Torchship (9 page)

***

“Sorry, folks, he needs a few
more minutes,” apologized the corpsman second class. His comment that the
captain was “almost ready to unbox” had brought the whole crew over to the
autodoc.

Mitchie eased back from the
huddle to look around the cargo hold. The Navy had been overjoyed at a chance
to put its damage control training to work. A pressure tent had been put up
over the shattered window. Welders were slicing off the shards of transparent
aluminum. The observatory was gone. Tsugawa had talked his way onto a cruiser
detailed to search the area for any possible accomplice ships.

“Here he comes!” called the
corpsman.

The top of the autodoc folded
open. Schwartzenberger woke up. A glance took in his waiting crew. “I guess the
good guys won,” he croaked.

Bing offered a squeeze bottle
of water and quickly brought him up to speed on events.

Bobbie shyly picked her way along
the deck as she approached the crew. An older Navy man followed her. The
captain saw her coming. “Hello, Bobbie. Good to see you looking so well.” That
was a relative ‘well.’ Bobbie’s eyes were red from crying. Guo had broken the
news as gently as he could but she still took John’s death hard.

She flushed. “Thank you,
captain. I’m glad you’re feeling better. And thank you—and your crew—for
everything you did for me.”

“Just doing our duty.”

The Navy man broke in. “Sir,
I’m Lieutenant Commander Trevayne, master of the
Assaye
. We’re truly
impressed with how you stood up to that pirate. Absolutely outstanding work.
Nothing left for us to do except clean up.” He gestured at the welding team. “We’re
trying to do what we can for you.”

“I appreciate that, Commander.
It’s been a rough day.” Schwartzenberger started questioning Guo about the
state of repairs. The mechanic was confident they could be on their way in less
than a day. The Navy officer chimed in with more offers of help.

A rating came in through the
airlock and bounded over to the captain’s group. “Sir, secure message came in.”
He held out a blank sheet to his commander.

“Thank you, Moxley.” Trevayne
moved off to read it. His thumbprint produced a single line of text. “Huh. Miss
Smith? This is actually a message for you.”

Bobbie floated over and took
the sheet. Her thumb filled the sheet with text. She turned to read it
privately. As she reached the end she snarled, “Stupid romantic bastard.” She
looked up and blushed as she realized how many stares her outburst had drawn. “Sorry.
I was surprised. John listed me as his next of kin.” A blink sent a tear out
into the hold. “Can we bury him here?”

“I think the investigation
might require—” began Lt. Cdr. Trevayne.

“Yes,” said Captain
Schwartzenberger. “Guo, we’ll need a shovel.” The mechanic nodded.

Mitchie offered, “My suit
should stretch enough to fit Bobbie.”

“Good. She should be there.”
A wave sent pilot and passenger to the suit locker.

Forty minutes later Mitchie
watched the burial party from the bridge. Billy and Guo had carved a notch in
the side of the chasm. Trevayne had brought a squad of marines from his ship.
Schwartzenberger and Bingrong carried John’s corpse, wrapped in a thermal
blanket. Bobbie followed them. The pilot spent the wait shelving. The captain
had gone through all his reference books without finding an appropriate prayer.

The mourners tucked the body
gently into the hole. Schwartzenberger floated by the head. The rest formed
flanking lines. He began, “Let us pray. We brought nothing into this world and
it is certain we will take nothing out. We have gathered to commit our brother
John to the sky. Let us remember his sacrifice as we prepare to join with him
in the resurrection of all. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed
be the name of the Lord. Amen.” When the captain finished the marine sergeant
gestured sharply to his squad. The laser rifles blasted puffs of steam off the
opposite wall. Then twice more.

When the steam dissipated Guo
and Billy began shoving ice in the grave. When it was as full as they could
make it the marines applied some low-power shots to melt it all together. After
a respectful pause the Navy contingent headed back to their ship. The captain
led the gravediggers back to theirs.

