A Planet For Emily

CHAPTER THREE

Igor took Suzanne’s bag when she emerged from the airlock and led the way down a short corridor to a lift, which took them up two decks. Less stressed, Suzanne could take note of her surroundings. She could see that the fittings bore signs of wear. The lift, which took them to the top, or A deck, which contained the crew quarters, functioned well enough but the carpet was threadbare. Mirrors in the lift had blotches on the edges. But then Suzanne could not recall seeing carpet on the floors of any of the ships she had been in and had never used any lifts in them.

“This seems like a large ship,” she said to Igor. “How many crew are there?”

“Two humans; two robots – and Max.”

“What? So just me and Rods and you and another robot.”

“IRA – Integrated Robotic Assistant. We do the work; you tell us what to do.”

“I do?” It had not occurred to Suzanne that she might have assistance. But what was she going to do with this assistance? Then the lift doors opened, and she forgot, for the moment, her new concerns about being a cruise director.

In past Eras, a real estate agent would have described the crew quarters as compact. A better adjective was “cramped”. But to Suzanne, used to the overcrowding of Earth Station and to sharing bunks on transports, it was palatial. Igor showed her to a tiny cabin fitted with two bunks, with a postage-stamp sized en-suite, tiny closet and fold down workstation which, she quickly realized, was all hers. It was acres of space. It was paradise. She quickly found she could fold up the top bunk for additional vistas. She thought of Richard, her absent fiancé, and how privacy was all but impossible on Earth Station. He had to come out. Then her stomach rumbled. An inquiry about food and meals led her to a small but well-stocked galley with a programmable auto-cook unit. She made herself a sandwich, eating half of it then and there, then found some biscuits on which she spread a substance described as butter on the container but would have not been within many light years of an actual cow. There was juice. Suzanne left some.

Then she noticed the background music. She was used to constant, quiet background music at Earth Station and on the ships she had been in, but that had been anodyne – designed to soothe. This music was different.

I polished up that handle so carefully

That now I am the Ruler of the Queen’s Navy

He polished up that handle so carefully

That now he is the Ruler of the Queen’s Navy

Suzanne had been only vaguely aware of the comic operas of Gilbert & Sullivan before setting foot in The Max but soon found herself humming along. Occasionally Mozart or the likes of Handel’s Messiah intruded, but sooner or later the background music returned to Gilbert & Sullivan.

As office boy I made such a mark

That they gave me the post of a junior clerk

I served the writs with a smile so bland

And I copied all the letters in a big round hand

He copied all the letters in a big round hand

I copied all the letters in a hand so free

That now I am the Ruler of the Queen’s Navy

He copied all the letters in a hand so free

That now he is the Ruler of the Queen’s Navy

The James Clerk Maxwell was a different ship, Suzanne decided.

“Where is Rods,” Suzanne asked Igor. The robot had followed Suzanne back to her cabin – after the new cruise director had decided not to eat in the small, deserted dining room (wardroom, she was later told stiffly, not dining room) – and stood around, apparently for want of anything else to do.

“Bridge.”

“Can I see him for a moment?”

“Not to be disturbed. He said he will space both of us if I let you anywhere near him.”

“Space us? What is that?”

“Put in airlock while in space and outer door opened.”

“Goodness! Was he serious?”

“Lift off in half an hour,” said Max, unexpectedly chiming into the conversation as she sometimes did. In the ship, Igor was partially an extension of Max, but shipboard announcements came direct from Max. “You have to strap in.”

“Where do I strap in?”

“In your chair. Plates and cups to be returned and stored.”

“Got it.” Suzanne thought for a moment. “What is Rods’ routine?” she asked Igor. “Where will he be that I can also be, so I can also speak to him without being put in an airlock?”

“Exercise in rec room, B deck, 7 AM ship time.”

“So, the floor – I mean deck – below this one. I take the lift down?”

“Ladder at bridge end of passage.”

“Ladder?”

“Ladder – never stairs, ladder.”

