Chutes & Ladders (Prosperous Book 1)

by A. Rhea King

  Perhaps that’s why his father had told him: When you get to pick your own security, ask for an Avinion to be the head man. They are psychics, they are strong and smart, and they are loyal to anyone they call a friend.

  Tru walked around the control center in the middle of the Brig, watching the Avinion’s brilliant purple eyes look up to meet his.

  “Good afternoon, Chief Zalet.”

  Zalet smiled, but it looked sad. He moved slow, like a sloth, to motion toward a chair opposite his desk, saying languidly, “Please, have a seat, Captain.”

  The slow movements and reactions Tru did understand. Avinions believed haste was unbecoming and a sign of a weak mind. They believed decisions and actions should be thought on, considered, reconsidered, and then acted upon. But he had seen them react when his last ship had been attacked by Marauders. Then they moved like liquid with deadly accuracy; Tru never wanted to see another Avinion in that state. He preferred them in this languid, non-violent mood, where they were relaxing to talk to and be around.

  “Thank you.” Tru sat down. “How are things going, Chief?”

  “Your new policy is keeping my crew and me busy.”

  Tru’s eyebrows lifted. Was that humor or anger in the remark? Zalet smiled again, and Tru returned it.

  “There hadn’t been any reports of fights or insubordination all week. I thought the crew was behaving themselves.”

  “You made your policy quite clear. There has been no need to concern you.”

  “Thank you, but going forward, please concern me.”

  “As you wish, Captain.” Zalet looked at the doc-slips on his desk. “I released Ensign Rhoades this morning.”

  “How was her stay in the Brig?”

  “She spent three days yelling and crying, and the last two sitting on the bunk doing nothing. I hope her stay has convinced her of the importance of confidentiality.”

  “Me too. I stopped by to ask if you’ve worked out the details on Wrigley’s training regiment.”

  “I have.” Zalet picked up a doc-slip, looking it over. “I believe a four-day regimen will keep them occupied, and that we should continue it through the entire stint. One of my crewmen worked out classes of equal numbers of crewmen with higher defense ranks to those with lower defense ranks. A higher level will be matched with a lower level so they may symbiotically train each other.”

  “Whose idea was that?”

  “XO Wrigley’s. Her days as a teacher came through on this assignment, I believe. Ambassador Mullin was in here earlier looking for Warrant Officer Tobbin, and he looked it over. He felt we were wasting our time.”

  “He has kept to himself since we left spaceport. He’s only come out to look for Officer Tobbin. I told Tobbin he was looking for him, but he didn’t seem anxious to meet with him. Do you know if something is going on between them?”

  “It is possible.”

  Tru waited for Zalet to tell him what he knew, if anything, but after a minute or two, realized Zalet was done speaking on the matter.

  “Let me see the plans for the regiment so far.” Tru held out his hand for the doc-slip.

  Zalet handed it to over.

  As soon as Tru’s fingers closed around the slip, he was thrown into a premonition.

  Tru stood in the corner of a bedroom. In the bed, a man and woman were having sex, and it sounded like the woman was close to her climax. Tru couldn’t see either of their faces in the dim light.

  Ambassador Samual Mullin burst into the room, startling the couple. He gripped a laser pistol in his trembling right hand, and his flushed face was twisted into a sneer worse than any Tru had seen. He was dressed in a worn shirt, jeans, and loafers.

  “SAM!” the woman cried.

  The man under her pulled away, reaching for his shirt.

  Mullin aimed at the man and fired. The man dodged the shot, grabbing his clothes as he made a break for a door across the room. Mullin shot again and hit the wall.

  “GET BACK HERE YOU MERCHANT RAITOR SCUM!” Mullin screamed, firing again.

  The laser hit the door, burning a hole through it, but missing the man as he escaped. Mullin turned his weapon on the woman.

  “Who is he, Melanie?”

  “Sam—”

  Mullin fired at her, the laser passing over her shoulder. It singed her hair and put a hole in the wall. She yelled and started crying.

  “HIS NAME!”

  “Tobbin.”

