by Daniel Gibbs
"Presumably, the residents decided to stay?"
Tia snorted. "Decide? Nobody asked them. The gas-miners, the support personnel, were let go from their jobs, and they didn't earn much when they had them, so hiring passage would've bankrupted the ones that could manage to pay. No, like any other group of workers, they did what they had to in order to survive. They mine water from wherever they can find it in-system and grow what they can in the station. Even the simplest food can be a luxury item here. But since the station wasn't founded in anyone's legal territory, and nobody wanted to annex, it's an independent port, so plenty of people find that useful and use Trinidad for trade."
"Including pirates," Henry said. He was well familiar with Tia's in-depth knowledge of the station's history, given some of the ways it mirrored Hestia's experience with the less-scrupulous businessmen of the known galaxy. "The station's sort of a guild-run oligarchy. The gas miners, the agriculturalists, the engineers; each group has a say, as do the transport specialists who import everything they need to keep the station running."
"And the pirates are how they can afford to keep the station operating?" Miri asked.
"The initial pirates were desperate station-folk who hit ships for the goods to trade for survival," Tia answered. "When none of the planetary governments bothered to come after them, other pirate ships started coming in, as did smugglers. They all follow the same code, which is basically to help keep the station going, don't rob from station residents or ships that import what the station needs, and don't do anything that would bring a fleet in."
"It's an interesting place," Piper added. "One of the better ports of call in the Trifid Region, if you're an independent trader. It guarantees the pirates will leave you alone."
"It's not a good place if you work for a corp," Miri pointed out. "All I ever heard about the place was that it was a pirate haven too difficult for the local powers to deal with, so Y&P and several other companies pay protection money to keep them off their ships. None of the transport and shipping companies recognize the station as a legitimate port of call because their insurers won't allow it. The station's not governed by interstellar trade treaties."
"That's the beauty of being independent," said Felix. "You don't have to listen to some self-important government bureaucrat."
"Still, we should be careful about you leaving the ship," Henry said to her. "There's enough desperate people on Trinidad that any money on your head can make you a target, whatever our links to the station community."
Miri narrowed her eyes, and Henry caught it. He couldn't blame her for being suspicious. She was in an isolated position, soon to be at a station where she had no immediate familiar contacts, and unable to trust alternate means of leaving. Her safest course was with them. It wasn't so hard to imagine that a former spy might consider those circumstances and think them intentional. She did not voice such, however, merely asking, "Are there any means for me to reach P&Y? If I explain what happened—"
The Shadow Wolf crew exchanged glances, some of them uncomfortable. Henry's was the most uncomfortable of them all. "Listen, I know you think your company is the best way to go public, but consider this. After you told them where you were, word spread all the way to the Lusitanian government, and whoever that guy was who tried to take you on Harron.''
"I’ve thought of this as well," she admitted.
"If someone in your company is leaking information, telling them you're here could lead to more trouble precisely when we don't need it." And we still have to find out how the Tash'vakal tracked us.
"However, by not speaking to them, Karla Lupa becomes a prime suspect in the loss of the Kensington Star. The League's involvement will not be recognized." Miri’s glance darted around from person to person.
"Nothing that can be done about that," Henry said, even as a part of him recoiled at letting the League get away with whatever they were up to. "This is about surviving, not being a hero."
Seeing that the conversation was talked out, he rose from his chair. "Okay, everyone, we're on damage control until we get to Trinidad. Cera, Piper, you get the first off-watch period. Everyone else is either on the bridge or attending to what damage control we can manage while in vacuum. We're still eight hours out from the station. Let's get to it," he said, ending the meeting with the remark.
Cera's plan to rest was dashed by how wound up she still was from one of the closest calls she'd ever had. Her mind kept going back to those minutes under 2Gs, trying to evade the incoming fire and failing, and the desperate wait for Pieter to approve the jump. Finally, she rose from the bed in her quarters and went to the rec-room, hoping watching something might help her get some rest.
She found Piper alone in the room reading a digital pad in one of the side chairs. "Hey."
