Savage Horizons

by CJ Birch

  I run a hand over my face, trying to calm down. I turn back and tug the knife from the wall. My hand shakes as I grip the handle, my fingers tingle.

  “Don’t pull a weapon unless you intend to use it,” he says.

  How can he be so calm? I’m about ready to burst through my skin. “You made your point.” I fumble the knife back into its sheath and take a moment to compose myself. I have nothing to focus on except the plain desk jutting from the wall. I use a breathing exercise, taught to me by Kate, the woman who took me in after my mom died. I haven’t had to use it in years. Now there are two people in my life who drive me mad enough to need diaphragmatic breathing.

  “Jordan, I’d never intentionally hurt you.”

  “You couldn’t if you tried.” I storm out of his cabin.

  * * *

  I spend the rest of the week overseeing repairs and readying the ship for our exploration of this galaxy. Any initial trepidation gives way to excitement. This is a chance to see what’s out there. We’re actually going to discover something new. After a millennia of hiding out in our own galaxy, never venturing further than our own solar system.

  As I walk the decks, running my fingers along new panels, I’m gripped by a sudden surge of pride. She isn’t much, the Persephone, but she’s got spunk. In a few more days, we should be ready to launch.

  The only thing left is the outside repairs to the hull near the breach. I don’t want to leave on such an unknown mission without having the ship one hundred percent ready.

  I’m in the mess the day before we launch. Meals don’t feel the same without Ash. Even Hartley, who hasn’t stopped talking the whole time, can’t keep my mind off her. I blink and look up at him when I notice the quiet. He’s stopped talking.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Didn’t you hear the intercom?”

  I cock my head, even though there’s nothing coming over the speaker. “No. Was it for me?”

  He shovels spaghetti into his mouth and speaks around the noodles dangling from between his teeth. “The doctor wants you to report to the med center.” A glob of tomato sauce rolls down his chin as he sucks up the noodles.

  “Dammit.” I jump up and dump my food, shoving the tray in a stack near the door, and rush out.

  My first thought is Ash. What if there’s been a complication with her treatment? Then I remember her harsh words the other day. She didn’t sound all that infirm to me. My next thought is probably more on the mark. Sarka.

  When I enter, Yakovich is lounging on one of the beds, confirming this thought. Her legs hang over the edge, swinging. Her shoulder is wrapped in a white bandage. The tattoos from her neck are visible now. They run from the nape of her neck all the way down her shoulder to her back and branch out along her arm. It’s clear what she spent most of her wealth on. Body art. The bandage is obscuring a hawk. Its wings span her back, the beak and head angle along her other shoulder. The detail and shading is astounding. She must have had it done on Alpha. That’s not something you’d get on one of the mining ships or even one of the mining cities on Epsilon.

  “What happened?” I ask. I scan for any other damage, but she appears fine otherwise.

  She leans back, but stops and sits up again when the movement puts pressure on her shoulder. “Wrestling match didn’t quite go my way. I’ll be fine, Captain. It’s a scratch.”

  “Wrestling is with hands, not sharp pointy objects,” says Dr. Prashad. He lifts a tablet from the counter and thumbs through her chart. The top of his dark brown scalp peeks through the hair at the top of his head. There’s a lot more gray now.

  I look over and see Ash sitting on a similar bed next to the doctor and my heart lurches. This is the first time we’ve been face to face since Sarka pulled her out of my cabin. And then the shame hits me full force. Shame that I never had the nerve to visit her, shame at what she said to Hartley.

  Instead of dealing with it head on, I turn back to Yakovich. “I thought Sarka…”

  She shakes her head. “He’s been as quiet as a cucumber.” She hops off the bed, careful of her shoulder. “Am I good to go, Doc?”

  Dr. Prashad waves her off. “Stay away from sharp objects for the next couple of days. And it’s as cold as a cucumber, not quiet.”

