Darrell Bain - Crazy Ships

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Crazy Ships

by Darrell Bain

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First published by DDP,September 2003

Double Dragon Publication

www.double-dragon-ebooks.com

Science Fiction

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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original

purchaser. Duplication or distribution of this work by email, floppy disk,

network, paper print out, or any other method is a violation of international

---------------------------------

Conventions. Published in Canada by Double Dragon eBooks, a division of Double

Dragon Publishing of Markham Ontario, Canada.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents

are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any

resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is

entirely coincidental.

Published by:

*Double Dragon eBooks*

PO Box 54016 1-5762 Highway 7 East

Markham, Ontario L3P 7Y4 CANADA

http://double-dragon-ebooks.com

Layout and Cover Illustration by Deron Douglas

ISBN: 1-55404-082-5

First Edition eBook Publication September 2, 2003

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*CONTENTS*

NOTE: Each section is preceded by a line of the pattern CH000, CH001,

etc. You may use your reader's search function to locate section.

CH000 *PROLOG*

CH001 *CHAPTER ONE *

CH002 *CHAPTER TWO*

CH003 *CHAPTER THREE*

CH004 *CHAPTER FOUR*

CH005 *CHAPTER FIVE*

CH006 *CHAPTER SIX*

CH007 *CHAPTER SEVEN*

CH008 *CHAPTER EIGHT*

CH009 *CHAPTER NINE*

CH010 *CHAPTER TEN*

CH011 *CHAPTER ELEVEN*

CH012 *CHAPTER TWELVE*

CH013 *EPILOG*

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CH000

*PROLOG*

_Old John Tremaine sat in his form fitted and form adapting office

chair with his feet propped on his massive oak desk. He was clad in the silver

tunic and gray pants of the all-powerful Tremaine clan. His crossed feet were

enclosed in soft leather black boots with silver piping. Across the expanse of

the deep live-carpeted office a beautiful young woman sat in the corner,

leaning back in a similar, though smaller chair with her legs crossed. She was

scantily but expensively clad in raiment which brightened every part of her

exquisitely shaped body except her face. Tremaine stared at her for a moment

then looked away. He couldn't stand to see the blankness behind her otherwise

strikingly pretty eyes. He knew about the blankness, having seen it all his

life in young female bondies and some male bonders as well. The only duty of

the young woman in the office was to please him, in whatever way he asked. He

wondered what his peers would think if they knew he had never used her for

anything other than decoration -- and to dissuade suspicions that he might be

a closet liberal. It had been many years since he had commanded a woman to do

anything having to do with sex and he could look back now and be ashamed of

the times he had in his youth._

Thinking back, he remembered that it was that very thing which had

started him on the long road leading to the place where he was now, a place

which, if his plans succeeded, would remove him and his family form the

present political and social structure which ordered Earth's affairs. He

chuckled to himself as he thought of the horror most of the executives on

earth would feel if they knew of his scheme.

"Sir?" The girl stood up, displaying her magnificent body. His chuckle

hadn't been quite as silent as he has thought.

"Nothing. Go back to your room. Do something fun for yourself. The day

is almost over."

"Yes, sir. What should I do?"

_Tremaine waved a hand in irritation. That was the problem, all right.

Bondies and Bonders didn't usually have choices and when they were offered one

on rare occasions they didn't know what to do with it. Well, if everything

worked out the way he sincerely hoped it would, that sort of thing would no

longer be his problem. If his plans worked out. If he lived through them. That

was still to be determined._

* * * *

John Tremaine had no way of knowing that several years previously the assembly

line on the moon which built the Mass Displacement ships, run by bondees with

little incentive to do good work, had overlooked a crucial failure along the

line where suppressor circuits for the computers going into the mass

displacement ships were assembled. One of the imperfect computers was passed

before the line was halted. It was a very small flaw, nothing that would keep

the ship that received it from operating efficiently. It wasn't even

noticeable, nor would it be for years to come, but when it did become

apparent, it would impact the old man's concerns in ways that he couldn't have

anticipated.

