Backyard Starship Read online

  “That’s right. As long as that little spaceship icon is centered in the circle, your orbit is stable. You apply thrust to raise it or lower it,” Netty replied.

  “Okay, so—” I stopped. “Where, exactly, do we need to go? I told Miryam I had to travel on urgent business for a few days, so it’s not like I’ve got a massive time crunch here, but I’m not even sure where we’re going.”

  “Your first stop would be the starport at what you would call Ross 248,” Perry said.

  “I would call it that? More like I wouldn’t call it anything because it’s not a place I get to all that often.” I flashed Perry a grin. If he appreciated my attempt at being glib, he didn’t show it.

  “For our purposes, we use standard terrestrial star-catalog references. Other races use different names. For instance, to the Capians, Ross 248 is known as—”

  I winced as Perry spat out something that crossed an old computer modem trying to connect with a wailing cat.

  “Seriously? That’s a language?”

  “A Capian would probably say the same thing about English.”

  “Okay, but if all of these other races—and, I mean, this is sinking in now, that there are other races—anyway, if they all speak different languages, how the hell am I supposed to understand them?”

  “Don’t worry, we’ve got you covered, Van,” Perry said. “Check out the compartment in your left armrest.”

  I did and found it contained a number of gadgets, including one that looked like a small flashlight. I extracted that one and held it up. “What’s this? Some sort of weapon?” I had visions of using it to blow holes in walls or vaporize buildings.

  “It’s a flashlight,” Perry replied.

  “Ah. Oh. Okay. Nice to have a flashlight handy, I guess.” I put it back, and Perry had me retrieve, instead, a small cylinder made of foam, like a single earplug. He told me to slide it into my ear, so I did. It conformed itself perfectly to my ear canal.

  “This is some sort of translator?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So talk to me in some other language.”

  “I am,” Perry replied. “I’m speaking Capian right now.”

  I didn’t hear any of that modem-cat racket, but I did notice Perry’s mouth moving out of sync with his words. Well, huh. Just another bit of tech that would be worth millions, probably billions down in—

  I glanced down and saw the sun gleaming off snow-capped Indian mountains. So, India, but anywhere else on Earth, for that matter.

  “You can get rigged up with an implant for permanent, real-time translation if you want,” Perry went on. “I’d recommend that as a nice goal, though, rather than a must-do. You’ve got more important uses for your time and money. For now, the ear bug should be enough. Netty and I can translate for you, too.”

  I extracted the bug and put it away. “Okay, so what’s next?”

  “Next, we break orbit,” Netty replied.

  “We can just twist, or whatever it is, from here?”

  “In theory, yes, we could. But the more gravity is affecting it, the harder it is to twist space. You need a bigger, more powerful twist drive to do it. So a big battlecruiser might be able to twist right out of orbit, but I’m afraid the Dragonet’s just not up to it.”

  “So we have to fly away from Earth first. How far?”

  “Straight up from the ecliptic plane for about twelve hours should be enough to lower the gravitation to within the twist drive’s operating range.”

  “And what would happen if we just tried to twist from here?” I asked.

  “We’d burn a lot of fuel, go nowhere, and probably break the twist drive. If Perry and I can’t fix it, then you’d have to call for recovery and pay for that, plus parts.”

  “You’d start your career as a Peacemaker deep in debt. I wouldn’t recommend it,” Perry put in.

  “Let’s not do that.”

  Netty talked me through the process of breaking orbit. It turned out to be as complicated as I wanted it to be. I could just say, Netty, take us to a safe twist distance, and she would. Or, I could fly the Dragonet manually, right down to firing individual thrusters, if I wanted. As tempting as it was to try my hand at it, I settled on the former, for now.

  A faint rumble vibrated the Dragonet, and India began to slowly fall away, before finally disappearing from view. Ahead of me lay nothing but black emptiness, punctuated by a few, bright stars.

  “Congratulations, Van,” Perry said.

