Black Swan Planet Page 18

  I really didn’t have a choice. Maven clearly feared Nicholai, and I feared the Empire coming, so I needed that shuttle. I resigned myself to the trip to Jamaica, but I needed to make one stipulation. “I’ll take care of Nicholai. But if it comes down to escaping, I’m not leaving alone. I’m bringing someone with me. A girl.”

  Maven’s eyes looked to the floor, I heard a slight sigh before she continued. “Don’t tell me you fell for one of these primitives?!”

  “These ‘primitives’, as you call them, could teach the Empire a thing or two about civility,” I said, a little louder than intended.

  “I see. Well, there’s room, just keep her out of my way.” Maven sighed heavily. “You do know that they don’t live very long? A few decades. A lot like a pet. Have you seen her aging?”

  “Yes. But I don’t care about that.”

  “Raka, are you in love with this girl?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see.” She paused, then smiled a very tight grin. “Of course, you can bring her. Take care of Nicholai, then bring her back here. We’ll work it all out.”

  “Any ideas on the best way to Jamaica?”

  “Well, you need to get to Saint Elizabeth Parish. I would head to the Florida Keys and see if you can charter a boat from there. The rum factory is called ‘Black River Rumworks’. Smuggle in a weapon; you’ll need it. I programmed this location into the shuttle as the failsafe location, just tell the autopilot to return home. All you have to do is to kill Nicholai, take the shuttle, get back here, with this girl of yours, so we can escape together.”

  “Sounds easy when you say it that way. Like a typical Tuesday.”

  The insanity of this plan just set in. “Do you think Nicholai will expect me? These servants will tell him I was here?”

  “They don’t know who you are, and I made them play that music so they wouldn’t hear our conversation. Worst case, Nicholai hears I had a gentleman caller for a short time. He’s sure you fell to you your death. This is our only chance.”

  “It sounds like I have a long trip ahead of me.”

  “I look forward to seeing you return in that shuttle.”

  Chapter 23

  Road Trip!

  ESS Dissolute Ultralog-Complete™ Log, recorded in accordance with the Patriotic Love for the Empire and Freedom of Monitoring Act. Released under Imperial Order #C53TH341

  Magnus Aldis sat at the controls of the Dissolute, tugging at his flight suit, trying to find his perfect anatomy orientation in the form-fitted pilot’s chair. As Natastia Briggam entered the cockpit, Magnus finished his adjustments, raised an eyebrow toward her, and ran his eyes along her figure. He ran his tongue across his lips as she approached, stretching his arms back as if working out a kink in his shoulder. In the process, he brushed his hand along her hip.

  “If you ever touch me again, I’ll have Mr. Smiles break your arms!”

  Magnus raised a hand to his chin, studying her curves, calculating if it would be worth it. “I’ve had broken bones before. They heal. I’ll give you time to change your feelings, sugar.”

  “My feelings won’t change, but your ability to feel will with the order to break your spine instead of your arms. While you’re paralyzed, I’ll have our doctor-friend perform a little change to you too. You’d sound good as a soprano.”

  “Touchy, touchy. So what brings you to the cockpit?”

  “Now we’re in space, we need to gather the crew to discuss our mission. I’m here to use the intercom, that’s all.”

  She reached for the microphone and Magnus put his hand over it, blocking her access, and rubbing his cheek across her upper arm. Natastia sighed, pressed a button on a bracelet, and almost instantly, Mr. Smiles appeared in the cockpit. She made eye contact with the gorilla and nodded toward Magnus. The gorilla grabbed Magnus by the back of his collar and with a quick snatch, pulled him out of the chair, and sent him sliding across the small room, striking the wall with a loud crack. The gorilla immediately pounced on top of Magnus, pounding his chest with a loud thumping rhythm. He paused for a second and looked toward Natastia.

  “One rib.”

  Mr. Smiles snorted, pulled back a massive hairy fist and narrowed his eyes at Magnus’ chest. Magnus tried to block the strike but it did no good. The gorilla’s fist made contact with a sickening snapping sound. Magnus screamed.

