Blackbeard Superbox, page 117
“That’s one of them,” Tolvern said, yelling to be heard above the din. She pointed to the woman directing the forklifts. “The big Ladino with the missing fingers is the other.”
“These blokes look even busier than the last crop we tried,” Capp said, also yelling. “With as much coin as they’re pulling in, we’ll be lucky if they don’t steal our boatswains instead of the other way around.”
“These two are the last. I’ll pay extra if I have to. You get the Ladino. I’ll talk to the woman.”
Tolvern waved to get the woman’s attention. Capp picked her way through the chaos to get to the man. Too hot inside to have a conversation, so Tolvern brought the pair outside.
The factory sat on a narrow street, blending in with the other stone buildings that stood shoulder-to-shoulder. The roofs were made of heavy tiles, and the windows had bars over them, with thick metal shutters to lock up. It gave the buildings a fortress-like appearance, but at the same time, there weren’t the high fences topped with razor wire or iron spikes that were common in high crime areas everywhere.
But the strangest feature of this part of the city was how the roads were in troughs below the level of the buildings, and looked almost like empty canals. Once you parked, you had to climb stairs to get up from the street level.
The rain had picked up, and was a steady drumbeat on the roofs. The clouds were so black overhead that it looked like evening, even though it was still the middle of the day.
“Don’t like the looks of that,” Capp said, peering skyward. “Maybe it’s one of them deluges they told us about.”
The woman they’d brought out of the factory stepped out from under the eaves, collected rain in her hands, and splashed her face. Soot still streaked her features when she was done, but she looked human now. Albionish, from the looks of her.
“It’s safe enough for now,” she said. “I’d keep an eye on it, though. Looks threatening.” She glanced at the two newcomers and settled on Tolvern. “You’re the navy captain Rodriguez told me about?”
Her English had broad vowels. Tolvern pegged her as a Mercian.
“Captain Tolvern, yes. HMS Blackbeard. I want to enlist you in the Royal Navy. I lost some of my best boatswains, and Rodriguez says you’re good.”
“Can you get me a pardon?”
“A what?”
“I’m already Royal Navy. Midshipman O’Keefe, HMS Lexington. That mean anything to you?”
“I see,” Tolvern said.
“What’s that, then?” Capp asked.
“Lexington was one of Malthorne’s destroyers,” Tolvern explained. “She took damage in the Fantalus System and disappeared. Where is Lexington now?”
“Lexington never made it,” O’Keefe said. “My captain was Malthorne’s cousin, and figured he’d be hung if he returned. So we scuttled, sold the ship for parts. The crew went its own way. The civil war’s over, I hear. That about right?”
“And pardons issued,” Tolvern said.
“What about for deserters? Because I figure that’s what all of us from Lexington count for now, isn’t that right?”
“Was it your idea to desert or your captain’s?”
“None of the crew had much choice in the matter. We were all the way out here, and the ship was sold out from underneath us.”
“Put it in writing, sign a loyalty oath, and I’ll have you back at your old grade and pay. That’s more than can be said for most of Malthorne’s people.”
“And your ship? It’s Blackbeard, right? All shot up, is she?”
“We took a beating,” Tolvern admitted. “More than one beating, in fact. We had hull integrity issues where we fought off a boarding party, and we’re still running tests on all the systems that came down in the overhaul. But we’re armed and armored, and with a couple more boatswains we’ll have a full crew.”
“How long you been in the yards?”
“Two weeks. We’ve been working full out, and nearly have her patched up. I’d love another week, but I’m not sure I can get it. I’m ready to ship out now.”
O’Keefe studied her, as if wondering if Tolvern was understating Blackbeard’s damage as part of her pitch. She lifted her hand in a slow salute. “Aye, Captain. Then I’m on board.”
Capp was still scowling. “Just don’t be carrying any of that Malthorne rubbish with you. We ain’t that kind of ship. No cucumber sandwiches and posh talk, you hear?”
“Look at me,” O’Keefe said. She was filthy, her hair hacked close to the scalp, so poorly it looked like she’d done it herself with a pair of old scissors and a cracked mirror. “You see anything posh here?”