Suzanne looked at the digital clock with analogue display inset in the wall. She would study her cruise directing files for a while and then have time for a few hours sleep in a bed that was all hers.

The newly appointed cruise director for The James Clerk Maxwell was at the ship’s rec room on the dot of 7AM, still missing sleep but determined to take the next step in relations with her new employer. The area was crammed with equipment that she recognised only from old films. It included a punching bag, a weightlifting bench and a treadmill. On one wall was a visual display of the ship’s course, direction and time to the next destination – Fin’s Reef, wherever that was, in two hours. Screens with that display were all over the ship. On the other was a picture of a younger Rods having his hand held up by a referee in a boxing ring. Rods was already there, skipping rope with impressive speed, as Suzanne had to admit. He had a T-shirt on, but his obvious muscles were a world away from the men she had known on Earth Station with no room for any exercise apart from hunching over a computer screen. This included her own fiancé, she reluctantly conceded to herself. Rods visibly started when he saw her and then glared. Suzanne dived for the nearest piece of equipment, which happened to be the treadmill. She wanted to make it appear that she, too, was there for the exercise.

A pair of goggles with a cable attached hung on a bracket, but she had no idea what they were for. Instead, after puzzling over the controls, she hit start. The machine hummed and she found herself running full tilt. Like the men she knew, Suzanne was also badly out of condition, and being cooped up on spaceships for weeks had not helped. In a moment she was puffing. She bent over to see how to slow the machine down, stumbled and fell and was flung off with an “eek”, forcing Rods to stop skipping and jump back.

“If you’re going to make a nuisance of yourself,” he growled, putting the skipping rope away, “you might as come over here and hold the punching bag for me.”

While the trader turned away to pull on practice boxing gloves Suzanne picked herself up, still puffing from her exertion on the treadmill, and eyed the punching bag apprehensively. She was of average height but, in her fevered imagination, the bag seemed bigger than her. Suzanne tentatively approached the bag, then wrapped her arms tightly around it.

Rods turned around and his jaw dropped.

“What are you doing?”

“You said to hold the bag for you.”

“I meant brace yourself against it, so I can hit it without it swinging, not get intimate with it.”

“Oh!”

“Let go of the bag; put your shoulder into it there.” He put his hand on her shoulder and pushed it down to the right place. His hands were strong but not rough, Suzanne decided. “Now put your feet back.”

Suzanne closed her eyes.

The first time Rods hit the bag she almost fell over. The second time she was flung onto the weightlifting bench. Suzanne picked herself up straight away, trying not to look at Rods, who notably did not ask whether she was hurt, and braced herself again, eyes screwed shut and teeth gritted.

Nothing happened. After a few seconds, she opened one eye and looked up at Rods who had one gloved hand on his side and another on the bag looking down at her. Abruptly he put his head back and barked, or at least Suzanne thought he barked. She was reminded of videos she had seen of seals on Earth calling to one another. Then she realized that the spaceman was laughing. He could be heard through most of the ship.

“Arf! Arf! Arf! When you fell off the treadmill… Arf! Arf! Arf! Then you… then you… were hugging the bag… Arf! Arf! Arf!” Rods lent back against the bulkhead, holding his stomach. “I’m sorry,” he said, after a moment, gasping. “I’ve been mean to you haven’t I?”

Suzanne nodded, looking sheepish.

“Sports are not really your thing, are they?”

She shook her head.

“Come over to the treadmill.” He pulled off one glove, still chuckling, and adjusted the controls. “This ship is more than 30 years old, and the treadmill was installed second-hand at the time it was built, so it’s one of the few pieces of equipment Max can’t control. You must adjust the speed here. It was set to my sprint speed so no wonder you fell off.” He chuckled. “Put on the goggles.” He handed her the equipment she had put aside. “This control gives you different views.”

“Views?”

“Put on the goggles. Adjust the strap. Push the on button. There.” He guided her hand. Three dimensional views of an ocean side path appeared. The images were a little cruder than the technology she was used to on Earth Station but unlike the viewing pods she had used previously, Suzanne found that she could step out and the path felt real under her feet.

