My Life: An Ex-Quarterback's Adventures in the Galactic Empire (17 page)

We would need all the advantages we could get because the Flying Whore was much faster than the Flower. Stuoronin guessed that we needed a full day’s lead to be certain of staying out of firing range and entering a wormhole far enough ahead of Carvalho that he would be unable to determine what system we were heading for and, therefore, be unable to follow us down the wormhole. What we didn’t worry about was intervention by anyone else. There was precious little law in the Outer Empire and none of it applied to stealing from a freebooter.

Andrave picked up evidence that Carvalho cut loose a day and a half later, too late, at least by our calculations. He may not have realized that, or he may have been hoping for a breakdown on the Flower. He gave chase. Even knowing we couldn’t be caught, it was uncomfortable watching Carvalho’s ship on the screens, steadily closing the distance separating us. We had no relief crew on board and no one was willing to trust the ship to automatics long enough for a real break. I prayed long and hard that there would be no breakdown, especially after Carvalho started beaming offers to my crew concerning various body parts of mine. Big as the galaxy was, I decided it would be worth some extra effort to ensure that I never met Carvalho again.

The entrance to the wormhole looked like any other bit of vacuum. The stars looked the same as they had from the station. I’m not sure what I expected—a flashing neon sign, maybe. Stuoronin’s instruments were not as limited as our senses, however. They told him precisely where the topology of space had created a sinkhole that could be used by a ship that could generate the field needed to interact with the wormhole. Elsewhere, the screens showed Carvalho, behind and still closing, but still too far away.

“We are ready for transit,” Stuoronin said. Since he normally wore a beard, he didn’t look as haggard as the rest of us, but it showed in his voice. It had been two days with only one, minuscule, break for each of us.

“As soon as possible,” I said. He didn’t reply to me, only to the computer.

“Transit on the count of sixty-four.” The countdown appeared in green on the screen.

Please hold together, I prayed silently. Either that, or come apart with a big bang. Anything but a failed transit that would leave us as meat for Carvalho. When the countdown reached thirty-two, the familiar pre-transit whine began to build up. At sixteen, though, I felt a vibration in the ship, something I didn’t remember from my transits with Carvalho. Stuoronin said nothing, but I could see his lips were pressed together so tightly they were white. At four, green lights appeared on his board. The whine continued. At zero, the vibration stopped abruptly and the screen went black.

“Down the wormhole!” Andrave said with satisfaction. “The pursuit is too far behind to determine our course. We’re clear.” Then he said, “Engineering reports numerous noncritical malfunctions. We can fly though.”

“Good. Stuoronin?”

“It will do,” he said. I could see that he was unhappy with the way his board looked, but as long as it indicated nothing catastrophic, I was satisfied.

Bad as the run to the wormhole had been, the three-day transit was far worse. We were already exhausted when the transit started and, even though some relief was possible with the ship out of normal space, the ship wasn’t doing too well. Ruoni and Andrave could spell Stuoronin and Cardoni since we didn’t need either Fire Control or Communications, but Stuoronin could take only brief breaks; neither of the others could adequately handle his job. Ivengar and the others in Engineering had it even harder. With all those malfunctions, critical or not, they had no rest at all.

In theory, it shouldn’t have been so hard on me. With the ship in a wormhole, I was about as essential as tits on a bull. I could have rested. The idea of taking it easy while the others struggled along without sleep didn’t sit well, however. As a result I stuck it out on the bridge with the rest of them, in spite of Ruoni’s protestations, growing just as tired and cranky. In retrospect, it was a poor choice. There would be decisions to be made when we popped out and the crew deserved a captain fit to make them. We were lucky that my foolish pride didn’t cost us anything.

Although I wasn’t sleeping any more than anyone else, I did check around the ship a few times, just to see how the others were doing. Once, I ran into Angel in an otherwise deserted corridor. I asked him if he still liked the smell of my karma.

“I like it fine, man,” he said laughing. “We got our own ship. We got away clean. What’s to complain? I’m even getting used to that chick you brought along.”

“You mean Jaenna?”

