by Rachel Ford
“Not anymore.” They emerged into a semi-clearing, and stood before a small cabin. It was a single room dwelling, with a sleeping area at one end, a kind of kitchen at the other, and a cozy – very cozy – living space between. She hadn’t been here in months, but she could see it clear as day in her mind’s eye. She looked up at him, now. “When I moved to Trapper’s, this is where I lived.”
He blinked. “This was your farm?”
“That’s right.”
“But…it’s so remote.”
She nodded. “I know. I wanted it remote. I…I didn’t come here to be around people, Tig. When I got out of the service…” She shook her head at the memory of herself in those days, at the woman who had spent too long in the Wastes, who had seen the worst of what Tribari-kind could do to itself, month upon long month. “I never wanted to see anyone again.”
“So you lived here?”
“For about eighteen months, yeah.”
“All alone?”
She nodded. “That’s right.”
“Wasn’t it…lonely?”
She considered the question. “I don’t mind being alone.” She wasn’t sure Tig – gregarious, easy-going Tig – could understand that. But it was the truth. She liked people well enough, but she was comfortable with her own thoughts most of the time, too.
“What changed? Why’d you leave?”
She smiled. It was a good question. “I…well, I broke my leg climbing a tree like a bloody fool.”
He laughed. “Really?”
“I’m embarrassed to admit it, but, yes. I was trying to reach apples. In that tree over there, to be exact.” She pointed to a wild-looking tree, its bows overflowing with scrappy apples. “I was going to can them, and there weren’t enough easily accessible.”
“What happened?”
“Well, I knew I’d broken the damned thing. I tried to set it-”
“You what?” he flinched.
She shrugged. “It’s not that complicated. Except, as it happens, when it’s your own leg. That makes it more difficult.” He cringed again. “And I didn’t have any painkillers. I toughed it out for about a week.”
“A week?”
She laughed sheepishly at his shock. “Yeah. You might have noticed, I’m a little stubborn.”
“Good gods. A little stubborn?” He wrapped an arm around her, grinning. “What the hell am I getting myself into, eh?”
She held his gaze. “That’s why you’re here, Tig. Because…I want you to know me. Not just the me that lives in a governor’s mansion, and is way less important than she imagines herself to be.” She smiled self-deprecatingly, a soft, sad smile. “But the me that came here after my tour of duty, not quite in my right mind. The me who – if she hadn’t fallen out of that apple tree – would probably still be living here, even less in her right mind.”
He turned away from her, a flush spreading across his face and the back of his neck. “Tal…Tal told you?”
“What? No, Tig. It’s nothing to do with him.” She placed a hand on his back, cautiously. He didn’t flinch. “I just…wanted you to know that, whatever you think of me now, I’ve been as fucked up as anyone could be.
“And I also want you to know that I could never, ever hold it against you because something bad happened, Tig. I’d never think less of you, or judge you – or care less.”
He didn’t move, and her voice wavered. “And you don’t need to tell me anything – not now, not ever if you’re not comfortable talking about it. But, I’ll be here for you. If you’ll let me, I mean.”
For a long moment, he said nothing, and she said no more. She began to fear that he’d shut down again, that bringing this up had been the wrong move. She’d gone with her instincts, but now she wondered if they’d been right.
But then he spoke, and his voice was choked with emotion when he did. “Ari, you…you don’t understand.” He turned now, and stole a glance at her. Then, his eyes dropped. “There was a…”
“Tig,” she said, “you don’t need to tell me, if you don’t want to. I am here for you, if you do. But don’t feel that you need to tell me. That’s not why…”
He glanced up again. “I know. But I do. I…I need you to know what you’re getting into. When I was on Zeta, there was a convict, Efron Engel. He was from Central. He…” Again, his eyes dropped to his shoes.
Gently, tenderly, she wrapped his hands in hers. “I think I know what you’re about to say, Tig.” If not having to say the words out loud would spare him, it was the least she could do. “And it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
He locked eyes with her, and they were as blue as a winter morning. “He-he raped me, Ari.”
She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. It was no surprise. His reactions, his fears, Tal’s words – his own words: it was not much to put it all together. Still, there was some terrible power to hearing them spoken out loud, much less in so matter-of-fact a fashion. It hit her like a punch to the gut. “I’m so sorry, Tig.” She brought a hand to his face slowly. “I’m so sorry you went through that. And I will be here for you, whatever you need. Anything.
“But you need to know that it doesn’t change a thing about how I feel.”
He held her gaze for a moment, and then wrapped his arms around her. She circled him in a hug too. “I love you, Tig.”
They stood there like that for a long time. She could feel him tremble in her arms, hear the shuddering intake of his breath. He was crying, and it damned near killed her. It killed her that he hurt so badly. It killed her that he worked so hard to hide his emotions from her. But she held on tight, until his breathing slowed and the tears stopped.
Then, she heard him speak, and his voice was soft. “I love you too, Ari.”
