“That’s the third time you’ve asked that, Galatea,” Lilliana Cortana Corsair said, with considerably less patience than she’d used to note the second time.
She’d been on the command deck since the chase had begun… which had been just minutes before she would otherwise have retired for nine hours of sleep. Her official position on board Shays Rebellion was that of Communicator, but few things on Rebellion ran according to an “official” anything. Her actual responsibilities were more analogous to that of a Shipsec, or Ship’s Second, but her job could also be described equally well as “business manager” or “den mother.”
“Well, I have yet to receive a satisfactory answer,” Galatea said. Her voice somehow managed to precisely convey all the connotations of shrillness without actually being shrill. The best genes money could buy from the best genetic counselors in the Galactic Confederated Commonwealth had produced a voice that was perfectly modulated and undeniably quite lovely. It was almost enough to make up for the sheer force of her personality. “Considering that against my judgment, we’ve placed the safety of the entire ship into the hands of one alcoholic maniac, I think I’m entitled to a few answers.”
“You’re the Operator,” Lilliana said. “Your job is keeping our computers running… not making, or even questioning, command decisions.”
“It appears that Crewman Bard has run out of, uh, ammunition,” reported Dick Unger, the pilot. They could all see this from the view screen at the rear of the deck, which showed the perspective from the foremost of the two observation lounges, looking backward. The black-suited figure was hurrying down the sloped side of the rear tower, towards an open maintenance lock in the “valley” between them.
“And with very little to show for it… not surprisingly,” Galatea said.
“One bright spot,” Dick said. “While most of the strikes have inflicted what can only be described as cosmetic damage, they have done significant damage to two of the kinetic energy guns.”
“I’d say taking down two out of a total of sixty kegs is pretty much the definition of ‘can only be described as cosmetic damage’,” Leo said. The black-furred figure was sprawled in his customary position atop a large, bureau-sized computer bank along the side of the deck. “If anybody asked me.”
“No change in position or heading,” Lilliana noted.
“That’s not entirely true,” Dick said. “The hostile ship has increased its rate of acceleration again.”
“Let’s be honest… nobody expected the whole ship to go up from one well-placed exploding softball,” Lilliana said, though she had on some level been privately counting on just this eventuality. “The best we could have hoped for would be that they maneuvered out of our shadow to avoid the damage, and gave us a chance to stretch out our lead.”
“Possibly delaying the inevitable end of this chase by a matter of minutes… and we didn’t even manage to do that much,” Galatea said sourly. “Thus transferring the entire exercise from the column marked ‘largely futile’ into the one marked ‘entirely futile’, and somehow managing to make the whole thing even more ridiculous than it was to begin with… and I still have yet to see the purpose of the bat!”
“Well, sure an’ I’d've looked right twitched out there, wingin’ softballs at it overhand, wouldn’t I now?” Regan Bard said, tumbling headfirst into the room from a maintenance hatch in the wall just over Leo’s resting spot.
She somehow managed to get her arms and legs underneath her to avoid breaking her neck on the metal floor panels. She wore the same black body suit she’d worn on the outside, though the hood-like head enclosure and the form-fitting gloves had been folded invisibly down into seams in the neck and wrists. She’d pulled a tunic of silvery mail over it, and traded her baseball bat for a greatsword strapped to her back… a sword grossly out of proportion with her own small, wiry frame. Short, spiky blonde hair and a black plasticine eye patch which adhered to her boyish face completed the generally wild appearance.
“Welcome back, Bard,” Lilliana said.
“Thanks, The Gypsy,” Regan replied. “Anyway, like as not, they’re protected by magical anti-slow-pitch talismans. Common as anything, seen it before a hundred times. Now, if ya wanna be technical about it, I was playin’ no-pitch, but it’s all one to the spell, like… so what we need to do now is whip up some more o’ those balls, an’ if somebody stands on one of the humps an’ pitches at me, like, then we’ll blast right through the fecker like it’s tissue paper.”
“That’s, uh, a good plan,” Lilliana said. “But you don’t have time to make up another batch of exploding softballs, much less teach anybody to pitch.”
“If that vessel really were protected by ‘magical anti-slow-pitch talismans’, wouldn’t ‘winging softballs at it overhand’ have been more effective?” Galatea asked.
“Sure, an’ that’d be exactly what they want ya to think, like,” Regan said. “But then… ya won’t have factored in the invisible goblin umpires, will ya?”
“Oh, of course,” Galatea, rolling her eyes. “Have we considered surrendering? Surely if we turn over our cargo without a fight, it’ll go better for us than if we continue to pit a single explosive-happy compulsive liar against a heavily armed warship.”