  “Natastia used the intercom. “Doctor to the cockpit. All crew meeting in the mess hall in ten minutes.”

  The doctor ran in and stared at Magnus laying on the floor holding his side, moaning. “Let’s see what we have here.” His corneal implants painted a picture of enhanced reality in his mind, allowing him to see in multiple spectrums, including x-rays. “Three broken ribs, severe hemorrhaging, and some muscle damage.” He wiped a small tear from his eye.

  “Mr. Smiles, I said one rib,” Natastia said.

  Mr. Smiles raised the corners of his mouth high into a huge grimace and shrugged his shoulders as if saying ‘Oops.’

  “You see that, Magnus? You made Mr. Smiles feel bad. Don’t let it happen again.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Magnus said as the doctor inserted two tethered probes into either side of the uppermost of Magnus’s broken ribs. Magnus winced as the doctor directed the probes to turn ninety degrees toward each other, cutting tiny holes through broken bone. He injected a hollow tube of Simubone™ through each tube until it met with the opposite, with perfect precision. A flow of surgical epoxy filled the tube and expanded outwards through its porous surface, fusing the bones together. He repeated the process twice again.

  “Be in the mess hall in eight minutes. All of you,” Natastia said, storming out.

  ***

  The crew gathered around a series of small tables. An uneasy quiet settled over the crowd, as nobody knew what to expect next.

  Natastia Briggam stepped to the front of the room. “Crew of the Dissolute. I have selected each of you for this journey based on the expected needs of this mission. Many of you are, perhaps blissfully unaware of what we intend to accomplish. I will now remove that bliss. Our mission is to capture and return an Enemy of the Empire and all those that aid or assist him. Our target is one Raka Varoule, who caused great personal harm to our beloved emperor and supreme commander, Emperor Caligula. Mr. Varoule escaped by stealing an imperial shuttle and managed to fly outside of imperial space. He is presumed to be on a barbarian planet. At this point, we do not have the exact location of this planet, just the quantum broadcast node that has picked up the shuttle’s automatic distress signal. We will make our way to that node and find where that signal is coming from, then assess this planet, and determine if it can ever pose any danger to the Empire. If so, we are to eradicate that danger. Personally, I think we’ll find little more than a prehistoric sludge. While locations of the broadcast nodes are protected imperial secrets, I can tell you that we need to make a minimum of five jumps to get to that node, depending on our accuracy. We have a lot of space to cover, and as we get further away from the galactic core, each jump calculation will take longer than the last. Be prepared for several months on this ship. Now, as we are off-world and in accordance with imperial spacefaring law, I am handing over mission control to your senior officer. Lt. Denton Morrow, the crew is yours.”

  Lt. Morrow stood and approached the front of the room. “Thank you. I don’t have a prepared speech today. What I do have is a personal score to settle with this Raka Varoule. He destroyed my life and damaged the Galactic Empire I love. We will capture him and return him to justice. Your immediate orders are to stow your gear and get this ship ready for whatever we may face. I’ll be preparing work shifts and orders for all of you shortly. This is a good ship and I expect you all to respect her as well as your crewmates. Discipline will come swiftly on this ship; consider that your one and only warning. We will announce our first jump as soon as the calculations are done and the drive is spooled up. Be ready for any and all contingencies. Dismissed.”

  Denton Morrow opened t
he convex door to the ship’s navigation room and stepped inside a sphere, every surface precisely covered in holographic imaging film. Perry Tremblan sat in a chair at the center of the room, manipulating controls through tactile gloves, facial gestures, thoughts, and even involuntary functions; a dislike of an outcome automatically pushed that option away from him in 3D space. He plotted a course for the first jump and planned subsequent jumps. By his expressions, he appeared to be in the arms of a passionate lover, rather than in a computer controlled environment. As he worked the beginning starting point, traveling vectors and speed appeared, then operating parameters for the Chronos Drive. A three-dimensional emergence plot appeared on the screen, with the target location highlighted.

  “Mr. Tremblan, I wanted to talk to you about your jump calculations. According to Ms. Briggam, we need five. Are you certain we need so many?” Lt. Morrow said.