  “Tobbin what? I want his name, and rank, and what port he’s leaving from, and what time. You only bring him here the day before he ships out, bitch! I want his name!”

  She shook her head. He stormed up to the bed and hit her across the face with the pistol, then jabbed it into her throat. She cried harder.

  “HIS NAME, MELIE!”

  “Austin Tobbin.”

  “Rank?”

  “Chief Warrant Officer, Second Class.”

  “What port? What time?”

  “International, 0800.”

  Mullin backed off. “Get dressed. There’s a car waiting outside for you.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Sam. I’m not—”

  He shot her leg. She screamed, grabbing it.

  “You need to go to the hospital, honey. That looks like a nasty soldering burn you got while working on your art.”

  She looked up at him. “Sam…”

  “Get. Dressed!”

  She scrambled out of bed and dressed with shaking hands. He put his arm around her and helped her limp out of the room.

  In a whirl of sound and color, Tru suddenly found himself sitting at a table in a bar. Mullin clutched a drink in his hands as he glared at the table. Tru looked up, seeing a Righellian walking toward them. He looked like a Chameleon covered in green scales with a yellow sheen. The only clothing a Righellian wore was a sash tied around their middle. The Righellian slid into the chair opposite of Mullin. Although in premonitions Tru always heard exactly what he had been brought to the past or future to hear, he instinctively leaned in closer.

  “What was so urgent, Sam?”

  Mullin looked at him. “I caught her with that damn Merchant Raitor grunt!”

  The Righellian glanced over his shoulder. Tru looked past him. There was a group of men and women at the end of the bar wearing Merchant Raitor uniforms. They were laughing and talking loud, oblivious of the insidious conversation across the room. The Righellian looked back.

  “This isn’t the place to talk about it.”

  Mullin smirked. “She was screaming she would leave me in the car. She’s not leaving me. She has no idea what I will do to keep her.”

  “What did… What did you do to Melanie, Sam?”

  Mullin swallowed the last of his drink. “Put her some place safe.”

  “Did you kill her?”

  “No. I need a favor, Cyne.” Mullin looked up at him. “I need to get on a ship called Prosperous. It’s going to Righel. It was delayed and is leaving tomorrow at 1100.”

  “There’s a ship leaving now. I can—”

  “Prosperous, Cyne. I need Prosperous.”

  “Why?”

  “The scum is assigned to that ship. I confirmed it. He has to die.”

  “Sam, no. Don’t do that on a ship.”

  Mullin looked at his glass. “I know everything Merchant Raitor has on that ship. I know where I can do it and no one will catch me. I just have to figure out a good lure. Get me on that ship, Cyne.”

  Cyne nodded. “You didn’t kill Melanie, did you? As an Ambassador of Righel, you know killing a spouse out of anger is illegal.”

  “I didn’t kill her. But I can kill him. It’s the right of protecting a male’s property.”

  “If you’re caught killing him on a Merchant Raitor ship, you won’t have immunity.”

  “I haven’t met a Merchant Raitor captain yet that knew Ambassadors don’t have immunity on their ship, but I’m not going to get caught, either. I need on that ship, Cyne.”

  Cyne’s lips curled into
a smile, revealing sharp yellow-gray teeth. “I have the perfect cover. I was asked to send someone back to check on our financial affairs. It’s boring, but it’s a good cover, and you’re low enough on the chain of command that no one will question it.”

  Mullin smiled a cold smile, nodding.

  The world reeled, and Tru found himself standing next to Mullin and Chief Warrant Officer Austin Tobbin. Mullin had Tobbin pinned against a wall with a laser pistol jammed under the grunt’s chin.

  “Were you enjoying my wife?” Mullin hissed.

  Tobbin was too afraid to move. Tru turned, trying to get a sense of time and place.

  “ANSWER ME! DID YOU ENJOY FUCKING MY WIFE!”

  “No.”

  “No? My wife was a bad lay? You’re saying my wife isn’t worth fucking?”

  Tru glanced back. Tobbin closed his eyes tight, starting to cry.

  “I thought Merchant Raitor grunts were trained to handle anything.”

