FLYING DUTCHMEN AND THE CONVENIENT VOID

by
Marcus Johnston
Copyright © 1996, 2011

 

"OW!!!" Todd screamed as the large glowing knobby thing shot a spark of electricity into his right leg once again.  Within the tight quarters of the shuttle (more like a flying tin car, with about as much space), all the equipment was jammed up against the two seats, holding the pilot and one very annoyed passenger.

He leaned up and yelled to the driver, "What the hell is that thing?!"  The smelly man barely noticed him, bopping along in his own seat, his headset pouring that damn vita-rey music—a combination of heavy metal, techno beats, and animal noises thrown in for effect.

"Wat?" the pilot bellowed back.

Captain Wilshire reached up and pulled the headphones off the scummy shuttle pilot and shrieked in his ear.  "What... is... that... OW!"  The torture device struck again.  "That thing... What is it?!"

"Wilt U laten me vlieg!" he shook off the captain and grabbed his earphones back.

Todd wasn't going to be ignored.  He tapped his shoulder and pointed to the knobby device.  "That thing... turn it off!"

"Ik moet vlieg de boot, mijnheer!"

"Spreecht Engels, you stupid Dutchman!"

"Ik spreek alleen maar Oranje."

Wilshire accepted the pain of another shock as he let go of the pilot's shoulder and settled back into his seat.  The driver shifted back in his chair and flooded his head with the concrete jungle music.  Todd just sighed as he tried to relax in his pain therapy room.  Damn shuttle.  The ship he just bought couldn't be bothered to stop at New Pretoria Station, so he had to go in this death trap to catch up as it moved in orbit around Deseret.  The captain looked out a miniature window in the back.  Yep, there it was.  They said on a clear day, you could actually see the planet.  Todd seriously doubted that; the gray layer of space trash surrounding the place would make it nigh impossible.

He shifted his view back up front, to the slightly larger window, hoping to see a glimpse of his ship.  Yet he saw nothing; just more empty stars.  Wilshire had been waiting his entire life for this moment.  Years working for the Crown Company, working through the ranks of the Intergalactic Merchant Marine Union, it all came down to this; commanding his own ship on his own terms.  He was desperate to get out of corporate life, so finally he saved enough capital, got the investors, and now, he had his own company.  Deseret/Meergeld Enterprises, of which he was the CEO, was starting with just one ship.  An old auxiliary minesweeper; perfect for clearing holes in the space trash layers that covered every inhabited world.  Not glamorous work, but incredibly profitable.  A couple runs, and maybe, he'd make enough to keep his dream alive.

"Wat is ut naam de Uw vliegboof?" the pilot called back, just as the shuttle picked up a sudden rattling.

"The name of the ship?  It's the... OW! ...the Arge O'Darcy."

"Arge O'Darcy?  Hmmm... hier het is!"

Todd strained forward to get a better look.  As they began to close on the ship, he could see that it appeared to be running backwards; braking.  When they moved even closer, its new skipper could see that she was not much to look at.  A big dome in front (the disruption pulse transmitter) connected to a large metal cylinder with three rows of lights running around the thing.  At the other end of the cylinder was a long three-poled lattice tower (much like a large antique radio tower) with slender tanks attached to it.  There was a tube inside of the three poles, leading to the engine cake at the end with three exhaust funnels, appearing to burn at standard thrust.  On the engine cake, there were three fins, each with the number "13" printed in dark black lettering.  Not a very lucky ship, he guessed.

The shuttle came in even closer to the cylinder; the main cabin.  As they moved to the bottom part of it, the docking ring, he got a better look at his ship.  On the cylinder, there was lettering.  In prominent letters, it spelled "Arge O'Darcy" across the length of it, with "New Pretoria Station, Deseret" written slightly smaller under that.  Dwarfing all that was a faded lettering, LMA-13, which apparently had never quite been removed from its days in the service of the Confederation.

The floating tin can came closer to the flying garbage heap.  As the shuttle glided in, Wilshire looked out the window to make sure he'd know when to brace himself; Todd guessed too late.

WHAM!  The front of the shuttle hit the ring, jolting him into the pilot's seat.  The next second, the knobby thing fired a full jolt, jumping him up, hitting the ceiling, and finally falling back in his chair.

The pilot, unaffected (or just couldn't hear it over his latest recording), began to flip switches on his control, and the front of the craft opened up into the airlock.  Wilshire grabbed his forehead and tried to contain the headache in his brain.  The Dutchman just got up slowly, tilted his seat down, and motioned for Todd get up.  Reluctantly at first, he slowly climbed over the pilot's seat and took his first steps on the Arge O'Darcy.

The pilot said something (almost all that creole Dutch was gibberish to Todd) and waved him goodbye.  He tried to wave back, but his head pounded the second he released the pressure on it.  As the shuttle conductor got back inside his craft, Todd managed to hit the exterior air lock control and shut the door.

Instantly, the interior door opened and a man stood there, waiting for him.  He appeared to be middle-aged, with slicked-back hair and a handlebar mustache.  "Ah," he spoke with a thick French accent.  "You most be Cap-i-tain Vilshire.  We have been eggspecting vous."

