by Reese Hogan
“But- but, captain,” she finally got out, “you need me. And you need Holland! Without the two of us–”
“I understand,” Rosen said. “The work you did will be put into both your records, I assure you. But this is more important. Criesuce is too wrapped up in their revolution to send aid anymore. Qosmya’s doing what they can, but Dhavnakir’s allied forces from both Narbona and Jasterus are battering them. And with Atrary’s capital taken now, and Cardinia insisting on remaining neutral…” She grimaced. “As experimental as shrouding is, anything at all that helps us learn more about it is to our advantage – and to Dhavnakir’s detriment. Anything we can learn may tip the scales back in our direction. There is nothing we won’t do for that possibility.”
Nothing. They wouldn’t stop shrouding, despite the mounting dangers. They would continue their acts of sabotage, their futile stabs at the enemy’s underbelly. They would cut her up if they had to – her and Holland both.
“You have family in Ellemko. Don’t you, Blackwood?” Rosen was trying to soften the news. It wasn’t helping.
“Yes, ma’am. A brother,” Blackwood muttered.
“Younger or older?”
“Younger. By six and a half years.”
“We might be able to spare you time to see him. Is he living with your parents?”
“Our parents died in a factory accident, ma’am. Five years ago.”
“Scicorp Applications Industries? I remember that one.” Rosen caught her breath. “Owen and Carrie Blackwood. They’re your parents. Of course.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“It’s thanks to them we even have shrouding. If not for their early research…”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How is it you ended up working with shrouding? We don’t have that many vehicles in the field yet using the technology.”
“I requested it, ma’am. My parents died for this research. If not for Dhavnakir’s aggression, they would never have been rerouted to making war weapons, and the accident would never have happened. So I vowed I’d do whatever it took to keep their legacy out of Dhavnak hands.” She held Rosen’s eyes. “It was supposed to be used for trading. It was never meant to be used as a weapon. It’s getting more and more dangerous, and if Dhavnakir takes us–”
“I can’t talk about this with you,” Rosen broke in. “I’m sorry.”
“If we don’t destroy it soon–”
“I can’t, Blackwood. It’s above my station.”
Blackwood looked away, struggling to keep the anger from her face. Instead, you’re sending me away. She didn’t like shrouding – she was starting to hate it, in fact – but if they were going to keep doing it, she needed to be part of it. How else could she know whether Belzen’s largest warcraft outfitted with the technology remained safe from the Dhavnaks? It had been the one thing she felt she had control over, even if that control was more illusion than reality. What else can I do? With this mark, they’ll never let me shroud again!
“The rest of your crew will be here shortly, along with Chief of Boat Ceresin,” said Captain Rosen. “We’re in the process of searching your compartment, but we also need to check everyone who was in there before it happened.”
“That’s fine, ma’am.”
“And Chief Sea Officer Blackwood?”
Blackwood looked up at the captain’s tone. “Ma’am?”
Rosen put a hand on her shoulder. “I commend your dedication to your parents, but sometimes you need to take the breaks that life offers you. If the army gives you a few weeks of boredom in some research chair at the lab, be grateful for it. Do some reading. Get some sleep. Try to spend time with your brother. The war isn’t going anywhere.”
Blackwood breathed out slowly as Rosen left the medbay. The reading and the sleep… yeah, that would be nice. But spending time with Andrew? That awful last visit, three months ago, was still vivid in her mind.
Right after their parents died, Blackwood had been given a key to a safety deposit box containing all their research from the last five years. She’d chosen to leave it at the counting firm, thinking it a safer place than their home. But after she’d left for the navy, Andrew had found the key in her room and retrieved the notes. She’d found two boxes stacked in their parents’ closet. She’d told Andrew that, especially with the war on, the notes weren’t safe there.