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CH001

*CHAPTER ONE *

Janie cupped her firm young breasts as she watched her reflection in

the mirror, just as she did almost every morning. Of course she knew from the

extrapolation of her registered genome almost to the millimeter how large they

would get, but at fifteen it was hard to wait.

_But I'm almost there,_ she thought.

Janie was almost fully mature. Nearly a year ago she had had her

implant, the one that not only rearranged the normal estrogenic hormones in

order to prevent conception, but also discontinued her monthly periods for the

next five years. For that, she was grateful. With the simplicity of thought

that youth is subject to, she wondered why there had to be periods at all. Why

couldn't they figure out how to keep women from having them?

_Oh, well. It's over with for now. The next time will be when I decide

to get pregnant -- if I ever do._

"Hey, quit playing with your tits and get dressed! We'll be late for

school." Startled, Janie spun around to see her brother Steve's head and

shoulders projecting through the image of the bedroom door. His short brown

hair was still damp from his shower, but she could see that he was already

dressed. Flushing, she stuck out her tongue at him and turned away. Steve

could always manage to embarrass her. He was right, though. Her little

thumbnail watch told her that she was running late when she squeezed her

forefinger against her thumb, and if she didn't hurry, the Miss know-it-all

teaching program would be sure to have something to say about it. Quickly, she

pulled on briefs, jeans and pullover, shook out her hair, and told the

bathroom she was finished. It began cleaning up after her even as the door

dissolved away into nothingness. She ran out to face the new day.

Steve waited for his sister impatiently. He was anxious to start the

morning's lessons. This was history week, his favorite subject. He wished it

came up more often, but at their age, the teaching program didn't allow much

variation in the schedule -- at least not the one their parents subscribed to.

Sometimes he thought they were too strict, but he had to admit that he and

Janie were far more advanced than most of their friends. It wouldn't be long

before they would be ready for an adult program, where the general would

evolve into specifics, preparing them for a profession. Or more likely, he

thought, we'll study genetics and business and go to work for Dad and Mom. It

was either that or become a corporate executive and he could think of nothing

he would rather not do. In a way, he would hate to see the landmark of the

adult program arrive. It would almost certainly mean that he and Janie's

programs would diverge, separating them for a part of every morning. He was

interested in history and computers; she tended more toward biology and

graphics.

"I'm here! We can start, now!" Janie burst into their common room and

plopped herself down beside her waiting twin brother. She wiggled for a moment

while her half of the couch adjusted to her contours then gave him her usual

morning peck on the cheek.

"About time," Steve remarked. He reached down, and Janie's hand came

entwining into his own, completing their morning ritual. The two youngsters

were almost identical twins, sexual differences aside. Both had the same

short, curly brown hair, almost the same length, and their features plainly

derived from the same genetic inheritance: long lashed brown eyes, high

cheekbones, full, sensual lips and even white teeth. Steve was slightly the

taller, youthfully lean muscled, but still wanting some height, while his

sister's body had already reached nearly her predetermined height, though she

still had a bit of filling out to do in the breasts and hips.

The common room held gymnastic and aerobic exercise devices, a standard

all purpose exercise mat, several shelves of antique books belonging mostly to

Steve, and individual side by side computer alcoves. Their personal body

computers were racked in slots by the entranceway, keyed to the main home

computer, but in stand-by operating mode, ready to be plucked and hung like a

necklace inside their pullovers whenever they left home. They were powered

then by body heat. Lately, Steve had begun teasing Janie about how much more

power hers received by virtue of residing between her burgeoning breasts. She

retaliated by suggesting that he carry his own inside his pants.

One wall of the common room was completely blank, reserved as a

background for wide vision holoprojections of games, lessons, news, or

entertainment. As they sat together, an image formed there, that of the

kindly, gray haired woman used by their teaching program. During sessions,

they addressed it as Miss Pringle. The program had determined from their

personality and intelligence profiles and socioeconomic status that during the

current year of instruction they would benefit from an authority figure, and

the program refused to respond to any other form of address. In private,

though, they referred to the projection as "Mrs. Grundy", from an obscure

reference Steve had dug up from his voluminous reading.