Still doubled over in pain, "And you are..."

"Pardon.  Let me entroduce meself.  I am Commander Louis Beauregard, first mate aboard the Arrge O'Darcy."

The captain attempted to stand up and walk out the airlock.  He managed to do it, but there was a lot pain involved, mostly in his head.  "Yes, I... I remember your name.  Mr.  Beauregard, do you... do you have an analgesic, per chance?"

"Anallgheshic, monsieur?"

"I've got a headache, commander.  I hit my bloody head on the ceiling.  You got something for the pain?"

"Nott on moi, cap-i-tain.  Perhaps on the breedge..."

"Fine, take me there."

As the interior door closed behind him, Todd noticed they were walking down a wide corridor, with a pillar in the middle of the ship.  Must be the lift, he thought; any convenience would be helpful right now.  "I don't know if O'Reilly fixed it yet.  A lot of... stuff got shifted during ze accident."

"What accident?"

"I better have Khalil eggsplain it to you," Beauregard said as he hit the call button.  Nothing happened at first; the light didn't turn on, but then, the lift doors opened without even a ping.

Hands appeared and pried open the two sliding mechanisms.  The man who stood before Wilshire looked like he could audition for Father Christmas.  "Damn ye, I told you!  No lift till I fix out the flaky bits!"

The Frenchman coughed.  "O'Reilly, this is Cap-i-tain Vilshire, the new 'skipper.'"

Kris Kringle didn't even blink.  "Captain Wilshire!  Glad to have you aboard!"  He held out his hand, noticed it was full of grease, and retracted it.  "Don't worry, I'm the guy who keeps this ol' baby together.  They call me many things, but the name's Andreas Yagashima O'Reilly."

Todd would have laughed, but the pain was killing him.  Clearing his throat, he managed, "So, you have a rank, sailor?"

"Lieutenant Commander, according to union rules.  But I don't even get out my diamond anymore.  Hell, captain, I don't care what I get paid, s'long as I get to fix 'em."

The rank of lieutenant commander was mostly an honorific title; given to lieutenants who weren't given a promotion but stuck around anyway.  Obviously, Wilshire thought, he was a veteran, but this guy appeared to have been here since time began.  "Do you fix them, commander?" he said, rubbing his temple and hoping the pain would begin to go away.  "Can we get to the bridge?"

"Sure thing, sir.  Hop on in!"  O'Reilly waved them in while he put a device in one of the side panels, twisting it around.  Wilshire and Beauregard looked at each other for a second, then at the engineer, and then cautiously walked in together.

With a flick of his arm, the commander pulled out his instrument and slammed the panels back into place with his elbow.  Then, gently, he touched the button for the bridge.  The calm whirr of the lift reassured them as they ascended.  "All nine levels of my baby is a beaut, if you don't mind me saying so.  This thrust gravity crate makes me glad I got off spinships."

"Really?  What spinship were you on?" the captain asked.

"The TCS Cawnpore... Port Arthur-class battlecruiser.  Beautiful ship, but I couldn't ever get used to the rotating section during station keeping."  Andreas beamed brightly.  "And if you know the navy, sir, you know that's a lot."

"Not much action since the Great War, eh?"

"After the first two hundred years, they get a bit rusty, sir.  Space pirates and traffic control just don't cut it for real action."

There was a quiet beep and a feminine voice chirped, "Bridge Level."  As the doors opened, all eyes on the bridge looked up, surprised that the elevator was working.  They became even more surprised when a stranger walked onto the deck, wearing the three silver diamonds of captain rank on his shoulder.

Beauregard went on to announce, "Messieurs et dames, I present our new 'skipper,' Cap-i-tain Vilshire."

Todd stepped forward, feeling like the New Colossus, except more comfortably dressed.  "I..."

"BRIDGE LEVEL!  BRIDGE LEVEL!  BRIDGE LEVEL!"

His speech was cut short by the loud voice behind him.  Everyone turned to see O'Reilly look at the panel, but the voice just kept repeating at high volume.  He whacked once, and then once more, but it didn't seem to do any good.  Andreas pressed a button and moaned.  "I'll see what I can do," he replied, as the doors closed behind him.

Wilshire forgot what he was going to say now; probably wasn't that important.  "Where is Khalil?"

An Arabic-looking man stepped forward, with incredibly short hair and a spanking clean uniform; the man looked Confed Navy all the way, probably some academy reject.  "Here I am, sir.  Lieutenant Irad Khalil, SIR!"

"Lieutenant, why did we not dock at New Pretoria?"

"SIR!  The fault was not with navigation, SIR!"

"Which is your department?"

"Sir, I am the chief navigator, sir."

All this formality was amplifying his headache.  "You don't have to yell, Mr. Khalil.  Just tell me what happened."

"Sir, there was something wrong with the propellant.  My calculations were correct..."

"Yes, but your ego's off," a female voice from behind Todd interrupted.  Walking into the bridge was a rather scraggly girl with rumpled, stringy hair, wearing beads around her baggy uniform.  She looked at him and just sighed, like she was disappointed.  "You're the new captain?"