“There’s another one?” Angel whacked me on the shoulder for emphasis. “Tough little chick that one turned out to be, not princessy at all. You need something, she’ll get it. Want help, just show her what to do. Ivengar’s had her running ‘round the Engine Room and Support Systems almost nonstop.” Angel gave a belch, which I took as a sign of approval, then continued. “She’s actually kinda cute too, allowing for no makeup and stuff.”

I was pleased that having Jaenna on the ship wasn’t causing any problems, but at Angel’s last sentence I went cold.

“Angel, for Chrissake, remember the situation we’re in. If your balls itch, try a cold shower. The last thing we need is trouble on the ship.”

At first, Angel looked confused. Then he smiled. “For Chrissake, yourself, Danny. She’s cute like my kid sister’s cute. You don’t worry about me on that score. I’m waiting ’til we get back to one of those trading stations with those Imperial ladies with the big tomatoes.” Angel grinned maniacally at the thought and swatted me again on the shoulder, this time hard enough to leave a bruise.

Then he sauntered past me then, whistling “My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean.” If we ever get back to a station, I thought, Angel can have all the “tomatoes” our money would buy.

“We are in the Thjonarodni system,” Stuoronin said when we came out of the wormhole.

Space looked just the same as when we went in. The only visible difference, thankfully, was the absence of Carvalho’s ship chasing us. You needed instruments to know that we had moved thirty parsecs.

“Yes, Thjonarodni.” There was a lack of enthusiasm in Ruoni’s voice.

“You thought we could hire a crew here, didn’t you?” I asked. “Is there a problem?” Space around Thjonarodni looked quiet. That was lucky, given our condition.

“No, no problem for us,” Ruoni said. “Thjonarodni is just an undistinguished world. They used to maintain their own kvenningar until recently. Then, somehow, they ran afoul of Carrillacki.”

“That sounds like a bad thing.”

“Yes. A little odd, too, since Thjonarodni was never wealthy and is far removed from the centers of power. Still, they did and Carrillacki took them apart. Mostly from the inside and by assassinations. There was very little outright fighting. Now Carrillacki has them, but it seems they were more interested in taking the world than managing it. That has left a lot of Srihani out of work. It is not an unusual story today.”

The view screens, as we came in, gave a deceptive view of our approach. From far away, as we entered the star system, it was no different than looking out a porthole. The screen showed nothing but star points in the black. Then a new star appeared in the center of the screen and slowly changed into a tiny disc. It grew with our approach until it was a multicolored globe that filled the screen. Thanks to the magnification of the ship’s telescopes, the process began at much greater distances than it would have through a porthole.

Once the globe was the size of the screen, however, it stopped growing. The ship’s computer arbitrarily set a certain scale as appropriate for the image and decreased the magnification as we approached to keep it constant. The visual effect was of being stalled in space. The numbers and charts the computer provided said otherwise, but the eye still fooled the mind.

It didn’t bother me. Thjonarodni was the first earthlike world I had seen from space. It was beautiful, with continents of brown and green set against deep blue oceans, white swirls of cloud over both. The continental outlines were unfamiliar, but I had never been able to recognize North America under cloud cover in the NASA photographs either. The dark side of the planet showed little sparks of light, evidence of civilization. They were few and far between, which surprised me for a world which was supposed to measure its history in millennia. Meanwhile, the computer hadn’t kept the image there for me to sightsee. Symbols appeared to show the cities, defensive installations, and orbiting satellites. Thjonarodni’s defenses were not very impressive.

“There is one warship in orbit,” Ruoni said. “A small one, destroyer class, not much bigger than us. IFF is Carrillacki. That is interesting. According to our records, Thjonarodni should have had three such ships.”

“I guess Carrillacki is satisfied with less firepower for the planet than the locals had been.”

“It is cheaper, certainly,” Ruoni replied. “And another reason to believe we can find crew for hire.”

Aside from the ship, there was a network of orbiting satellites, none of which, from the readouts, had enough punch to do in even the wounded Flower. There were powerful beam weapons sited on the planetary surface, but all in all it didn’t look like an arrangement capable of holding off a determined attack.

Ground control made contact as we neared the satellite net. The screen windowed to show a middle-aged Srihani wearing Carrillacki insignia.

