A Game of Battleships (9 page)

‘Paperwork?’

‘Not to be mentioning three… we have no guns.’

‘What?’

‘I approve,’ Suruk said. ‘Ramming speed!’

‘No, no “ramming speed”. Europe is a place of peace. This vessel was built to survey, to discover 
and, once sufficient evidence of an enemy attack has been uncovered, to enable the passing of a 
condemnatory resolution. Not to go in with all guns blazing like Butch Cassidy and
der Sonnetanzkind
, okay?’

Smith stared at the image on the screen, the grim-looking, converted ship – his prey – within 
range. ‘But… but –’

Rhianna put her hand on Smith’s shoulder. ‘Isambard, he’s right. We can’t just tell them what to 
do.’ She turned to Schmidt. ‘Will it be a sternly worded resolution, Herr Raumskapitan?’

‘Oh, very.’

‘That’s okay, then.’

‘Humph!’ Smith pulled away. ‘Pass a resolution? I’ve passed water more frightening than that.’

Schmidt gave him a stern look. Smith returned it. They volleyed the stern look for several 
seconds.

Petra looked up from the computer. ‘I have it,’ she announced. ‘Formerly Royal Mail shuttle 
RMS Greendale,
believed lost at space six years ago, taken by pirates. The ship reappeared three months ago, renamed
Fist of Sacred Hate
and refitted as a light destroyer of the Republic of Eden. Gentlemen, you are looking at an Edenite ship.’

‘Edenite?’ Smith shook his head. On the screen, blue light shone from the ship’s few windows, as 
if it glowed inside. The armour was striped red, like wounds. Symbols had been painted around the 
airlocks. Hooked chains drifted lazily around the craft like the tentacles of dead octopi. ‘But they’re insane cultists. And that ship looks like. . well, it looks –’

‘Like it came from Hell,’ Carveth whispered.

Suruk threw back his head and laughed. The sound rang through the metal corridor. “Then there 
is only one thing to do,” he declared. ‘We must pursue this craft to wherever it dwells, hunt it out and carve a path to its dark heart! I, Suruk of the line of Agshad shall destroy this vessel, no matter what fiery abyss it may choose for a hiding-place. For it is better to reign in Hell than.. ’ Suruk raised a hand and scratched his head. ‘Er. .’

‘Remain in Hull?’ Carveth suggested.

‘Drizzle in Heaven?’ Smith said.

‘No.. I remember now!’ Suruk exclaimed. ‘For it is better to reign in Hell than anywhere else!’

*

‘Well,’ said Smith, admiring the
John Pym
, ‘they’ve finished the repairs.’

Schmidt rubbed his beard. Above them, great mechanical arms flexed and swung silently, like the 
hands of puppeteers. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked.

‘It looks better than ever,’ Smith replied. He put out a hand. ‘I’m sorry I got cross, Raumskapitan 
Schmidt. You’ve been a great help. Thanks to you, we have the lead we needed.’

‘And I got smashed,’ Carveth added.

‘And I got some interesting seeds,’ Rhianna put in. Ingrid winked.

‘I would give you some tea in return,’ Smith said, ‘but I’m afraid we’re going to need all the moral 
fibre we have for the voyage ahead.’

Rhianna held out the smaller of their lunch tins. ‘I made a cake,’ she added.

‘Thank you,’ Schmidt replied. ‘You are most kind. But hey – you must get going. Space traffic 
control have another strike booked for four o’clock. They must have heard there were British trying to leave.’

‘Well then.’ Smith turned to Rhianna. ‘I suppose this is it.’

‘Until we meet again,’ she said. ‘Isambard, take care. And try not to do anything too heroic. Or 
stupid.’

‘You take care too. Especially with the washing.’

She came close, and he could smell patchouli oil. ‘Remember, Isambard… this is
au revoir
, not 
goodbye.’

‘Can we settle for “Bye for now”? It’s neither permanent nor French.’

‘Done.’ She kissed him. ‘You’ll be in my dreams.’

‘Mine too. Can you wear the dress that’s sort of see-through?’

‘I’ll do what I can. Good bye.’

‘See you soon!’

They kissed again, and Rhianna stepped away to join Ingrid and Raumskapitan Schmidt. Smith 
smiled at the Raumskapitan, knowing that he would look after most of Rhianna’s needs – except that one.

Looking round, he saw Carveth and Petra swapping bottles.