  “As far as I remember, cucumbers don’t make noises.” She smirks and ambles away, turning back to gaze at Ash. “Take care, Ash.” She nods at me as she passes. “Captain.”

  I turn back to Dr. Prashad. When I first met him, I didn’t think much of the short, opinionated man. That changed real quick the first time I had to go see him. Back then, I was only a second lieutenant, helming on a small cutter. And, as the doctor put it, I’d bitten off more than I could chew. I was dating this woman in botany, who among other things, was running me ragged with her stamina. One night, she had the idea of sneaking into the hydroponics hold where they grew the wheat grass. It turns out I’m allergic to wheat grass. I’m indebted to Dr. Prashad for his discretion, even if it did come with unsolicited advice.

  Ash is in uniform pants and a tank top, her tunic folded over the table beside her. She’s no longer wearing the brace, but her arms are still covered in grafting bandages. There are less of them, but they plaster the majority of her body. Her skin is so pale the freckles on her face stand out, making her appear younger and vulnerable.

  “Is she fit for duty?” I ask Dr. Prashad.

  “I’m fine.”

  I stare at the doctor, knowing Ash’s version of fine and mine aren’t the same in the least. Even if she’d lost a hand, she’d still say she was fine.

  “I don’t want her on any space walks until the grafts are healed, but I’m clearing her for light duties.” He hands me the tablet with her workup. I scroll through trying, and failing, to stay neutral. But seeing it here, her injuries stacked in list form, is overwhelming.

  “What are light duties? The grafts aren’t going to give her any problems are they?”

  “Despite my injuries, sudden deafness wasn’t one of them. I’m right here, you can talk to me, you know.” She glares at me from the exam bed. Her face is flushed. It happens often. Always a good indicator when she’s mad. Those green eyes flash dark, which means she’s ready for a fight.

  “You want to tone down that attitude, Lieutenant?”

  Her shoulders slump, but her eyes stay hard. “I’m sorry, Captain.” She sighs and looks down at her stilled legs. “I don’t think I can take another day sitting around doing nothing.”

  Classic Ash. I swear they invented the motto “it’s easier to beg forgiveness than to ask permission” for Ash. Her stance suggests she’s ready to beg forgiveness, but I’m not falling for it this time. Those eyes are still on fire.

  I touch Dr. Prashad’s arm, stealing his attention from a set of test results in his hand. “Can you give us a moment?” Startled, he looks around the empty med center and frowns.

  Sarka was right. My commands are more like requests. It’s a humiliating thought.

  I raise my eyebrows in question when he still doesn’t move. He makes a big show of taking his time. He purses his lips. He huffs. He unhooks the sensors covering Ash’s upper chest, then leaves.

  Christ. Am I that lax? Or did it start to unravel with Ash?

  Once we’re alone, I retreat to the counter a few feet away and lean against it. This is the first time we’ve been alone since my cabin. A million and one emotions slice through me. I want to explain to her how different it has to be. I want to scream at her for being reckless and scaring me to death. And at the same time I want to close the space between us and soothe the pain I see in her eyes. But I resist those things. Instead, I fold my arms across my chest and say, “I’m still your commanding officer.”

  “I don’t appreciate being ignored.” She’s quiet as she says this. I’d almost prefer if she yelled it at me. It would give me a chance to yell back and get rid of some of this pent up energy.

  “I wasn’t ignoring you. I was asking someone a little more obje
ctive about your condition. You’d jump back into work with missing limbs if I let you.”

  She shakes her head, like I’ve misunderstood her. “Are you going to let me resume my duties?” She looks equal parts angry and scared and confused. And beautiful. Even her bandages and bruises can’t take away from the innate fire deep inside her.

  I take a little too long to answer. I’m staring and it makes her self-conscious. She tucks stray hairs into the band keeping her hair up, trying to tame it. The red is darker in this light. It’s probably been days since she’s washed it.