Bobbie had anchored herself
next to the grave. She sat facing it, hands clasped together. Bing floated
behind her, waiting. Finally the first mate moved up to touch helmets. Mitchie
wished Bing had used the suit radios instead. Not that hearing their
conversation would be of much use to her. When they started back to the ship
Mitchie left the bridge. Bobbie would need help getting out of the suit.

By the time
Fives Full
was ready to fly Bobbie was the only passenger left on board. Tsugawa was on
the survey cruiser with his observatory and two grad students. The third
student had been found after fourteen hours in empty space, sedated, and
returned to Demeter aboard a Navy courier. The courier also carried Bobbie’s
friends, whose parents wanted them home immediately. The courier had apparently
been arranged by “friends of Daddy” but Bobbie declined a ride on it.

Lt. Cdr. Trevayne had
objected. “Miss, I think it would be best if you returned home on an armed
vessel for your security.”

“Really?” answered Bobbie. “You
think putting me on one of your ships would be the safest thing for me?”

“Of course,” said the naval
officer. “You’d have armed personnel with full background checks around you.”

“No offense, Commander, but
the crew of this ship passed a better check than anything the Navy can do. For
all I know half your crew is just waiting for an opportunity to mutiny and grab
me. I can trust Captain Schwartzenberger and his crew. I don’t know your crew.”

Trevayne’s jaw tightened. He
took a few deep breaths before speaking again. “Miss Smith, I really must
insist that you . . .” He was speaking to empty air. Bobbie had bounced across
the hold. Trevayne turned to Schwartzenberger, who’d been listening intently. “Can’t
you make her see reason?”

A merchant ‘Captain’ didn’t
outrank a Navy officer, but Schwartzenberger addressed Trevayne as if he was a
midshipman. “No. She’s reasoning clearer than you are. She has the right to
make her own decisions. And I have an obligation to take her home.” He shifted
to a friendlier tone. “Thank you very much for all your help getting us ready to
steam again. Is there anything I can do for you before you return to your ship?”

“No,” said Trevayne. “We’re
all good. I will escort your ship on the return to Demeter.”

“We’ll be happy to have the
company.” Captain Schwartzenberger accompanied him to the airlock.

Demeter System.
Acceleration 10 m/s
²

The captain put Bobbie in one
of the unused cabins after a little fixing up. Bing took another—hers would
need a shipyard to be livable again. Bobbie seemed willing to spend the whole
trip holed up in her room. Billy delivered breakfast and lunch to the bridge,
converter room, and Bobbie’s cabin. Twelve hours into the trip Captain
Schwartzenberger declared the ship stable enough to cruise unsupervised again.
Dinner would be an all-hands event.

Bobbie was last to arrive,
escorted by Bing. By the look on the first mate’s face no physical force had
been needed to pry the girl out of her room, just lots of browbeating. The
passenger was seated at the end of the table, opposite the captain. All the
food waited on the counter. A bottle of whiskey sat in the middle of the table.
Mitchie filled the shot glasses in front of the late arrivals. Bobbie said, “I
can’t drink that, I’m too young.”

The captain smiled. “On
Demeter, you’re too young. On this ship, I set the rules, and you’re old
enough.” He stood and raised his glass. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you John
Smith.”

“John Smith,” echoed the
crew. They drank. Bobbie managed to not spill any.

“I didn’t know John Smith
well,” began Schwartzenberger. “In most ways I didn’t know him at all. What I
do know is his devotion to duty, and to the young woman he’d sworn to protect.”
The bottle went around the table again. “In all my dealings with him he was
focused on that duty. Which is admirable. But many men do that well. What
distinguishes John is that he was faced with more than doing his duty. When
that moment came, he did not flinch, he did not beg, he did not freeze, he did
not hesitate, he just did what he needed to do.” He paused, swallowed. “Greater
love hath no man. I pray that such a cup never be brought before any of us. And
I pray that if such a one does come to me, that I should have even half the
strength he did.” He raised his glass again. “John Smith.” They drank.

The captain sat. Bobbie took
a deep breath to gather herself and stood up. “I knew John about as well as
anyone. Which wasn’t much. He wouldn’t talk about his past. Said people who
knew too much about him kept dying and he wasn’t having any more of that. But
he spent more time with me than anyone since . . . since I was—for years. He
tried to teach me to survive, and to be a grown-up. And if I’d learned he’d
still be alive.”

