Pelquin's Comet (9 page)

“Thanks.” Exactly what he needed to hear. The day he’d decided to hire Anna had been one of his better days. This, clearly, was not. “Let me know, by your best estimate, when we can risk it.”

Pelquin knew full well what he was asking and resisted the temptation to look around at his pilot; no pressure on the young woman at all.

“Yes, skip,” she acknowledged, calm as you like.

He opened a channel to the approaching ship. “This is
Pelquin’s Comet
to New Spartan Patrol Ship SG 731,” he read the designation from the incoming call tag. “We acknowledge your message but must respectfully decline. We’ve come under armed assault and our lives are endangered. It is imperative we leave New Spartan space immediately, for the safety of this ship and its crew. We will explain matters more fully on our return.” He was tempted to say something about making reparations but stopped himself. Once that sort of a commitment was on record it was hard to wriggle out of.

Anna gave him a wry look. “Is that really going to help?”

“Probably not,” he admitted, “but it might buy us a few extra seconds and simply by replying I’ve avoided breaking yet another law, which saves us from at least one writ.”

A trivial consideration when set against the charges already accrued against them. He was gambling everything on claiming Nate’s cache. At this rate, they’d need most of it just to meet the fines. If for any reason they failed to come back with a hold brimming full of Elder artefacts, the
Comet
was finished. It would be seized by the authorities and auctioned off – something he couldn’t bear to contemplate. But that would be it: the end of the line.

A single decision forced upon him by circumstance and suddenly his whole life was in the balance, not to mention the livelihood of everyone aboard.

“We’re coming up to the first realistic jump point,” Anna told him.

“Take it,” he said, without hesitation.

“All crew, brace for jump,” Anna announced on the open circuit. “Enjoy the ride!”

The two of them – Pelquin and Anna – were already buckled into their seats, but others throughout the ship weren’t so privileged. They’d be grabbing handholds, pressing cling-patches to panels in traditional belt-to-wall bonding, or strapping themselves into their bunks – it would all depend on where they were at the time.

Without any further ceremony, Anna started to really pour on the V. Given that they had a police cruiser closing in on them, she wasn’t holding back. The discomfort experienced on leaving New Sparta’s atmosphere had been little more than an appetiser for what hit them now. Pelquin found himself pressed into the upholstery of a seat deliberately designed to minimise the effects of exactly this sort of rapid acceleration. For everyone other than himself and Anna, this had to be hurting a hell of a lot more – except perhaps for the doc, who had his own methods for sidestepping the discomforts of a jump. Come to think of it, if all jumps were like this Pelquin might have made sedatives mandatory for the whole crew.

Was this what it felt like to die? The thought flashed through his mind as he waited for the ship to fly apart around him.
Will it be quick? Will I have time to realise…?

Joints ached, his chest felt as if someone were pressing down on it relentlessly with both hands, but worst of all was his jaw, which felt as if it wanted to dislocate at any second. Just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, it was over. There was a moment of euphoric expansion, as if his mind was dimly aware of his soul spreading outward to fill the whole cosmos, then a jolt as consciousness snapped back into its proper place and a degree of normality resumed. The pressure had disappeared as if someone had flicked a switch. They were through; into the strangely clinical, oddly detached state that was RzSpace – which Monkey had always insisted on calling ‘Arsie-space’ – the mathematically defined shortcut that enabled mankind and presumably Xters to cheat on the speed of light.

As Pelquin understood it, they’d just punched their way through into another plane of existence, one with its own set of laws defining time and space that differed radically from those he was used to. A non-place, some even suggested that RzSpace was a limbo that existed
between
realities, since it was essentially empty, possessing no permanent physical features that anyone had yet discovered. Defined by mathematics that Pelquin would never grasp, RzSpace was an enigma. Pelquin didn’t know the minutiae of how it worked any more than he knew the mechanics of a ship’s engine; he just knew that it did. He’d even heard someone argue that RzSpace only came into being when a ship needed it to; that otherwise it didn’t exist at all.