"I see that you're ready," the Miss Pringle projection announced.

"Thank you for being on time this morning." The background whirled and

readjusted to display Miss Pringle sitting at an old fashioned desk, the angle

adjusted to place her image at a higher elevation than the seated teen-agers,

imparting a subtle hint of superiority. To her right and left, more background

filled in, one scene split between a picturesque upper class neighborhood of

multi-level, colored homes surrounded by swaths of greenery and a cutaway of

their own home which flicked from room to room at set intervals, displaying

the various comfortably functional accommodations the home was programmed for.

It showed the auto kitchen, their individual bedrooms and baths, their

parent's more spacious bedroom and common, the lower level entertainment and

living areas, and every so often images of the perfectly tended greenery and

stone laced paths outside. The other projection depicted a complete contrast

in life style and affluence. It was also split, one projection showing a

narrow lane between drab, storied buildings, peopled with even drabber throngs

of dispirited humanity, men, women and children, dressed mostly in corporation

coveralls of one color. Those not bonded to a corporation wore clothing of

their own selection, some brighter but most even less colorful than the one

piece suits of the bondees.

The projected groups of humanity moved slowly, as if they had no real

purpose or goal in life. Another, narrower lane split the central one before

it faded into mistiness, and at each corner of the intersection a group of

two, three or in one case a half dozen slightly more colorful inhabitants

lounged against the walls of the buildings or near the entrances to tiny

shops. The women wore their coveralls split open to the waist, displaying

gaudily painted breasts and were trying to appear seductive, but making a poor

job of it. Only occasionally did a prospective customer stop to inquire, and

they usually moved on without striking a bargain. When an occasional vehicle

did stop at their stations, there usually occurred a furtive exchange of money

or goods. Occasionally one of the loitering figures entered a ground vehicle

and departed with his or her customer.

The alternate image took Janie and Steve inside one of the buildings,

displaying a large, barracks-like room. A common bath and shower showed at one

end of long rows of tiered bunks as if from the vantage point of a funnel. The

image flickered and panned backwards, along the spartan bunks to several

holo-protected common rooms on either side. A man and two women walked through

the opaque projection as they watched, and the imaged barrier immediately

changed color, denoting occupancy.

Steve shifted his attention away from the images and raised his brows

at Janie. She squeezed his hand, giving her assent for him to begin the

interaction.

"Miss Pringle, this is obviously meant to show the contrasting

lifestyles of citizens, in this case between the executives and the very

lowest of corporate bondees, but what's the point? We already know that we're

well off. Dad makes a good living with his interest in the Geneplan company.

Shucks, he designed us, didn't he? Why do we need to know how the bondees and

the unemployed live?" It was a leading question, and Steve knew it. For the

last few days, they had been exposed each morning to a history of how the

bonding system of the giant corporations had come into being. Basically, with

the decline and fall of organized labor unions and increasing mechanization of

mundane, labor intensive jobs, the only security for most workers lay in

lifetime contracts with a corporation; especially after most federal welfare

went the way of the dodo and great auk. It was interesting, but it didn't

really seem germane to their positions. It appeared simple enough to him, as

it had been explained so far, though of late he had begun to feel a sense of

guilt at how well off they were in comparison to most of humanity. _No wonder

there are so many volunteers for the crazy ships,_ he thought_. If I had to

live like that, I'd volunteer, too._ Or maybe not, considering the odds. And

"volunteering" for a crazy ship was usually a courthouse affair with a judge

doing the volunteering.

In the previous day's session, Miss Pringle had suggested that the

corporate bonding system amounted to chattel slavery, with bondees (usually

called bonders, the male form of the word) having only the one choice of

performing exactly as their corporate bosses directed, or running out on their

contracts and descending into the nether world of anarchy, free of coercion,

but also free to go hungry and shelterless. In a sidebar, Miss Pringle had

warned them not to speak publicly of this, suggesting that Mr. and Mrs. Joplin

had somehow subverted the teaching program in order to convey this

information.