“Do you think they’d be satisfied with that?” Lilliana said. “Think about it… they’ve been chasing us all this time, with no way of knowing what we’re carrying or even if we have any cargo at all. To be honest, our ship doesn’t exactly scream ‘fat prize’ at the moment. The one resource they know we’ve got–that every ship this size has–is people.”
“Well, there is always the danger that some of the crew would be pressed into slavery,” Galatea said. “For instance, some of the young, attractive female members with impressive genetic backgrounds might conceivably find themselves sold into a life of sexual exploitation, objectified… treated as little more than playthings for corrupt millionaires with appetites too obscene to mention. I, for one, consider that an acceptable risk, for the good of the ship as a whole.”
“Among the other problems with that idea, I’d give credits to crullers that thing’s in similar straits as us, fuel-wise,” Lilliana said. “Otherwise, they would have overtaken us long ago… and I can only think of one situation where a ship will give chase when it’s low on fuel: if it’s running a necrodrive. They aren’t looking for sex slaves. They’re looking for fresh batteries.”
“Oh, well,” Galatea said, disheartened. “I suppose that could be acceptable, too.”
“How much do you think you would really enjoy spending the rest of your life chained to a pillar in a dark room, where you were made to suffer endlessly for the sole benefit of your captors?” Lilliana said. When Galatea took overly long considering her answer, she elaborated. “If the operators take it slow, marshalling their power, they can stretch out your lifespan to a hundred years or more… a hundred years of being aware of nothing but the agony of feeling your own soul leached away from you by degrees. If, on the other hand, they burn through a lot of energy doing quick bursts of acceleration, you die faster… but the torment increases exponentially,” she said. “Doesn’t sound very sexy, does it?”
“Only slightly,” Galatea admitted. “Hmm… permission to retreat to my quarters and ponder at length exactly how unarousing such a scenario would be?”
“Save it for your own time,” Lilliana said.
“That’s assuming we aren’t completely out of time already,” Leo said.
“Any chance you can get any more speed out of the array?” Lilliana asked Dick.
“It’s spaced near drained as it is,” he said. “Even accelerating at our present rate is likely to cook the whole thing if we keep it up. The bastards have us right where they want us, and they know it. Let’s be honest, we do not have a lot of options at this point.”
“I’m well aware…” Lilliana said, only to be interrupted by a beep and a flashing light from her communications console. “Go ahead, Daniel,” she said aloud. Her practiced tone let the computer know to open the intraship communication channel.
“Um… you know I don’t make a habit of questioning how you all do your job,” the voice of Daniel Shays said.
“And we appreciate that,” Lilliana replied smoothly.
“It’s just… that flying fortress out there’s getting a little bit close to my ship, isn’t it?”
“I’m taking care of it, Daniel,” Lilliana said.
There was a few seconds’ hesitation, during which Lilliana could just barely hear the murmur of a hurried conversation away from the speaker, and then Daniel said, “Should I send Cicada up to oversee things?”
“No,” Lilliana said emphatically. “Absolutely not. I said I’m taking care of it.”
“Have you ordered the cargo crew to the lifeboats?”
“No, and I’m not going to,” Lilliana said. “I have everything well in hand, thank you.”
“You have fifteen minutes, and then I’m putting Cicada in charge.”
Lilliana swore under her breath. The intercom went off with a beep.
“What good would lifeboats do?” Galatea asked. “They’re only capable of sublight travel… there’s no way one could possibly hope to outrun a real ship.”
“That’s exactly the point,” Lilliana said. “There’s an old saying which might not be current in the Commonwealth: if you and a friend are being chased by a ravenous beast, you don’t have to outrun the beast… you only have to outrun your friend.”
“That’s… that’s…” Galatea couldn’t find the words.
“That’s the reason Daniel doesn’t call the shots in a crisis,” Lilliana said. “Moves like that would be his first resort rather than the last one. If that thing gets much closer, he will turn his cyborg enforcer loose and she will do whatever she thinks is necessary to keep him safe. If that means throwing all non-essential personnel to the wolves, that’s exactly what she will do.”
“Certainly, it’s barbaric and utterly unpalatable to a civilized mind,” Galatea said. “But, to be frank, most of the rank-and-file crew are so ill-bred, they could little expect to come to a better end, particularly if it allowed the rest of us a chance to survive.”
“Cicada’s definition of ‘essential’ might differ from yours and mine,” Lilliana said. “It certainly wouldn’t include any perceived rivals for the romantic and sexual interest of her employer.”
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re insinuating, but I withdraw my support for the lifeboat plan for unrelated reasons,” Galatea said.
“The question remains: what are we going to do?” Dick said.
“The one thing we can do,” Lilliana said. She paused dramatically, if for no other reason than to give herself a chance to figure out what that one thing was. “A hot swap.”
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