“Unscheduled merchanter,” he hailed us, “our computers indicate that you have sustained battle damage. You will identify yourself, explain your presence and account for your condition.”

Wonderful. Demand that the victim account for the mugging. The official looked like he was enjoying what must have been a rare opportunity to throw his weight around. Probably, he thought that his defenses could blow the Flower and was anxious for the experience.

There wasn’t a sound, not a hint from the bridge crew. This was my baby to handle.

“Andrave,” I asked, “can you put me on line with this joker?”

“Certainly.” Almost simultaneously, a little red light glowed on the arm of my chair.

“This is the Flower of Rianth and I’m Captain Danny a Troy.” It was still an effort to say my name that way, but I figured if I kept it up maybe I would get used to it. “We were damaged in a fight with a freebooter and we’re here because we heard it would be possible to sign on crew. I trust that meets your needs.” The statements were all true, just a little misleading.

“Sign on crew?” He gave a sour grin. “You’re a little late, but you should still find some. There were enough ships decommissioned.” I waited while he carried on an offscreen conversation. When he came back on, he said, “You have clearance to land one boat. The main ship must remain in a specified orbit. Launching and orbital parameters will be sent to your helm. You will be fired upon if there are any deviations.”

You’re all heart, I thought. Actually, it was all irrelevant. Stuoronin was our only pilot and helmsman so there was little alternative to taking a single boat and leaving the Flower in a fixed orbit. Even if they had been willing for us to land the main ship, I would have been nervous about our chances of being able to take off again.

After the necessary arrangements had been made, I stood up to play leader. “All right, Ruoni,” I said, “let’s see if we can draft us a good offensive guard.”

The statement obviously puzzled him. “Why would you do that, Danny? A good guard should not be offensive.”

“Never mind, Ruoni. It’s not worth the explanation.”

Four of us, myself, Ruoni, Stuoronin and Angel dropped toward Thjonarodni in one of the landing boats. The composition of the party had been easy to determine. Stuoronin had to pilot and the captain had to be present. I needed Ruoni there to help judge the prospective talent. Why Angel? Well, a guard was good for show and there was nothing for him to do aboard ship. The descent was smooth enough, with Stuoronin bringing us in at the designated port. Once down, it took more time for them to decide to let us out than it had taken to come down from orbit. Stuoronin waited for the bureaucratic rituals to be played out, then popped the hatch. We stepped out onto the field where a small ground effect vehicle was waiting for us.

It was my first experience on an alien world and not even the necessities of the moment could stop me from feeling the strangeness. The sky was blue, but not quite the blue I knew. The sunlight was a bit orange. The wind had an odd tang to it. My subconscious adjusted rapidly, much the same way it did when I put on a pair of tinted sunglasses. Still, the strangeness of that first impression remained.

I was disappointed by the car that met us. The vehicle floated maybe three inches off the ground, with a driver and two rows of empty seats under a clear canopy. I would have expected a galactic civilization to wing passengers around the globe in a speedy little jet. When I said as much to Ruoni, he told me that some places did still use aircars, but, “if the engine dies, it’s safer to drop half a foot than half a mile.” I guess he knew better than to trust local maintenance. As we pulled away from the ship, I could see that the field stretched away in all directions, but was mostly empty. There was a long, low building on one side, toward which the driver steered. Actually, he went just to the left of the building, which showed few signs of life, and went through a gate. Once away from the field, the vehicle headed off along a smooth roadway that allowed the car to move at high speed.

The driver was friendlier and a good deal more loquacious than the port official. Intent on looking around, I missed the first part of his conversation with Ruoni.

“He’s right that you should be able to fill out your crew,” the driver was saying when I tuned in. “Carrillacki already has people to handle the cargo in and out of Thjonarodni. That’s why they had no interest in keeping our ships in service. There was a lot of crew with nowhere to go.” He chuckled at the memory. “Of course, the really good ones are long gone. Outfits started showing up to recruit almost before the change was official. Probably the busiest trading we’ve had in a long while. Don’t worry though,” he hastened to reassure us, “there will still be plenty of serviceable bodies around for you. As serviceable as anything on this planet these days. I’ll take you in to the main guild hall in the city center.”