Piper glanced up. "Hey, Cera, can't sleep?"
"Neither can you, I'm bettin'."
"Nope," Piper confirmed, setting the reader down. "Too much on my mind."
"Still wound up, then? I know I am." Cera settled into the nearest chair and turned it to face Piper. "That was a mighty fine close one."
"Closer than usual." Piper nodded. She ran a hand through her dark hair. She wore a latent frown. "It makes me think about what it'll be like at the end. I mean, when my life ends. How it'll end."
Cera considered that and what she remembered from the bridge. "You surprised me with finishing my Hail Mary," she said. "I didn't know you were in the Church."
"The Tohono O'odham half of my family is almost entirely Catholic," Piper said. "My Cherokee relatives aren't, but I grew up living with my father's family." Piper folded her hands over the reader. "I can't say I'm sure I count as one, though."
"Did ye ever confirm?"
Piper shook her head. "My parents talked to me about it, but it was left to my choice, and I didn't. I suppose I'm not sure the Church is right about things." She smiled sardonically. "Although I guess that didn't stop me from praying when I thought we might die."
"I think everyone prays when they think they're about t' die," Cera answered.
"It's probably a bit cultural. It doesn't require belief, just a bit of going through motions. Doing what's expected. An automatic reflex."
The idea caused Cera to shrug. "Or it's that part of you that's hopin' there's somethin' better. That wants God t' be real an' t' be just."
"What about you?" Piper asked. "How much do you believe?"
Cera's expression turned pensive. "Well, that's fair to ask." She put her hands together and leaned forward to rest her chin on them. "I believe there's a God, because the universe is too beautiful t' be random chance. That He sent a son t' guide us… I can accept that too."
"Not just to guide."
"True. T' sacrifice himself for our sins too. T' save us from damnation."
Piper shook her head. "That's one of the things I didn't like about Church dogma or about Christianity as a whole. This entire idea of Hell and eternal torture."
"Sin isn't allowed into Paradise. If you've got sin on your soul, you can't get in."
"But what sin is so horrible that it justifies an eternity of pain?"
"It's not about individual sins, it's that any sin stains your soul an' keeps you out o' Heaven, unless you've repented of it an' done penance. You've got t' go somewhere then." Cera shrugged. "I've heard talk that Hell's not about flaming pits an' th' like, that it's just separation from th' presence o' God, an' that's torture enough."
"So no fire and brimstone and sulfur, just—"
"Darkness. Nothing. No light, no warmth, just deathly cold."
"That sounds like torture to me." Piper shook her head. "And I'd rather get off this topic. It's morose."
"It is," Cera conceded. "An' it's reminded me that it's been too long since I last went t' confession."
"How long?"
Cera's forehead wrinkled as she considered the question. "Six months. I think. I may have been t' one when we were on Cantrim, but I spent most o' my time off-ship a bit drunk an'
some of it's a blur."
The admission drew a giggle from Piper. "I love our girls' nights as much as you do, but you do push it sometimes."
"I know, an' it's a stereotype t' some people, but life's here t' live, know what I mean?" Cera laughed lowly. "It's too short not t' enjoy it, especially when there's a war on an' such."
The war. As always, it was in the background of their lives, as it had been since the beginning. Most of the crew had only been little children, if alive at all when the League revealed its arrival in Sagittarius by attacking Canaan. A bolt from the dark that was felt even in the neutral worlds like Sanctuary and New Connaught. Nobody knew if either side would expand the war one day, or what would befall the neutral worlds if one side finally broke.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. Piper suspected most knew, deep down, that the Coalition winning was in their best interest. A victorious League would quickly shed its "benevolence" toward neutral worlds and attempt to conquer them regardless of their stance during the war. While a defeated, broken Coalition, or one wholly occupied by the League, would make such a conquest inevitable.
The problem was that, for many of the independent worlds, the Coalition was the devil they knew too well, so to speak. It was always the apparent threat to independence, going back to before the Saurian Wars, whatever it said about freedom. The overtly religious attitudes grated on many, giving the Coalition the air of being moralistic, busybody, holier-than-thous always passing judgment on their neighbors.