  Perry sighed loudly, stopped his work, and turned toward Lt. Morrow. “The calculations are fine. I can determine with extreme precision where the ship should end up after the Chronos Drive shuts off. In theory, I could put us within a few hundred kilometers of our intended destination in a single jump.”

  “In theory. Why not in practice?”

  “Variations in data. Prior to the jump, we’ll be traveling along a vector in space pointed at our destination, at a known speed. We can measure that speed and direction of travel only down to a certain level of precision. What if we’re off in our measurements by a millionth of a degree or a couple of ions in our thrust? Or what if the Chronos Drive runs for a millionth of a second longer than it should? Quantum clocks are ultimately accurate; but empirical data shows a tendency of increased variation, the more jumps a ship makes. It’s called the ‘Tired Drive Conundrum’, there’s no known reason for it but it appears after a number of jumps. Here’s the data…”

  “I trust your analysis. So what are you saying in non-mathematical terms?”

  “Here, let me show you. We are here.” Perry pointed to a dot on the galactic map, just slightly above the planet surface. “We need to go…” He motioned for the map to zoom out until the planet disappeared, then the sun, and then the system. The out-zooming continued until the galactic core started to merge. He pointed to a spot, apparently in the middle of empty space. “Here. Theoretically, we could make it in one jump. But let me show you a plot of where we might end up with ninety-five percent confidence.” The single dot grew into a large egg-like expansion, covering entire systems in the galaxy. “Now, here’s our problem. Space is nearly empty. The planets, stars, and systems are minor annoyances in the overwhelming vast emptiness. When you are connecting two exact locations in space by a single vector, you can mostly ignore the random bit of matter and jump with almost a hundred percent confidence you won’t hit anything. But, if you don’t know exactly where the final outcome is, you have to consider all the possible locations of emergence. The question becomes ‘how much risk of catastrophic failure are you willing to accept?’. Are you ready to answer that question, Lt. Morrow?”

  “Ships are expensive, even an old one like the Dissolute has value. That’s why the standard procedure is a predictive jump safety level of at least ninety-nine-point-nine percent.”

  “How many jumps have you made, Lt. Morrow?”

  “Hundreds. Maybe a thousand.”

  “With that safety level?

  “As a standard, yes.”

  “Statistically, you’re a dead man walking. You were taking a risk of one in a thousand over and over hundreds of times. The odds don’t change the more jumps you make. Jump a thousand has the same chance of ending catastrophically as jump one. But if we were to plot…”

  “Mr. Tremblan, I thank you for your concern and appreciate your expertise. You have five jumps to get us to the broadcast node. Your orders are to accomplish that in the safest manner possible. If that is ninety-nine point nine or that add infinitum, you decide. Five jumps are your parameters.”

  “Understood.”

  “Thank you. When will your calculations be done for the first jump?”

  “With a level of probability…”

  “When will they be done?!” Lt. Morrow said.

  “Give me an hour.”

  Denton Morrow started to say `Fine’ but the ship’s intercom interrupted. “Lt. Morrow, you are needed in the mess hall, Stat!” He sighed and gestured toward the speaker, walking briskly to the mess hall. He walked into a commotion; a dozen or so grunts blocked his access to whatever went on. He recognized a fight when he saw it. “ATTEN-SHUN!” he shouted. The room snapped to attention with the exception of the two men at the center of the group. “Everyone up against this wall!”

  The men formed a line. He returned his scowling gaze to the two fighters. One he recognized immediately as Magnus Aldis. The other he didn’t know yet but wore a cook’s apron. Magnus wrestled on top of the cook, trying to cut the man’s throat with a broken tray. The cook had gotten his leg up into Magnus’ chest and flailed with all his might, but Magnus continued his assault. Denton Morrow pulled his service rail-pistol from his holster and jabbed Magnus in the back of his skull.

  “Give me a reason not to pull this trigger.”

  Magnus eased up his grip a little, the cook pushing him away and scurrying out of reach.