“The tread changes. If you go up it will have a slope. Amazing it still works after all this time.”

“It is amazing.” Suzanne turned towards the sound of Rod’s voice only to see ocean and nearly losing her balance. “There’s nothing like this on Earth Station. No room.”

“The ladies I’ve had aboard have all liked the treadmill.”

“Hmm!”

“I’ve put you on 15 minutes. Rest and repeat. I expect you to be up to an hour on the toughest route real soon, or I’ll have Igor haul you down here and hold you on the track.”

“Slave driver!”

“You bet. If we do find your sister’s ship and we have to be active for some reason, I don’t want you puffing around behind me. Anyway, it’ll tighten up your figure.”

“And does my figure need tightening?” said Suzanne, suspiciously. She turned her head again and again nearly lost her balance.

“Keep jogging, Cruise.”

“Anomaly detected.”

Suzanne ripped off the goggles and paused the machine 10 minutes into her cycle. One cruise display had turned into a Nav screen showing a dot inside a red circle and a set of numbers that meant nothing to Suzanne but something to Rods.

“Doesn’t look very big, Max,” said Rods, who had been hitting the bag, now firmly braced by Igor. “But let’s take a closer look. Helm six degrees starboard, two degrees below true.”

“Six degrees starboard, two degrees below true, aye.” Suzanne felt the ship turn and dip but then her world returned to normal. The ETA for the next port of call, which she knew to be Fin’s Reef from the schedule Max had shown her last night, adjusted by half an hour.

“Could it be the Dawn Treader?” she asked.

“If it is, it’s in completely the wrong chunk of space and moving in the wrong direction, and your sister is dead but, like I said, we’ll take a closer look.”

Suzanne risked another question.

“We’ll be half an hour later for Fin’s Reef, is that going to be a problem? The schedule says no passengers.”

“It’s home base. Three couples got stranded there when the company they were working for went broke. I bring food in and ship the ore out, they let me store stuff there and stay if I have to shut the engines off for any reason. The other ports charge me for the privilege of laying over. Might be some news. One of the women is very heavily pregnant.”

“Pregnant!” No births were permitted on Earth Station – not for any ideological reasons but because the place was simply too crowded.

“Foolish, I thought, but I guess their animal natures got in the way.”

“Why foolish? Do they have room?”

“Heaps of it, but they don’t have the system capacity to support more than six and it’s not set up for water production or food vats. It’s a non-starter as a colony, and there’s no place for a family to go. That’s where we could use your sister’s El Dorado. We could move everyone there. Now, get back to your jogging, and add 10 minutes for pestering me.”

After exercise and a shower in which she was allowed to linger – luxury – and being told that the anomaly was lifeless debris, Suzanne sat at the tiny table in her room eating breakfast and looking through floor plans. The Max had been intended solely to carry ore, but its upper bay, which connected directly through a door a few paces from Suzanne’s cabin, had been pressurised and converted to carry mixed general cargo and passengers. The modifications included slots to install movable partitions to create a series of cabins and common areas, depending on numbers. The neophyte cruise director found that she could choose from a series of floor plans, modify them according to need, and then transform the area again for another passenger run. With guidance from Max, and some juggling with floor plans she came up with a configuration in which the couples and families, two had children, had their own cabins, and everyone had a bunk.

Food consisted of pre-packaged meals which earlier generations would have dismissed as airline food – in fact, it was airline food passed its best-by date. But those taking passage to crowded mining colonies in the Rim were in no position to be fussy, as Suzanne knew too well. There were facilities for heating the meals. No alcohol was served outside the crew quarters, but there would be coffee, cordial and juices. Images of enraged passengers chasing her around the ship faded. Suzanne became absorbed. There were endless details. Sheets were not changed for short journeys, but towels were. Bathrooms had to be cleaned. Ick! Igor and Ira would do the actual work, but Suzanne would have to check and inspect. Did she have to inspect the four common bathrooms? That could be done remotely through visual feeds from the two robots.