  “For what?”

  “You just joined an exclusive club. You’re one of only a small tribe of humans who’ve ever left low Earth-orbit.”

  I frowned at that. I could think of twenty-seven, the astronauts of Apollo 8 and 10, and 11 through 17. Oh, and Gramps, so twenty-eight. I made twenty-nine.

  I told Perry that, which just raised another question. “Are there any others?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, spill it. How many?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “You can’t, or you won’t?”

  “At least one of those is correct.”

  My frown hardened into a scowl. “Why the sudden evasiveness?”

  “Reasons, Van. I’ll answer every one of your questions that I can, but we’re occasionally going to run into some I can’t, for legal, policy, or other reasons.”

  “Or because you don’t know?”

  “Pfft. I suppose, though it’s unlikely.”

  I gave up and settled back into the pilot’s seat for what was going to be, I gathered, about the next twelve hours. But I couldn’t help wondering who those other humans who’d apparently left Earth had been—and why Perry couldn’t, or wouldn’t, say.

  I filled the next hours with a more detailed tour of the Dragonet, including some basics about her operations. Netty took care of the vast majority of working the ship, assisted by Waldo, and sometimes by Perry. Gramps had apparently gotten in on the act, too, eventually coming to do a lot of the ship’s routine maintenance himself. For now, I was content to leave it to the experts and focus more on the amenities.

  The Dragonet sported two small crew compartments, each including a bed and ample storage for personal effects. A tiny galley and a compartment that combined the functions of sink, toilet, and shower into one space rounded out the crew habitat. There was, however, one more compartment, spartan in the extreme, whose purpose was more somber.

  “Prisoner transport. We call it the brig,” Perry said.

  I just nodded. Prisoner transport. I tried to imagine carrying someone locked up in here, to wherever they needed to go. It was an unsettling thought and probably the first time the more unpleasant implications of being a Peacemaker crept into view.

  Perry was talking me through the intricacies of my battle suit, the form-fitting armor I’d briefly examined before, when Netty interrupted.

  “Van, there’s a ship falling toward the Inner Solar System.”

  “Toward the Inner Solar System. So it’s like us? Not from Earth?”

  “Look who’s suddenly not from Earth,” Perry put in, sounding smug.

  “It isn’t from Earth, no. It’s a standard Fornax-class workboat, modified to class six threat status.”

  “I’m sure that means something,” I said, starting back toward the cockpit.

  “The Dragonet is class eight. That means we can reasonably expect to deal with any vessel ranging from class one through class seven. Eight and higher are best avoided.”

  “How high do these classes go?”

  “Class one hundred is the highest recognized threat status.”

  I clambered into the pilot’s seat. “Holy shit. What would a one hundred even look like?”

  “No idea, since there isn’t anything that powerful known to exist. The highest class on the scale I’m aware of is class sixty-seven, which is an orbital mega fortress located in a classified location.”

  I could only shake my head. “Sure, okay. So what would be class one?”

  “A rock. Or a wreck.”

  “So class six is no threat to us, is what you’re saying.”

  “No, I’m not saying that at all,” Netty replied. “If you fly into a rock, it’s still going to hurt, even if it’s technically just class one.”

  “A class six can pose a significant threat to us, actually,” Perry said. “If it got the drop on us, ambushed us, that sort of thing. The threat rating is more a comparison of a straight-up fight.”

  I scanned the instruments, then curled my lip. “Alright, which of these tells me all of that?”

  “Tactical is directly ahead of you, top of the display. But when we go to alert status, you’ll also get a heads-up display projected right onto the canopy, like this,” Netty replied.

  Luminous bits appeared all around me. The most eye-catching was a circular icon, like a bullseye, that highlighted the other ship. A small window alongside it held a magnified image and some other data. It looked not too different from the Dragonet, maybe a little chunkier, but about the same size and mass.

  “So… I am actually looking at an alien spaceship right now.”