“Glad you girls can kiss and make up,” the other person from the foundry said in a light Ladino accent. He’d been watching the exchange with a stony expression. “But I got a good job already. What’s in it for me? Pay is good out here for a man with my skills, and I have never been in your navy, so that crap won’t work with me.”
Tolvern suppressed her irritation. These two weren’t her first choice, more like her tenth, although if she’d known O’Keefe’s background, she’d have tried the woman earlier. Tolvern had been turned down plenty of times over the past week as she scratched together new crew. She’d even tried to hire some of Rodriguez’s people on a contract basis, with a kickback going to the owner of the spaceyards. Rodriguez turned her down.
“You must be Ortiz,” Tolvern said. When he nodded, she said, “How about a signing bonus of fifty pounds?”
Capp’s eyebrows shot up at this, but Ortiz looked unimpressed. “I can earn that in six weeks, with overtime. Not good enough.”
Tolvern had been prepared to offer him three pounds a week, which was what an experienced boatswain earned, but if he was telling the truth about earning fifty pounds in six weeks, she was nowhere close enough.
“How much do you want?” she asked cautiously.
“More.”
Tolvern turned to O’Keefe. “Is he good?”
The midshipman shrugged. “Good enough.”
“I’m better than you,” Ortiz told O’Keefe.
“Not bloody likely,” O’Keefe said. “Burned your fingers off, didn’t you?”
“Seventy-five pound signing bonus,” Tolvern said. “Three pounds fifty a week.”
Ortiz shook his head. “Nah. Still not worth it.”
“King’s balls,” Capp said. “Seventy-five bloody pounds. Don’t be an arse. Take it.”
“I was thinking two hundred bonus, five pounds a week,” Ortiz said.
“You’re mad,” Tolvern said. “I can’t offer that kind of money. It’s already going to cause me trouble if the crew hears I’m waving around signing bonuses.”
Ortiz shrugged. “Sorry.”
“You’d rather work here, sweltering?” Tolvern asked. “Messing around with substandard equipment?”
“And stay alive? Yeah. I know why you want me, and it’s because your other people died, didn’t they? I don’t figure to go out and get shot at by buzzards and Hroom and pirates. If I’d wanted that, I’d have joined up years ago.”
“So you’re a bloody coward,” Capp said. “Come on, Cap’n. Let’s leave this bloke. He ain’t worth it anyhow.”
The rain had continued to pick up while the four had been talking, until it poured off the roofs of the surrounding buildings in sheets. From there it drained into the sunken roadbed and joined a small, but growing stream.
“What do you think?” O’Keefe asked Ortiz. “Is it a deluge?”
“Drains are backing up,” he said. “Roads will be rivers in a few minutes. Could be. I don’t hear any thunder. Usually, it slams into the mountains and all goes off at once.”
“Usually, but not always,” she said.
Lorries and private cars had been rolling by earlier in the conversation, but had largely vanished from the street. Heavy metal shutters slammed shut up and down the street, blocking windows.
“Yeah, I’d say the toads are coming,” O’Keefe added. “Let’s get inside.” She reached for the door, but it didn’t budge. She cursed. “It’s locked.”
Capp clapped her hands sarcastically. “Well done, luv. You must have been the pride of the Royal Navy.”
“Someone must have locked it from the inside. Must not have seen us come out.”
Capp didn’t look convinced. “Better hope them toads don’t appear.”
Ortiz pounded on the metal door, but nobody responded. Too much noise from the foundry, no doubt, plus the thundering rain on the roof. O’Keefe cursed again and said they’d have to go around the building to one of the loading bays. That would take them into the rain.
A truck pulled up. It had big tires and was elevated to get it above the water. Metal spikes stuck out of the roof, the tire rims, the bumpers, and the hood, giving it a porcupine appearance. A window came down.
“Captain!”
It was Carvalho, back early from the yards. Tolvern had told him two hours. Give her a chance to seal the deal with drinks, pay off the foundry owner for stealing two of his employees mid-shift, and wrap up other business in town.