Schmidt said, ‘The nearest Edenite port capable of maintaining such a vessel is called 
Deliverance. It’s three days’ travel from here – two with an engine like yours, provided you go in a 
straight line. From what I have heard, you can expect a warm reception. They’ll try to burn you at the stake.’

‘That sounds likely. Well, thanks for your help.’

‘My pleasure. But the only people getting in and out of Deliverance are Crusadists and 
mercenaries. As soon as they see you they’ll start firing.’

‘We’ll take our chances.’

They shook hands. Schmidt took three steps and turned. ‘Oh, Captain Smith? One more thing.

Viel Gluck
.’

Smith turned at the door of the
John Pym
. ‘
Danke!
’ he replied. ‘I mean, thanks.’

‘So,’ said Carveth, slowly lowering her biscuit into her tea, ‘we’re going to fly into the Republic of Eden, find the ship that blew up our convoy and – assuming we’re not very dead by then – well… then what?’

‘Put it out of action,’ Smith replied. ‘Locate the enemy vessel and either destroy it completely or 
mark it in some way so that our own fleet can find it and finish it off.’

‘And then back home for curry and beer?’

‘That’s about right,’ Smith replied. ‘Of course, we’ll have to finesse some of the fine points, but 
you’ve got the basic idea.’

Carveth took her biscuit out the tea and bit off the soggy bit. ‘But we’ve just escaped from the 
space-Bastille, and now we’re going into a police state. Can’t we just cut our losses and bugger off home?

It sounds to me like a case of “Out of the frying pan and into the Scottish gourmet”.’

‘Don’t worry. Suruk and I have come up with a plan.’ Smith got up and, still carrying his mug, 
walked to the door that led into the hold. ‘Suruk? Are you in there?’

‘I am just coming,’ the alien replied.

Suruk struggled through the doorway, carrying the ship’s tactical display unit and a piece of chalk 
to draw on it. He stood the board at the end of the table.

‘Behold!’ Suruk said. ‘I have applied my full skill as a hunter to this conundrum. Stealth is of the 
essence here. We must approach the enemy unseen if we are to avenge the vessels it has destroyed. It is for that reason that we will be painting our spacecraft red.’

Carveth stared across the table.

‘Schmidt told us that the Edenites will attack anything not on their side,’ Suruk explained. ‘It is 
well known that the Edenites hire many mercenaries and errant warriors. By decorating our craft, we will fool the enemy into thinking that is us.’

‘A disguise,’ Smith said.

‘Indeed.’

Carveth nodded. ‘Perhaps this isn’t as crazy as I thought. Although we will still be going near the 
Edenites, so some level of crazy is still there. We’ll hardly be invisible, though.’

‘Invisibility is relative,’ Suruk explained. ‘If you wished to go unseen among a crowd in one of the 
cities of Earth, would you paint yourself in stripes, and run nude on all fours? Of course not. But if you wanted to hunt zebra, that is another thing. . you see?”

‘So if you were to hunt zebra, you’d paint yourself stripey and run round naked?’

‘It was just an example. But resembling dangerous pirates, we will be able to enter their citadel by 
stealth.’

‘Along with the thousands of other dangerous pirates,” Carveth said. “Alright then… what do 
space pirates look like?’

The alien flexed his mandibles thoughtfully. ‘Truly, it varies,’ he declared. ‘But this season’s 
colour is a deep, blood red. Chains and spikes are popular accessories, along with battering rams and

boarding gear. It is a bold, dynamic look, based around a few key pieces.’

‘Pieces of eight?’ Smith put in.

‘No, pieces of other people.’ Suruk took a biscuit from the table. ‘As for the individual space 
pirate, hair is lank this season and patches are in. There are a few major brands to look out for, as well as major scars and tattoos.’

‘What the heck.’ To Smith’s surprise, Carveth seemed willing to assist. ‘We can make our own 
outfits. Rhianna’s got some big white shirts – we can take it from there.’

Smith sipped his tea. ‘Good work, Suruk. It’s a splendid plan. We’ll sail in under false colours.

And there’s that flag on the trophy rack we took off the Deathstorm Legion. That’s got a skull on it, even if it does have antennae. Although flying under a Gertie flag might damage our moral fibre.’