Neither Steve nor Janie could quite imagine what either slavery or

bonding entailed. They had never been exposed either physically or socially to

such an environment, and had no inkling that they ever would. Since the

majority of public schooling had collapsed well before their birth, they had

had even minimal exposure to other young people of less affluence in the city

of Houston; their peers and schoolmates lived in the same development they

did. It was hard for them to grasp just how desperate conditions were outside

of their protected neighborhood.

Miss Pringle touched a finger to her chin, then replied to Steve's

question. "Yes, I am showing you a contrast in lifestyles. The contrast is

very great, and the gap is widening more rapidly than you might imagine. As to

why I am emphasizing this contrast, there are two reasons: one, you must learn

what every strata of society entails, in order for you to function within that

society and two, you must learn of the inequities inherent in the world today

against the very real possibility that you may at some time be forced to

participate at a lower socioeconomic level than you now occupy."

Janie shifted in her seat, causing it to maneuver to accommodate her

new position. She didn't like the implications of the last statement. She

squeezed Steve's hand tighter. "Why do you say that, Miss Pringle?"

Miss Pringle leaned forward, pointing a finger at both of them. "It

should be obvious to you from what we've been studying lately. What has always

happened in history when the disparity between rich and poor grows as great as

it is now? Also, when there are no anti-monopoly laws in the present society,

how do business function?"

Steve had the answer to that one. "The big corporations gobble up the

littler ones. Wages go down and prices go up. Finally, the have-nots will

revolt against the haves." He knew this to be a truism intellectually, but it

really didn't seem applicable to him personally rather a learned formula to be

quoted in response to the teaching program. He couldn't imagine either himself

or Janie wearing drab corporate coveralls and laboring at menial jobs for

little more than bare subsistence, or even worse, serving as indentured

playthings for corporate executives. Stories were rife among their

contemporaries of what went on within the confines of corporate walls. He

didn't know how true they were, but he had noticed that there was a dearth of

attractive young men and women shown or seen performing menial jobs,

suggesting that they were occupied elsewhere. Surely all bonders couldn't be

as sad looking as those he saw on Miss Pringle's projections, or those he saw

in person when he and Janie were out touring the city. He had a momentary

image of Janie being stripped naked and ordered to submit to a bloated

corporate executive, unable to resist. Better a berth on the Crazy Ships if it

ever came to that, not that it ever would. He shook off the image like a dog

shedding water after a swim.

"Correct, the have-nots will rebel," Miss Pringle said. "However, I

believe that revolution will not occur for some time yet." She paused,

adjusted her wire frame glasses and waited for comment.

Janie spoke up. "Why not? I don't see how conditions could get much

worse for bonders and bondies. I'm just glad Mom and Dad were able to get

their own company started."

"A rarity in this day and age," Miss Pringle said. "But let me show you

another aspect of the bonding system. I'm sure that you are both aware of how

the big corporations, most notably the Tremaine group, now control the justice

system?"

"Sort of," Steve said. "It started with privately run prisons, then

eventually the government began contracting the court system to the

corporations."

"Correct." Miss Pringle agreed. The previous images dissolved in a

swirl of color and were replaced by a panorama all across the room, broken up

into separate scenes. One showed a disorganized line of mostly dark skinned

men and women being shoved forward into a courtroom, manacled hands evident as

they were forced into seated position on long benches. Corporation lawyers,

evidenced by meticulously tailored, brightly colored tunics of their

corporations stood waiting near the judge, who seemed singularly uninterested

in the whole process. As Steve and Janie watched, the proceedings took on more

of the aspects of a slave auction than a trial. The lawyers bid for the

miscreants in subdued voices, those not being sentenced to swamp taming in

Georgia or even worse, were sent to the African work camps. These were almost

all young indebted first offenders that had tried to make it outside the

corporate bonds and failed, though there were others there for petty thievery

or for dealing in goods which were corporate monopolies. These had been

offered a choice and had accepted corporate contracts at the very bottom of

the ladder rather than the much worse alternatives. Once a bid was settled,

the manacled subject was led away. Only once was the routine disturbed. A

young couple, faces set in grim determination, balked while the bidding was

taking place. The young man spoke for the both of them.

