer mode.
Athos turned his head. The other guards were waving scanners over his men, but otherwise made no moves. The flint-tipped spears, tomahawks, stone knives, bows and quivers of the savages were still in hand, or tucked into beaded war-belts. The robots had not been programmed to react to non-metallic objects as weapons, nor were they suspicious of Greedy Hudd's metalwork vest.
The sergeant opened a speaker in his miter-shaped skullbox. A delightfully feminine voice came gliding out of the grill like husky, silken music. "Captain Rackstraw, I am Ensign Vava Ephyra, First Mate of the Dog-Faced Fortune. Captain Vulk sends his compliments and regrets being unable to greet you in person. We are maneuvering to rendezvous with the treasure fleet even at this moment. Captain Vulk will hand-deliver the coordinates and signal keys to you, if you would care to follow the escort to the bridge, so that your ship can also join the convoy securely. We apologize for sending robots to meet you. No disrespect is meant. We are undermanned."
The voice was so alluring that it was also hard to hear the words. Athos said a silent prayer to clear his wits. He said, "Ensign Ephyra, tell Captain Vulk that no offense can be taken when none is offered. In truth, more than one mechanical man I have met agitates me less than some men serving under me — I need no honor guard more honorable."
"Ah! A well-spoken gentleman is rare. I look forward to the pleasure of our meeting. Security Unit Owen! Please escort Captain Rackstraw and his navigator, if he brought one, to the bridge at once." With this, the light next to the speakerphone clicked off.
Security Unit 01 rotated its miter-shaped skullbox toward the floating metal orb of the pilot, then toward Hob, who was wearing his toolbelt. The robot turned its lenses on the five neolithic braves carrying javelins and tomahawks, two brawny Cromagnon thugs, one slant-eyed Sinanthrope, two unblinking lizardmen with lashing tails, and one pirate Duck chewing gum with loud and sloppy clacks of his yellow bill.
"You may bring your navigator with you," said the robot.
Athos said, "All of these are needed to assist my direction of the ship. Make haste! I do not want to keep your captain waiting."
Unfortified with specific orders to the contrary, the robot wordlessly acquiesced. On clanging feet, the unit led the way. The passageway was wide enough for Athos and Tisquantum to walk abreast with room to spare. In the rear came the half dozen veteran pirates, slouching and muttering. Between the two walked the four befeathered braves, who were stiff-faced and silent whenever an unfamiliar sight of space technology met their eyes — which, truth to tell, was frequent.
Some sights were strange to Athos as well, for he had never served on a multi-environment ship before. The corridor they were in was an airbreathing regime, but visible through the transparent pressure-walls to either hand were two additional biomes.
To the left, swimming among the stacked crates of cargo, were Xiphians. These were fishlike creatures, ten to fifteen feet long, weighing thousands of pounds, and their spear-like bills and extravagant dorsal fins made them resemble terrestrial sailfish, if sailfish had hands.
In fact, the creatures sported four hands and twin prehensile tails. The tailfin membrane was stretched between two tentacles strong as elephant trunks and was able to tote and use tools. The pectoral fins could be separated into distinct fingers, or folded for swimming. The thin pelvic fins, just below, were slight and curved, and equipped with digits as slender and fine as the tools of a watchmaker. None could twist an immobile head toward the various pairs of hands jutting directly from smooth flanks, but each had bulbous eyes laterally placed, with more than hemispherical vision, and so flanks and fins were within his field of view. The fin-hands could be retracted into grooves along its sides to streamline the Xiphian into a living torpedo when needed for sudden dives and sprints.
Unlike Iss, this race was warm-blooded. Special skull-organs heated the areas surrounding brains and eyes, greatly improving the sharpness of eyesight and of wit. All the Xiphian crew Athos saw carried several weapons holstered in bandolier or war-harness. The officers wore heavy armor akin to barding, giving them the look of ironclad submersibles equipped with ramming prows.
Athos had met one or two Xiphians in the Star Patrol. While not as solitary as Arachnids, they were not gregarious like Hominids or Nemeans. Their society was a rigid caste system, with assigned roles for one and all. They were stiff and formal to a fault, ready to take offense, reluctant to speak. They made enemies easily and friends rarely. Xiphian friendships lasted for generations, passing from father to son, as did their feuds. It was a trait Athos understood.
Xiphians throve in gloomy saltwater deeps, and could tolerate up to fifty atmospheres of pressure. Athos saw that if the pressure barriers and doors between the biomes failed for any reason, nothing would protect his men from the Xiphians.
On the righthand through the clear armor could be seen a very different biome. Here glided the graceful curvaceous forms of the Ellyll. These occupied a freshwater environment, and the rippling lamps mimicked the brightness of a sunny coral garden, rich with colorful seaweeds like jungle orchids. An Ellyllon land going form was bipedal, indistinguishable from the most beautiful of hominid courtesans, but, when submerged, she could at will join legs together, and metamorphize into a mermaid form with flukes and dorsal fin, rainbow gleams shining from her tail.
The sea-maidens lacked notions of privacy, and so did not divide their living quarters from corridors or common areas. The buxom, supple, and nubile figures were immodestly dressed, if dressed at all, and the pirates were eying them with the glassy-eyed hunger of drug-addicts.
Several of the mermaids noticed the attention, and began playfully to beckon toward the pirates, flirting, taunting, flouncing hither and yon in the waters, writhing and wriggling, giggling and glancing sidelong with long-lashed eyes.
Again, Athos hoped the barriers and doors would hold, because if they failed, nothing could protect the sultry sirens from his men. Athos himself, leaned his weight on the boot where Niobe's locket was hidden, as if to confirm his knee would not buckle. He would not fall. Nonetheless, it was only with an effort that he tore his eyes away.
This was the ship he had to conquer, and swiftly, and without the treasure fleet being offered any opportunity to grow suspicious. For there had been no Viceroy of Rana to speak to the Fixer of Noctua, whoever that was, and no passport key waiting to permit the Devil's Delight to land. No cunning fraud would last long enough, or be careful enough, to allow him to make landfall on the world where, if the stars were kind, Ahab was headquartered.
Bloodshed was needed.
3. Bloodshed on the Bridge
A voice broke in on his thoughts.
"Sea-Security Unit Owen to maintenance. Reporting glitch in my central processor. Unexpected coding error."
The torpedo-shaped robot, as it was clattering on spindly legs before them, had suddenly spoken, but it was not speaking to them. The intercom light in its skullbox was lit.
The answering voice over the intercom was the bleary mumble of a man in his cups. "Run your self diagnostic, you idiot tinbox!"
"The glitch is in the self diagnostic, sir. It is running a review of decision trees and memory files."
"Bah! Then bugger yourself!"