The League quickly exploited that sentiment so people, even if they knew better, found it too easy to ignore the war, or try to profit from it, or consider the League a necessary evil to restrain the Coalition. Even her own people often felt that way, whatever ties of culture and belief remained with the peoples in the Terran Coalition.
"Sometimes I wonder if I should've accepted th' flight academy offer," Cera admitted. "Through Tyrone, I mean. They're our sister planet an' we get residency rights an' have since before they joined th' Coalition. Anyone from New Connaught can move there an' on into th' CDF."
"So you almost signed up for the CDF?" Piper asked, genuinely curious. As friendly as she was, Cera didn't always talk about the past, especially painful bits.
"I filled out th' paperwork an' everythin', would've gone t' flight school an' flown in th' CDF. I'd be fightin' th' good fight."
"You'd be in the war now." Piper considered how long ago that'd be. "Maybe even a squadron commander."
"Bollocks t' that, I'm no commander," Cera protested. "I'd probably still be a lieutenant, lots o' black marks on my record for fightin' an' boozin', they'd never trust me t' command or train. I'd still be flyin' as a regular pilot. Or already killed." Cera shook her head at that thought. "Or worse, given what Oskar's said about how th' sassenach Leaguers treat POWs. Today, I'm glad I took th' other path. But at th' time… well, it seemed right. Lots o' New Connaught folk enlisted through Tyrone. I almost sent in th' final admission notice. But then my da an' mam got upset an' guilt-tripped me into not signin' it. I figure I upset th' CDF recruiters somethin' fierce when I backed out." Cera chuckled softly. "Poor bastards, did all th' work an' I let my parents talk me out of it. Instead, they got me work flyin' in-system cargo ships t' tide me over, keep me home."
Piper knew that Cera was an orphan. Her parents were dead. She was therefore careful when she asked, "And after your parents…?"
The brief wince on Cera's face was joined by the gratitude in her eyes at Piper's delicate reference to her parents. "By then, I admit, I had second thoughts about servin'. An' I figured th' CDF recruiters wouldn't be t' pleased t' see my name again. So I moved on t' interstellar transports. Then I got hired on by Captain Henry an' had everythin' I ever wanted. A tall ship an' th' stars t' steer her by." Cera's eyes grew distant for a moment, as if she could see into that other history where her counterpart was fighting for her life against the League. It was clear she had no desire to switch places with that Cera McGinty.
"Captain's been good to us both," Piper agreed. "You fly, and I get to see the stars my grandpa showed me when I was a little girl. See them and fly by them."
"Aye." Cera drew in a breath. "Th' captain's got us in a bit o' a mess, he has, but I think he'll be gettin' us out."
"He'll certainly try." As Piper said it, she briefly recalled the terror of the fight with the Tash'vakal, and shuddered at the thought that more such fights might be coming. I want to get this ex-spy whatever-she-is to Lusitania and get past this entire damn job. We're not out here to be heroes.
While Cera couldn't read her mind, it wasn't hard to guess what Piper was thinking. "Aye, he'll get us out, an' we'll go on t' th' next job. Leave th' fightin' t' th' people gettin' paid for it."
That was a sentiment Piper wholly agreed with.
Henry did his part with the repair work, helping Felix patch a minor hull breach on the upper deck, and headed on to the office to begin the work he dreaded. Before they made dock, he had to ensure the station had a hangar rated for repair equipment, which would cost more than a simple dock for cargo transfer, and he had to purchase the materials to fix the ship. Even with Trinidad Station having more starship hull-grade metal than it had grain, that was not going to be cheap. Hiring on repair workers would add to the strain on the budget.
There was a knock on the door. "Come in," he called out, looking up as the door slid open. Tia stepped in, looking both worn and cross. Henry breathed out a sigh while she closed the door behind her. That’s never a good sign. "You don't have to say it."
"But, I will anyway." Tia shook her head. "I told you this job would go bad. I damned well told you."
