Torchship Pilot Read online

  The crone pulled a shift of red linen out of her trunk. “Ah! There’s a lovely bit for a lass to wear on her wedding night.

  Grace took a step back. “Wedding night? We’re going to get married?”

  “The lad staked his life in the challenge ring to keep the clan from throwing you out in the snow. What stronger pledge would you ask of a man?”

  “But-but I’m already married,” stammered Grace.

  “Oh?” asked the crone. “Where is he?”

  “He’s on Sukhoi. He wanted to come on the tour, but he had to finish a deal. Oh, it’s complicated.” Grace wiped a tear away.

  “A husband who loses his wife in the wilderness isn’t much of a husband,” said the crone. “My Angus, winds carry him to warmth, traveled with me whenever I went more than one valley away to keep me safe.”

  “It was supposed to be safe.” Grace closed her eyes. Flashes of the starliner breaking up and the lifepod’s fiery re-entry went through her mind. “Safe as home.”

  The suit display flashed an alert. He’d finally passed out. Mitchie opened the air valves and unmuted the speaker. She’d killed enough people by accident today. This one wouldn’t be added to the list.

  The crone tossed the shift at her. “It wasn’t. And you’re not safe here. So be thankful you’ve got my nephew to protect you, child.”

  Grace’s lips thinned. Thirty-two years in civilization left her face as smooth as a Frostland teenager’s. She’d given up asking to be treated as an adult. “I’m already married.”

  “You were, there. But you left him behind and he can’t find you here. You’ll be dead of old age before the light from that wedding reaches this valley.”

  Grace whimpered and sat down on the chest. Jored’s aunt embraced her, pulling Grace’s face against her withered breast. “Lass, lass, it hurts to lose him. I know the pain of loss. But you have a new man now, willing to die for you.” The crone looked about for listeners. “He would have died, too, less Thurgan cared more about making a good show than finishing the fight. He’s made you one of the clan, guaranteed you food and warmth for the winter. Is that not nothing?”

  “It’s . . . better than I deserve,” said Grace. “He’s done so much for me since I landed.” The duel was the third or fourth time Jored had saved her life since she’d crashed in the howling blizzard.

  “Then be his wife, girl. Treat him well tonight. Mind you’re gentle. Those cuts will be sore for long. Tend him as a proper wife, as all the clan expect you to.”

  Grace shook out the shift. The red cloth would come to her knees. The previous wearer must’ve tripped on the hem going to her bed. “I will.” She put it down and started undoing her buttons.

  Wentworth sputtered. Mitchie looked up. Eye contact, at last!

  “You can’t do this. You’re violating the Geneva Convention.”

  “The conventions were an agreement among nations that no longer exist. The Fusion hasn’t made a treaty like that with the Disconnected Worlds. Or any other treaties.” That term paper finally paid off.

  “But it’s, it’s tradition.”

  Mitchie shrugged. “Y’all used to have a tradition of not bombing us. Broke that last year.”

  He coughed a few times. “So no rules at all? You can do whatever you want?”

  “I operate in complete compliance with the regulations of the Disconnected Worlds Defense Coordinating Committee.” When they don’t get in my way. “Of course, they are vague in places. Please describe your duties aboard the FNS Terror.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Speaker and valves. Back to the book.

  It took him longer to wake this time after getting his air back. She waited for him to start talking. He avoided eye contact by looking all over the container. Couldn’t just focus on the one spot.

  “Look,” he began, “I can’t tell you anything. The Navy would court-martial me. Maybe execute me.”

  “It’s the same for me,” said Mitchie. “If I come into base with the highest ranking prisoner and I don’t have any info at all my CO will break me. I’d wind up a bosun’s mate third in charge of fecal recycling on some asteroid.”

  “That’s not my problem.”

  “Actually, it is.” Speaker and valves again. At least she was getting some reading time out of this.

  Naturally his next wake-up was in the middle of the good part. “Describe your duties on your ship,” she demanded.

  “Uh. Oh, God. Can we compromise?”

  “Maybe.”

  “If I describe prepping the ship to go out, will your boss be happy?”