  Before I can answer her she says, “I promise I’ll only work one shift. And I won’t overwork myself or the crew. I can’t sit around any longer.”

  “And if I order you to take it easy if you’re pushing yourself too hard?”

  She grabs her tunic and pulls it on, mindful of the grafting bandages on her arms. My fingers itch to reach out and help her with it, but I don’t. “Then I’ll pull back.”

  I snort. “You disobeyed a direct order, two if I remember correctly.”

  “I was trying to save people’s lives.”

  “It’s not up to you to decide that. I’m the captain. I make those choices.” I clamp down and take a few calming breaths before I go too far. It would be so easy to let go, for once, and get dark and furious. Usually I have no problem controlling it, but since my father’s been on board, it’s getting harder. I haven’t even dealt with the fact that she injected me with a drug to knock me unconscious so she could attempt suicide in an escape pod. “Ash, I need to be able to trust you, and right now, I don’t.”

  She sighs. It affects her whole body, lifting her shoulders. I know the choices she made were, in her mind, for the greater good. But if I let her get away with disobeying orders, she’s going to keep making those choices. I have no idea how to punish her. Usually I add an extra shift or confine them to quarters. If this was any other crew member I would assign them extra guard duty, but I don’t want her anywhere near Sarka.

  “What do you suggest I do? I mean, the amount of rules you’ve broken is staggering. I can’t let that go.”

  She laughs. It’s flat and angry. “I’m not the only one who broke rules.”

  “True. And we can both see why those rules are in place to begin with.”

  She hops off the bed and stalks toward me. “And I’m the one who gets punished for it?”

  And that’s all it takes. I let loose all the worry and frustration and anger I’ve been holding onto for the last couple of days. I barely stop myself from pushing her back onto the bed. I lean in close enough to smell the laundry detergent on her uniform. “Don’t you dare. Up until now, I’ve been so lenient with you. I’ve let you get away with more than I would any other crew member. I stupidly, stupidly thought you were worth the benefit of the doubt.”

  Ash’s face drains of all color except for two flecks of pink on her cheeks. She pulls away, but stumbles on the bed behind her. Her reaction isn’t enough to slow my diatribe.

  “I told you not to do anything stupid. And instead of listening to me for once, you go and do the opposite by ejecting the engine core. What did you think was going to happen?” I clench my fists so hard by my side, my muscles ache from the effort. “And what’s worse is that you knew you were going to do it even as you were promising me you wouldn’t. That whole time I was pouring my heart out, you were thinking, ‘What’s next?’’’ I turn away because I can’t look at her any longer. There’s so much more I want to say, but some of it I can never take back.

  I take several long breaths and wait for the calm to descend. It doesn’t help. I’m still furious at her. More than anything, I feel used, like a jackass for letting her play me. She could give two shits about me. All she cares about is herself and it hurts that I didn’t see it earlier. No wonder everyone on this ship thinks they can treat me like I’m nothing more than a fellow officer.

  It stops now.

  I turn back. Ash shoves her fists onto her hips. “Two days in the brig then,” she says.

  “What?”

  “That’s what you should do to punish me. Put me in the brig for two days.” She stares up at me with such challenge behind those fierce eyes.

  “I’m not going to put you in the brig.” If I did that, the crew would lose any respect they still had for her. As much as I want to put her in the brig, I can’t. It would certainly help me keep control of my crew. But I have to consider both of our reputations. There’s only one punishment that’ll work. “I’m putting you on medical leave.”

  Her whole body sinks. “No.”

  I hold up my hand to stop any argument. “You have two choices. Take medical leave, stay in your cabin, run on the track, but stay out of the way. Or, if you don’t like it, I’ll ask the Posterus to keep you and tell them you’re not well enough to come. That way, there won’t be a mark on your record. And that’s being generous.”