"Yes," he replied, rubbing his temple again.  "And you are?"

"Lieutenant Katerina Tretyakov."  She proceeded to bend her head and massage her neck.  "The problem was with the mercury tanks.  They got stuck for a couple of minutes until the injectors unblocked themselves."

"So that's your area?"

"No, captain.  Operations."  Katerina rolled her head until she pulled it up straight.  "That's what the ship told me."

"The ship told you?" Irad raised his eyebrows.

"That's right, the ship told me."  The chief operations officer turned back to the captain.  "Darcy's old, but she moves and breathes like any other creature.  She wants to rest."

"And you can feel that?"

Tretyakov looked quizzically at him.  "Can't you?"

Todd wasn't really believing he heard that.  "That's fine, lieutenant.  Thank you."

Katerina just played with her hair and disappeared down another corridor.  The captain just shook his head and moved over to the captain's chair.  It was set in the center with control panels encircling it on three sides; backup controls for everything in the ship.  In theory, one person could fly her; however, it was doubtful the designer considered how crowded it made the console.  As Wilshire sat down, Irad came over.  "Sir!  Should we dock at New Pretoria, sir?"

The more he talked with the navigator, the more his head pounded.  "What's the point, lieutenant?  We've got fuel, supplies, and no one else to pick up!"  He calmed himself down.  "Are we in optimal jump position?"

"No, sir.  We have to make two more orbits before we've reached naught speed."

"Naught speed?  You mean, till we've slowed down?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well.  I'll call my business manager and see what our destination is.  Meanwhile, lieutenant, you have the bridge.  Commander, show me to my office."

"Oui, cap-i-tain." Beauregard led the way as they left the command area and went down the right.  The Arge O'Darcy was a cylinder ship, so the corridors curved around the central lift.  Literally right around the corner was a door that said "Captain's Office."  A little too convenient, Todd thought, but he wasn't going to complain.

As they went in, the room seemed pretty spartan; desk, three chairs, a couch, computer access, and a picture hanging on the wall.  The last item was what attracted Wilshire's attention, so he walked over to it.  It was one of those flat holograms, the kind that went out of style twenty years ago.  It was an image of a beautiful woman with long brown hair, in some lengthy formal dress, smiling as she leaned against a gazebo pillar.  Truly, after being in space for so long, it was a sight that brought tears to his eyes.  "Who... who is this?"

"I'm afraid I do not know.  The first civilian cap-i-tain brought her en boarde.  No one knows who she es."

"She's beautiful," somehow escaped his lips.

"I'd like to believe that she ees the Darcy of our ship." Louis smiled.  "Now there ees a face that could truly launch a thou-sand ships."

Wilshire shrugged off his wonder; after all, it was just a picture, and he had business to do.  "All right, let's find out we're going."  The captain crossed over to the desk and activated the computer.  After hitting a few keys, he said to the computer, "Access local net, Provo, 1352-A.  Enable."

There was no monitor for the computer, but quickly, a flat holoproj came out of the desk, emulating a screen.  While his executive officer sat down, it went through a series of calculations, adjusted for lag (they were in orbit, after all), and made a connection.  The blank screen adjusted to show a man's face, rushing to get over there.  Todd didn't recognize him.  "I'm trying to reach Andrea Renalde.  Who are you?"

The man seemed rather squeamish and sad.  "My name's Bob.  I am... was Ms.  Renalde's secretary."

"Was?"

"Yes, sir.  Ms. Renalde suffered the most horrible accident today."

Todd caught his breath.  "Will she be all right?"

"I'm afraid not, sir.  She was killed."

"Killed?  How?"

"She was hit by a falling... satellite.  I don't know how it happened!  How could something like that get through without being purified?!"

"A falling satellite?  Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir.  Hit her, WHAM!  Right on her head."  The tears rolled down Bob's face.  His tears turned into a full crying fit.  "She was just walking down the street..."

There was only so much Todd could take of this.  "Listen… I know this is a difficult time for you, but DME must go on.  My ship needs to know where to go.  Where's our job at?"

"I couldn't tell you, sir.  She had all her records with her when she..."  Bob went into another sobbing rampage.

"Was there a backup?  Something you could check?"

"Not that I know of, sir.  She is... was…"  The secretary cried out a rainstorm.

"Thank you."  Todd waved his hand over a sensor and cut the connection.  His head found his hands.  "Oh, Lord.  What are we going to do now?  Where are we going to get some money?"

"Cap-i-tain, if I may be so bold, I know a job for us."

Wilshire lifted his head and looked over at his exec.  "Yes?"

"I heer that Nieuwe Johannesburg desperately needs minesweeper work.  Their trash lay-ers are incredibly bad.  I've herred that ze local gouvernment ees paying good money."

"Inside the Orange Free State?"  To Todd, Beauregard might as well have told him that there was opportunities in cleaning toilets.

"There ees money there, sir."

"How much?"

"I've herred about two to three million gil-ders a week."

"How much is that in Confed currency?"

"About four to five hundred thousand credits."