"You did."
Evidently, that wasn't good enough because Tia kept going. "We survive out here by staying out of these kinds of messes. Now you've thrown us in. And nearly got us killed."
"I did nothing," Henry answered, a finger pointed nowhere in particular. "I didn't volunteer us for this job. I was shanghaied into it."
"There are other business contacts who work with us, and we don't need Vitorino or Lusitania. The smart thing to do would be to cut our losses, Jim, and back out of this whole thing."
"We might not have that luxury," Henry said. "The repair costs are going to bring us to the brink, and we won't get paid by anyone if we don't get Gaon back to Lusitania."
"We'll scrimp as we always have. But if we stay in this…" Tia let out an exasperated sigh. "We got lucky. We might not again."
Henry went silent. It wasn't that she was wrong. They'd indeed gotten lucky, and it was true they might not again, and this situation was bringing them to the brink of being dangerously over their heads. Cutting their losses was the safe play.
But he couldn't accept that. He couldn't sacrifice Jules Rothbard to Caetano's non-existent mercy. And, perhaps, there was some remaining scrap of the CDF officer he'd been who couldn't let the League win this one.
Tia shook her head. "You're not going to do it. I can tell."
"No, I'm not."
"We didn't sign on for this," Tia said. "We're spacers, not soldiers. It's not our war. It's not your war anymore, either."
"I didn't say it was. But I'm not abandoning Jules, or Miri Gaon for that matter. What do you think would happen to her if we left her on Trinidad?"
Tia pursed her lips together, pausing for a few moments. "Then let's hire her on. Whatever she was before, she's a spacer now. One of us."
Henry chuckled. "Wow. Okay, have you thought this through? Because, first off, you're assuming she'll say yes, when she's made it clear she wants to ensure the League gets exposed as behind the attack. Secondly, you want to talk about putting us in danger? The League wants this woman, they want her badly, and they'd come after us to get her."
"They're after Oskar and Brigitte too. That didn't stop us from bringing them on!"
"They're also not as dedicated to finding them as they are her," Henry pointed out. "Whatever she did, they want her for real. Have you ever known the League to hire
Tash'vakal to do their work?"
"I'm not surprised by anything the League will do," Tia said. Her expression remained hard, and she felt like the conversation had gotten away from her.
"I'm not either, but that's a major MO change, and you know it. It means they've got a big reason to go after Gaon, bigger than Oskar or Brigitte, and they're not going to stop because we don't take her to Lusitania. If we leave her on Trinidad, even if they know we did, they might still come after us just because of what she told us or could have told us." Henry leaned forward. "I've thought this over, Tia, trust me. Our best way to safety is to get her to Lusitania. Then the job's over, we get paid by someone, and we're out of this."
Tia let out an inarticulate cry of frustration. "Damn you, Jim, you make it sound so reasonable, but we both know you're not objective about this. You want to save your friend's brother. You want to stick it to the League. And you're putting us at risk trying to accomplish all of it."
"Don't you think I know that?” Henry said with a raised voice. “Of course I do! But think about it, Tia. Cutting our losses sounds simple and easy, but it's not. Put yourself in their shoes for a moment. They want Gaon silenced, and that's going to extend to anyone they could believe she spoke to about what she saw. We're going to be on their list no matter what. It's too late to just 'cut our losses'. We have to make going after us a moot point, and that means Gaon gets to Lusitania." Henry spoke with conviction, hiding the small part of him that wanted to agree with her, that wanted to get the hell out of Trifid now. However, he’d done the calculations over and over again, he'd considered the scenarios. This was the only safe way to do this. Of that, he was utterly convinced.
Silence broke out in the office. Tia and Henry looked at each other intently, eye to eye, neither yielding. The silent tension remained between them for the entire time. It only subsided when Henry leaned back in his chair. "This is why I asked you to become First Mate when Muammar left," he said.
Tia nodded at the reference to her predecessor, New Arabia-born Muammar Qadir, a long-time spacer who retired a few years prior. "I still think you're wrong."
