Read Ship's Boy for Free Online Page A

as the doctor’s was.
    “He needs his special medicine!” James cried, even more filth-caked and standing barefoot on the painted steel deck. “He’s had another seizure, and needs the special medicine!”
    “ What medicine, son?” the doctor pleaded. “His case is unique!” He turned to a man wearing a splendid uniform with lots of gold braid on it. “I can’t know what he means, sir! This patient is the only person to ever survive being shot by a warp vortex rifle!”
    “Purple pills!” James wailed, bouncing up and down in frustration. “The big purple ones! He doesn’t need them very often, but…”
    The doctor shook his head, clearly baffled.  
    “We’re losing brain wave function, doctor,” the assistant announced.
    “Do something, you fool!” the man in the fancy uniform hissed. “His Majesty is counting on you!”
    The doctor looked heavenwards, as if for inspiration. Then he pulled out an autoinjector and pressed it over milord’s ribcage. It hissed…
    …and the assistant’s board transformed itself into a swirl of red. “Doctor!” she said, “I don’t think…”
    Suddenly milord’s eyes opened wide and searched out those of his son. “You made it,” he whispered. “Always know that I love you.” Next he turned to me. “David! Come here, please?”
    I bounced over, then bent my head down low when he beckoned again.
    “For luck,” he explained, reaching out and brushing my ears with his fingertips.” Then he smiled. “Thank you David. Because of you, all is well in the end.”
    Then his lordly head crashed back onto the deck with a terrible thud, and he died.
     

10
    It wasn’t quite that clear cut, of course. The medical-types kept working milord over for many long minutes, though it was obvious that they no longer believed in the project. Meanwhile James ran over and hugged me as tight as he could, weeping into my right ear all the while. And the captain—for that was who the man in the fancy uniform was—paced back and forth with a foul expression on his face, slapping his thigh with an expensive-looking stick of some kind. Finally the annunciator buzzed. “Bridge to Sir Leslie!”
    “Sir Leslie here,” the fancily dressed man replied, eyes closed. “What is it, Number Two?”
    “Sir, I’ve worked out an escape vector. But… It’s impossible to evade all combat, sir. We’re going make a near approach to an Imperial cruiser.”
    “Damnit!” Sir Leslie complained, slapping his thigh again. “Must I do your job for you, Number Two?”
    There was a long pause. “If you so please, sir. But the computer says that no better vector is achievable. Sir.”
    The captain scowled and nodded. “Execute, then. I’ll be right up to see what tweaking there is to be done.” Then stepped over to James and I. “My Lord,” he said softly, dropping to one knee and waiting to be recognized.
    I blinked. All the sons of a duke were by definition lords, though their own children wouldn’t inherit the title. Milord hadn’t quite been a duke yet; Sir Leslie was jumping the gun. Finally James stiffened a little, patted my back in a sort of “thank-you”, and looked up. When he did so his eyes were clear and firm.  “Whom,” he asked, “have I the pleasure of addressing?”
    “Sir Leslie Blaine, Baronet of Equatorial Tamboria,” he replied, his voice practically a purr.
    “Ah,” James replied. I tilted my head my head a little; suddenly he didn’t seem like such a child anymore. Perhaps this was because now he was more in his natural element? Then he returned the bow, not bending nearly as low as the captain had. Finally, Sir Leslie stood up. He was practically glowing. “I regret… I mean…”
    Pain flashed across James’ features again, but only for an instant. “My father is dead,” he said evenly. “The doctor has done all that he can. I’m grateful to him.”
    Sir Leslie looked over to where the sick bay crew was still doing its dutiful best to reanimate a