Todd didn't have to think about it for long.  He'd gladly clean toilets for that much; did they need his tongue for the job, or could he use a brush instead?  With that much money, in a month or two he could be financially soluble.  So, the next thing he did was call the bridge.  "Lieutenant?"

"Yes, SIR!"

"Mr. Khalil, at your convenience, aim for the catapult points.  Make your destination Transvaal."

"Inside the Orange Free State?!"  The navigator was as shocked as Todd had been.

"You heard me, lieutenant.  If you need me, I'll be in my quarters."

 

*           *           *

Todd awoke to find that he was floating above his bed.  This is not the kind of thing one likes waking up to; it's like a bad hangover.  Outside, the window glowed with light, probably from the sun they just landed near.  The catapult points were around the stars; it had taken three days to get from Deseret to its own sun.  The stars were the only place ships could get enough energy to create the artificial gravitational whirlpools to fling themselves between systems.  It was also the only place that had enough energy to catch them and slow them down.  Instantaneous travel with only a few days time distortion; in this case, they lost eight.

Suddenly, the ship shuddered violently, gravity restored, and Todd fell to the floor.  He didn't have time to scream before he slammed into the bed, bounced off, and ground his back into the metallic surface.  His entire body was in agony.  However, before he had a chance to enjoy his newfound pain, the intercom chirped.  "Captain, sir!"

"WHAT?!" Wilshire screamed back, feeling each rivet in the floor.

"Sir, we have entered the Transvaal system."

"I can guess that, lieutenant!"  He tried to stand, but he soon thought better of it.  "Wilshire out."

After a sonic shower and some painkillers, he somehow managed to make it to the Observation Level to eat breakfast.  That floor was in the middle of the cylinder, and a lot of the twenty-person crew was filing into it.

The captain ordered something from the food distributor, got something completely different, and decided to take it.  In the dining area there were tables all around, with windows in the sides showing a beautiful star-filled view.  The crew were jabbering in English and... that Dutch Creole, Oranje.  Engineer O'Reilly was sitting down, so Todd joined him, hoping to get some answers.

"Hey, sir, glad of you to join me."

"Good morning, commander.  Answer me something."

"Such as?"

"Do we have..." Todd whispered it as if it were a dirty word, "Oran-gees on this ship?"

"Yes, sir," O'Reilly replied matter-of-factly.  "Most certainly."

Wilshire looked totally shocked.  "My God, how many?"

"Oh, well...  There's my chief petty, Johanna... Pieter, Diedre, Darren, and Gunther.  That's five."

"My God.  Do you know what the union would do to us if they thought we hired Oran-gees?"

"Sir, the Oranje people are some of the best workers we've got on this ship.  Besides, they're not even foreign.  They've lived in the Terran Confederation all their lives."

"You mean they're from Deseret?"

"Large Oranje community there, ever since the Confed took it back after the Battle of Odervaande at the end of the Great War."

"Oh."  The captain felt the ripe idiot.  "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, sir, common misunderstanding."

The rest of the meal was spent in silence, mostly because Todd didn't feel like embarrassing himself with more questions.  After he finished, the captain got up and went to the lift.  Off to the sides, he could see the ladders, which worked as a backup to the lifts, got you between decks without having to wait.  As he waited for the slow system, Todd contemplated taking it, but luckily he spared himself the hard work by the door opening.

A couple seconds wait and soon he was at the bridge.  "Lieutenant..." he stopped himself, when he saw that it was Katerina on the seat instead of Irad.  "...Tretyakov, where is Khalil?  I heard him on the intercom.  It was only a few minutes ago."

She lazily turned her attention to him.  "Oh, Irad likes to be up front for the jump sequence and rotation, but he runs off after that."  Katerina twirled her hair, looking off into space; the forward window above her head made that easy.  "Is there anything you wanted, captain?"

"Anything happen?"

Still dazey, she flipped a switch on the console.  "Uh, yes.  Just this."

On the speakers, there came a very authoritative computer voice at booming volume.  "Welkomen de Oranje Freistaat.  Uw vliegboot identificatie moet be overstapje nu."

Todd just looked at her.  "Well?  What does it say?"

She sighed and turned her head to the right, looking at a Chinese girl operating another console.  "Li Mei? Any idea?"

Li Mei had the one diagonal stripe of a Crew Member Recruit; entry level position in the union.  "I think it's a standard greeting.  They want us to identify ourselves."

"Speak Oranje, recruit?" Todd asked.

"Barely, captain.  I had three years in high school.  I can remember a sentence or two if I try.  But words?  They come easier."

Katerina shrugged.  Todd just stared at her; who did she think she was?!  He was surprised she had gotten this far in the merchant marine with that kind of attitude.  "All right, lieutenant, transmitter on."  She turned to the control panels, lazily flipped some switches, and pointed back at him.  He took the cue.  "To whoever it concerns, we are the light minesweeper auxiliary craft, Arge O'Darcy, registration out of New Pretoria Station, Deseret.  Request docking at..."  Wilshire didn't know the name.  "...uh, an orbital station for refueling and supplies.  Over."