  “Insofar as it’s not from Earth, that’s right,” Perry said.

  “Huh. The truth really is out here.” I narrowed my eyes at the tactical data displayed alongside the icon. “What’s this red bit here, where it says No Transponder?”

  “That, Peacemaker, is the problem. Under the terms of interstellar law, all non-military vessels, and all military ones outside of specified exclusion zones, are required to broadcast a transponder code.”

  “I’m assuming this means they’re up to no good?”

  “Well, that, or they’re suffering a transponder malfunction. But it’s almost always no good.”

  “Okay, so what do we
do? Intercept?”

  “Ordinarily, yes. But this is literally your first flight, and you’re not actually operational yet. That’s the whole point of going to Ross 248,” Perry replied.

  I stared at the image of the other ship. “Do we know where they’re going?”

  “They’re currently on a course to intercept the NASA Newton-1 probe, launched last year for detailed survey of the Jovian moons, especially Europa,” Netty said.

  “Why would they be interested in a NASA probe? I doubt that any of the tech is useful to them, right? Isn’t it primitive by comparison?”

  “Oh, very much so. They’ll be more interested in some of the materials used in it, especially its plutonium power cells. Plutonium fetches a good price on the markets, both the open and black ones,” Perry answered.

  “So they want to strip that probe for parts? For plutonium? Won’t that give them away?”

  “Not at all. An EMP burst to knock the probe’s systems offline would do it. From NASA’s perspective, they’ll just have lost contact with the probe.”

  I thought about the various space missions that I knew had failed. Since humanity had started launching things out of orbit, there’d been more than a few. How many had been legitimate malfunctions, and how many had been greedy, opportunistic aliens?

  I glared at the image. “I just have to let them go and plunder that probe, and I can’t do anything to stop them?”

  “Well, technically, under GKU policy, you can intervene, but you’re not obligated to. However, if you’re injured or the Dragonet is damaged, you may not be eligible for duty subsidies,” Perry said.

  “Wow. Is space ever bureaucratic.”

  “You’ve barely started down the officious rabbit hole here, Van, believe me.”

  I pulled my lower lip across my teeth, a habit from long hours of studying tedious computer code. “I really don’t want these assholes just swooping in and plundering that probe.” I drummed my fingers on the armrest. “Can we talk to them?”

  “We can hail them, sure,” Netty replied. “There’s no guarantee they’ll answer, though.”

  “What the hell. Let’s give it a try.” I turned to Perry, who’d perched on the copilot’s seat, which I gathered was his accustomed place. “Is there some formal protocol stuff about what I should say?”

  “Allow me. Netty, open a channel, if you please, my dear.”

  “Done.”

  Perry’s voice suddenly rang with authority. “Unknown ship, this is the GKU ship Dragonet, registry PM109879. Please identify yourself and state your business in this system.”

  I waited.

  Silence.

  “Looks like they’re not interested in—” I started, but a staccato burst of speech cut me off.

  “This is the free trader Klrgzt. We’re having some problems with our transponder. Sorry about that. As for why we’re here, well, we’re—”

  I heard another voice mutter in the background.

  “—archaeologists. We’re here to do, um, archaeology.”

  I raised a finger, and Netty suspended the channel. “Okay, I’m new to this space stuff and all, but seriously, these guys are lying. And they’re doing a pretty piss-poor job of it, too.”

  Perry lifted and lowered his wings. “Very astute.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Well, standard protocol would be to board them and conduct an inspection, pursuant to the Treaty of Spica, Section Two, paragraph nine.”

  “Am I going to have to learn all of this legal stuff?”

  “That’s why you’ve got me. But it wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Did my grandfather know it all?”

  “Nobody knows it all. Well, except for me, of course,” Perry replied.

  I had to smile. A combat AI, a legal expert, a financial guru—and an ego.