  “It’s something. Just keep talking. If you pause I’ll have to turn off your air again.” Ideally she’d hand him over to a nicer interrogator now. But Joshua Chamberlain’s crew was short on trained human intelligence professionals.

  “No, don’t, I’m talking.” Wentworth started describing in great detail checking spare parts inventories and inspecting every spacer’s training records to ensure they had the proper certifications.

  After ten minutes Mitchie popped his faceplate and gave him a water bulb. She took a stimpill. It would take hours of boredom before he’d wear down enough to spill anything significant.

  Three water bulbs and a protein bar later she’d maneuvered him into describing the pre-departure briefing.

  “Admiral Chin was excited. He’d been planning this forever. Once we had the fleet in low orbits we’d start precision strikes on Bonaventure’s infrastructure. Eventually they’d have to surrender. Then we land the troops and destroy the rest of the network on the ground. So we bring in new network nodes and rebuild it as a Fusion world. He was joking that in a generation they’d have a seat on the Council of Stakeholders. Or maybe he meant it. I don’t know.”

  “That . . . would probably work,” said Mitchie thoughtfully.

  “Yeah. It’s a big hammer approach. But now we’ve got the hammer. Or we will when they bring up Inquisition and Purge. Ah, crap. Shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Oh, we knew there had to be several of them built if they were going into deployment, so you didn’t spill anything.”

  “Okay,” said Wentworth. “I’m really tired. Can we take a break?”

  “Sure. Want more water?” Thirst quenched, he fell asleep. Mitchie needed sleep but kept thinking on the revelation. If they’re trying to forcibly incorporate worlds into the Fusion this is going to be a long and bloody war.

  Chapter Four: Invitation

  Bonaventure, gravity 10.1 m/s2

  Billy insisted on hosting the dinner in Commerce, the planetary capital. The crew dug out their formal wear with apprehension. No one trusted him as a social planner. The hour flight there went quickly as they vied to concoct the most preposterous disaster he could be setting them up for.

  Most of those scenarios evaporated on landing. He’d directed them to the edge of the glittering Finance District. Conspicuous consumers wore dynamic fabric jackets and rotating head-dresses as they waited in line. The doorman recognized them as they exited the flyer. He ushered them straight into the restaurant. “Who are they?” wondered a linestander.

  A hostess in a long black dress met them inside the door. “Welcome to Ivan’s,” she said. “Please let us know if there is anything we can do to improve your experience.” She led them through the quiet dimly-lit restaurant to a private dining room.

  Billy stood to greet them, wearing an elegant cream suit. “Thank you all for coming. I know you must be tired from the battle. I appreciate you interrupting your leave to join me.”

  Mitchie tried to keep the suspicion off her face. Billy was spending real money and exerting himself. He had to want something.

  “Let me introduce my other guests.” He smiled at the blonde hanging on his arm. “My fiancé, Elanor Kvit.”

  Mitchie recognized her from Billy’s hotel room. That was fast. Elanor’s dress used dynamic fabric in a subtle fashion, changing the reflectivity of the dress in fractal patterns while keeping the col
or a consistent white.

  “Assistant Director James Suwo of the Ross Museum of Humanity.”

  Suwo focused on Schwartzenberger. “Splendid to see you again, Senator.”

  “It’s just captain, now,” said Schwartzenberger as they shook hands.

  “Master Chief Lee. No relation.” Guo’s trainer put down his whiskey to shake hands with everyone.

  “Mrs. Lien Wang. Bing’s cousin.” Bing and her relative had wrapped each other in hugs without waiting for the introduction.

  Mitchie snagged the seat across from Billy’s fiancé. A little conversation revealed the engagement wasn’t as sudden as she’d thought. Billy had spent his last two visits to Bonaventure with her, plus there’d been some letters.

  That hadn’t made his proposal acceptable. Elanor shared the story. “So he was still down on one knee and I said, ‘Billy, I love you, but I’m not committing to an unemployed spacer who blew half his last paycheck on some costume jewelry.’” Everyone laughed, including Billy. “‘If you want to make this work, get a job.’”