There seemed to be an uncomfortable silence until a much kinder male voice came over the speaker.  "Arge O'Darcy?  Our records read that as Confed Navy.  Please clarify."

The captain coughed in shock.  "Your records are in error.  This ship has been civilian for fifty years."

A certain amount of lag always happens when communicating between the sun and the third planet.  "Our apologies, captain.  No one said our files were accurate... it's not the first time.  Destination?"

"Nieuwe Johannesburg."

Another long silence, and then the voice came back.  "Popular planet.  You are permitted to land at Adeleplaste, a station in polar orbit.  Docking Ring Three."

"Thank you."  Todd whipped his hand across his throat and Katerina cut the connection.  "Popular planet?"

 

*           *           *

 

Three days later, when they came up to the Adeleplaste, they quickly learned why.  The place was packed.  Despite the fact that there was two Freistaat fleets in orbit, most of the ships there were minesweepers.  From the start, it didn't look good for them.

The old O'Darcy finally slowed down for docking.  After going backwards for three days, they would finally stop, the thrust gravity would kick off and go zero-gee.  This time, Wilshire wanted to be strapped in on the bridge.

"Naught speed... now," Khalil announced from the navigator's chair.

"Very well."  Todd began the litany; he had done it a hundred times on previous ships.  "Cut engines, and bring thrusters on, starboard."

As the ship turned around for docking, the large holoproj on the bridge showed the space station.  As two minesweepers broke away, one of them fired into the leader's engines.  While the damaged ion drive was slowly rupturing, the follower kicked into full thrust and broke out of orbit.  The other ship had to do some pretty desperate self-saving; a chain reaction could vaporize a ship real quick.

"Oh, no!" Tretyakov exclaimed from her operations station.

"It's a dam-med shooteng war!" Beauregard said behind the captain.

"That's it."  Todd started flipping switches.  "Lieutenant, hit the brakes!  Hold position!"

While the Darcy came to a halt, a voice came in over all frequencies.  "Black Karl, niets te naar halt nu!"

Whatever the warning was for, the ship didn't pay it any attention.  In the outer gravity well of the planet, two cruisers with their rotating sections in stationkeeping turned themselves in the direction of the Black Karl, their menacing guns pointing right her.  "Black Karl, niets te naar halt nu ou we moet moevan!"

Again, nothing changed the fleeing ship's mind.  Then they saw flashes coming from the cruisers.  Within a few seconds, nuclear shells impacted the minesweeper.  Little flashes of light pelted the craft until they hit the engines.  The entire sky suddenly burst as the ion drive field failed, allowing the explosive to partially vaporize the ship, ripping the Black Karl into the space trash it was designed to sweep.  The universe never really needed more.

They docked quickly after that, wanting to avoid any other attacks.  It's hard to crawl around in zero-gee, so getting everything together was difficult, especially when the crew was anxious for shore leave.  Todd managed to propel himself to the ladders, which were a little packed with everyone on them.  Luckily, being captain has its privileges... such as no one could leave the ship before he did.  They quickly made a hole for him.

After waiting for the customs man, who gave them a quick look over, took their word, and let them go, they all went through the ring and set foot on the station.  As they ha seen outside, the place was packed.  Confed and Oranje alike, it seemed like one giant sailor's convention; they had to have come from around the entire galaxy.  Todd, after wandering around the station to get its bearings, decided to get a drink.  Like the station itself, the bar was just as packed.  Sure, the captain was eager to get underway again, but it took time to get resupplied, and nothing in the universe would speed those station jockeys up.

Wilshire sat next to another officer, wearing the two diamonds of a commander, and got to talking.  "Yeah, it seems every minesweeper in the galaxy is after this lot."

"Anyone taken it yet?" he asked, hoping to know if this fool's errand was for something.

"How should I know?  Until we can figure out how to send a radio transmission between two stars without it taking several years, then all we got left are the mail ships."

"But there's a delay, isn't there?"

"With anything, sure.  However, the one that came in today actually raised the bounty to four million gilders per week."

"However, if it's a ten-and-a-half-day jump… and it takes three days back and forth from the catapult points..."

"Yeah, yeah.  I know what you're saying, captain.  But hell, even if it is seventeen days late, I didn't come here all the way from Nouveau Acadia just to stop now!"

An announcement came over the PA.  "Captain Wilshire de Arge O' Darcy, alstublieft ga naar wit traanmiter."

"What does that mean?" he asked his drinking pal.

"It means you have a call at the white courtesy box."  He pointed to a place across the room.  "Right over there."

"Thanks.  Excuse me," he said as he headed over.  Waving his hand over the sensor, Todd asked, "Yes?"

"Cap-i-tain?" Beauregard's disembodied voice came.

"Yes, commander, what is it?"

"Ve are readdy to depart whenever vous desire."

He checked his chronometer.  Todd had only left the ship a few hours ago.  The dock workers at any port were notoriously slow; Oranje or otherwise.  "How'd you arrange that?"

"Well, sir, I... was abble to recrewt some..."

"You bribed them, didn't you?"

"Eh... yes, sir."