But when she’d grabbed the first box, Andrew had physically attacked her, kicking the bedroom door off its hinges in the process. Then he started screaming. Something about their goddess, Xeil, and how She’d never guided their parents’ spirits to their loved ones after they died. Something about false promises. Not knowing how to answer, Blackwood had shouted back, “It’s been five years! Let it go!” Andrew had shut down again as fast as he’d opened up. She couldn’t remember if she’d spoken another word the whole time she’d been there. She was positive he hadn’t. She was equally positive she hadn’t gone near that closet again.
She winced. I just wanted to call when we got back, give him the usual quick update before heading out again. I’m not ready to see him. And I know he doesn’t want to see me.
She was relieved when Holland came to stand by her bunk. The deckman’s face was positively ashen.
“How long till we get back, do you think?” he said. “And to the – the laboratory?”
“We’ll be docked by half-light tomorrow,” said Blackwood. “Ellemko the day after that, if not earlier.”
“OK,” said Holland, swallowing.
“It will be OK,” said Blackwood.
“I… I know.” Holland put his hands over his stomach and swallowed again, closing his eyes. Blackwood frowned. After facing whatever had been outside during shrouding, this was getting to him? Maybe it was delayed adrenaline. Blackwood had heard some people completely lost it several hours after a crisis, especially if they’d never been in one before.
Corpsmate Tolonen came up with a medical bag and set it on the cot next to Blackwood. “This won’t take long,” she said.
Holland stepped back as Tolonen listened to Blackwood’s heart and took her temperature. It was while the corpsmate was shining a bright light straight into her pupils that Blackwood heard the medbay door open again. There were several moments of silence before the newcomer spoke.
“You still have that dekatite on you? Or did you ditch it somewhere in the compartment before they drained it?”
Blackwood tensed.
“Why don’t you shut up?” Holland answered, his voice tight.
Footsteps scuffed across the deck. Then Vin said, “Hey, where do you think you’re going? The captain said to wait here.”
Tolonen finally lowered the light. Blackwood blinked the strobing spots from her eyes.
“I’m not feeling well,” said Holland. “I need to run to the head. Move.”
“Oh no, you’re not getting away that easy.”
“Move, Vin.”
Blackwood’s vision finally cleared in time to see Holland try to shove past the other deckman. Vin grabbed him and pushed him back, hard.
“Hey!” Blackwood yelled, leaping to her feet.
Holland crashed backward into the bulkhead, shoved against it by Vin’s greater weight. Vin pulled him up, then slammed him again. Holland went down with the second push. Halfway down, Vin’s knee caught him in the face. He collapsed with a cry.
“Deckman Vin!” someone roared. By this time, Blackwood had reached Vin, and grabbed the back of his coveralls with both hands. She yanked him away from Holland, who was staring up from the deck, his bloody hand clamped over his nose.
Blackwood pushed Vin against the adjoining wall, her hand tight around his neck and her knee shoved into his crotch. “We almost died in there, partly because you left, and you have the nerve–”
“CSO Blackwood! Stand down!”
For several moments, Blackwood kept her gaze locked on Vin’s fuming face, fighting to keep from pummeling him through the wall. The tingling in her dekatite mark inc
reased, as if in response to her anger.
“Mila Blackwood!”
Blackwood forced herself to step back. She turned toward the door to see the captain standing just inside the compartment. She straightened hurriedly and saluted. Behind her, Vin did the same, breathing in short, angry huffs. The captain looked from one of them to the other, her face furious. Her gaze settled on Blackwood first.
“Do you need to revisit the seminar again, CSO?”
“No, ma’am,” said Blackwood stiffly. Three deep breaths. Vin is not my enemy. My anger is the enemy. The last thing she needed right now was to be forced into another forty-day anger rehabilitation symposium, where aging military specialists tied every moment of rage to her parents’ deaths.
“Captain,” Vin said, “I apologize. But Deckman Holland was trying to leave. You told us to wait in here until we were searched!”
“There’s no longer any need for a search, Deckman Vin.” Rosen held up a long dark chain. Links of dekatite glittered in the medbay lights. “This was found in your bunk during our last sweep. You’re under arrest.”