Suzanne was aware that the ship had come out of phase space and was close to Fin’s Reef. But she was still intent on her work when Max spoke.

“Cruise director to the bridge. Urgent!”

Cruise director? she sounds important thought Suzanne, before recollecting that she was the cruise director. She charged out of her cabin thinking that she could not possibly be in any trouble yet, as she hadn’t had a chance to do anything, and in her confusion turned left, almost reaching the passenger/cargo hold hatch before realising her mistake. She raced back up the corridor to the bridge where she had not previously been.

“Took you long enough,” said Rods, who was sitting in the captain’s chair. The bridge was a dizzying array of screens full of displays that Suzanne did not understand. One group showed views of a gangway and hatches and the passenger area. Then there was the bridge window with its real time, direct view of space. Suzanne had spent weeks in ships getting to this patch of space without being able to see out of any of them. Now she was transfixed by an array of stars with a small planet in the foreground. Rods later told her that being able to see out of the ship the size of the Max was of little help in navigation or docking. The bulk of it was computer work and checking readouts. But it was still nice to be able to see out.

“When you’ve finished staring. Cruise.”

“Sorry, I was told I wasn’t allowed on the bridge.”

“Later! Sit there.” He pointed to a chair, one of the three on the bridge, set behind the two command chairs. “And buckle up.”

Suzanne did as she was told, as another voice spoke from the screen in front of Rods.

“Who was that?”

“Just briefing my crew, captain.”

“I’ll repeat myself. This is Lieutenant Commander Dyson, captain of the Earth Ship The Adams. Prepare to be boarded.”

“I was under the impression that the Earth did not exist as a political entity any more, Captain Dyson.”

“Stand by to receive boarding party.”

“Fin’s Reef control has also told me that you’ve been asking after The Max. I’m flattered that you’ve come all this way to jack me. But try any nonsense and I’ll switch on the phase drives.”

“Stop any maneuvers, or we’ll blow you apart.”

“Tough talk, captain, but I have detection equipment. The moment you start prepping your lasers I’m outta here.”

“You are required by law to submit to a search.”

“Earth Station’s law hasn’t been relevant out here for years, captain, and I’m not registered. But I’ll tell you what, rather than you tell your superiors I refused a search you can send four people across – provided they’re unarmed, and they submit to being scanned head to toe.”

“That’s unacceptable. Stand by to receive a boarding party.”

“You can take my offer, or I leave.”

There was a long silence.

“Unarmed then,” snapped Dyson. “Come closer, we’ll send the cutter.”

“I like the distance I’m at, captain. Your cutter will have to make it.”

The captain cut the call.

“You’re defying the navy?” asked Suzanne, both awed and frightened, mostly frightened because she feared all this meant she would lose her nice room.

“This isn’t the navy of your dad. They may have uniforms and the ships have insignias, but they haven’t been paid for months and now basically they’re official pirates. Most of their armament probably doesn’t work anymore, but they wouldn’t use it anyway, because they want the Max. This ship is more than 30 years old… no offence Max.”

“None taken.”

“…And hasn’t been refitted in 10 years which is way too long for a space-going vessel with a nuclear power plant, and they still want it because it’s one of the few things out here they can take with a show of legality that’s moveable and worth anything. That’s how far the navy of your dad – my navy – has fallen.”

“But you’re allowing them to board?” said Suzanne, thinking that she still might lose her cabin.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to let them jack us. The only reason I’m allowing anyone on board in the first place is because I don’t want them to report I refused a search, and to delay them. While all this is going on I’m falling into Fin’s Reef which has defenses on its port. Just remember those guys won’t give two straws about your sister, and just want to sell The Max for whatever they can get.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Stay put.” He spoke into the comms. “Igor, tool up and go to the main airlock.”