  “Sir, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  “Sorry?” Mullin hissed. “How can you be sorry when you knowingly screwed another man’s wife, Austin? How does that work?”

  Tru suddenly realized he was in a shuttle. Of course. It was the only place the Prosperous sensors wouldn’t detect a weapon discharge.

  “See you in hell, Tobbin,” Mullin hissed.

  The sound of the laser pistol going off made Tru spin around.

  The laser cut through Tobbin’s throat and shot out of the top of his head. His eyes widened for a moment as the light behind them disappeared. Mullin stepped back, watching him slide to the floor. Rasberry red blood drained from the wound, pooling around Tobbin’s head. Mullin walked to the transport, dropped the weapon on it, and tapped the controls. He hurried out and moments later the weapon transported out of the shuttle.

  The feeling of hands grabbing Tru threw him off guard. The present was trying to force him back to it. His face twisted with determination and he sucked a breath between his teeth. He tensed his stomach muscles, pulling away from the force. Staggering under the pressure, he made his way to controls near him. He had to figure out when this was going to happen.

  There was no time or date on the controls, but something did catch his eye. He leaned in closer to the screen. Suddenly he was yanked out of the future and mercilessly jerked back into the present.

  Tru gasped, focusing on the ceiling above him. He was lying on the floor with Zalet kneeling next to him. He closed his eyes, wincing as every breath felt like knives drug across his lungs.

  “Captain, can you hear me?” Zalet asked. His cadence was faster than normal – he was worried.

  Tru felt hot and sick, and knew he should be worried, too. But he had bigger concerns than his health.

  “Ambassador Mullin is going to kill Officer Tobbin. Gracie?”

  Yes?

  “What shuttle has I.T. scheduled for software updates?” Tru put a shaking hand to his mouth, swallowing back the urge to vomit.

  Shuttles two and six.

  “When are they starting it?”

  In ten minutes.

  “Zalet, he’ll be in one of those shuttles. If he isn’t there, wait for him and arrest him on sight.”

  “Are you cert—”

  Tru held his stomach. He wasn’t going to be able to hold the side effects of his mental time travel back for much longer.

  “Go, Zalet! Before Mullin murders Tobbin!”

  “Gracie, alert security to the potential crime and transport me to shuttle two,” Zalet said.

  He was transported from the room.

  “How long was the premonition, Gracie?”

  Five minutes and thirty-seven seconds. I recorded your vitals. Shall I save them?

  “Yes.” He closed his eyes. “Gracie… I… I…” Tru jumped to his feet and ran to the bathroom in the corner of the office to vomit. When it passed, he slid down to lay on the cold tile floor. Weakly he ordered, “Transport me to my quarters, Gracie.”

  I’m detecting erratic vitals. I will transport you to Infirmary.

  “No. My quart…” Tru vomited on the floor. When he stopped, he whispered, “My quarters, Gracie. And send a droid to clean that up.”

  She obeyed.

  Chapter 17

  TRU PULLED BLANKETS TIGHTER AROUND HIM. THE VOMITING HAD SUBSIDED as a fever and chills set in. He didn’t understand how the premonitions affected his body. After a couple minutes, he came back tired and thirsty, but more than two minutes and his body reacted as if he’d come caught the influenza virus. Since no doctor was willing to help him figure out what the premonitions were physically doing to him, he had to rely on his sparse medical knowledge. In ten years he was no closer to answers than when he started his research.

  “What’s my temperature?” Tru asked Gracie.

  It’s holding at one-hundred and three. Shall I request Doctor Q’al or Doctor Lareshth?

  “I don’t want them to know. Was Mullin arrested?”

  They caught him holding a weapon to Tobbin’s head. He’s in the Brig now.

  Tru shivered. “Good,” he whispered.

  His doorbell beep.

  “Who is it, Gracie?”

  Ensign Rhoades.

  “Send her away.”

  The door opened.

  “No. I said…” Tru shivered, closing his eyes tight.

  Jackie walked up to him, staring at him for a long moment.

  “What, Rhoades?” Tru asked.

  Jackie walked off without a word.

  “Jackie?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Jackie, what are you doing?”

  There was no answer.