"Judge, we'll take the Crazy Ships instead of bonding, if you'll let

us."

The judge blinked and waved away the corporate lawyers in order to

speak directly to the couple. "Fine, fine. More young people should volunteer

to go out on the mass displacement colony ships. You'll still have to accept a

contract with the Tremaine Corporation, though. Let's see what they have to

say. Mr. Borland?"

"Yes, your honor. I've already reviewed their records. Both are above

average in intelligence and are literate besides. The colony can use them if

they make it. However, considering that their offense was against corporate

regulations, under pricing of foodstuffs consigned to them for sale, we think

some punishment is deserved. This might best be accomplished if they signed on

as crew rather than one way colonists. We're prepared to offer a contract to

both of them, only three jumps on a mass displacement ship. If they survive,

status as free colonists and a clean slate on Sporeworld. How they manage then

is up to them."

The judge addressed the couple. "Is that satisfactory?"

There was a hurried consultation between the man and woman. "Yes,

judge. We accept. Anything is better than being bonded."

"Order. You will not denigrate corporate law in this courtroom.

Application approved. Mr. Borland, remove them. Submit the proper forms if or

when the applicants complete their indenture. Next case."

Janie was horrified. "Miss Pringle! Are those people insane? Three

jumps on the crazy ships gives them only one chance in eight of making it!

What can they be thinking?"

Miss Pringle removed her glasses and pierced the twins with bright

green eyes set beneath a frown. "It's worse than they think. Even should they

survive three jumps on a mass displacement ship, or crazy ship in the common

vernacular, they will still arrive at the colony with no assets and little

prospects of earning an independent living, or so it is said. Unless they are

very lucky, they will shortly be in the very same position they are now. The

Tremaine Corporation controls the colony government of Sporeworld and it has

very little sympathy with unemployed colonists."

"Why not?" Steve asked. "That's all you see in the games any more,

brave colonists battling against the odds, et cetra."

"And the games always show the loners coming back to the corporate

viewpoint. The Tremaine family has held power now for many years through their

control of imports from Sporeworld." She paused for a moment as if in thought.

"That may be coming to an end, though. The financial markets show an

increasing instability in firms dealing with Sporeworld products. Imports are

down and too many ships aren't making it back." She displayed a chart

depicting the trends.

Janie squeezed Steve's hand. She wasn't thinking of financial

conditions on earth or how many crazy ships went the wrong way. Stories and

rumors were all over the map about conditions on Sporeworld of the Antairian

system, the only true earthlike world so far discovered. The one good thing

that could be said about it was that it was far better there than on a few

other newly discovered planets where survival beyond a few years was

problematical.

The Tremaine Corporation held the monopoly on the priceless biotics

shipped back from Sporeworld, these being the giant spores from which all

flora and fauna on the colony planet propagated. Their most valuable attribute

was as a source of a life extending product for the elderly, those too old to

have had the genes programmed into them as Steve and Janie had.

"Can't the government do anything? Find out why the ships are being

lost so often? Or improve conditions for the bonders so they'll work harder?"

Steve asked. It was a rhetorical question, designed to give him a little time

to think. Was the bonding process really so bad that some people would take

their chances with the Crazy Ships rather than submit to it?

"The corporations are the government, for all practical purposes."

