Black Hull Read Online Free

then?”
    “I aim to take us to Utopia.”
    “Utopia?” The name More, somehow, ran
through Mick’s head.
    “Yes.”
    “You mean Earth?”
    “No, of course not. Earth was destroyed,
you know that Mick. Don’t play games with me, we’re a team now.”
     
    Ok, now it’s gone too far.
     
    Mick walked up to the dim screen, on
which blurred a steady roll of characters that responded to inputs from XJ71’s
fork-hands. A primitive compulsion drove each of Mick’s fists down into the
keyboard. Cracked plastic shards ricocheted off the cabin walls. Amber eyes
turned on a swivel head. A gunmetal skull stared, baffled.
     
    “Why would you do that Mick?”
    “Where do you get off—no cryosleep, less
than LS1?”
    “Would you rather fend for yourself on the
pod?”
     
    He’s not lying. I would have been better
off freezing to death.
     
    The thought repeated, endlessly,
eventually turning to noise. There was no other black hull. His crew had known that;
they’d purposely made sure of it. Black hulls weren’t friendly to each other
anyway—they all competed for the same resource: ore. Ore was money. Nothing
else was out here.
     
    Stuck. With an ancient robot, on an
ancient, broken ship. Looking at twenty years.
     
    “Look at it this way, Mick: We’ve got
plenty of food and fuel, more than enough to get us to Utopia.”
     
    Mick slumped down, grazing a wire
harnesses that snagged and drew blood. He didn’t notice any pain. His son was
into music. They’d made a pact to record something together. He’d been having
ideas, different sorts of “going home” songs. One ended: “As I wander far from
home and soul / Always will I return / to you, the hearts from which I roamed.”
     
    “Ok. I’m all ears, XJ71. That’s what you
want me to call you?”
    “Call me XJ.”
    “I’m all ears XJ.”
    “All ears . . . that is a colloquial
phrase. Checking database…”
     
    It has to check its colloquial database.
That’s okay. It gives me time. I need to sort this out: Grateful to be alive.
Average human lifespan: one hundred and eleven years. I have plenty of time.
What do I care if I’m seventy when I get back to them? Because Karen will have
a new love. Why are you kidding yourself, she already does. That prick? He’s
dumb, rich, and arrogant. He never piloted a god damned hovercraft. Does that
concern you now?
     
    “All ears means what?”
    “Tell me what the plan is.”
    “I told you the plan. Although our plans
have changed. Now my plans include replacing this console with one that works.”
    “What are you doing out here?”
     
    Mick waited for his answer, watching the
droid disappear from the console station. He thought about the word, Utopia. He
remembered it meant something important, but he couldn’t be sure.
     
    A perfect world? Let us go there. Let us
rejoice and be glad. The refrain from church, wasn’t it? The end of that trap.
Religion did not die out, after all. It faded away, didn’t it? God—do you
remember the refrain? God be with us. There were principles, that was all.
Don’t misconstrue God for principles, he’d told his kids. Be honest,
hard-working, helpful, kind. Apply those principles to your daily life, and
forget that God bullshit. Could it be that mental clarity was returning? How
long has it been? Four hours since waking from cryo? It hadn’t been that long.
It doesn’t matter. You can recognize how fucked you are without regaining
mental clarity.
     
    A creaking accompanied the movement of
rusting joints as XJ waltzed back into the control room with a new keyboard
console. He diligently began disconnecting the old one.
     
    “What are you doing out here?”
    “Mick, I don’t know what you mean, out
here .”
    “Out here. Fucking space. Floating in
the vacuum outside the Gliese system.”
    “Well of course I can explain my
mission, if that’s what you’re asking.”
    “Just taking a god damned stroll through
space? Sauntering about, traipsing through the