  “Gracie, what is she doing?”

  She’s in your bathroom. There are no video or audio sensors.

  Tru started to get up. Jackie came around the couch and pushed him back down. She sat down on the edge of the couch, folding a wet washcloth in thirds. She placed it on his forehead and smoothed it out. Tru closed his eyes. The coolness felt good against his hot flesh. He opened his eyes when she laid her fingers against his cheek.

  “You’re burning up. What’s wrong with you, Tru?”

  “Captain, and I’m just a little under the weather.”

  “A little under the weather doesn’t give you a fever like this and make you white as a sheet. Gracie, which doctor is on duty now?”

  Doctor Lareshth is on duty.

  “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” Tru closed his eyes.

  “Stop being so captain, Truman.” Jackie scolded. “Gracie—”

  “Call me Captain, Jackie,” Tru hissed.

  He looked up when he felt her breath on his face and looked right into Jackie’s eyes. She had leaned over, her lips almost brushing his. “I’m no doctor, but even I can see you really need one, so I’m calling Doctor Lareshth, you are going to let me take care of you, and that’s the way it is going to be.”

  “Bad girl side?” Tru asked.

  She smiled. “Jackie really likes you. I’m indifferent.”

  “I thought that after the Brig you’d both hate me.”

  “We don’t hate you. You asked us to keep a secret, and we didn’t.” Jackie sat up with a shrug. “We’re sorry.”

  “So you broke into my quarters to say sorry?”

  “No. I came by to thank you for saving Austin. We grew up in the same Silerium orphanage. We’re not best of friends or anything, but we’re close. So thanks, Truman.”

  “Why can’t you address me properly?”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” Jackie sat back, brushing hair out of her face. “Gracie, call for Doctor Lareshth, and if you’re smart, you’ll ignore him if he tries to belay it.”

  Compliance.

  “Gracie—” Tru sighed. His head was starting to throb.

  “I’ll go get you some water,” Jackie said. “Don’t go all man on me and try to get up, okay?”

  “All man?”

  Jackie chuckled, making Tru smile. She gave his hand a squeeze before l
eaving his side.

  Tru closed his eyes, letting his mind drift. He recalled how his ex-husband never took care of him like this when he was sick. Phillip had never been the nurturing type, or forgiving. He believed their failed marriage was Tru’s fault, and Tru believed it was his. It was so much easier to see where blame laid in other people’s relationships, but he wasn’t sure who was actually at fault for his marriage failing.

  * * *

  Tru picked a shirt up from the couch and thrust it into the open duffel bag on the chair next to him. He zipped it shut and turned. Across the living room, a man a year older than him stood at the windows, staring at the dark streets forty stories below. From the apartment, the skyline of Austin, Texas was a band of white light reflecting off the overcast sky. Tru walked up behind him, reaching for the man’s muscular arm. The man sidestepped to avoid Tru’s touch.

  “Phillip, can’t we talk about this?” Tru asked.

  “There isn’t anything to talk about,” Phillip spat.

  Tru let out an exasperated sigh. He took hold of Phillip’s wrist, but his husband yanked away. He turned, glaring at Tru.

  “I told you, Tru. Space or me, you can’t have both.”

  “Phillip, this is crazy! How can you want to divorce over this? I—”

  “Merchant Raitor stints last six months to a year, and are light-years from Earth! Why couldn’t you just keep practicing and stay here on Earth? I would have even gone to Mars or Titan if you’d taken a position there. At least I’d be home for the holidays.”

  “I can’t, Phillip. I thought I would be content to stay on Earth and practice, but… I grew up in space, and I need more than here and there to other planets. I need space.”

  “Well, at least you won’t have a husband to tie you down while you have your space.”

  Tru didn’t want to let this happen, but the urge to take to the stars was so intense that he couldn’t ignore it anymore. Whenever he had tried to talk to Phillip about this, his husband would throw a temper tantrum, disappear for days, and wouldn’t answer Tru’s calls. When he came back, he’d pretend like nothing had happened. He couldn’t seem to understand that Tru felt like he was suffocating by staying on terra firma, any terra firma.