Joe Larson

Alex Swanson swore at the gauges. "This is not good," he told himself for about the seventeenth time. "How can both the primary and secondary phase inverters be bad?" Without a phase inverter, the warp drive was not going work.

Alex knew that MacPherson phase inverters have no moving parts and nothing to wear out. They’re supposed to last for decades, and Swanson’s Pride was practically brand new. Well, not really, but the refit was less than two years old.

The ship’s captain swore again, decided getting angry wasn’t going to help, and got up from the pilot’s console. "Time for a walkabout," he told the ship. "Call me if you decide to start working again. And remind me not to talk to inanimate objects some time, would you?"

The Pride was a small ship, and it didn’t take Alex long to make his rounds. His ship was basically built around a central corridor beginning at the forward cockpit and ending at the access panels and crawl spaces for the drive units. There are two cabins across from each other immediate aft of the cockpit. Alex used the port side cabin as his own and kept the starboard cabin for the occasional guest. Alex didn’t usually share the ship. On long space voyages in a small ship, even good friends can quickly begin to grate. But a ship needs to be prepared to carry passengers, so the Pride kept a guest cabin.

Continuing aft, Alex arrived at the galley (port side) and a small gym (starboard). The gym is a necessity for good health aboard ship, of course, and Alex spent a significant amount of time keeping his health up and staying sharp.

The Pride didn’t have a hold like larger cargo vessels. Storage was limited to a row of cabinets along the passageway. Alex preferred to carry intellectual property, artwork, and expensive luxury items. Let the larger ships carry the heavy goods, he always thought. Small, light weight, high profit margin items take more time to find, but Alex always enjoyed the hunt and never let himself be rushed.

A side branch on the port side led to the ship’s airlock. A nose-on airlock is easier for docking purposes, but Alex liked having a forward cockpit with a large view screen. Side thrusters make docking possible, and some of the larger space stations have landing bays large enough for the Swanson’s Pride. Alex walked down the passageway and looked through the window into the airlock, but he didn’t go so far as to open the inner airlock door and step inside.

Opposite the corridor to the airlock is the ships rest room and sonic shower. Alex knew of some spacers that didn’t have a shower aboard ship. He didn’t consider that a very pleasant thought.

Built into the ship below Alex’s feet are the units that power the inertia dampeners, which prevented the ships occupants from experiencing heavy gee forces during acceleration and gave the ship it’s false gravity. Access to the units is through the floor plates, which are normally bolted down but can be easily removed.

Alex finished his stress-reducing tour around the ship and returned to the cockpit. "Well, let’s see where we are at least," he told the ship, fingering the navigation controls. The ship spat out an answer, which Alex didn’t like. Two and a half light years from the nearest star, and nearly thirteen to the nearest inhabited planet. "We’re not getting anywhere interesting on thrusters," he told the ship.

"I still can’t believe both phase inverters failed at the same time," he decided. "It has got to be something else." He retrieved his emergency tool kit from storage and began to dismantle his ship.

Six hours, two walks around the ship, and countless curses later, Alex was no closer to an operating warp drive. Anger creeping up on him again, he stomped off to the workout room. A strenuous workout calmed him down, and a shot through the sonic shower left him feeling fresh. He changed into a set of silk pajamas – a little luxury in the deep of space – then wandered to the cockpit.

Alex stared at the navigation computer for a while, then keyed in several commands. "Emergency beacon activated," the computer told him. Alex keyed the computer to let him know if anyone responded, then returned to his cabin.

Before climbing into bed, he looked at his reflection in the mirror. Deep brown eyes set in an oval face stared back at him, the head covered with black hair, trimmed short at the last stop. "You are in deep doo-doo, Alex," he told his reflection. Alex stretched, his fingers brushing the ceiling. Alex had bought the Pride because the ceilings, and especially the doorways, were tall enough he wasn’t bumping is head on them all the time. Being tall has its disadvantages to match the advantages.