Even with RzSpace journeys were still far from instant, but by dipping in and out of this nebulous quasi-place stellar distances became manageable, negotiated in a matter of days rather than lifetimes. Navigation here required disciplines that were beyond a merely human mind, so they were at the mercy of the ship’s computer systems until they dropped back into the normal universe. It was also impossible to track anyone in RzSpace, which had to count on the plus side given their current circumstances. Unfortunately, it was also impossible to stay in this strangely altered state for long. Protracted exposure did something to the human psyche, which meant that the majority of journeys had to be accomplished in a series of hops.

Anna raised her eyebrows and grinned – that infectious, gleaming smile of hers. “That was fun.”

“If you say so.” Pelquin unbuckled and eased himself upright. He needed to assess how much equipment they’d lost in the shootout, not to mention what might have torn loose and bounced around the hold in their precipitous escape. Fortunately, they were heading for a world that was tailor-made for picking up replacements, and now he even had a plausible reason for taking the ship there. Two, if you included Monkey’s condition. Pelquin felt oddly satisfied with the situation. No matter how screwed up things were, you could always find a silver lining; it was all a matter of perspective.

“Realistically, it comes down to a choice between three: Newton Four, Pendle’s World, and Babylon,” Nate Almont said, turning from the screen to seek his captain’s guidance.

Judging by the frown the comment elicited, none of the options sat too well with Pelquin.

Tensions aboard the
Comet
had shown little sign of easing since they escaped from New Spartan space, though Drake was willing to bet that Pelquin wished they had. The detachment that RzSpace inspired helped, blunting the edges of emotion. Bren in particular was far from happy, still smarting over the way Monkey had been treated, her resentment towards the captain almost palpable. Given the fact that she was clearly attracted to the captain, she must really have taken his treatment of the mechanic to heart.

Seeking medical aid for Monkey had become everyone’s top priority. It
had
to be, given the prevailing mood.

Drake watched the exchange between Nate and the captain with interest. This was a tight-knit group used to living and working together, a micro-community. No question that the captain’s word was law, but only for so long as the crew allowed. Pelquin liked to bluster and act the part of benevolent dictator, but under it all he knew the score and was careful to court the crew’s approval on sensitive matters. Most of the time he had it by default, but right now the life of one of their own was in the balance and nothing could be taken for granted.

Everyone was clustered in and around the cramped control room – too basic a place to dignify with the name ‘bridge’. Nate Almont and Anna had the two chairs, Pelquin fidgeting restlessly directly behind them. Speculation as to who had organised the little farewell party back on New Sparta had run its course, with the mining company Jossyren emerging as odds-on favourite. Though no one seemed inclined to explain why, Drake had filled in most of the gaps for himself. It was becoming increasingly clear that Pelquin had been less than fully open during his interview at the bank; something that wouldn’t come as a surprise to anybody, particularly not Terry Reese.

Quite apart from Monkey, they needed to replace the equipment wrecked in the attack. Damage hadn’t been as extensive as it might have been, but replacements would still have to be found. The problem came when they tried to prioritise the two imperatives: new equipment and Monkey. It seemed that the captain was at odds with the majority on that score. A compromise was needed and fast, which was where Nate Almont came in, narrowing down the possible choices of destination.

Pelquin shook his head. “There’s no way I’m going back to Newton Four, not after what happened there last time.”

“It is the nearest,” Anna pointed out.

“Yeah, I can see that, but even so… Show us what you’ve got on the other two, Nate.”

Leaning forward to look over Almont’s shoulder, he stared intently at the screen and, after a few seconds, shook his head again. “It’ll have to be Babylon. Pendle’s World is too primitive.”

Bren wandered off, presumably to escape Pelquin’s company and to simmer in private – the captain still hadn’t given any indication that he’d noticed her hostility. Drake stayed where he was, just within the doorway, ignored by everyone, while the doc was in a world of his own.

“You’ve got the list of everything damaged?” Pelquin asked.

“Yup,” Nate confirmed. “None of it should be a problem, so long as you’ve got enough credits to buy the replacements.”