Chapter 4
ANDREW’S GUEST
A harsh trilling pierced the dark comfort of Andrew’s unconscious, driving into his skull like a needle. He awoke with a gasp, blindly flinging a hand out. He hit something hard. Glass shattered, explosively loud. The trilling sounded again in its wake. He jerked the hand back to shield his face before blinking himself into the real world. His chest, pressed against the mattress beneath him, heaved in an effort to give him enough breath. His heart pounded a violent rhythm. He heard the trill again, but on this side of consciousness, it was comfortably distant, far off in the kitchen. He swallowed, pulling his hand slowly from his face. He didn’t recall the dream. Only the terror. Staring at the teetering stacks of books against his wall, he found himself having trouble recalling anything at all. But he did remember he had a reason – a reason to get up. Couldn’t remember the reason.
He pushed himself to his feet, allowing his mind to remain in that foggy state without pushing it. Whoever had called on the Wired Correspondence had given up for the moment, and only a familiar throbbing occupied his skull. He smelled alcohol in the air. He remembered the shattered glass only when his bare foot almost slipped in a puddle of liquid. He looked down, noticing the soaked Cordinian Coinavini label, half-torn in the dark red fluid. His brow furrowed. Coinavini? How under the suns did I afford that? He started toward his bedroom door, one hand balancing him with the bedpost, the other shaking out the twists in the open button-down shirt and undershorts he wore. Something bit into the side of his foot and he hissed, kicking the shard of broken glass away. Coinavini, he thought again. How much did I waste? Where did I get it? He laughed under his breath. He wasn’t sure why, except that it seemed appropriate. There was an almost genuinely good memory there, hanging just out of reach. A reason to get up. We were drinking…
He pulled open his door. Without warning, the WiCorr sounded again. The noise sent a fresh wave of pulsing through his head. Andrew’s lips thinned and he limped down the hall. A stab of pain shot through the bottom of his right foot with every step. He rounded the doorway into the kitchen, put one hand on the headset… then paused. Yes. He remembered now. The friend from his past. The drinking. Two days they’d been together, then five days of…
The WiCorr screeched again, insistently loud, vibrating beneath his palm. He snatched the headset from the base and jammed it over his ears one-handed, so the mouthpiece ended up skewed. He pulled it down hard, feeling new pain blossom as his nails dug into his cheek.
“Andrew?”
He kept his gaze on the hallway, eyes darting between the closed doors on either side. The galvanized bulbs had long since burned out, and the two arphanium-powered lanterns were empty now, their crystals sent off for war equipment. His eyes hurt just trying to penetrate the early morning shadows.
“Andrew!”
He winced. “Don’t yell,” he muttered into the mouthpiece.
“If you’d talk, I wouldn’t have to,” the voice answered tersely. Mila Blackwood. His sister. Who else would it be? The hallway doors remained closed. Andrew turned, sweeping his gaze over the kitchen. Soup cans were scattered across the floor, fallen during an air raid three days ago. Four. Something like that. A morning beam from the Main Sun illuminated a fine sheen of dust on the floor.
“Is everything OK with you?” Mila said.
“Fine.”
“Listen. There’s been an incident here. I’m coming back to Ellemko for a while.”
“You already told me about the incident. When you called last week.” He pulled the long cord from under the WiCorr’s base until it trailed on the floor. He rounded the kitchen doorway and made his way toward the living area.
“There was another one,” she said. “It’s a long story, but I’m being sent back to help out from the capital. I’ll probably be working out of the FCB. That’s… the Federal Combat Base, obviously.”
Andrew paused in his tracks. “You were wounded.”
“Not badly.”
Andrew nodded. He continued toward the living space, staying as light on his injured foot as he could.
“Are you…” he began.
“Yes?”
“…Planning to stay here?”
There was a pregnant pause before she answered, “I don’t know yet. They’ll probably choose to put me up at the barracks or something. I wouldn’t want to… you know. Put you out.”