Alex studied his reflection further, looking for signs of character, the character that would help see him through his current situation. At 28 years old, the face was just starting to really mature. He hoped it would be enough.

He turned from the mirror and settled into bed. It took hours for sleep to claim him.

* * *

Alex spent the next two days alternating between exercise, dismantling portions of the warp drive, and scanning nearby space for a friendly vessel. Eventually he slammed the last of the access panels closed in disgust.

"Starving to death is not my favorite option!" he yelled at the ship. Alex knew exactly how long he had left, if someone didn’t stop by with a rescue. He had food for three weeks – maybe more if he stretched it – and water indefinitely, although it starts to taste a little, well, funny after a while. The reclaimers are only so good. But he knew he wouldn’t stretch the food. What was the point? To stretch the food, he would have to stay quiet. And there was a problem with that.

Alex didn’t keep liquor or drugs on his ship. He had seen what happened to spacers who did, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. He also knew he would go mad if he allowed himself to brood over the situation. Exercise, sleep, and the occasional, already too-frequently-viewed video were his only distractions.

Alex spent most of the rest of the week working out or sleeping. When he wasn’t doing either of these, he wrote a letter to his parents and keyed the navigation computer to send it off in two months. They wouldn’t get it for 13 years – the time it would take to travel to an inhabited planet – but he had to tell them something.

Sometime in the middle of ship’s night, seven days after the phase inverters had failed, Alex was rudely woken from the nightly hell he called sleep. The ships alarm was sounding.

"Rescued!" Alex yelled, flinging himself out of his cabin and into he seat in the cockpit. The cockpit speakers were already alive.

Alex listened to the sweetest sound he thought he would ever hear, a woman’s voice saying, "Swanson’s Pride, are you there?"

He hit the transmitter. "I’m here!"

"No need to yell, Pride," the voice replied. "We heard your emergency beacon. Do you have visual?"

Without a thought to what he was wearing, Alex activated the cameras and turned to his view screen. The two ships’ communications systems negotiated a protocol, and Alex found himself staring into the eyes of a beautiful, dark-haired woman. She was wearing an unfamiliar uniform and appeared to be just a few years older than Alex’s 28.

"There you are," she said. "Got you out of bed?"

Alex realized he was wearing his silks and blushed.

"No matter," she said. "I’m Captain Linda Dawson of Jane’s Gift."

Alex’s smile faltered. "Dawson? Out of Dawson’s Star?"

The woman nodded. "You understand ‘Dawson’ is a rather common name on my home," she informed him.

Alex let the information sink in. The blush left his face, along with all the rest of the color. He had heard about the women of Dawson’s Star.

"What’s your status, Captain?" she asked Alex. Alex just looked at her, uncertain how to respond. She returned his gaze steadily. "Look, Pride, you’re dead in space, and from your initial reaction, I assume you expect to stay that way." Alex nodded glumly. "So why don’t you tell me your situation?"

"Both my phase inverters are bad," Alex finally replied.

"Spares?"

"Who carries spares?" he asked her. "They’re never supposed to fail."

Captain Dawson arched an eyebrow. Alex was impressed. "We carry spares," she informed him. "Are you sure it’s the inverters?"

"No. I’m a so-so mechanic, but I can’t find anything else wrong. However, I don’t carry very fancy diagnostic tools, either."

Alex watched her give him a "why am I not surprised?" look.

"Well, maybe we should discuss your options, then," the woman suggested.

"I have options?" Alex asked. Maybe the stories aren’t all true, he thought.

"Of course. There are always options." The woman began counting on her fingertips. "You can tell us to shove off and continue to try to fix your ship yourself. Maybe someone else will come along and rescue you. Or you could abandon your ship and join us aboard the Gift. You could ask us to try to fix your drive." She looked at her hand with three fingers held up. "Hmm. I know I’m missing one. Oh, yeah." She counted one more finger. "You can just space yourself right now."

Alex looked at her. "No one else is likely to come along."

"Not in a million years," Captain Dawson agreed with him. "I don’t even want to try to figure the odds of us having heard your distress beacon." She lowered her index finger so only the last three fingers were raised.