“No problem there either, thanks to our friends at First Solar,” and the captain finally deigned to glance in Drake’s direction.

The words were barely spoken when the world shook violently; or at least theirs did, as the ship bucked and jolted, causing Drake to steady himself against the door jamb and Pelquin to stagger and grip the back of the pilot’s chair to regain his balance.

“What the hell?” came Bren’s voice from somewhere down the corridor.

“Nate?” Pelquin said.

“I’m working on it.”

“We’ve been hit by something!” Doc blurted out; an indication of panic that didn’t bode well for a medical man in Drake’s opinion.

“No we haven’t,” Bren assured him as she squeezed past Drake and back into the room. “We’re in RzSpace, remember; a
non
-place. There’s nothing out there to hit us.”

“Even now air is spewing into the vacuum of space from our ruptured hull…”

“Shut up, Doc.” Pelquin snapped.

“The only vacuum around here is between his ears,” Bren muttered, too quietly for the doc to hear.

The juddering stopped but at the same time a bright amber light started to flash directly in front of Anna on the pilot’s console display.

Pelquin had obviously seen it too. He frowned. “Any idea what that’s trying to tell us?”

“In general terms, something’s up with the engines; specifically, not a clue; except that we need to check things over pretty damned quick.”

“The ship’s still running, though.”

“For the moment,” Anna confirmed.

“After the way the ship just rattled our bones we really need a
light
to tell us there’s something wrong,” Bren noted.

“Where are the diagnostics when you need them?” Pelquin grumbled.

“Busted,” Bren said. “Waiting for you to authorise repairs, same as they have been for the last two trips.”

“Then why wasn’t it sorted out at New Sparta now that we’ve got some credit behind us?”

“Maybe because nobody told anyone to sort it out!”

“Engine temperature’s rising,” Anna cut in. “Pel, I really need to take us out of Rz and down to sub-light.”

“Can you bring us out near Babylon?”

“Probably.”

“
Probably
?”

“Hey,” Bren said sharply, “don’t take it out on Anna. If we could give her some clue what’s wrong with the engines she could probably give us a better idea.” Her gaze flicked to the smaller woman. “Right?”

Anna flashed her a grateful smile.

Pelquin nodded. “Fair point,” he said, so robbing Bren of the argument she seemed keen to engage in. The captain drew a deep breath. “Okay, so we keep heading for Babylon, dropping out of Rz as soon as we can.”

Nobody argued. Tension still dominated the room, though it wasn’t about Monkey any more. Instead it was as if everyone present was just waiting for a renewed bout of juddering to rattle through them, while wondering whether it would stop as abruptly the next time or continue until it shook the whole ship apart.

Pelquin looked around. “Has anyone been to this ‘Babylon’ before?”

Shakes of the head and a subdued “No” were his only response.

His gaze fell on Drake, but the banker couldn’t offer anything either.

Nate continued to tap away at his keyboard, murmuring “Ba-by-lon” in almost rhythmic fashion. He seemed the only one totally at ease, as if being an acutely vulnerable organic entity reliant on a potentially faulty ship in the depths of space didn’t faze him at all. Drake wondered again what he was taking.

Something about the recent exchange nagged at Drake. He couldn’t escape the conviction that Pelquin was glad they were going to Babylon, as if that had been his intention from the outset and the rest had been a performance.

Can you tell me anything more about the world Babylon?
he thought.

Only what’s in the ship’s database
, came Mudball’s response.
Which is a fair bit, actually, though nothing much to distinguish it from a hundred other worlds. If you like, I could list Babylon’s top fifty tourist attractions for you.

No thanks.

Or would you like me to detail the most highly rated red light districts?

Again, no.

Didn’t think so. Okay, how’s this: the capital, la Gossa, seems to be a thriving industrial centre.

What sort of industry?

All sorts. You want it, they’ll make it.

Interesting. Did that explain why they were going to Babylon? Whatever the reason, Drake remained convinced that the choice of destination had been nowhere near as random as it had seemed.