  “Costume jewelry?” asked Captain Schwartzenberger. He’d taken a good look at the gemstone when shaking her hand.

  “I had to take her to two jewelers to convince her it was real,” said Billy. “But that was later.”

  “Yes, getting the job was first,” said the museum director. “I’m glad I could help out.”

  “I was surprised you went for the deal so easily.”

  “Oh, the donation and paybacks arrangement is very common in the Fusion. I worked at a Danu museum for some years. But they do it for tax evasion so it never happens here.”

  Elanor picked up the tale. “The next day he grabbed me from work for lunch. Showed me a contract saying he had a year gig as an acquisition inventory consultant. Suspicious. But I went for it. And then he tells me he’s rich.” She swatted him on the shoulder.

  Billy grinned with no shame.

  Captain Schwartzenberger addressed himself to Billy and Suwo. “I take it you two have been discussing our discovery?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Suwo. “It’s an extraordinary find. We’re intensely interested in examining the objects and seeing what we can offer for them. This should be major news, if there wasn’t all that fuss with the Fusion.”

  “So you haven’t made any offers yet?”

  Billy jumped in. “Not negotiating, sir. Just making contacts. Didn’t even take him to the warehouse.”

  “Glad to hear it,” said the captain. “We can set up a meeting next week. At the warehouse.”

  “My time is at your disposal, sir,” said Suwo. Billy just nodded.

  Mitchie realized that had been the point of the dinner. Billy wanted his share cashed out. He was spending fast. She had to admit living rich would be nice. The service here was almost invisible. Unless she looked around for the waiter everything just appeared like magic.

  Suwo decided a change of topic was in order. “A toast! To our Lieutenant Long, the hero of the hour.” This brought a hearty “Hear, hear!” from the Master Chief and fainter ones from her shipmates.

  “Thank you, but I was just doing my job,” said Mitchie. She hated feeling the blush creep across her face.

  “Oh, Admiral Galen called out your information as crucial to the outcome of the battle,” said Suwo.

  Elanor added, “Yes, his dispatches were published in all the journals.”

  “There’s talk of giving you a medal,” said Suwo, “though there’s some controversy over that I don’t quite understand.”

  Master Chief laughed. “It’s simple enough. An admiral decided some information was unconfirmed and untrustworthy so shouldn’t be released. Which makes releasing it violating a direct order. But Admiral Galen was glad to get it. So they’re arguing. And it’s spreading. I think every admiral in the system has taken a stand by now.”

  Mitchie kept a polite smile on her face despite wanting to hide under the table. She wanted assignments that would let her hurt the enemy. Getting caught up in fights between admirals could send her to the Deep Black.

  “They wouldn’t dare court-martial her, would they?” asked Guo.

  Captain Schwartzenberger cleared his throat. “I’m afraid there are some officers thinking just that. A couple sounded me out on whether anything during the battle could be considered insubordination. I told them when I delegated responsibility I delegated the authority to go with it.”

  “Goodness. I hope some appropriate compromise can be arranged,” said Suwo.

  “Maybe they’ll have a medal and a court-martial.” Guo lifted his wineglass. “Here’s to Michigan Long, the most-decorated ensign in the force!” Master Chief laughed and drained his whiskey.

  Mitchie kicked Guo in the ankle. Crap. Wish I had my boots on instead of these damn fancy sandals.

  Elanor shifted the conversation to something more cheerful. She even managed to draw Bing and Lien in. They’d been having a side conversation in Cantonese. From the bits Mitchie could make out Lien was briefing Bing on all the births, illnesses, new jobs, and marriages in a very large clan.

  Not being interested in wedding planning Mitchie focused on her food. She’d played with her salad while following the discussions. Tasting the fish, grilled with an unfamiliar mix of spices, made her suspect she’d missed something good. The hostess had described the dinner as “an eight course meal.” If they’re all this good Guo will have to roll me home.

  Bonaventure System, acceleration 0 m/s2

  Pundits tossed around “sitzkrieg” to describe the stalemate in the war. The crews implementing the “forward defense” strategy laughed when they heard the word. Their “sitting” consisted of chasing down every sensor echo to see if it was a newly arrived Fusion ship. Most of them lasted less than an hour after jumping in. The smarter ones boosted outsystem to find a hiding spot. One had led her pursuers eight billion klicks away before running out of countermissiles.