“Right,” he said. The couch came into view. He couldn’t see over the arm from his angle, but he could see the large yellow duffel on the floor by the brick fireplace. He wet his dry lips, realizing his heart had begun racing again.
“But I might be able to stop by for a visit,” she said. “If that’s all right with you.”
“Whatever you want.”
“It’s been over three months since I’ve seen you.”
“I lost track.”
“Yeah. But everything’s been… you sure you’re OK?”
“I told you. Fine.”
“OK.” Still, she didn’t hang up. Andrew could picture his sister straining for something else to say, winding a dark ringlet around her finger, then letting it spring out before picking up another one, over and over again. One of the cushions on the couch moved and a foot came down from the side, swinging to touch the floor. Andrew thought of asking Mila how she’d been injured, but knew it would start a whole new round of her trying to fill awkward silences. So he stayed quiet.
“Well,” she finally said, “see you soon.”
“Yeah.”
The line clicked dead and Andrew pulled off the headset. It dangled in one hand as he stared at the couch.
“You came back,” he said.
Cu Zanthus Ayaterossi sat up on the couch, stretching his long arms overhead. He was dressed in a button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Suspenders hung at his waist over brown plaid trousers, checkered in typical Belzene style. He flashed a grin.
“I was only gone five days. Enough to throw ’em off my trail.”
Andrew shook his head. “No one was after you. No one came here, Dhavnak soldier or otherwise.”
“They were watching your place for draft-dodgers, Andy. Shon Aha save my soul if I’m lying.”
“But you were only here for two days! And then Mila called, about that accident she’d been in, and you… you ran.” Andrew’s stomach lurched. That had been after the first accident. Surely, Cu Zanthus wouldn’t leave after this one, too. Unless he was afraid of her coming home…
“It wasn’t because of Mila!” Cu Zanthus said, as if he’d read Andrew’s mind. “I had to make sure, OK? I don’t want to be found and dragged back to Dhavnakir! I thought you’d understand. But if you want me to find somewhere else to stay–”
“No!” Andrew burst out.
Cu Zanthus frowned.
Andrew swallowed, closing his eyes briefly. “No,” he repeated in a whisper. “Stay
.”
“If you’re sure,” Cu Zanthus said warily.
“I am. Just seeing you again…”
Escape. Escape from myself. Uncomfortable thoughts. As were the ones about the deep despair he’d fallen into after Cu Zanthus had left again. Though he’d been gone only five days, it was a hard crash from those two endless days of gambling, drinking, getting out of his dead parents’ house, ducking into bomb shelters… The word alive came to mind. Cu Zanthus was just as thrilling as he’d been three and a half years ago, right before he’d had to move back home. Except now he was… more, somehow. More thrilling. More engaged. More grown up. Before his unexpected return, the only thing that pulled Andrew out of bed at all was the hundreds of pages of handwritten notes left behind by his parents. Dry stuff. Bleak stuff. But at least it was the ghost of a companion. And Mila was going to take it away. Anger flashed, hot and bright.
“Andy?”
Andrew looked up, blinking. The anger ebbed, edging back toward the feeling he’d woken up with. A reason to get up. “You brought the Coinavini?” he asked. His voice came out rough.
“Of course,” said Cu Zanthus. “You remember anything of last night?”
Slowly, Andrew shook his head. “Not really.”
“You recited the entire second episode of Darrina Leal Hammers Steel. In Dhavvish. By the gods, how do you know about Darrina Leal? You get Dhavnak radio here?”
Andrew huffed out a laugh. “I wouldn’t know. Mila threw our radio across the room the same year our…” He shook his head with a violent jerk, stopping the thought dead. “No. I got the comics. Shortly after you moved. I wanted to… know you better. Your country, I mean.”
“You read them in Dhavvish? But you don’t speak–”
“Tha, mia dennoch.”
Cu Zanthus blinked, shocked into silence.
“I taught myself,” Andrew added. “After you moved back to Dhavnakir, I…” He felt his face heating and looked down at the headset hanging from his fingers.
“None of your letters were in Dhavvish. You should have said something.”