  Magnus squinted at the cook, his lip curling into a snarl. “He started it.”

  “He started it? This man, a cook, a foot shorter and seventy pounds lighter than you, started the fight. Do enlighten me, Mr. Aldis, why did he start it?”

  Magnus held an arm to his aching ribs. “I don’t know. Guess he wanted to die.”

  “Tell me precisely.”

  “I wanted another piece of roast. I told him, `Hey, Cookie, give me another slab’. He said, `my name’s not Cookie’.”

  “Okay. Then what?”

  “I told him to enlighten me with his name. At that point, he started the fight by insulting me.”

  “He insulted you?”

  “Yes, told me what to do to myself.”

  Denton Morrow turned toward the cook. “Is this true? Did you insult this man?”

  “No, sir. He called me Cookie and that’s not my name. When he asked me my name, I told him.”

  “Told him what, precisely?”

  “Gophauk Usef-Rillard. That’s my name. Gophauk Usef-Rillard.”

  “So you told a homicidal maniac…” Denton Morrow looked at Magnus. “No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “You told a homicidal maniac ‘go fuck yourself real hard’. Tell me, does this happen often?”

  “Yes, all the time,” Gouphauk said. “I don’t know why. I meet people, tell them my name, and they get angry. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Your name sounds like an insult.”

  “It is a good name! A traditional name on my planet. It means ‘One with great wisdom’.”

  “That may be. But to this group, it means something completely different and anatomically improbable. Regardless, we need a live cook more than you need a traditional name. From now on, you’re Cookie McCookerson. You hear that everyone? This man is to be known as Cookie McCookerson for the rest of the trip. Now, Mr. Aldis, see me…”

  He wanted to say ‘in my quarters’ but remembered that Natastia Briggam had claimed his quarters for her own. “…in the cockpit. I’ll come see you, in the cockpit, after the jump.”

  The ship’s intercom sounded again. “Lt. Morrow, you are needed at the ship’s head.”

  Denton Morrow grumbled as he made his way to the ship’s restroom and shower. “What now?!”

  Doctor Mitch Sorren stood at the doorway, with a look of disgust on his face.

  “I’ve seen some horrible things in my day,” the doctor said. “But that room is going to cause me nightmares for years to come.”

  “What is it? What’s in there?”

  “Nearest thing I can tell is someone shaved a grizzly bear and left half of it in the shower. That and…”

&n
bsp; “And?”

  “You better just see for yourself.”

  Denton Morrow took a deep breath, closed his eyes for an instant, then stepped inside. The room looked as described; a half inch layer of black hair covered the shower and the walls. Then he saw it. Nothing had prepared him for it; hanging there from a towel rod, he saw the most disgusting thing he could imagine. He stared, his jaw dropping open, and his stomach churned. He turned around and stepped out into the hall. He called on the ship’s intercom: “This is Lt. Morrow. Whoever recently used the ship’s head has precisely one minute to get here and get this room cleaned up. The clock is starting now. By the way, we have video recordings. We’ll find out who did this.”

  He noted the time, stepped back against the wall and waited.

  He heard the guilty party coming before he saw him. Mr. Smiles appeared, racing down the hallway, still wet from a shower, wrapped in a towel, and smelled wonderful.

  “I should have known. Now get in there, and clean that room up until it’s spotless. And by the gods don’t forget that!” Denton pointed to the offensive item; a massive pair of Vibratron™ undergarments, three feet across, grayed and heavily worn, stained with a huge brown stripe up the middle, the vibration circuitry clearly visible.

  Mr. Smiles shrugged and started to clean.

  “This is why I wanted to be a poet,” Denton said to the air.

  “Ah, there you are,” Natastia Briggam said. “Now that this ship is officially under your control, I’ll allow you to handle discipline. Your pilot, Magnus Aldis, is one step away from being ripped in two and pushed out an airlock. I had to have Mr. Smiles deliver justice to that man, and while he’s good at doing so, it takes him a long time to wind down after he breaks a bone. He usually needs a nice hot shower and his special calming shampoo. Are you waiting on the Head?”