“The fugitives are in Samborondón,” Carvalho said. “We found them.”
Tolvern had nearly forgotten about Djikstra and Megat. Blackbeard had been stripped down and rebuilt in the two weeks since she came into Rodriguez’s yards, and Tolvern had been consumed with the numerous arguments, compromises, and simple logistics of the overhaul, as well as the struggle to acquire supplies and crew. Tolvern had spent a fortune in the end, but the result was that she was ready to ship out, whether she hired on the last two boatswains or not.
“Why didn’t you call?” Tolvern said.
“Get in, I’ll tell you.”
Tolvern turned to O’Keefe. “Find me in the yards when the storm is over. Ortiz, the offer stands.”
He snorted. “Don’t wait up on my account.”
“Hope you burn yer knob off next time,” Capp muttered.
Tolvern grabbed Capp and braced to make a dash through the rain to the truck. Before they could move, the ground rumbled, and water spouted from one of the overwhelmed drains about thirty feet in front of them. Tolvern stared through the sheet of water, thinking that something had blocked the drainage system and part of the street was about to collapse.
Ortiz and O’Keefe pounded on the metal door to the foundry, screaming for someone to open up.
“Run!” Carvalho yelled from the truck. There was panic in his voice.
The two Blackbeard officers sprinted for the truck. The water hit like buckets in the face the instant they left the shelter of the eaves, so thick Tolvern felt like she was drowning in it. The water was already up to her calves in the street, and the two women fought to get through it. The water kept spouting ahead of them, and paving stones spit into the air, splashing down in a cascade of mud and stone.
Tolvern and Capp both got in the front, bringing so much water with them that Carvalho, sitting behind the wheel, held up an arm to block the spray. The back door opened and two people scrambled in. O’Keefe and Ortiz. Oglethorpe was already in the back of the truck, and muttered a complaint as they shook off like a pair of wet dogs.
The ground heaved in front of the truck, and a massive shape squirmed up through the mud and broken paving stones. Carvalho got them moving before Ortiz had even closed the door, and drove away in reverse before Tolvern could get a good look at whatever it was that had come out of the ground.
#
“I didn’t call because the com system is offline,” Carvalho explained as they rolled down streets that were as much canal now as road. “So I had to come out and find you in person.”
“The com is still down?” Tolvern asked, frowning. “I thought Smythe was going to have it up and running by midday.”
Rain thundered on the roof, and while the truck had plenty of clearance, it was slow going pushing through all the water. They came upon what looked like a sinkhole, except it was rapidly filling with runoff. O’Keefe told them in a tense voice to turn around. That was no sinkhole, she said, it was where another toad had broken up through the roadbed.
“Something to do with the network,” Carvalho said when Tolvern pressed him about the communications system. “We lost computers or something—I don’t know what he is babbling about, you will have to talk to Smythe yourself. He wants to run diagnostics before we leave the planet.”
Oglethorpe was messing around with weapons in the back, and Tolvern glanced back to see what he’d brought with him. He’d once been special forces, and still fought well in spite of a messed up shoulder. He’d hauled a small arsenal of rifles, shotguns, and hand cannons along, and she figured they might need them if any more toads popped out of the ground.
“Tell me about the fugitives,” she said, turning back to Carvalho. “Are they still holed up on their ship?”
“This has nothing to do with me,” Ortiz said. “I want to be let out.”
“With toads coming out of the street?” O’Keefe said. “Come with us to the yards. They have a perimeter. You’ll be safe until the deluge is over.”
“Fine, but only until the rain stops. I’m not joining your crew for a thousand guineas.”
“Yeah, we get it. You’re scared,” Capp said.
“That is right, Captain,” Carvalho said in answer to Tolvern’s question. “They negotiated with the port authorities, landed in a field a few miles from the yards, and have been sitting there ever since. Nobody has talked to them—I figured it was better to come get you first.”
Capp studied Carvalho. “Something’s wrong, ain’t it?”
“I am fine.”
“I can see it on your face, luv,” Capp said. “Look at him, Cap’n, and tell me I’m wrong.”