Bing reached out and put a
hand on Bobbie’s arm. “Honey, you can’t blame yourself.” Bobbie shook her off.

“Patterns. That was John’s
biggest lesson on defense. Never make patterns. We’d always go and leave at
different times. Take a different route each way even if it meant going an hour
out of our way. Practice different drills. But I didn’t learn the lesson and I
killed him.”

Mitchie passed her a cloth.

Bobbie wiped her eyes. “Three
years ago I made Daddy rent out a planetarium for me and my friends. Next year
it was a visiting astronomy professor—one of Tsugawa’s colleagues, actually.
Last year he built an orrey in the garden. So this year, Daddy’s asking himself
what to get the astronomy nut who has everything. And there’s a giftwrapped
answer, a tour. Security investigated you, and the company, and you’re all
clean. Because you weren’t the trap.” She waved the flimsy she’d gotten
yesterday. “Malachi’s disappeared so we can’t ask him where the tourism idea
came from. We just know it was set to catch me because I had that pattern.” She
looked up. “I’m sorry, John. I won’t have a pattern again. And I won’t look at
the sky except to look at your grave. Good-bye, John.” She snatched up her
refilled glass and drank.

“John Smith,” chorused the
crew as they drank. The captain gave a nod to Billy. He and Guo stood and began
filling plates. Bobbie fell into her seat and cried into her hands. Billy
served her first. Chicken, gravy, and biscuits, chosen as comfort food. She’d
never had it before. After a few bites taken out of good manners she found it
comforting enough to finish.

***

Mitchie was pleased with her
docking at the orbital shipyard.
Fives Full
was down a few thrusters but
she’d still matched the coupling as gentle as a kiss. Captain Schwartzenberger
wanted to get repairs dirtside to save money, but with two turbines out on the
same side (one crushed in the chasm, the other cored out by a cannon shot they
hadn’t even noticed at the time) they couldn’t even try to land.

Waiting for them were a squad
of marines and several tough-looking civilians. After Bobbie went off with them
a couple of shipyard staff emerged. The account director took Captain
Schwartzenberger to his office to discuss the repairs. A clerk passed Bing a
stack of loaner datasheets and asked if any supplies were needed. She declined
and went back to the ship to do some research.

The captain returned a few
hours later. The crew were gathered in the galley. Mitchie read letters from
home. Billy listened to the latest music (on earphones, at Bing’s insistence).
Guo caught up on the news. Schwartzenberger greeted Bing first. “So who was our
guest?”

“No idea,” she answered. “Turns
out the fashionable thing for the rich folk here is to hire gossip writers to
tell lies about them. That’s according to the gossips who deny being on the
take. But they all accuse each other of taking money under the table. So
there’s so much BS out there I can’t figure out who little Bobbie is.”

“I guess I should have
expected that. Gotta love the Fusion. You can get a chemical analysis of your
neighbor every time he takes a piss but anybody you really want to know about
is obscured.”

“That’s the Fusion,” answered
Bing. “So, can we afford to get fixed?”

“Repairs won’t cost us a key.
Seems they get a subsidy to do work for the Navy . . . but the Navy isn’t using
this month’s slot so we can have their repair slip for free. There’s a
converter they had in storage too long, an MC897, so they’re replacing ours
with it so they don’t get hit with inventory tax. They have no Disconnect
compatible turbines in stock so we’re getting ones taken off a Navy ship booked
as scrap. And so on.”

“So why are you so unhappy?”
asked the mate.

“It’s . . . creepy. There’s
no one in the system authorizing it. They all just appear as if it’s perfectly
obvious and no one had to make a decision. We tried tracing back some of the
decision trees but the director got cold feet. Said he didn’t want to know any
more if it was all that anonymous.” Bing gave him a patient look. “And, dammit,
it’s all in-kind so I can’t squeeze a copper out of them.” A chuckle ran around
the table. “Anyway. Guo, check out the specs on that 897 before I let them
install it.”