Wandering Engineer 6: Pirates Bane (17 page)

John took the time to play chess with one of the ratings. It
wasn't just out of boredom, he wanted to reduce his image, try to fit in a bit.
They were denied a real board, so they used improvised pieces to play. The game
board was drawn on the deck near the number three bunk. Irons had no problem
sitting Indian style, though he didn't like having his back to a Horathian. He
noted interest in their simple game from others in the compartment that should
have been sleeping to husband their strength.

“Why don't you two play checkers? It's all you can handle,” a
voice said. Sprite identified the voice with a carat as Diegin, a sour faced
rating in the back.

“Just ignore him,” Diego said. “He's an ass.”

John snorted softly, and moved his queen. Diego studied the board
and then sighed. He flicked his king over. “Good game,” he said, shaking head.
“Best two out of three?” he asked. John nodded. They reset the board.

John won two out of three games. He'd let Diego win one, feigning
distraction, saying he had mistaken the chip that represented a knight was a
bishop. He shrugged off Diego's grin of triumph at winning.

Finally when the third game was over Ian came over and quietly
asked to play the winner. Irons nodded, hands moving to set up the board once
more.

Diego looked up to the former Captain and then got to his feet.
“Good game,” he mumbled to John.

“Play again sometime,” John said.

“Basic rules fine? Playing Shogi, hexagonal, Chess960, or Janggi
might be a bit much considering the board and pieces available,” John said.

“Standard works. I didn't know there were other methods,” Ian
replied, sounding amused and curious.

“Oh hundreds of variations,” John replied. “Some you need a
computer to keep track of. And I don't think we can manage three dee chess
here.”

“True. I only learned the basic,” Ian admitted.

“One of the things I love about chess and board games, simple,
easy to play, and you don't need a computer to do it.”

Sprite made a rude noise.

“True.”

“Checkers is too simple for me, though king checkers can get
complex. I loved chess since I was knee high.”

The rating shrugged, clearly bemused by Irons rambling.

“Chess is an ancient game. There have been many variations over
the years. But the standard is still the one most sapients learn.”

“I see. A bit of a historian?”

“I'm a walking history project,” Irons replied dryly. “And as a
spacer, I know how important it is to keep busy. Besides,” he smiled. “I love
to read.”

“Ah. Well, that's good,” the Captain, replied. “Not that there is
anything to read now.”

“True.”

“I've always loved chess, there are so many things to learn from
it. I'm glad humanities ancestors invented it.”

“Oh?” Ian asked sounding amused.

“Sure, it teaches foresight, circumspection, and most importantly
caution,” John said, not certain the double entendre was getting through.

Ian hesitated with his bishop in his hand, staring at the board
for a long moment.

“True,” he finally said, making his move.

“It's a learning experience and educational tool too. Back in the
bad old days before space flight it taught kings and queens many lessons. It
saved people getting killed in the long run.”

“Or got them killed when someone thought that war would go like a
chess game. Simple, quick, and clean,” Ian replied.

“True. I've seen a few quick games, but some of the games could
be drawn out for weeks. And many a person has been tripped up by a plan going
awry,” he said.

“True.”

“It was one of the ways rulers learned how to fight, and also
connect politics to strategy. Some never got that connection.”

Ian grunted. “Agreed.”

“Also one of the earliest sims. People learned to anticipate the
actions of others. And plan for them,” John said, castling his king and rook.
“Check,” he said, sitting back. He glanced at the Horathian behind him who was
watching them with hooded eyes. The man feigned a yawn.

“True.” Ian frowned, inspecting the board. “Damn it, you've got
me.”

“Not yet,” John replied with a small smile. The check would force
Ian to move his queen to cover his king. When he did that John would swoop in
to pick it off with the rook, sacrificing it. With the queen gone Ian would
have only his pawns and one knight left to fight with.

“But you have. You're what, six moves ahead?”

“Seven. Canned in this case,” Irons replied as the Captain
flicked his king over. “As I said, foresight. There is a way out of it.”

“No there isn't,” the Captain replied, sighing. He flicked his
king over. “Besides, I need to rest.” He got up with a sigh and went to his
bunk. He settled on his back. “I know when I'm beat.”

“Why do I think he's referring to something other than the game?”
Sprite asked. Irons didn't answer. “I do suggest you get some rest Admiral.
There is no telling when you will be called.”

John grunted and put the pieces away. He nodded to Diego and Ian.
Ian ignored him, doing his business in the latrine and then he splashed some
water on his face and went to bed down. John went to his corner. Xark, a
rating, moved his legs out of the way. John hunkered down and rested his head
against the wall and closed his eyes.

<----*----*----*---->

Captain McGuyver tucked his arm under his head and closed his
eyes. He tried to sleep, but errant thoughts kept him awake. Clearly this
'Captain Doe' was more than he appeared. Much more. He frowned thoughtfully.
For one the man was decidedly odd. He wasn't fearful. He wasn't off balance,
which was interesting in itself. Everyone who was caught, everyone, had been
bewildered, beaten, and some a near catatonic wreck. But not Doe.

He scratched at his chin and then settled down once more. He
replayed the man's activities in his mind. From the moment he entered the brig
the man had acted like he was in command. Like he wasn't afraid.

For a guy who worked alone, he sure knew his way around a room
filled with hostile people. Taking down Bard had made him stand out like a sore
thumb. Others would have accepted the beating, just ducked and covered until
Bard was done showing off, then done their best to blend in. But not this guy.

