No Man's Space 1: Starship Encounter (12 page)

Lady Elizabeth had sent us on our way to prepare the port’s defenses against the mysterious enemy. We hadn’t learned anything useful since their last attack; we were still blind regarding their flag or their intentions. They were either pirates or one of the aggressively expanding countries seeking a strategic post near no man’s land.

Lady Elizabeth had no idea of how the governor defended the port, or if they’d ever been under such intense attacks. She was the classic pampered girl who didn’t care about the real world as long as she attended balls and met single gentlemen.

Don’t take me wrong; unworried living is part of our way of life and I don’t mean to talk badly about it. Sometimes, though, I wonder how the world still turns if everyone keeps staring at their own navels.

Hatfield had warned us of the local mob too, but Lady Elizabeth could handle them for the time being. The locals were only after better food, less work, and a bit of entertainment. The blockade was limiting the port’s access to galactic TV channels, and it was making everyone impatient and restless. They’d go back to normal as soon as we solved the blockade problems.

Banner focused on the port’s cloaking systems first. We’d been scanned during the attacks, but we could move elsewhere and remain hidden as long as we turned invisible to enemy sensors. A nice idea, if only we’d had the cloaking technology, something like fifty years earlier, when our ships were almost undetectable to most other countries. Now, we were as visible as if we kept broadcasting our position. Besides, the port’s communications never stopped emitting, turning us into a large target. I hate being a sitting duck.

“Forget the cloaking systems,” I told Banner. “Won’t make a difference.”

“It will,” Banner said. “I don’t want anyone to attack us unless they scan the area first.”

“We didn’t notice any scanning aboard the Star,” I said, “and her cloaking systems are better than the port’s. She’s smaller and easier to hide, too, and it didn’t stop the Cassocks from finding and boarding us.”

“I want to cloak one of the escape shuttles,” he said. “And the Star, too. We need an escape route.”

An escape route? Did he really expect to fly away and remain hidden aboard a flimsy space shuttle? Or the Star? And was he going to leave everyone else to die? How heroic.

“Do you think this is a medieval castle?” I asked. “Flying out of the port is a guaranteed death sentence, and I’m not going to make it any easier for anyone.”

“Would you rather die defending the port?”

“I’d rather focus on protecting the port and surviving instead of running away and getting a bullet up my ass for turning my back on the enemy.”

Flanagan approached us with a wide grin. “Ass-bullet dodging,” he said. “One of the best incentives to stay and defend a port, ain’t it?”

Banner disagreed with me, but I was in charge. I told him to forget the cloaking systems unless one of my engineers turned the whole port invisible.

Flanagan had worked on training the pilots and giving them pep talks, but the crew’s motivation was falling. We’d been away from home for too long after the attacks, and our survival was becoming less and less likely in the long run.

I needed to get the Admiralty to send us reinforcements and to escort us back to Earth. Would they move a finger to rescue a crew of lowborns and only one career officer? I honestly doubted it.

Flanagan had learned military strategy during his years in the Navy. He’d worked under many captains and sunk and captured many ships, and he talked about the battles he’d lived. Nothing compared to the sneak attacks we’d suffered lately, but he insisted that we’d find a creative way out of it.

“I followed you because we were all going to die and I’d rather put up a fight than let the Cassocks take me alive,” Flanagan told me. “You were an engineer, this was your first real command, and you put up a bloody good fight. Sinking five ships is more than most officers do in their first year. I don’t care what anyone says; you’re the luckiest madman I’ve ever worked for.”

“How romantic,” I said sarcastically.

“You have my loyalty and the men’s, sir,” he said. “We just need one of your suicidal plans, and we’ll be back on Earth within a fortnight.”

It sounded really well, but lucky moves aren’t so frequent when you’re facing a fleet without even knowing who your enemy is.

“Why don’t we hit them with all our mines?” Banner asked. “Let’s take all we have aboard the Star and hope it’s enough. If it is, lucky us. If it isn’t, we’ll know sooner.”

“I’d rather leave myself a back-up plan,” I said. “If we hit them with all we have, what are we supposed to do later?”