Miss Pringle displayed another scene. It was voting day in a Houston

district, but very few voters were apparent. The ones who came shambling into

the shabby old former school building looked either resigned or furtive; most

of them were old, their wrinkles showing plainly that they were outside the

boundaries of the AARP Corporation. Once upon a time the Association of

Retired People had been a real force in politics, but it had since degenerated

to a power clique of a relatively few wealthy worthies, who no longer looked

old but had been around so long they controlled the giant corporation. They

could afford the fantastically expensive rejuvenation processes from

Sporeworld, and held onto that unaffordability with the relentless

determination of soldiers facing a ravening enemy invading their homeland.

"Here you see the remnants of democracy. A few old people whose social

security pensions have been reduced year after year, until most of them have

given up on trying to change the system. The majority of voters are bonders,

and they vote the way they are told to vote by the corporations. Ostensibly,

their ballots are secret, but you know, or should know, that corporate

executives have had long, long lives to subvert the computer voting programs.

It would take a brave bonder to vote against their meal ticket, especially

when voting day is about the only time they ever get a few extra amenities."

Now Steve was almost certain that what they were hearing was a

bootlegged addition to the teaching program that the senior Joplins had

somehow manage inserted into their computer. He wondered how they had managed

that trick.

"Those people look so _old_," Janie said. "Are they going to die soon?"

"All humans die eventually, as you well know," Miss Pringle said.

"However, in the present circumstances, some die much sooner than others. You,

for instance, may well live to be several hundred years old, given that the

means remain available to you. Even without, you know you can anticipate a

very long lifespan. Not only that, you both have been endowed with genomes

that prohibit many infections and other illnesses. You are fortunate. It has

only been in the last couple of generations that genetic manipulation of this

sort has been available, and even so, only the affluent have been able to

afford to provide that selection process for their children. This is another

reason discontent is rising so much lately. When life itself is concerned, the

survival instinct begins to surface in humans."

"We're both the same, too, aren't we?" Steve asked, though he already

knew the answer. He just wanted to change the subject. He couldn't imagine a

revolt, or a war such as he liked to interact with in his history programs.

"You are. In fact, there is no reason why you could not recombine your

genetic inheritance. Neither of you harbors any harmful recessive alleles, but

of course, there is still a considerable reluctance in general against such a

course of action, particularly in the religious community." The apathetic

voters were replaced by a background of a huge open-air gathering of packed

humanity, dominated by a raised dais where a longhaired evangelist exhorted

his flock.

"Religion!" Janie spat out the word. "How on earth can people believe

in that nonsense? There's no logic in it at all!"

Miss Pringle's face became disapprovingly harsh. "Now, Janie, we went

over that three years ago. You remember, don't you? Religious belief is a

reflection of humanity's fear of death, and the propensity to believe in

religions evolved from an inability of primitive humans to understand the

working of natural forces. It continues to this day among the general

population for the same reasons, and also because of the inertia of human

society: parents teach their children what they learned from their parents.

Remember, you and Steve are a very distinct minority. Most children don't have

the benefit of a teaching program like me and..." She hesitated as if

consulting an internal file then continued. "...and the presumed benefit of

having had much of the belief gene complex selected out before conception. Not

only that, the corporations encourage religious beliefs, within limits. So

long as the preachers don't exhort against the corporations, it's an allowable

eccentricity and a beneficial one so far as the corporations are concerned. It

keeps down unrest."

Steve's mind raced. _So that's why neither of us believes in religion!

And what a cute way to let us know, right in the middle of a lesson! I wonder

if Janie caught it?_

Janie hadn't; she was noticing how many of the congregation wore

corporate colored coveralls. "It's still stupid. Why can't people see that

it's illogical? The only thing that all religions have in common is that they

all claim to be the only right one. And if you start reading about them, well

Miss Pringle interrupted when Janie hesitated. "Most humans are

illogical when it comes to religion," she said.

"I'm not!" Janie and Steve said in unison.

"No, you and Steve have both had the benefit of logical upbringing and

careful genetic selection. That isn't usually the case. Even corporate

executives are subject to religious influence. Many of them have the same

fears and hopes as the lower classes do. That's one reason why there is such

discordance concerning genetic engineering today, other than to enable the

long life and disease resistant procedures you contain within your bodies.

