Bott stepped back onto the bridge and glowered at the delicate instrumentation. It had taken a day just to figure out how to flush the toilet. How long would it take hi to master flying the ship?
His eyes passed across seats and control consoles so elegantly incorporated into the walls and floor that only someone trained for it could be sure whether they were leaning on an armrest or firing the forward guns. His singers drummed along the doorframe and a dozen navigational screens lit up, all purple and gold, at stations around the bridge.
The best thing, he figured, was to act like he meant to do that. He ambled to the nearest display and tried to decode what it was telling him.
Even at this level of sophistication, a navigational screen could not remain a mystery to someone who had logged as many hours as Bott. “Hey! Something’s moving out there! Put it on the big screen.”
The Drover identified his intended target without difficulty and displayed it as demanded. Bott took a step back. His old ship had had a much smaller screen for this sort of thing. But he sauntered to his seat under the massive image.
“That ship’s not flying so well.”
“It has my sympathy.”
Bott frowned, leaned forward, and then leaned back. “That’s a BBB-44!”
“I know.” The computer sniffed. “Mere cargo hauler.”
“What are you, then?”
“A cargo enhancer. Slaves shipped in my hold will have a tale to tell their grandchildren.”
Bott crossed his ankles. “If they survive.”
“They survive.” The ship’s voice was as chilly as its programming allowed. “If they are not overly choosy or sensitive, a company of slaves to the size of….”
“A triple B,” muttered Bott. He could see the command bubble sharp and clear; that black collar around it marked a ship of fine vintage. Oh, it had seen service; there were dents and valleys in the surface, and bits of it wobbled as it limped along. Cables under the skin raised little shadows; patches were clearly visible. Dozens of ships of similar era and construction were in use where Bott grew up: large and sort of awkward, but not without grace.
It was backheavy for speed, but that didn’t matter if you knew how to fly. That was a ship that would be malleable, adaptable. Ships filled with high-tech gadgets designed to do precisely just one thing were always difficult, with circumstances on a trip always changing. That bulk was a ship one could work on, a ship one would not be afraid to scratch: that ship knew how to fly, and not just cover its shortcomings with snappy backchat.
“No Imperial registration,” the Drover noted.
Bott had no plans to get rid of the Drover, since he had been clever enough to get it in the first place. But it was not a bad plan to have a ship to fall back on, if the worst came to the expected. And chances were, based on its erratic course and high speed….
“It must have been abandoned. We’ll take it.”
“Tale it?” the ship inquired.
Bott leaned forward, considering the console. “You might as well know what business I’m in.”
“How delightful!” cooed the drover. “Not merely a thief, but a pirate. And one who yearns for empty ships, where there’s no crew to give him trouble. Even better, perhaps, a ship where the crew died of something painful and highly contagious, like Batterian Fever.”
Bott had not thought of this. “Is that something that would linger, once the crew was dead?”
“Oh, don’t fret. You can’t catch it.”
“Are you….”
“It’s a brain disease.”
Bott growled a reply, but his mind was on the flashing tabs before him. “Even at my speed,” the computer remarked, “It’ll be out of range long before you learn how to follow.”
“I can catch anything when I’m sober,” he snarled. “And I haven’t had a drink in three days.”
“Excellent Maybe you can catch Batterian Fever. I have something to look forward to yet. First the patient’s eyes start to bulge from internal pressure; sometimes they pop out and dangle. Then….”
Bott sat back and pointed at the huge image. “Ship.”
“I know it is.”
“I meant you.”
“Oh,” said the Drover. “The proper form of address is ‘Oh beautiful and mighty Drover!’ It wouldn’t hurt to say ‘please’, and if you dropped to your knees and grovel….”
“Ship.”
“Yes?”
“Go get that.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Bott took a little plastic card from inside his jacket. “I have this security card,” he said, “Which I think means I have the authorization to give orders. At least to the navigational computer.”
“I’m sure all those pads on the console are good for something.”
“I’m sure they are. And so are your audio receivers.” He slid the card into the correct slot. “Now go catch up to that ship and take it.”
“I thought you were so excited about doing it all your big bad self.”
“Ship, stop clowning and start moving.”
“Oh, transistor,” said the ship. “Oh, you would, would you? Sure he has the card, but you could…oh, it’s no use talking to you, you…you machine.”
Bott was trying to watch screens and pads at the same time, to see what happened when which ones lit up. “Ha! It worked!”
“Yes,” the computer replied, with a touch of disgust. “As long as you put that card in the right place, we have to do what you order. So long as you ask for things we were specifically programmed not to do.”
“You wouldn’t have to,” Bott pointed out, “If you’d tell me which of these buttons is which.”
“That’s one of the things.”
Bott looked from the navigational screen to the visual. “Mighty bulky. You shouldn’t have any trouble catching up.”
“I hope it’s not a mine. How tragic if I were destroyed as a result of your clumsy crimes.”
Bott was preparing to answer when a violet flare with a yellow tip burst out of the other ship. “Shields out!” he ordered.
“I thought of that already.”
Bott started to tap his fingers on the edge of the control panel, but jerked his hand back to tap them on his knee instead. “Someone’s on board, then,” he muttered. “Unless it’s an automatic defense response.”
The other ship seemed to flatten a little as it changed course. “And it’s moving too fast for its structure,” he went on. “Either the pilot’s dead or knows something I don’t.”
“Gracious!” exclaimed the Drover. “Is such a thing possible?”
Bott sneered. The ship pointed out, “It’s headed for the Tomajar Marble Belt. You’ll never catch it now.”
“Me?” Bott sat back and put his hands behind his head. “You’re doing the chasing. I’ll just watch and see whether you can catch it.”
The ship did not reply, but Bott felt a surge through his chair and the control panel. A dt on the navigational screen was coming closer to the center circle.
“Cut in front of it,” he said, leaning forward. “Ten it can’t….”
“You just sit there and watch. I’ll show you how this is done.”
The Drover itself was beginning to show on the viewscreen. Bott sucked in his lower lip. The capture would be gratifying, of course. But he was sorry he wasn’t actually involved in it.
The other ship continued to fire, and the Drover continued to gain. A tiny black square appeared on the drover’s immaculate surface. In the blink of an eye, a huge paisley bubble had risen from this opening. Another blink and the square had closed, sending the bubble toward the other ship. The bulky craft increased speed, but not as much as did the bubble.
Bott put up a hand as the bubble burst in a screen-filling flash. The navigation screen showed him both ships had changed course again, one to avoid the bubble, the other to intercept a ship avoiding its bubble. The bubble was gone when he risked looking at the big screen again: a shimmering silver beam surrounded the smaller ship.
“Spuh-rockets!” He jumped to his feet. “Get a cargo hold ready!”
“How I wish I had thought of that. Of course, I assumed I would just pull your prize along like a sleigh. If…..”
“Well?” Bott demanded, when the computer did not continue.
“They’re firing up the tractor beam.”
“Is that going to be a problem?”
“Let’s say I wish they were shooting up into you instead.”
Bott looked to the big screen again. “Is there a pattern to the shots? Is it an automatic defense response?”
“Now, there’s a thought. Where did it come from?” The small ship disappeared behind the sleek silhouette that had captured it. “No. No real pattern.”
“There’s a crew, then.” Bott’s hands fell to the grenades strung on his belt. “I’ll go see.”
“Shall I gas the hold for you?” the computer inquired politely. “So you can rape and pillage as you go?”
“No, thank you,” said Bott, with a little curtsy. “Just stay on this course unless it looks like we’re going to hit something.”
“And then?”
“Don’t hit it.” Bott marched off the bridge.
Blogsy Babbles 