  So it was understandable that the emerging mail boat immediately shrieked “DIPLOMATIC COURIER” on all standard frequencies.

  “Blockade Command to courier. Remain at zero acceleration. Stand by for boarding.”

  “We will comply. Courier out.”

  The armored boarders found two unarmed crew awaiting them. The mail boat had empty spaces where sensor and computer gear had been ripped out. The Diskers had trashed hell out of a previous courier loaded with sensors.

  When the Chief Master at Arms finished the inspection he turned to the crew. “What do you have for us?”

  One of them held out a clear box. Dozens of data crystals rested in labeled slots. “A mix. Actual government to government stuff. Some news and entertainment selections. And a bunch of private mail.”

  “You’re still doing real mail?” asked the chief.

  The mail boat crewman shrugged. “If they’ve got the money we’ve got the boat.”

  “Fair enough.” He passed the box to a subordinate. “Here’s our outgoing.” A clear plastic sack held three crystals. “Wait fifteen minutes after we undock then you’re clear for a least-time to the gate.”

  “Got it, boss. See you in two weeks.”

  Bonaventure, gravity 10.1 m/s2

  Billy met the Joshua Chamberlain on landing. The DCC had found a practical use for their pet tramp freighter: hauling fresh food and other supplies to ships on the forward defense patrols. The crew found a routine cargo run refreshing after the past year’s insanity.

  Everyone gathered in the galley to look at Billy’s latest proposal. The Ross Museum had joined with two art institutes to make a joint offer for most of the historically interesting items. The non-cash incentives made for interesting reading.

  “Do they really think I care about having my name on some room?” asked Bing.

  Billy had been forced into taking the museum side of the discussion. “People giving them cash usually demand that. It’s a big deal.”

  Bing wasn’t impressed. “I’m not giving them money. I want money from them.
”

  “If we agree to let them pay less than we really want for the piece, it’s like we’re giving them a donation.” Billy wished one of the museum people were here. That had sounded so much more sensible when Suwo had said it.

  Bing snorted.

  Mitchie wanted another item explained. “This bit about being able to host private parties in the museum. It doesn’t say what the rental rate is.”

  Billy brightened up at an easy one. “No rental. You could use it for free.”

  “Then it should say what the rental fee we’re exempt from is so we can value it properly.”

  “It’s not—only the big donors can use it. Nobody else can no matter how much they offer to pay.”

  “Let me get this straight,” said Mitchie. “You can’t buy it but if you give them lots of money you get it for free?”

  Billy waved his hands as if trying to capture a concept that was fluttering away. “It’s how they do things.”

  “So that’s how rich people live.”

  Captain Schwartzenberger didn’t look up from his datasheet. “If we make a good deal for this we’ll be living as rich people.”

  “The part that bothers me,” said Guo, “is them wanting a crack at the Frankovitch data vault. It doesn’t say anything about securing it or who gets rights to the data.”

  “We tried to decrypt it for weeks,” said Billy. “It’s worth nothing to us if we can’t read it.”

  “If they can get value out of it we need to make sure we get our share. Alexi could sue our asses off if we don’t get him his quarter-share.”

  Bing interjected, “Or there could be a copy of a Betrayer in there and if they put it on an active processor it’ll wipe out the city. Or more.”

  “Okay, okay!” Billy raised his hands. “I’ll tell them that part won’t fly.” He looked around the table to see where the next attack would come from.

  The airlock buzzer sounded below, suspending the debate. The crew traded looks. No one expected a visitor.

  Mitchie zipped down the ladder and brought back a Yeoman Third Class. A courier, but not bearing orders from the Defense Force. “Good, everyone on the address list is here,” he said. An ugly square computer came out of his satchel. He placed it on the table and inserted a data crystal. “A message has come for you from the Fusion. Under the Amended Blockade Act you are required to only use it in this dedicated player. Under no circumstances may the message be inserted into any planetary network.”