“Pray, probably,” Flanagan said. “It’s a very civilized way of dying, ain’t it?” He grinned at Banner.

Banner stared at Flanagan and me with a tense expression. He hated it when someone defied his opinions and his common sense, so it was an even better incentive for Flanagan and me to do so. It isn’t personal, just a way of releasing tension without hitting anyone. Banner would’ve resorted to his baton if they’d been alone, but he wasn’t going to resort to primitive violence if he was in public. Flanagan knew when to pester the acting subcommander.

Some of my engineers arrived later, and they updated us about their attempts at calibrating the sensors to detect enemy ships. We had no serious readings aside from white noise that came from a specific spot, so they’d focused on scanning for regular white noise emissions. They were working on a prototype radar to predict how long we had until the enemy arrived. It wasn’t magical, but it took off our blindfolds.

Once we’d finished talking about our new radars, I instructed them to setup an outer rim with mines and space trash to protect our fighters, then an inner rim, and we could always fall back to the core. It was unsafe, we were unlikely to survive, but we’d always have more chances than if we stayed still and waited for the attack.

Banner was unconvinced but didn’t show it. We were both on the same team, and he was supposed to back me up.

York and Kozinski brought some crates with spare parts. York stopped moving, but Kozinski kept walking absentmindedly and bumped onto him.

York pushed him back. “Can’t you look where you’re going? We’re in the engineering bay.”

“Huh?” Kozinski looked around. “Uh.” He nodded and dropped the crate onto the floor, missing York’s foot by an inch.

“Careful,” York said. “That’s my foot you’ve almost crushed. Need it to work, you know? We’re nothing more than grunts here. Good for dragging and lifting stuff, but useless for all else. Need my body healthy.”

“We’re helpin’ the engineers.” Kozinski looked at some of the engineers and gave them honest and simple smiles. Several men nodded back at him. He wasn’t the smartest man aboard the ship, but he tried hard and he rarely got into fights with intellectuals.

“And if we knew how to shortcut or tinker, we’d be sitting down on chairs and doing the work, nice and easy.” He moved his hand horizontally in the air to emphasize his words. “But we’re the grunts doing the heavy work.”

“I like liftin’ stuff,” Kozinski said. “Can’t break anythin’, I can’t.”

York shook his head and headed out again, followed closely by Kozinski.

“Won’t get anywhere unless we start acting civilized,” York said as they left. “We need to take some engineering classes or something. Have you seen the men in there? They’re civilized, polite, well-learned.” He kept talking, but his voice became fainter as he got farther away.

Soon, I just heard Kozinski’s characteristic laugh,
who, who, who
.

Those two didn’t worry about the imminent attack.

The wait turned minutes into hours, and hours into days. Everyone worked on improvised defense systems for a spaceport that had never been designed to survive a large-scale attack. We were larger than a spaceship, so we had many more regions to protect. We could barely fly the North Star with our crew, and the governor had fired too many of his security men throughout the years.

I don’t know how long I’d spent on watch, but I still had much more to do. Paperwork, strategies, and blueprints floated around my mind, turning everything fuzzy and blurry.

I had to remain awake.

Hatfield entered the bridge unannounced and unworried that we were hard at work. He simply didn’t care. I sometimes wondered if he was suicidal. In either case, he was in charge of healing the men and I didn’t want him close if he was holding a scalpel.

“Preparations.” Hatfield strolled around the bridge, peeking over everyone’s shoulders and checking their control panels and screens. He sniffed around as he walked towards me and placed a paternalist hand on my shoulder. “My Dear Mr. Wood, you should have some sleep and rest your mind. And you can also take a shower. I don’t like the toxicity levels around here.”

Ugh. I didn’t smell, and he was starting to get tiring. No matter what he said, I
did
shower often enough. I have no idea of what he was referring to.

I was turning grumpier by the minute. Perhaps he was right, and I did need some sleep.

“Don’t you have any patients?” I asked him.