Part II
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Wastes were hell. The planets here were all but uninhabitable due to heavy radiation and frequent solar storms. But it wasn’t just the handful of sorry planetary bodies that suffered. The same hazards that made settlement nearly impossible also imperiled travelers. Even a ship like the Supernova, her hull reinforced to withstand the lethal radiation of interstellar travel, ran blind in these conditions. The radiation limited sensors, interfered with comms, and generally wreaked havoc on systems.
But it was more than the solar winds and solar storms, or the feeling of venturing blind into the unknown. The Wastes had long served as the de facto hideout for the Empire’s worst spacefaring characters, those dregs of Tribari society who plied their craft in the skies: the smugglers and traffickers and pirates who operated inside imperial space. There were dozens of planets and asteroid belts here that could shield ships and even encampments from passing sensors. And it was easy enough to move from one dead world to the next.
Elgin wasn’t hunting pirates, but that didn’t mean they weren’t as much a threat as ever. On the contrary, the war made the empire more vulnerable. And that, in turn, would embolden criminals.
The crew had been on edge since they entered the Wastes. He’d been on edge since they arrived. And that was three and a half weeks ago.
His nerves were so taut, now, that a stiff breeze might just cause them to snap. Still, after weeks of nothing, with only limited pockets of communication back home, this morning they’d finally picked up a trail.
It was more a breadcrumb, really, than a trail: a single piece of debris from a smallish vessel. It had been badly damaged, but as near as his team could tell after a quick analysis, it was part of a hull – a hull that had been ripped apart by military-grade munitions.
His best guess was that this ship had belonged to smugglers or pirates, and they’d come across either a more powerful, better equipped rival…or Admiral Lenksha’s fleet.
That Lenksha was based in the Wastes, Elgin didn’t doubt. There were dozens of resource rich planets and moons here. The Consortium had been investigating the possibility of extraction operations for years, but the cost had always been too prohibitive. Now, it wo
uld be the perfect base for a rogue fleet – hidden from prying eyes, with a near limitless supply of critical metals and fuels at hand.
It wasn’t just that they were well-suited for Lenksha’s needs. In the past few weeks, the loyalists had launched raids on several border worlds, and ambushed a supply freighter. The raids injured more than they killed, but the primary goal had been property destruction. The hit on the freighter was more serious, as all hands – and quite a bit of food – were lost.
To Elgin’s mind though, the proximity to the Wastes stood out the most. Every attack by, and every subsequent disappearance of, the loyalist fleet had happened within range of this hellscape. There was no question about it: Lenksha was here, somewhere.
No question except, of course, in Parliament’s mind. It had taken the urging of just about every senior officer to convince them to sanction his recon mission. Elgin understood, now, Mercer’s frustration. This new parliament’s timidity was beyond grating.
But the fact was, for all the cautions he’d given Mercer about mollifying the ministers, he didn’t intend to heed his own advice.
Parliament had sanctioned a scouting mission. Elgin wasn’t here to scout. He was tired of playing it safe. He was tired of the death by a thousand cuts that Lenksha was attempting. So he wasn’t planning to just find the enemy.
Elgin was here to search and destroy.
“Hey,” Brek said, “are you alright, Nik?”
She glanced up. “What?”
“I said, are you alright?” He was watching her with concerned eyes.
“Oh, yes.”
“You sure?”
She smiled. “Yes. I’m just tired, Brek.”
“Then you should go home.”
“I can’t. There’s too much to do.” She reached for a stack of papers, but he took her hand.
“Hey. There’s always work, Nik. You can work yourself to death, and there’ll still be work.” He grinned. “You don’t want me calling Doctor Kel, do you?”
She laughed. “Are you blackmailing me, Minister?”
“Maybe I am, Minister Idan. Maybe I am.”
“And after I kept all your secrets? After I didn’t turn you in for abandoning your crutches? For walking on your cast? These are the thanks I get?”
“Alright,” he conceded with a smile, “I won’t turn you in. But at least let’s get something to eat, or take a walk – something to stretch your legs and take a break.”
She glanced back at the stack of papers on her desk, and then sighed. “I don’t know. There’s so much to do.”
“And you need to take care of yourself, so you can do it.”
He was right. More than that, he was worried about her. And, though she wouldn’t admit it out loud, not entirely without reason. She’d been weaker, wearier, more distracted these days than she could remember being. It had to be the progression of the pregnancy. She knew that. But there were times when her head swam, and she could barely catch her breath just going about her business. “Alright, you mother hen, you. I’ll go.”
“Good.” He helped pull her to her feet, and she flushed at the effort it took her to rise. She wasn’t used to being that heavy, to finding movement that cumbersome. “Come on, Minister. Let’s start with a walk. You look like fresh air and starlight will do you some good. And then we’ll get some food in you.”
“Yes, mother.”
“If I’m acting like your mother, it’s only because you’re acting like a child,” he teased.
“Oh bollocks,” she shot back. She enjoyed seeing the scandalized smile her swearing put on his face. In all the months of their acquaintance, it still did. “You’re just looking for an excuse to use that leg of yours, despite Doctor Kel telling you to stay off it.”
He sighed theatrically. “You know me so well, Nikia.”