Carvalho’s brow was furrowed, and he hunched over the wheel. And it wasn’t just his posture; his voice was strained, with none of its usual swagger. The presence of giant killer amphibians in the streets might have explained it, but Tolvern had spent enough time with Carvalho in the swampland of Hot Barsa to recognize something else was troubling him.
He glanced over his shoulder, then looked at Tolvern. “Not sure you want it coming out in front of the new recruits. Not until you’ve got them settled.”
“I won’t be put off,” O’Keefe said, “and Ortiz won’t be put on, either. Whatever you’ve got to say, you can say it in front of us.”
“Go ahead, Carvalho,” Tolvern said.
“It is the com system. Smythe brought it up for testing before he took it offline again. There was a subspace from Mose Dryz. He mentioned his fleet and rendezvousing with Admiral Drake.”
Capp groaned. “That dumb Hroom. Why the devil would he do that? Doesn’t he know better?”
“I don’t understand,” O’Keefe said. “What’s the matter with sending a subspace?”
“It means the buzzards know where we are,” Tolvern said. “If the general sent it, Apex heard it. And that means they know we’re on Samborondón.”
“Sounds like a lot of worry,” O’Keefe said calmly. “Maybe they weren’t listening. Maybe they’re four systems away.”
“You haven’t faced the buzzards,” Capp said, “or I fancy you wouldn’t be sitting back there all smug-like.”
“How long did you say until we leave?” O’Keefe asked. “A couple of days? Get into orbit, get cloaked—we’ll be fine.”
Tolvern shook her head. “The sensors can’t relay a time when they picked up the subspace, only that it arrived. You need the communication system for that. And it was offline for six days. Who knows when the general sent it, or when the buzzards heard. If he sent it six days ago . . . well, let’s hope he didn’t.”
Chapter Sixteen
Tolvern began to think the threat of toads was over-hyped by the time they reached the outskirts of town. The rain lashed down, pounding on the roof and destroying visibility out the front. Thank God for the viewscreen, which used sensors to construct and display their surroundings. The water channeled into big canals that flanked the road, but by now they were overflowing, and an uprooted tree blocked their path where it had washed across. The truck was partially amphibious, and could go through deep water, but it couldn’t get past the tree.
The six of them climbed out of the windows and waded into water that was nearly waist-deep. Carvalho and Oglethorpe hooked up a winch to drag the tree out of the way, and the rest of them established a defense perimeter to watch for toads.
Tolvern peered into the gloom, trying to see anything through the curtains of water and the churning, muddy canals. She had a rifle, but wondered if a life jacket might not be a more critical need as the current sucked at her legs and tried to yank her from her feet. Forget giant toads, the floodwater would drown them if they weren’t careful.
Capp shouted a warning.
The canal erupted to their right. A huge, lumpy shape crawled onto the road, ten feet tall and twice as wide as the truck. With a giant, lumpy head that was half the size of the animal itself, and two enormous, bulbous eyes, it really did look like a giant toad, all except for the pig-like snout.
Tolvern was standing closest, and lifted her rifle as one eye swiveled toward her. The toad’s mouth opened, and a black tongue bunched at the back, ready to strike.
She shot it in the mouth. Capp and Ortiz fired at the same moment, and O’Keefe opened up a split second later. Carvalho and Oglethorpe dropped the winch and fumbled with their weapons.
The toad bellowed, a sound that was a cross between an enraged bull and a trumpeting elephant. It hopped backward, and disappeared into the mud and water. She caught a glimpse of its lumpy back emerging from the water, aimed her rifle, and fired again before it was gone.
“Watch yourself,” O’Keefe said. “We didn’t hurt him, we only pissed him off. He’ll be back.”
“Stay on that winch,” Tolvern told Carvalho and Oglethorpe. “No matter what happens, you keep working.”
She’d no sooner said this than the toad burst out of the water again, this time from the other side of the tree. It opened its mouth and tried to swallow Oglethorpe, who’d just got the chain fastened around the trunk. He looked up in time and ducked away, taking shelter between the branches of the tree and shouting for help.