Lately, laws, or more accurately, corporation regulations have been passed

against some types of genetic engineering of plants and animals. Can either of

you tell me why?"

"Sure," Steve said. "Too many enhanced animals have gotten loose in the

wilds and are harming the world's ecology."

"Correction," Miss Pringle said. "The plants and animals multiplying in

the wilds are harming the corporation balance sheets. Agribusiness especially

is suffering. It doesn't take much of that until religious objections become

the same as corporate policy. And speaking of corporate policy, let's

continue."

Again, the projections changed, showing a bonding market on either side

of her desk, one depicting women, and the other men. The program recorded

Steve and Janie's heartbeat, brainwaves, and other, more subtle indications of

their interest. The teaching persona shifted to one side and the images of men

up for bids faded behind her and the one of women on the other side enlarged.

"We're still studying lifestyles in the present cultural context," she

reminded them, redundantly, as their interest showed plainly. A flock of

preening young, mostly white males sat in plush leather robochairs, all in a

row before a small raised platform where young women were paraded one by one.

They were dressed arbitrarily in various styles of skirts and pants and unisex

coveralls. As each was called to the platform, two blank faced older women

required them to completely undress. The matrons went about their tasks

mechanically, ignoring the tears and protests, using force when it was needed,

but never unnecessarily.

The corporate executives made their bids in low voices, conferring with

each other, occasionally pointing at the women. When a bid was finalized, the

woman had her thumbprint affixed to a document and was led off. They all

seemed resigned to the process. None volunteered for the Crazy Ships.

Steve noticed the women's almost universal good looks and suddenly

suspected that they had never been offered a choice, either for the crazy

ships, the swamps or the African work camps. Whatever their offense might have

been, or even if they were simply coming of legal age and entering the market,

he knew that their only destiny now was service as corporate whores. He also

knew without an iota of doubt that the Joplins had intervened with the

teaching program. It was not a scene a corporate program would ever allow to

be shown.

The scene blanked out, leaving Miss Pringle dominant. She leaned

forward over her imaginary desk, fixing Steve and Janie with her eyes like

those of a predatory cat. "Is this a legitimate contract? Is this a real

bonding contract? Do the people involved really have a choice other than to

escape into the wilds or the underground? Is this essentially slavery? Before

you answer, review your previous lessons, particularly on the subject of

slavery before the American Civil War."

Janie squeezed Steve's hand, and he indicated that she should answer.

He knew that Miss Pringle must be aware of their signals, but the program had

never mentioned it, apparently deciding that it went well with the objectives

of the lessons.

Janie began an analysis, then Steve picked it up. The Miss Pringle

program guided their answers into the areas it thought they should go.

Eventually the session ended, not with any conclusions by either Janie or

Steve, but they were left with plenty to think about, and not a little

reasoning to go through before the afternoon class. Even after the program

went back into its electronic netherworld, Janie couldn't quite let the

subject go. "Stevie, I'm still thinking about that poor couple who volunteered

for the Crazy Ships in the courtroom. How could they do it? Don't they know

what happens if the jump goes backwards?"

"They starve to death. You know that. Or at least that's the theory. No

ship has ever come back to tell the tale."

Janie shivered. "And they're ready to risk starvation out between the

stars rather than being bonded to a corporation? Could it be that bad?"

"You saw those women in the last projection. What would you do, given a

choice?"

"If it were just one jump -- "

"It isn't, unless you're picked for a colonist. It's always at least

three jumps, sometimes more. Three gives a one chance in eight. Four, a one

chance in sixteen. Five a one chance in -- "

"I can do math."

Steve put an arm around her. "Think of the real criminals, the literate

ones. They aren't given a chance. They are sentenced to the crazy ships, and

never less than five jumps. That's only one out of thirty-two who ever live to

become colonists."

"It's a wonder to me how the colonies ever got established, with those

kinds of odds."