Suzanne watched as a small dot on one screen, which Rods pointed out to her, grew to be a naval cutter, as they orbited above the world of Fin’s reef. Rods exchanged comments with Fin’s Reef base control and typed out a note.

Just as she was working up the courage to ask what he was writing, he told her to look at the screen to her left.

“I’ll send it out to everyone before we dock anywhere. It’ll save explanations.”

She read;

This is introducing Suzanne Clark, the new cruise director of The Max. Officials on Lucifer III put her forward as a replacement, after Sylvia’s departure. She is an English teacher with a fiancé on Earth Station out here looking for her sister who went missing with the Dawn Treader. Please make her welcome.

“Put her forward?”

“Sounds better than being forced on me because the last flight director turned out to be a conniving, scheming, ship jacking bitch.”

“I suppose… Where did the picture come from?”

“The Max takes pictures of all visitors to The Max when they enter. No exceptions.”

“Can I change it?”

“Suit yourself but wait until our little drama is finished.”

“You didn’t say anything about why Sylvia departed or where she went to.”

“Nope.”

“You didn’t put her in an airlock, did you?”

“No, but she didn’t ask so many questions.”

After that, Suzanne watched in silence as the naval cutter, she recognized as an older model shuttle, maneuvered to link with The Max. She knew that only a few outdated ships on patrol duties had survived the massacre at Cross Roads. The cutter docked and the action shifted to the airlock, on another screen, where Igor was waiting. This was larger than the forward airlock where Suzanne had been made to strip, but the layout was the same. Igor waited right in front of the airlock hatch, carrying what seemed to Suzanne to be a ferocious-looking weapon with a massive barrel and round magazine.

“Okay,” said Rods, “they haven’t tried to attach anything to the hull. The sloop is maintaining distance. Max, shut down all external comms – just leave the comm link to the sloop open.”

“Done,” said Max.

“They’ll try to hack Max and force the airlock open at the same time, once the seal is made. Max, when the hatch opens it is to lock at first position. Igor, present your weapon through the gap.”

“Aye! Aye!”

“Is he really going to fire the gun there?”

“Fires rubber bullets – they sting but they won’t break the hull. Designed for close encounters aboard spaceships.

“Put Igor’s view on screen 12.”

Suzanne saw one screen change to show the hatch to the main airlock from Igor’s point of view. As she watched, the light on the hatch locking mechanism turned green and the hatch swung open, then stopped. She heard a muffled thud; someone on the other side yelped and then swore fluently. Igor looked around the partially opened hatch, gun at the ready. On the screen Suzanne could see a naval petty officer in a bullet proof jacket rubbing his shoulder. He was also holding a special spaceship gun.

Another man jumped into Igor’s view pointing a shotgun and shouting “drop it!”, making Suzanne recoil.

“The robot is armored,” said Rods, speaking to them through Igor. “Gentlemen, I am prepared to humor the navy, but the deal is no weapons. If you want to come in, toss the hardware.”

“We’re entitled to board and search,” snarled the petty officer.

“Then board and search, but no weapons. Comply or I’ll break the docking connection.” Reluctantly the two men put their weapons down. “How many are coming aboard?”

“Three,” said the petty officer.

“Quite a crowd. You first and alone. Squeeze through the opening. If the two of you try to come together, you’ll find out about the robot’s other tricks.” Rods switched channels. “Max, Igor will cover them with his gun.”

They watched while the three navy hands – one petty officer, a male rating and a female rating – were scanned. They were made to surrender two knives, one small pistol and a packet of unidentified white powder, all of which Rods insisted be put back inside the cutter’s airlock.

“It’s not fair,” said Suzanne, when Rods scanned the slim, young female rating. “You made me strip right down.”

“That’s ’cause I’m going to turn my back on you at some point. I don’t intend to turn my back on these guys at all.”

The inspection team looked cursorily around the corridors followed by Igor. The empty hold was unpressurised so they could not get into it. They demanded access to the container carrying fresh vegetables in the stern of A deck and got it, then they wanted to get into the crew quarters. By that time, Rods had gone to the armory – a locker beside Suzanne’s cabin and come back with a long, business-like rod, which he said was a cattle prod.