Could he be a plant, Ian thought, eyes slitting. He turned his
head slightly until he spotted the man. Doe was leaning against the wall near
Xark, seemingly oblivious. That was another thing. When a person came into the
brig, they had a hell of a time sleeping if they were alone. Normally they
banded to former shipmates. In some ways it was a relief to see a new face, a
kindred soul to share in the misery. Not that he wished this on anyone.

He frowned again and then let out a breath slowly. He was getting
maudlin. The man could be a plant it was possible. They'd have to look out for
it. So far though, all signs said no. They knew some of the Horathians were
plants, Bard for one. You didn't become a master Chief to get brigged for
backchat and certainly not for months. No. Bard was a plant, a spy.

If Doe had been one too they wouldn't have gone like that. He wouldn't
have torn Bard a new one. And made it look so easy too. That bothered the
Horathian's he could tell.

No, this man was an officer, with martial arts training. He had
admitted to being a sleeper with implants. That too was interesting. He frowned
again as another thought struck his tired brain. His implants. He'd seen the
Horathian implants, crude. Doe's were practically perfect. Indeed a sleeper.
They could use that.

He stretched a bit and then rolled onto his side. Someone
grumbled near his foot. He looked down to see eyes flash briefly. He shrugged
and then sniffed, then settled.

He missed his cabin on the Deianira. His beautiful ship, now a
prison ship. He fought the urge to think about it, to fall into the trap of
thinking about the past. He needed to focus on survival. Not just for him, but
for his surviving people. They deserved better.

If Doe had a way of getting out of this trap, he'd follow him to
the ends of the universe he vowed before sleep took him.

<----*----*----*---->

“You can't be serious about recruiting these people Admiral. How
can you trust them any of them? And how are we going to communicate with them
without being heard?” the AI demanded.

“These are good people Commander, determined people. They haven't
broken. They are beaten, but intensely determined people,” Irons replied
through his text link.

“You can what, feel that?”

“If they had given up hope they would have died a long time ago.
A few are close to that; they are just going through the motions. They have to
do this. They will do this. They will rise. We just have to provide the tools,
plan, and a spark to reignite their fire.”

“Poetic Admiral. But poetry alone won't get you far,” Sprite
replied. “You can't do this all alone.”

“I know Commander.”

“I still don't see it. They are half starved, badly beaten...”

“Never, never under estimate the determination of the human
spirit. It burns bright when lit. Theirs will once more.”

“Will is not enough Admiral,” Sprite replied patiently. “The
spirit may be willing but the flesh is weak. That's what I've been trying to
tell you.”

“Never underestimate spirit and determination. If they see the
chance at freedom, the leaders will jump. They may hesitate, but they'll go for
it. Give me freedom or give me death.”

“Now your quoting history Admiral?”

“It's true Sprite.”

“Yes, in some cases.”

“In this as well. Besides, as you said, I can't do this alone.
Even with you four AI, my chances of success are under fifty percent.”

“True.”

“This is a team effort. They have to rise. Not just for me, but
for themselves. Don't you understand that? Check the psychology involved
Commander. A person who fights back, who helps end their captivity and refuses
to submit to Stockholm syndrome, who show some backbone have a better chance of
handling a rescue.”

Sprite scanned the records on psychology and then reluctantly
nodded.

“See?” He demanded. “It is remarkable what a person can learn
when in captivity under these conditions. It gets to you, and you hit a point
where your mental processes clarify. You realize, all they can do if kill you
if you fight back hard enough. You lose your fear, you control it.”

“It is still a long way between pretty words and getting it done Admiral.”

“I'm not going to give them speeches. We're just going to do it.
We will do it. We have to do it. Or die trying,” he replied.

“That's the part I'm afraid of,” Sprite sighed.

<----*----*----*---->

An hour and a half later a commotion at the door alerted Admiral
Irons who had dropped into a semi sleep. He tapped his passives and overheard the
blond haired exec listening to the guard, as the guard tried to inform him the
new guy was dangerous. “I don't think he's stupid enough to try something, but
by all means show him who's boss,” he said. “We have an order from the Captain
and I for one am not going to disobey it. Got it?” he demanded icily.

The guard nodded and fumbled for the keys.

The door opened and two guards swinging batons stepped into the
compartment, smacking prisoners out of their way or to look up at them so they
could be identified. Weighing the odds, Admiral Irons realized now wasn’t the
time to take them, so he continued to feign sleep. One pointed his baton at John.

John allowed them to belt and kick him awake when they arrived at
his side, then haul him to his feet as he feigned sleepiness. They beat him a
few more times, setting his teeth on edge with anger, before roughly shoving
him to the door.

“You are still going through with this?” Defender asked. John
nodded slightly, eyes down. He didn't need to look up, his senses could see
around him just fine.

When he exited the room, he was handcuffed, this time with his
hands in front. “You,” the exec said, standing there.

Irons looked up at him briefly, to keep in character. The exec,
Sprite labeled him with a nametag as Lieutenant Blye, was a cold bastard
dressed in black. He looked like some Nazi wannabee, with his blond hair,
piercing blue eyes, and set jaw.

“You locked your ship's computers down. You will give us the
passwords and show us how to use them.”

“I don't appreciate piracy,” John replied with a shrug. “And the
password is me. Me,” he said, pointing a thumb up to his chest. “My implants.”

“We have ways of making you talk,” the pirate growled.

“Oh spirit of space! How cliché is that?” Sprite demanded as the
exec pulled a knife.

Defender came to attention but the Admiral overruled him for
once. Warily he watched as the exec made a show of examining the knife, making
sure it glittered in the light.