"I read more than you do, Janie. Once it was established that chances

were fifty-fifty of a mass displacement ship reaching its destination rather

than going the opposite way, the Tremaines began sending their out-of-favor

executives on one way trips to Altair with their loads of colonists. Half of

them made it. Half of the execs made it back with loads of Spores. That's why

they control the colony now."

"Between the corporations and the crazy ships, I would sure have to

think about it, one way or another," Janie said.

"Me, too," Steve agreed absently, his mind still on the crazy ships.

Theoretically, the ships which went missing should be perfectly intact. Why

did none of them ever find a matching mass and make it back?

--------

CH002

*CHAPTER TWO*

The wrist manacles weren't really necessary. The courthouse itself, a

monolithic block of steel and cement sat directly over a vast labyrinth of

individual holding cells where serious miscreants were kept while waiting for

trial and sentencing. There was no possibility of escape, not with a

prisoner's body computer turned off for the duration. Doors wouldn't open

without a recognition code from an active personal computer, not for anyone.

The manacles were simply a holdover from earlier days, as obsolete as a house

key.

Derik lifted his hands, restrained to a scant six inches of play and

fondled his body computer, depending from a chain around his neck. It was

smooth to the touch, a small thin disk about the size of an old silver dollar,

idly whether he would ever be able to speak to it again.

"Get your hands down." The guard spoke in a bored monotone. Derik

doubted if she cared one way or another where he kept his hands, but perhaps

the judge did. Judges had the power, and sometimes they became peculiar in

exercising it. He dropped his hands back to his lap and tried to care about

his impending sentence. It wouldn't be less than twenty years, he knew, and

there was small chance of surviving even that long if he was sent to Africa,

which he almost certainly would be. AIDS VII, Malaria, Kich tremors and other

diseases saw to that, even without the probability of death by violence in the

vast work camps where North American and Chinese corporations were ostensibly

attempting the re-colonization of the ravaged continent. Derik knew better.

The "colonization" was really designed to rid the respective corporate nations

of recalcitrant citizens, especially ones they didn't think worth being forced

into a bonding contract. The "work camps" were mostly brute labor in mines,

gleaning scarce metals from the earth or even worse, working the radioactive

oil fields where that was possible.

The wait was boring. The prosecutor seemed to have an endless series of

notes to discuss with the judge, calling up cases one by one that appeared and

disappeared in winks of holographic print. One of them was surely his own. Two

weeks before, the same judge had pronounced the verdict: Count one: Criminal

manipulation of the worldnet. Guilty. Count two: Misappropriation of medical

care credits. Guilty. Count three: Medical racketeering. Guilty. Now he was

simply waiting to hear his sentence. Ordinarily, with his technical background

in bioengineering, he would probably have been given the chance to volunteer

as crewman on a mass displacement ship attempting a jump to the Altair colony,

but the recent change in the North American Directorship's balance of power

almost certainly precluded that choice. The Tremaine Corporation was still in,

but shaky; the Plemmons Corporation was still out, but coming on strong,

wanting to break the Tremaine monopoly of the Altair colony and glean some of

the benefits from the plethora of new drugs and materials being imported from

that alien ecology. It was still cost effective, even given the one in four

chance of any one ship returning to earth. What really killed his chances of a

Crazy Ship berth was the nature of his offense, subverting corporate medical

regulations for his own benefit. The Tremaines wouldn't like that and the

Plemmons even less. Non-regulated medical care was too expensive and too

touchy a subject for him to expect much sympathy, even though he had been an

upper level Tremaine employee, bonded, but with many of the perks and

privileges of a shareholder.

Derik turned his head slightly, trying to see how the old physician he

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======================CrazyShipsbyDarrellBain======================Copyright(c)2003DarrellBainFirstpublishedbyDDP,September2003DoubleDragonPublicationwww.double-dragon-ebooks.comScienceFiction---------------------------------NOTICE:Thisworkiscopyrighted.Itislicensedonlyforusebytheoriginalpurchaser.D...

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