“Are there any cattle in this sector of space?”

“Not that I know of, but it’s amazing what you find in the remainder bins in some places,” he said.

Suzanne wasn’t quite sure what a cattle prod was supposed to do, but she didn’t like the look of it.

“One at a time, people,” said Rods to the navy personnel on the other side of the crew quarter’s hatch.

Suzanne suddenly noticed the ship’s soundtrack. She found that she could shut it out entirely at times, like all the music that she had heard on ships coming out, but at other times it came crowding back. It was Gilbert & Sullivan again.

With constabulary duties to be done, to be done

A policeman’s lot is not a happy one, happy one.

“The deal is we all come in,” said the petty officer.

“The deal is one at a time. You first. You can keep the hatch open so you guys can see each other. Anyone follows you in and the robot does his stuff.

He turned to Suzanne: “I want you to come out with me and stand behind me. I don’t want us to be separated. Remember, if the navy guys get hold of the ship they’ll have no interest in looking for your sister.”

“I understand.”

Rods confronted the petty officer in the crew quarters companionway, holding his prod like a rifle.

“Who is the other person?” asked navy. He was a tall, heavy set man with a round, unshaven face and a hint of a tattoo on his neck. He kept his fists clenched as if he expected to use them at any moment.

Suzanne poked her head out from behind Rods long enough to say “I’m the cruise director” then ducked back.

“I see. Pretty cruise director for a ship with no passengers.”

“Don’t worry we’ll get some passengers soon. Max, open all internal doors in the crew quarters.” The doors slid open, and the petty officer made a show of looking through the rooms.

“You have a separate sick bay?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Don’t suppose you got any papers.”

“Not for years. The inspection is a courtesy. We’re not doing anything you guys are interested in.”

“Except a convicted drug smuggler is operating an unregistered ship,” said the petty officer.

Rods noted he was edging closer and tensing.

“Sure, on technical stuff, you’ve got us a lot of ways.”

“And carrying passengers. The presence of a cruise director is enough to show that.”

“No argument there.”

Rods expected the petty officer to jump, but he did not expect the big man to be quite so fast or to have a small knife in his right hand. He blocked the knife thrust with the probe but could not bring the probe’s point around to bare skin. The two men pushed against each for a few seconds, too close for kicking. At the same time, the male rating jumped onto Igor’s back and tried to grab the robot’s gun. The female rating kicked at the robot, ineffectually. Suzanne dived through the open hatchway into the wardroom, out of the way.

Igor, who had a clear field of fire at Rods’ opponent, and ignoring the rating’s attempts to grab the weapon, shot the petty officer twice in the back. The man screamed and fell away. Rods dragged his prod clear and touched it to the man’s skin. He convulsed and went quiet. Igor turned abruptly, elbow out, and threw off the rating on his back.

“Inspection is over,” said Rods. “Igor, drag my friend here away, and escort everyone back to the airlock. Still with us, cruise director?”

“Still here,” said Suzanne from the wardroom floor.

Rods then thought to pick up the knife used by the petty officer, which turned out to be a form of plastic. Although there was no metal to detect, the shape should still have been picked up. Rods went through navy’s pockets to find the sheath – a decorative slip of plastic designed as a souvenir with the word Moscow on it and a picture of the Kremlin of that distant city. Once sheathed, the blade outline did not show, even to a scanner search. Ingenious! By that time, Igor had dragged away the petty officer’s body – there would not be any permanent damage – leaving Rods with the knife. Spoils of war.

“How long since you guys got paid?” he called down the corridor.

The female rating hesitated, glanced at her male colleague and then said: “six months, a bit more”.

Rods gave the knife to Suzanne showing her its design and said that as part of the job she should keep it with her at all times. She took it thinking that life was becoming considerably rougher.

“At least there’ll no need for it at Fin’s Reef,” the trader said.