Todd smiled.  On a corporate ship, a man could get fired for less.  Thank God for small enterprise.  "Good work, commander.  Send out a general call for the crew.  We leave within the hour."

"Oui, cap-i-tain."

 

*           *           *

 

It always amazed him how fast a crew could get drunk; even after only half a day of shore leave.  As he stood (well, there's no such thing as standing in zero-gravity) in the gateway to the docking ring, his crew were literally flipping around towards him.  He had to catch one of them before he tumbled past the entrance.  The Hispanic man he caught (a petty officer with two downward chevrons) was completely sloshed.  "Are you alright, petty?"

"Yess, sir.  Luis the indes..." he coughed up some phlegm, "...truckab... what was I saying?"

"Never mind.  What is your duty, Luis?"

"Chief catering officer, sir."

Nothing vital, thank God.  He'd hate to drive out of space dock with this guy at the helm.  "Get to your secure seat, petty."

"Yes, sir," he replied barely before Todd threw him through the entrance.  Luis was laughing all the way as he floated into the Darcy.

"Look, ma, no hands... ha, ha..."  CLANG!  After a pause, a weaker voice replied, "I'm all right.  Really!"

After counting all twenty aboard, Todd quickly boarded, closed the airlock, and made his way to the bridge.  The entire officer manifest, with their chiefs, were there as well.  Although, the captain admitted to himself, Khalil was looking worse for wear.  "Can you fly this bucket, lieutenant?"

"What?"  Irad turned his head, wincing in pain as he looked at Wilshire.

"You don't look too good.  Maybe you should let your chief..."

"No, sir.  It was my mistake to get in a contest with a bunch of Germans from..."

"No, that should be bund of Germans," Katerina politely corrected.

"You got into a drinking game?" O'Reilly yelled out from behind him.  "Ha!  Be glad they weren't Irish!"

"Silence!" Todd cried out.  "All right, lieutenant, we'll do it your way.  Tretyakov?  Tell the station we're ready to leave."

Her stringy hair floated into her face as she batted it away.  "Yes, sir."

"Commander O'Reilly, are those docking clamps ready to detach?"

The old engineer patted the switch near him.  "Ready as always to get out into the big black."  He looked down at it as it started flashing.  "Oops."

"Oops?"

Katerina swung around.  "Captain, Adeleplaste has cleared the Darcy for launch."

Andreas looked sheepish.  "Docking clamps released."

Todd just rolled his eyes.  "Lieutenant Khalil, use thrusters to move us away from the station."  A slight rattle followed as Irad hit the appropriate buttons.  With the flip of a switch, the captain clicked on the holoproj, showing the Freistaat fleet, some other merchant ships, and stars.  A little readout in the corner showed the distance from the station.  Once they had reached the safety margin, he said.  "All right, hit the engines."

The entire ship rattled something fierce as the ion drive desperately tried to gain one gee acceleration.  Khalil was losing his self-control, his head bobbing up and down, as he tried to contain his lunch.  As the queasiness increased, he could fight it no longer and vomited (in slow motion) over his console and onto the windows in front of him.  While the thrust gravity stabilized, the bile began to slide down onto the floor.

Clicking off his seat belts, the captain was pretty disgusted.  "Lieutenant, you are dismissed from the bridge.  Go... clean yourself up."

"But sir..."

"Do it!"  Todd looked around for the assistant navigator, finally seeing her appear from the corridor.  "Chief...  uh..."

"Danielle Freeman, sir."

"Whatever.  Take his place and set course for the catapult points."

"Aye," she replied as Khalil fumbled out of his chair and stumbled over to the lift.

Irad tried to apologize as he walked past the captain.  "Sir, I..."

"Just go, lieutenant!" he shot back.

He looked like a shamed puppy.  "Yes, sir."

 

*           *           *

 

As the Darcy made its way to the Transvaal sun, it was thrusting along right behind another ship, a Dutch minesweeper.  They were pretty sure it was heading to Nieuwe Johannesburg too, but there was little they could do about it.  Days in transit usually go pretty swift; the ones at work or port seem to drag on forever.  So, before they knew it, the crew was called to secure stations.  Todd made his way to the bridge.

Khalil was feeling a lot better today.  Katerina was working on a crossword, Andreas was cleaning his nails, and Louis was sitting behind the captain, looking stoic and probably bored.  Hitting the catapult points, despite the wonder of space exploration and it being basis for the two governments, was a rather routine thing for merchant mariners like them.

Suppressing a yawn, Wilshire leaned over toward Tretyakov.  "Well, lieutenant?  Will the other ship disrupt our jump?"

"No," she said, barely looking up from the crossword.

He raised his eyebrows at that.  "You wouldn't mind elaborating?"

"Sir!" Irad jumped in.  "The drain on the gravity field on the points should be gone by the time we hit them, sir."

The captain shifted his glare to the Arab.  "Are we going fast enough, then?"

It almost looked like he'd pout.  "Sir, my calculations are correct..."

"I'm sure they are, lieutenant.  Just checking."

"Two minutes to catapult point," O'Reilly muttered behind them.

Katerina dropped her crossword as she looked at the holoproj.  "Captain!  Another ship leaving point!"