‘Then we are agreed.’ Suruk stepped back and gestured towards the blackboard. ‘These are some 
modifications we could carry out.’ He had sketched a picture of the
John Pym
, together with a chalk drawing of himself, swinging what looked like someone’s leg. A selection of useful notes adorned the 
diagram: ‘the ansestors’, ‘Blud!!’, ‘Fols beerd’, ‘pile of heads’ and, predictably, ‘chanesor’.

‘As you can see, we will need to paint the outside of the ship. All we need now is blood,’ Suruk 
said. ‘Lots of blood. Failing that, red paint.’

‘Okay,’ Carveth said. ‘It’s a good plan. I’ll give you a hand.’

‘Most kind,’ Suruk replied, reaching to the machete on his belt. ‘Right or left?’

*

‘All clear!’ Carveth shouted, slamming the door behind her. Smith stood in the side airlock, 
squashed between the two doors. The little counter spun in its brass dial until
Sealed
appeared. He turned round and opened the door. Space, as usual, was big and dark. Stars flicked by, quick as fireflies. Strange, he thought, how in ages past men had been so fascinated by such a lot of old nothing. It looked much 
better in the mapbooks, where most of it was Imperial pink.

He checked the magnetic strips on his boots, then stepped out into the void. He found himself 
standing at right angles to the
John Pym
, sticking out as though the ship had sprouted him as a new, misshapen wing. He climbed towards the upper hull, shaking his head at the larger patches of rust. Those, although regrettable, weren’t surprising. Nor were the patches of frozen avian-droppings or the dents, as if from gunfire, where something larger than a bird had done its business when they had landed on Urn.

He would not have been greatly surprised to find a washing line wrapped around the dorsal fin, trailing pairs of smalls frozen by the deathly grip of space.

Suruk was already on top of the ship. He wore a modified spacesuit, doctored to accommodate 
his head and some of his smaller trophies. As Smith watched, the alien bounced down the hull with a 
power-screwdriver in one hand and a bag of skulls in the other, pausing on each bounce to attach a skull to the
John Pym
before bounding away like a fiendish version of the Easter Bunny.

The M’Lak leaped up and landed elegantly beside Smith. Suruk raised a gloved hand and waved.

Smith leaned in to talk – the radio links were somewhat crackly, and shouting helped – but forgot that they were wearing space helmets. Suruk staggered back from the force of his headbutt and Smith grabbed him quickly before he could float away. In their suits, behind limb pads and brass helmets, they looked like a pair of deep-sea divers geared up for a game of cricket.

‘Gosh,’ Smith said. ‘It looks pretty good – convincing, I mean.’ 

‘Thank you, Mazuran. I do have some experience of the art of decor. Back home I used to 
decorate the family home with my ancestors. Only the ones I disliked, of course.’

‘Good work, old chap.’

‘A pleasure.’ Suruk laughed over the intercom. ‘A plethora of skulls for the vessel of doom!

Regrettable that the seer is not with us. She would appreciate my efforts, I feel.’

‘I think she’d want something a bit more – what’s the word…
chilled
.’

‘I
am
chilling.’

‘Not in the same way.’

Suruk took a bounding step towards the airlock. He landed elegantly and spun to face Smith, 
reminding Smith of being taken to see
Beatrix Potter On Ice
as a child. ‘The job is a good one,’ the M’Lak declared. ‘All ship-shape and fashioned like Bristols – assuming that the ship in question is shaped like a hawk of bloody death and Bristol has taken up skull-collecting. Come to think of it, I do not know why you did not have it done years ago.’

*

Smith was last in. Suruk helped him remove his space helmet, not quite twisting his head off in 
the process. The alien looked different, Smith thought. In order to give the impression of being a deadly, murderous space pirate, Suruk had combed his hair and was smiling slightly more than usual.

‘Listen,’ Smith said, ‘I’ll lend you my space fleet jacket. You can say you took it as a trophy.’

‘A wily plan, Mazuran. In return, I will lend you my favourite t-shirt. It says
Slayer
.’

‘I’ll be alright. I’ve got an old tweed jacket that’ll do the job.’

‘Tweed?’ Suruk rubbed his mandibles together thoughtfully. ‘For a pirate?’

‘I bought it in Penzance.’

‘Excellent.’

As they entered the cockpit, the radio emitted a hideous roar. Carveth leaped up in the pilot’s 
seat. Gerald, the hamster, dove into his sawdust. A spider dropped dead out of its web. Cackling laughter and guttural snarls filled the room.