They left her office, and then quitted the House of Parliament too. The daystar was shining brightly, and it bathed them in a warm light. Nik sighed contentedly. “Savor the moment, Minister Trigan, because you may never hear these words again: but, you were right.”
He grinned at her. “Oh, you should have known better than admitting that, Nik.”
“I’m never going to hear the end of it, eh?”
“That’s right.”
They walked in amiable silence for a while longer, at a remarkably slow pace. Between his foot, freshly out of its cast, and her now heavily-pregnant self, speed was not really an option. She laughed at the thought.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just…we move like a set of garden snails.”
He laughed too. “At least we’re moving.”
She nodded. “Hey, where do you want to eat? Now that I am moving, I’m starving.”
“Wherever you want to.”
“You know, you’re way too accommodating. One of these days, you’re going to stop feeling sorry for me, and start telling me what you want. And I’m not going to recognize you.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want that.” He shook his head. “I shall endeavor to be more demanding, and less accommodating.”
She laughed. “Good.”
“And for my first act, I think – no, I insist – we go to that café on the corner.”
“You mean…the one I like? Central City?”
He nodded emphatically. “That’s right. And you’d better say yes, Nikia. Because I won’t accept a no.”
She laughed again, and shook her head. “You’re hopeless.”
He shot her an affectionate smile, his eyes a warm green. “Maybe. But come on, let’s get some food.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Nees sighed. It had been three months since the attack on the Supernova. Three months since the new empire, and all her plans, started going to shit. By the second month, they’d moved to accelerated extraction and processing to meet the military’s demands. Now, she had daily status briefings with Central. And they still didn’t get it.
There was only so much that could be extracted at one time, with the facilities and manpower she had available. New immigrants – Central’s solution to the problem – would help, but they’d need the infrastructure and housing to sustain them. Central didn’t have the resources to spare for that. Neither did she. As it was, they were selling at cost. People were working extra shifts and taking pay cuts just to get it done.
Because, at the end of the day, winning this war was paramount, for all of them.
But she wouldn’t sacrifice the safety and lives of her people to do it. That’s what they were fighting for, after all. Wasn’t it?
Central didn’t seem to understand that. The ministers reminded her again and again that Trapper’s was one of the primary sources of fuel for the fleet. And they didn’t have a good answer to her suggestion that they prioritize development accordingly, then. They’d focus instead on their mutual need to see Lenksha defeated, of what a loyalist resurgence would mean for her people.
In this morning’s meeting, one of the ministers proposed temporary work settlements. Now, rubbing her temples, she mulled the idea. She wasn’t sure she liked it. Temporary camps meant extra labor, and would relieve some of the infrastructure and most of the housing concerns. But it would bring laborers with no vested interest in the well-being of the colony, or its inhabitants. It would bring in swaths of people with no ties to Trapper’s, and potentially no interest in making ties.
It could mean crime and labor disputes. Depending on the accommodations of the camp, it could mean enmity between the locals and migrant workers. How could it do anything but cause resentment when half the workers would know their coworkers returned to real homes and their own families, while they were planets away from their loved ones in prefab barracks?
Then again, the empire needed the oil. These were difficulties, but, with careful management, they were far from insurmountable. It would be a hell of a lot of work, and plenty of trial and error.
But she was governor. It was her duty to do the right thing. Not the easy one.
<
br /> Oh hell. She’d asked for the morning to consider their proposals. She’d read through the documents they’d sent over, and she might find portions that needed to change. But she knew what her answer would be, ultimately. There was only one answer she could give: yes.
The door to her office opened a crack, and Tig’s head poked in. He glanced at her slumped posture, and whispered, “You off?”
She nodded, feeling the lines of tension ease on her forehead. “Yeah. Come in.”
He nodded and stepped into the room. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just…another rough meeting.”
He was, she saw, holding two mugs of coffee, and he extended one to her. “I anticipated that.”
She smiled now, taking a long sip. “It really is your specialty, isn’t it?”
He grinned. “Come on. Let’s get breakfast.”
“I don’t think I can eat,” she groaned.
He watched her with worried eyes. “Your stomach again?”
“Oh get that look off your face, Mister Orson. I’m fine. It’s just a little queasiness. It’s nerves, I think, with all this crap from Central. I’m about ready to hand the damned planet over to them after all, and let them sort it out.”
He snorted, ignoring her attempt at deflection. “You’ve got nerves of steel, Ari. Nothing ruffles you.”
She tried again, easing out of her seat and wrapping an arm around him. “I don’t know. Some things ruffle me.”
“Hm,” he said, kissing her. “Nice try, but I’m not going to let you change the topic that easily.”
Nees laughed. “It was worth a try, anyway.”
“Come on, babe. You promised you’d check in with the doctor if you still felt bad.”
“I’ve got so much work, Tig.”
“And if you end up sicker than hell, none of it will get done.”
She groaned in protest, but nodded. “Alright, alright. You’re right. I’ll make an appointment this afternoon.”
“Good,” he said, kissing her again.
Despite her annoyance at the situation, at the time it would take and at his dogged persistence – and, worse, the solid reasoning behind it – she smiled. “But only to shut you up.”