All eyes turned to the holoproj.  They could clearly see a Freistaat destroyer barrel out from the catapult point.  The Dutch minesweeper in front of them was doomed, being too close to jumping themselves.  They could see the ship try to kick their engines hard to push away from the point, but the destroyer came too fast, ripping through its lattice tower and severing its engines.  As the wrecked ship's cylinder spiraled off, the destroyer continued to charge through… right at the Arge O'Darcy.

"Mon Dieu!" Beauregard let escape his lips.

The captain looked around him for answers.  "Can we activate our defensive guns?"

"No way!" O'Reilly yelled back.  "All crew is at secure stations.  It would take five minutes to get to them.  Besides, they're not even charged."

"What would defensive guns do against that anyway?!" Khalil yelled at the engineer.

"Shut up!" Todd yelled back.  "We need answers, damn it!"

Katerina was shaking her head, as if trying to vibrate the solution out of her head.  "Fire the pulse disrupter!"

"Are ye nuts?" O'Reilly replied.

"It'll knock the ship away and get us through the catapult point."

"Do it!" the captain ordered.

Louis turned to his own station controls and began flipping switches.  "Seconndarie reactor now charging pulse disrupter."

Wilshire turned to face him.  "How long does it take?"

The commander looked scared.  "Half a minute... give or take."

"One minute to catapult point," O'Reilly called out.

"Half a minute to collision," Tretyakov called back.

Khalil began muttering a litany.  "Oh Lord, no, dear God, please, no..."

"I hope the engines give soon..." Todd muttered himself, watching the destroyer get closer and closer.

"That beaut will rip us apart," Andreas added, not helping the general atmosphere.  "Ten seconds to collision."

A light appeared on the operations panel.  Katerina practically squealed, "Disrupter ready, sir!"

"FIRE!"

The shock of the pulse shoved everyone back into their seat.  Just as the destroyer was about to slam into the Arge O'Darcy, it was knocked back by the energy wave, kicking it away like a metal toy in a bully's hand.  The rusting minesweeper was barely able to slide past it.  "Thirty seconds to catapult point," the engineer called out.

"Sir," Irad pointed out, "the pulse slowed us down a bit.  We might not make optimum speed for jump, sir."

"FIX IT!"

The lieutenant shook his head in worry.  "Hold on, everyone," he cried, and then hit the thrust.  The weight of two or three extra gees slammed into the crew, permanently indenting the seat cushions.  "Two seconds off, one second off... MATCH!  Killing engines!" The engines died right they as hit the giant orbiting doughnut of the catapult point.  In an instant, the ship flew into the gravity whirlpool and disappeared.

 

*           *           *

 

When your body is thrown at close to the speed of light, your nervous system shuts down and glands pump painkillers into your blood stream.  This is its way of saying, "Thanks for the trip, but now you're going to die."  The only thing that saves the human body from becoming flat as a pancake is that the entire process takes less than a second, therefore not letting inertia take effect.  Throwing a ship via a gravity well and catching it by the same method is a process that is almost instantaneous—but only to the crew involved.  The only side effect is that the jump leaves you blacked out for almost a minute, while your rocket shoots out of the point like a bullet, travelling at the same speed you entered it.

So, just as the crew made it out of hell, they were feeling a bit nauseated.  The loss of gravity never helped things either.  "Lieutenant Khalil?" Wilshire croaked.

"Yes, sir.  Activating thrusters.  Rotating ship to braking position, sir."  The Darcy managed to flip itself so that it was pointed away from the planet they were going to.  The engines kicked back on, starting their slow braking as they made their way to Nieuwe Johannesburg.

The lurch caused by the restoration of gravity is a not a pleasant sensation.  After being shifted from four gees to zero-gee, then back to one gee, the entire crew was pretty sick.  Once Todd was pretty sure everything was calm again, he managed to unbuckle his safety harness.  "I think that was the worst jump I've ever endured."

"I'll agree with that," Tretyakov chimed in.

O'Reilly piped up.  "I don't know, sir, there was this time in the TCS Devereaux..."  The captain whipped his head around and gave him a harsh stare.  "...but as you say, captain, the worst," O'Reilly added quickly.

"Let's no do dat again," Beauregard moaned.

"Commander, you have the bridge.  I'm going to my quarters to sleep this off.  O'Reilly, I want your team to check that nothing got damaged.  Tretyakov, call the planet and tell them that we're on our way.  Otherwise, no one wake me unless the entire Dutch fleet is after us.  Clear?"

 

*           *           *

 

When they ran into trouble again, it wasn't the entire Dutch fleet, but one really annoyed minesweeper.  "Kaptain?" a heavily-Germanic accent came over the speaker, while Todd was looking out the windows of the observation level lounge.

"Yes?"

"Mijnherr, I think you should come to the bridge.  We have a... problem."

Wilshire just sighed; this ship was a floating problem.  After almost getting killed outside the spaceport, at the catapult point, and now right outside their destination planet, what couldn't go wrong?  He quickly made his way to the lift.

