Ship's Boy Read online

his most successful project to date. My custom-made Field suit cost more than the total amount of wealth that most Rabbits would produce for their masters over an entire lifetime, and the investment was doubly-impressive because I’d soon outgrow it and need another. So I certainly had a lot to live up to.

  Things hadn’t changed much by the time I emerged from the sparkling-clean engine room to stand beside my father. I’d heard three more of the waiting ships take off, each leaving a sonic boom in its wake. He nodded and looked me over, then smiled and hugged me close to his side. “I’m so proud of you, David,” he whispered. “And I love you!”

  “I love you too, Dad,” I replied, still mystified as to what all the fuss was about. “But…”

  Just then there was a terrible explosion, and both my father and I were knocked down the entry-stairs by the concussion. Then there was a second even larger blast, followed by another series of sonic-booms—so many of them that I couldn’t count. “Dad!” I asked in the sudden darkness. “Are you…”

  But he was already dusting himself off. ‘’…may’ve knocked the core-rods out of calibration,” he said. “You stay right here! I’ve got to—“Then another bigger explosion drowned out the rest of his words.

  My heart was racing, the air was full of smoke, and a dozen different warning klaxons were sounding in every direction. For a moment I could only lie where I was and gape, then I finally realized that my helmet had rolled off somewhere. A Field suit is useless without the helmet, so I climbed up onto my feet and frantically looked this way and that. There it was! Lying right under a window! I dashed over, picked it up…

  …and froze in my tracks at how much the world had changed beyond the cracked pane. There was a big hole in the ground where the hardpoint had been, and two of the ships I’d seen taxiing earlier were crumpled, burning wrecks. Another, the one that’d been trying to pass another where no sane pilot would’ve tried, was trundling off towards the security fence, apparently to attempt an unsupported open-field takeoff. Sure enough the ship turned silver as the Field energized itself, then began clambering its way skyward at the best rate possible without a harpdpoint’s support. It was maybe a hundred feet off the ground when something flashed by and pumped a single missile into its guts. The mortally-wounded vessel staggered and fell back to the ground in a ball of flames. Then before my terrified eyes the sleek fighter-plane rotated once about its longest axis in a victory roll and sped away.

  But not before I caught a glimpse of the three hash-marks on the fuselage that marked the aircraft as belonging to the forces of the Boyen Emperor.

  3

  “…no, no, no!” I suddenly heard a familiar voice declare behind me. “I’ll not leave without Stephen and Maria.”

  “You must, milord,” a deeper voice replied as I spun around, tearing my eyes away from the spectacle of destruction outside. It was Lord Marcus, who’d somehow been wheeled into the hanger without all the customary trumpet-flourishes. Milord had barely survived a war-wound in his youth, caused by an illegal weapon so terrible that even modern medicine couldn’t restore the use of most of his body. Therefore, his wheelchair was a badge of honor. “I’ll not be run off of my own world without my wife and eldest son!” he repeated.

  The man pushing the wheelchair sighed and rolled his eyes. He wore a military uniform, apparently a high-ranking one because it was covered with medals and gold braid. “We’ve completely lost aerospace superiority,” he explained, apparently not for the first time. “And we’re not likely to get it back. Every spaceport on the planet is being hammered, and the rest of your family is half a world away. How can we possibly get them here?”

  “Your family is an important one, sir,” added another man. This one was dressed in the royal purple of a King’s ambassador. “You have higher duties. We simply must have someone representing your interests back at Court. Or who knows how much more will come unwound?”

  Milord’s brow lowered, and his mouth formed a hard, thin, line. “Don’t remind me of my higher duties!” he snapped. Then at last he nodded and half-turned towards the military man. “But Carlos is correct, regardless.” His face softened. “Keep them safe for me, Winston?”

  “Or I’ll die trying. My sacred word of honor, milord,” the officer replied. Then he turned towards the men of the Broad Arrow, who were mostly standing around and staring wordlessly. “You heard milord!” he roared. “Emergency departure! Now! Now! Now!”