  I opened my mouth, but Perry cut me off. “Before you go ahead and say sure, let’s board them, I’d point out that they’re likely armed and would quite happily kill you.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “The galaxy is a cold and hostile place, Van. You’re a lone Peacemaker in a remote system. It would be a long time before you were missed.”

  “Even longer, actually, since you’re not fully registered with the GKU,” Netty added.

  “Way to make me feel special, guys. So what do you recommend we do, here?”

  “Order them to leave the system until they have a working transponder,” Perry suggested.

  “Okay, so they go off and fix it, then come back and strip that probe anyway.”

  “You asked for my recommendation, and you got it.”

  I considered the situation. I knew I was way out of my depth here. But it didn’t seem like a very auspicious way to start a potential career as a galactic Peacemaker, turning what amounted to a blind eye to a crime. Even under pretty much any Earthly law, stealing a probe would still be stealing—even if it were happening somewhere near Mars.

  “Open that channel again, Netty,” I said.

  She did, and I prepared to make my voice as officious as possible.

  “Free trader—” was as far as I got before realizing I didn’t remember the name, which had sounded like a nonsense word anyway. I held up a finger for Netty to cut the channel again and looked at Perry.

  “They identified themselves as free trader Klrgzt.”

  “What the hell is a Klrgzt?”

  “It’s a Saparan word, but it doesn’t have a direct English translation. It sort of means, as free as a bird recently released from a cage where it was being held against its will.”

  “A bit on the nose for my taste, but then again, criminals are rarely subtle.” I signaled for Netty to resume the channel.

  “Free trader Klrgzt, by the power vested in me by the, um, Galactic Knights Peacemakers, I hereby order you to leave this system, never to return.” I glanced at Perry, who just stared back.

  “Close,” he said.

  “This is free trader Klrgzt. We’ve got a valid flight plan to do this archaeology we came here to do. And what’s with trying to order us to never return? You can’t do that.”

  I glanced at Perry and gave a helpless shrug. He took over.

  “Free trader Klrgzt, pursuant to the provisions of the Treaty of Spica, Section Four, paragraphs six through eight, your operating without a valid transponder signal invalidates your flight plan. Please withdraw from this system immediately, or you will be boarded for inspection pursuant to the Altair Protocols, specifically Protocol Three, section—”

  “They have just launched two missiles at us and are accelerating away on a diverging course,” Netty cut in.

  Perry shook his head. “Assholes.”

  “Woah, wait a second. Did you say they launched missiles? Like, they’re shooting at us?”

  “They are. And they must really want that probe because those missiles aren’t cheap, at fourteen hundred bonds apiece,” Netty replied.

  I gaped. We had some sort of ordnance streaking toward us, and both Netty and Perry seemed pretty meh about it, discussing dollar—or bond, or whatever—values.

  “Guys, shouldn’t we do something about those missiles?” I asked, watching the tactical overlay. It now clearly showed a new icon, rapidly closing on us. The heads-up projected on the canopy sent the same message, only in an even more stark way, by highlighting exactly where the inbound missile was.

  “Van, do we have your permission to engage this target with lethal force?” Perry asked.

  “You have to ask?”

  “Yes, actually, I do. AIs aren’t allowed to use lethal force without approval by a recognized sentient race.”

  “Aren’t AIs like you sentient, though?”

  “Do you really want to take this particular moment to delve into some specific points of interstellar law?”

  “In case anyone’s interested, those incoming missiles are forty-two seconds out,” Netty put in.

  “No, I don’t. Do whatever you have to do so we don’t get blown up,” I said with as much calm as I could muster.

  “Well, we were going to do that regardless,” he replied. “Self-defense is always authorized. Anyway, Netty, can you slave the ship to me?”

  “Done.”

  Perry didn’t seem to do anything, but the starfield suddenly rotated, and that dull thrum vibrated the ship. Displays flickered and changed. I tried to make sense of it all, but just as I’d figured out what was going on, something new was happening.

  One display was pretty clear, though. It showed the missiles less than twenty seconds away.