When he got out, the captain was staring at the huge 3-D holoproj yelling at him in Oranje.  "Halt Uw vliegboot ou we wilt los!  U wilt niet meenemen mijn geld!"

"What is that Dutchman yelling about?"

"Herr, he is..."

Todd cut her off, noticing that he was the only officer on the bridge.  The female chief petty officer was sitting in the captain's chair.  "Uh, Johanna, right?"

"Ja, kaptain."

"Man the ops station while I try to talk sense to their captain."

The navigator, a little runt of a man, turned toward the captain.  "The minesweeper is in front of us, about ten minutes.  They have their secondary guns charged."

"What is with this guy?  Chief, transmitter on."

"Go."

"To unknown ship, this is the Arge O'Darcy, a civilian light minesweeper auxiliary.  What do you want?"

The disembodied head seemed to turn more indignant at the sight of him.  "Halt Uw vliegboot nu, kaptain!"

"Geez, he is ugly," Katerina said as she walked onto the bridge.

"Quiet!" Wilshire shot back.  He squinted his eyes tighter, as if trying to read something indecipherable.  Damn it, he thought, I wish I had taken more than a semester of Oranje at the academy!  "Captain, I don't understand what you're saying..."

Johanna tried to help.  "He says—"

"Quiet, chief!  Let's see..."

"May I have my seat back, chief?" Tretyakov asked Johanna, taking the operations seat back from her; the chief went and sat in the back.

"Halt Uw vliegboot nu!"

"Stop... your ship... soon?" Todd roughly translated.  "Let's see... waarom me... halt mijn vliegboot?"

"U wilt niet meenemen mijn geld!  Halt nu ou ik wilt los!"

"Maybe he's wants to play chess."  O'Reilly appeared, standing behind the captain.

Wilshire ignored him.  "Your money?  What about your... damn, uh... wat rond Uw geld?"

"Ik is mijn contract, mijn geld!  U wilt niet meenemen ik!  Ik wilt los..."

"Captain, maybe he's saying..." Katerina muttered, but Todd wasn't paying any attention.

"Contract?  Fire on me?  Wait a minute... wacht even, U hebben een naaister."

Johanna put her hand over her mouth as she tried to stop herself from laughing.  The captain was butchering the language, telling the other ship that he had a bakery.  The other captain was simply more pissed off.  "Ik hebben een naaister?  Wat?!  Wenst U hebben een garantie?"

"A deal?  That's what I said!  Uh... ja, kaptain... kunnen we hou van ieder..."

"WAT?!"

"Oh, God, that's not it..."

"Try telling him how beautiful he looks."  Andreas laughed.

"Will you knock it off!"  The captain turned back to the holoproj.  "Spijt... ik betekent kunnen we..."

"Wat U moet?!  Speekt ou I wilt los!"

"What are you saying?!" Todd shouted back in frustration.

Johanna could contain herself no longer.  "Damn it, sir!  He's saying to tell him what you want or he'll fire!!!"

"How would you know?!"

"The girl's right, captain," the disembodied head said to them in perfect English.  "What's your deal?"

A silence fell over the bridge.  Todd's jaw just dropped.  "You... speak English?"

"I found it wise to make people think you know less than they think.  Now, captain, what's your deal?"

The captain shook himself make to make sure he was hearing him right.  "Uh... well, we can share the contract, can't we?"

"WHY?!  I've got you dead to rights!"

"Can you actually shoot us down?"  Sense began to reign within Todd's mind.  "I doubt it; your beams aren't that powerful.  And what about the other ships at Transvaal?  How many can you hold off?  Face it, if you don't grab the contract now, there's an entire fleet bearing down on you.  Might as well grab it together, rather than plink at each other with nukes."

"What's to stop them from cashing in too?"

"A legal contract and that Freistaat light cruiser parked in orbit.  If we both get in, they won't be able to kick us out."

The Oranje captain just rolled his eyes and sighed.  "You're probably right.  Okay, I'll transmit to the planet.  You do the same.  We'll share equally, deal?  They can't take us both out together.  Right?"

"Right.  Arge O' Darcy out."  The captain flipped the switch and looked at the chief, his face more than annoyed.  "Why didn't you tell me you spoke Oranje, Johanna?"

"I didn't tell you?  /?!  You bastard!"  Johanna slapped his face, then stormed off the bridge in disgust.

Todd just sat there, holding his aching chin, completely lost.  "What did I say?"

"Captain, she is an Oran-gee."

When the truth hit him, Wilshire looked like he'd been visited by a sledgehammer.  Completely dumbfounded, he managed to mutter, "Um, I... damn it, is there any other way I can screw up on this trip?"

"There's always hope," Katerina muttered, playing with her controls.

"All right, lieutenant, contact the planet.  Tell them we'll be in orbit in... um, navigator?"

The runt looked over his console.  "About two hours, sir."

"Uh, yeah.  Send it."

"Sure."  Katerina waved absently, clicking a few switches and speaking into a smaller transmitter.

The captain just held his head in his hands and groaned.  "How am I going to make any money off this garbage scow?"

"Well, sir, technically, we're a garbage plow..."

"SHUT UP!"

 

THE END

 

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