  That was enough to snap us into motion. Instantly I dashed for the ship. My path took me directly past milord’s wheelchair; with a gesture he stopped me. I froze in place, eyes wide and jaw agape. I’d never spoken to a nobleman before, not even a knight! “Well,” milord said with a smile. “How’s my latest special project coming along?”

  My mouth worked, but I wasn’t able to answer. So he smiled and fozzled my ears. “For luck,” he explained. Then he turned to a well-dressed and pleasant-looking boy standing a pace behind him. “James,” he said, waving his youngest son forward, “this is David Birkenhead, apprentice ship’s engineer.”

  The boy bowed his head slightly and smiled. “Pleased to meet you, David. From what I hear, someday you’re liable to be in charge of my ship’s engine room.”

  My mouth worked again. I knew that Dad talked to milord like this, but… but… “I certainly hope so, sir.”

  He smiled again. “I’ve read a few books on warp tech, David, and heaven knows I’ll never be able to make heads or tails of them. Apparently you’re much brighter than I am.”

  My jaw dropped again, and I noticed that the Royal Ambassador’s eyes had turned cold as ice. It wasn’t good for a slavebunny when a human looked at him like that, even on Marcus where whipping and collars and the other really bad parts had been done away with. So I decided it was time to make an exit while I still could. “I’m sure I’m not nearly as smart as you must be, sir,” I reassured milord’s son. “But… I need to go. I have a console, you see.”

  “Of course,” milord replied, smiling. “And tell your father I said hello!”

  Then I was racing up the companionway again, shaking like a leaf and yet eager as could be to tell Dad what’d happened!

  But Dad wasn’t in any position to partake in conversation. An emergency takeoff without the benefit of a hardpoint was no joke—even I knew enough to appreciate that. So when I arrived at my duty-station he merely glanced at me and smiled. “Watch the coil readings,” he ordered as I strapped in and synched the console. I nodded back; there wasn’t much else for me to do, no matter how badly Dad might need the help. I’d only been an apprentice for a few months, after all, and the only two subjects I’d had enough time to learn anything useful about were coil readings and how to wear my Field suit. The rest of my time was either spent on sweeping the floors or math, math and more math. “Everything’s in the green,” I reported eventually. “Number five’s edging towards the amber, but you already know about that.”

  “Yeah,” my father agreed, his smile fading. Actually, number five was well within normal limits by the standards of any real ship’s engineer. Or so the representative of the company that’d just overhauled the unit had made the mistake of claiming in front of Captain Saunders, milord’s personal pilot. Said company’s contract was canceled within minutes, and the rep had been required to personally apologize to Dad. It was one of the most impressive things I’d ever seen. Especially since the company rep was at least technically correct—it wasn’t legal for a slave to be a ship’s officer. That was why Captain Saunders was listed on the ship’s papers in both capacities, even though it was physically impossible for him to perform them at the same time.

  “All hands!” the ship’s annunciator suddenly declared. “Attention all hands! This is First Officer Prescott speaking. Up ship in three minutes. I repeat, up ship in three minutes.”

  I blinked. That wasn’t half enough time for Dad to go through his preflight routine, and the very first thing he’d taught me was how vital i
t was to always do everything by the book. Then, I blinked a second time as he tossed the checklist into his desk drawer. “Engineering aye-aye,” he replied.

  It was impossible to hear any more battle-sounds through our hull, but just then another rolling series of detonations took place, the last one severe enough to knock me off of my feet if I hadn’t already been strapped in. And somewhere in there we also must’ve cast off the chocks and begun rolling, because Broad Arrow was now alive and moving.

  I was supposed to be an engineer in training, yes. But watching the coil readings didn’t take more than a fraction of my attention. Dad always encouraged me to split-screen them with stuff I hadn’t been trained on yet, like Field anomalies. But this time I turned on the tactical plotter instead…

  …and then immediately wished that I hadn’t. It was a virtual sea of red pips, half of them converging on us. “Dad!” I exclaimed, swiveling the monitor to face him. “Look!”

  He glanced over, then his eyes widened. “God above!” he muttered. Then he turned back to his own duties.

  “But…” I complained before biting off the words. I was crew now, not just a silly passenger. So it wasn’t for me to judge if our captain was about to get us all killed.

  We