"I don’t feel like a cold walk right now," Alex told her.

"You’re not really dressed very well for stepping outside," the woman agreed.

Alex blushed again.

"That’s a better color on you than pasty white," she told him. His blush deepened. Captain Dawson dropped another finger leaving only two.

"Can you fix my ship?"

"Maybe," she told him, lowering her hand to her lap. "Can you pay us? What’s your cargo?"

Alex looked at her glumly before telling her. "Some artwork, some intellectual property that’s probably of no use to anyone but the people who contracted for me to move it, and some mail."

"You’re carrying the mail?" Alex nodded. "Well, do you have anything we might want?" she asked him sadly. "Cash at First Universal Station or something?"

"I could pay you something at the end of my run," he told her. "It’s commissioned, and I’m making a healthy profit."

They haggled for several minutes, nearly reaching agreement. Captain Dawson paused, then asked the question Alex was dreading. "And how do we know you’ll keep up your end of this agreement, assuming we can indeed fix your ship?"

"I’m honest," he told her quietly.

"Right. And I’m cautious. You’ll temporarily sign your ship over to us. We’ll leave someone with you. You’ll complete your run, then bring my crew member to Dawson’s Star. You’ll pay us and have title of your ship back. Non-negotiable."

Alex looked at her, then nodded. "What if you can’t fix my ship."

"Then we go back to the earlier options. Do you want my advice?" She paused, then resumed. "You’ll join us aboard the Gift, and we’ll take you to Dawson’s Star with us. Of course, we’ll also claim your ship as salvage."

"The stories are true?" Alex gulped.

"We’re a matriarchy, Captain, not pirates," the woman told him. "If you don’t like our terms, we can leave you here. But yes, most of the stories you’ve heard are probably true. Somewhat slanted, I assume, but basically true." She paused. "It’s not a bad life for the men, if they’re not too prideful."

Alex looked glum. "How do I know you’ll really try to fix my ship?"

"I told you we’re not pirates," she snapped at him, then looked at him with harsh eyes. "Or slavers, regardless of the stories. Do you see anyone else out here offering to help you?"

"No. How did you even find me?"

Captain Dawson looked at him, saying nothing. Alex felt a tickle in his mind, like a soft breeze blowing across bare skin. Still, the effect unnerved him, and he squirmed.

"The stories are true," he said quietly.

"Yes, Captain. And we’re quite a ways apart yet. If you can’t handle this, we can leave. We could even tell any ships in orbit around our home about you, but I can offer no guarantee any will be there or that they will come to help you. I consider it unlikely, given our reputation."

"Please don’t leave, Captain," Alex asked her. "I’ll take my chances with your mechanic – or with you – over starving to death."

"You still have thrusters?" Captain Dawson asked Alex. "I would rather spend your reaction mass than ours."

"The computers have a direction on your signal," Alex told her. "But not a distance. May I ping you?"

The woman stared at him from the screen for a moment. Direction information was one thing, but distance was crucial if Alex were more than what he seemed. Targeting computers were much happier when they had range information. Alex felt a tickle in his mind again, then the woman nodded.

"I trust you won’t take offense if I’m careful," she told him. "We’ll be doing that again when you get closer."

"I’m not a pirate, either," Alex told her. "I have nothing to hide from you. Pinging now."

Alex told his navigation computer to calculate the distance to Jane’s Gift. The computer sent out a short signal. The signal arrived at the Gift and was immediately sent back. The computer did a round trip time check and displayed the range between the two ships. Alex looked at the number.

"We’re quite a distance apart," Alex told her.

"Like I said, I’m cautious."

"It’ll take me several hours to get to your position."

"That’ll give you time to put on some more appropriate clothes before any of my crew sees you," the woman told him pointedly. "We’ll contact you again when you get closer. Jane’s Gift out."

"Swanson’s Pride, out," Alex replied, ending the transmission.

Copyright (c) 1999, Joe Larson.