“Actually, I do,” Hatfield said, “but none of them are about to die, and I wouldn’t care much if they were. After all, they’re from the lower caste, our very own untouchables. Mere mechanics and grunts.” Since when had he turned into such a snob? He grinned at my disgusted expression. “Does it sound offensive to your delicate ears, my friend? That’s exactly how people like Lady Elizabeth and Banner talk amongst them. I personally find it disgusting and unproductive to indulge in our economic, cultural and genetic superiority. Must be my religious upbringing: feed the poor, help the poor, care for the poor, and let the poor pay taxes to maintain your lifestyle.”

Hatfield analyzed society from outside as if he floated around social classes instead of living amongst them. I would’ve been more patient, but this wasn’t the time for his social analyses.

“Is that supposed to be a joke?” I asked. “Because we’re about to be attacked by a legion of ships, we don’t even know whose they are, and I’m acting captain during my first command. Banner has somehow managed to exchange messages with his father, but we haven’t managed to contact anyone since. I’m not in the mood for your social experiments or to become some kind of gentleman.”

Hatfield tut-tutted and shook a forefinger in the air. “One does not
become
a gentleman; one is
born
a gentleman. One can
learn
to behave like a gentleman, but you’ll never
be
a gentleman if you aren’t born into a proper family. It’s a minor difference, you see? But it’s part of the definition of aristocracy.”

I shooed him out of the bridge. “Not in the mood, Doctor. I’m really not in the mood. I’m carrying a sword on me because I’m acting captain. I wouldn’t annoy myself if I were you. Sleep deprivation can lead to all kinds of unsocial behavior.”

“Perfect,” Hatfield said cheerfully. “That’s exactly the kind of reaction you need to repress. Gentlemen are able to act like gentlemen even when they have a red-hot nail stuck under one of their toenails. Children and lowborns let their bodies rule over them; gentlemen rule over their bodies no matter how they feel.”

I took a deep breath. Someone was eager to taste my sword, and I was very close to obliging.

“Why don’t you help some of my men or disappear, Doctor?” I told him. “I don’t care if I act like a gentleman if I’m going to die; I’ll worry about it later.”

“And that’s exactly why you won’t have any chances with Lady Elizabeth.” Hatfield smiled at me and winked. “Your dear lady is too worried by her own appearance, by the image she projects, and by everything she does. If you keep acting like an uncivilized brute, she’ll scorn you like she does with Kozinski.”

“And if I have a doctor judging everything I do, I’ll treat him like someone who’s blocking my authority as acting captain.”

Hatfield ignored my threat once more and tapped on his forehead with a finger. “Think about it, Wood. You need to forget about captaincy every once in a while. I’m old and bored, and without any interesting patients to help. Have you ever tried to converse with the lower crew while stitching a wound? As if their limited vocabulary weren’t enough, their breaths can outright kill you.” He bowed solemnly at me as if we were in the French court. “Anyway, I won’t interrupt any longer. You’re the captain and you’re busy, and I’m just an old and bored doctor trying to find some entertainment for myself.”

Flanagan reached the bridge and noticed Hatfield. He scanned the scene for a millisecond and immediately asked me, “Want me to get rid of him, sir? We don’t need no doctors if nobody’s hurt, do we?”

“Keep offending the only renowned surgeon aboard the port,” Hatfield said with a forced, polite smile, “and you might find yourself in an unpleasant situation. I might be indisposed for surgery if you ever land in sick bay with a bullet wound.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Flanagan said, “but we’ll both need to survive for me to end up in sick bay. Neither of us will live unless I get rid of all distractions.
Capici
?”

Hatfield left without further complaints and Flanagan followed him with his gaze in case he changed his mind and came back for more.

“Hate being the messenger, sir,” Flanagan said once the doctor had left, “but you’re needed belowdecks.  We have problems with the satellites, and Lieutenant Banner needs you to greenlight his little project.”

Crap
. We’d worked on new satellites and space trash to stop the enemy’s advance and to give us somewhere to hide while in orbit, but people needed to work by themselves. I lacked enough engineers, I needed more technology, and I needed a few more years to prepare for an attack.

I didn’t have any of those. We were totally screwed.

I could almost imagine my tombstone:
James Wood, Useless Acting Captain. Got himself and his crew killed in his first command.

Don’t mean to sound selfish, but I’d rather pick something else. Something less romantic that doesn’t require me to die before retirement.