  If I thought she’d paled before, I was wrong. Her whole face has gone deathly white. She knows I mean it. I’m kicking myself for not doing this earlier. Maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. But as I march toward the door a small voice reminds me that we’d all be dead if I had. When I get to the door I say, “You don’t have to decide right now.” I can’t look at her. I’m too sick with emotion. It’s all too much. Instead of making me feel better, my outburst has made me feel worse about it all. “But I need to know before we disembark in two days.” I leave before she has a chance to respond.

  Chapter Six

  I hear the intercom go off a few times before it registers that someone’s trying to get ahold of me. I check my clock. It’s a little after five in the morning. I groan and whip the covers back. This had better be important.

  “What?” It’s a little gruffer than I intend.

  “I’m sorry to wake you, Captain, but we have a situation in the forward storcell.” It’s Tekada, my operations officer. Damn. He’s probably having an anxiety attack. He hates to be the bearer of bad news. And if he’s calling at five a.m., it’s bad news.

  If I had to choose one thing I hate about being captain, it’s being on call twenty-four seven.

  “I’m on my way.” I debate for two seconds if I should half-ass it and throw on anything, or actually take the time to look the part. I decide on the latter and rush out of my cabin, still fastening my tunic.

  I still haven’t woken up by the time I climb down five decks to the storcell, but as soon as I open the doors, I’m wide awake. What started off as the most boring send-off in human history has become the week from hell.

  We launched from the Posterus eight days ago and since then, nothing has gone right. It all started when one of our matter sails came loose and lodged in a bank of solar panels. It ripped the sail, destroying four panels. It forced us to cut systems to save energy.

  That was day one.

  I’d like to say I’ve never been one for superstitions or bad omens, but I’d be lying. It’s like that old sailor’s saying “you should never start a journey on a Friday.” As luck would have it, we launched on a fucking Friday. Of course, they also once said it was bad luck to have women on board a vessel. If that were the case, Union fleet would never have gotten out of dry dock.

  A few days after the matter sail disaster, we had a fire in the crew mess. We’ve had to close it down and outfit one of the cargo holds to handle the runoff from the officer’s mess. We now have only one kitchen with two ovens to feed over a hundred people. To keep everyone happy I’ve had the cooks prepare prepackaged protein meals the crew can grab off-hours. It also means keeping the officer’s mess open twenty-four seven. But so far I only have four cooks threatening to mutiny if they don’t get their kitchens back.

  Ash has become a stranger. It’s for the best and I don’t blame her, but I notice her absence more than I’d like to admit. I spend all my meals watching Hartley slurp his way through our menu, hoping Ash will join us. But she avoids regular mess hours.

  One day, H
artley surprises me by asking, “Would you like to have dinner with me sometime, Captain?”

  I hope he isn’t asking what I think he is. “We’re having dinner right now.”

  “I don’t mean like this.” He waves his hand around, indicating the crew surrounding us, or the mess itself. “I mean like you and me.”

  “Are you asking me out on a date, Hartley?”

  He nods and spears his fork into some pasta on his plate. It wobbles for a second before breaking off a hunk and falling on the table. “Is that a yes?”

  I look around. It’s empty now. Most of the crew prefer to eat at the larger tables in the cargo hold. But there’s still enough to overhear our conversation. “Did someone put you up to this?”

  He picks up his fork as he shakes his head. “No, why would you think that?” He mashes his potatoes flat with the tines of his fork. “Ash is teaching me to pick up women. And I thought since you’re a woman and I already spend time with you.”

  I try not to smile. I don’t think he’d appreciate it. “She’s teaching you to pick up women?” This is what she’s decided to do with her time?

  “She calls it, ‘talking to women,’” he says with air quotes. “But I know how to talk to women. I don’t know how to make them continue talking with me after the first few minutes.”

  “Well, Hartley, I’m flattered you chose me as your guinea pig, but—”

  “I asked Olczyk first, but she turned me down. And then I asked Quinn, but I didn’t push my luck because I’m pretty sure she could kick my ass.”