by JN Chaney
“Two slip tunnels, I believe. Combined, the trek would amount to one day’s journey. The first tunnel is the same as our current heading, however, regardless of what you decide.”
“Fine, we’ll take the first and figure the rest out later,” I said.
I wasn’t interested in keeping these men on my ship, but the thought of going that far out of the way to drop them off seemed like a waste of resources and time. Why had I stopped myself from killing all three of them when I had the chance? They’d come on this ship, captured my crew, tried to take my home away from me. These assholes deserved to die.
So why hadn’t I killed them? Why did I give Abigail or the albino a say in in what I did and who I shot?
Had I lost my touch, somehow?
Or was I getting soft?
* * *
Siggy managed to quarantine the other A.I., preventing it from calling anyone. At the same time, set the ship’s course for the nearby gas giant, where it would enter the atmosphere and, with any luck, never be seen again.
I couldn’t say it was much of a loss. That was one less Union ship in the galaxy.
What concerned me more than anything, presently, were the men in our storage room. One way or another, I’d have to decide what to do with them.
But not before I took care of an important matter. “Freddie! Get your ass in here!”
I was in the lounge, staring at the recently-acquired coffeemaker.
“Captain, is that you?” called Freddie from inside one of the guest quarters.
He came running a second later. “Where’s my coffee, Freddie? I thought I told you to make some.”
“I tried, but the machine is complicated,” he said. I watched him mess with the control panel, attempting to punch in a command. “Medium cup, two creamers, no sugar. See? It won’t work.”
I moved him aside. “You’re doing it wrong.”
“Was I?” he asked. “I suppose I’m not used to it.”
I tried entering another string of orders into the machine, then pressed Enter. Nothing happened.
“Maybe it’s broken,” Freddie suggested.
“Already? We just got the damn thing. No way it needs fixing this soon.”
“What do you suggest we—”
“Is something wrong in here?” asked Hitchens as he arrived from the cargo bay.
“We’re trying to get this to work,” I said, turning the machine around to get a peek behind it.
“Did you, by chance, procure it from the Union ship?” Hitchens asked.
I looked at him. “Where else would I get it?”
“Ah, I see. In that case, I believe you’ll need to have your A.I. unit integrate with it.”
“What are you going on about?” I asked.
“Everything on Union ships is tied into its A.I. unit, even smaller devices like this one,” explained Hitchens.
I scoffed. “Why the hell didn’t Octavia tell me about this when I dragged the damn thing over here?”
“She may have assumed you knew,” Hitchens said.
Now that I thought about it, I’d heard from Ollie a few months ago that the Union was moving away from independent hardware, preferring to use a closed system on each of their ships. He’d been complaining at the time about how more and more of the Union tech he’d bought had to be reconfigured to work outside of their ships. I thought nothing of it at the time.
“Goddammit,” I muttered. “Siggy, can you interface with this thing?”
“Attempting now,” said the A.I. “Access granted.”
“That was fast,” I said.
“I do aim to please, sir.”
I punched in the command again and stepped back.
A glorious smell filled the lounge, igniting my senses. I went for the cup as soon as the machine finished, pressing the rim of the cup to my lips, and sipping.
And then I spit it out.
“What the fuck!” I snapped, setting the cup down.
“Is it bad?” asked Freddie.
Hitchens grabbed a second mug and filled it, taking a short drink. “Oh, goodness,” he said, scrunching his nose. “That is not good at all.”
“Fucking Union,” I cursed. “They can’t even get coffee right!”
* * *
Docker’s wound tore again and had to be sewn. Octavia managed it while Freddie and I held him down. We couldn’t have him trying anything, not that I thought he would.
Still, I wasn’t a fool. Abigail kept a rifle pointed at his skull, just to be safe.
His eyes stayed locked on the barrel the entire time. I couldn’t say I blamed him, what with the anger in Abby’s eyes. She was ruthless when she had to be, and when it came to protecting Lex, I knew she’d do anything.
“That should do it,” said Octavia, relaxing back in her chair. “He needs to rest, though.”
“That right, Docker?” I asked. “You need to rest?”
“Whatever you want!” he said, still looking at Abigail.
I leaned forward. “How about you answer a quick question for me?”
“Okay,” he said, breathing heavily.
“Who sent you after us? What were your orders?”
“Our orders?”
“Don’t play stupid, Docker. Next to your captain, who’s dead now, by the way, you’re the highest-ranking person in your crew. I’m sure you know why you’re here. Better yet, who gave you the order in the first place?”
He gulped, a bead of sweat running down his fat neck. “Th-That would be General Brigham. He’s—”
“Did you just say Brigham? The guy in charge of the Galactic something?”
“The UFS Galactic Dawn,” he answered, nodding.
I stared into his terrified eyes, seeing if there was any truth in there. I wagered there was, given how much fear I saw in him. But he was smart. He knew how to stay alive, and right now the only way to do that was to tell me the truth.
I got to my feet and looked at Abigail. “Let’s put him back with the other two.”
She lowered her gun, but only slightly. “You’re done asking questions?”
“For now,” I said, glancing at Docker. “But the two of us are going to speak again, Docker. You got that? And I don’t want any problems from you.”
“No problems, sir,” he said.
We tossed him in the cell and closed the wall, locking him inside with the other two prisoners, the ensign and the officer who’d tried to tie up Abigail. They had no light, no bathroom, nothing but the cold metal surrounding them on all sides. It was hardly a way to live, but certainly better than dying.
* * *
Abigail and I met in the cockpit, a few minutes later. She placed her rifle at the door. “What’s going on?” she asked me.
I cut right to it. “Who the fuck is Brigham?” I asked. “Does he have some vendetta against you? Was he there when you kidnapped the kid?”
“Brigham? He’s the head of the Union’s Third Defense Operational Wing. He controls their largest carrier.”
“A carrier,” I repeated. “A ship that’s so goddamn big it can fit a thousand of mine inside it. That’s the guy chasing you.” I paused, shaking my head. “The guy chasing us.”
She nodded. “But he can’t find our ship if we keep moving.”
“We were moving, but these six idiots still managed to find us.”
“I wasn’t expecting that.”
“You and me both. Siggy, can you pull up everything you have on General Brigham?”
“Right away, sir.”
I leaned against the wall, pulling out a piece of hard candy and unwrapping it. Before tossing it back in my mouth, I glanced at Abigail, who seemed to be watching me. “You want one?” I asked, offering the sweet.
“Oh, I’m okay,” she said, holding her palm up.
“Suit yourself,” I said, throwing the candy back. It was a delicious kessil flavor, based on a fruit from Kandil Six. Common enough that you could find it on just about every planet in Union space as well
as most Deadlands worlds. Common for a reason, I thought. They were easy to grow, simple to harvest. But more importantly, they were perfect for hangovers.
I had six sitting in the fridge. Maybe I’d go and grab two of them when this business was over, along with some soup. I ran out of tomato, but I still had a noodle and beef blend waiting for me in the cabinet. Now that I thought about it, I really needed to go grocery shopping.
Did they have grocers this far out in the Deadlands? I honestly didn’t know.
“Analysis complete,” said Siggy. “Please forgive the delay, sir. I had to mask our network ID before accessing the galactic net.”
“No problem,” I said, cracking the candy with my teeth. “Let’s see this guy’s bio.”
A holographic display appeared over my console, showing the head and chest of a middle-aged man with white hair and brown eyes. The image, if I had to guess, probably came from his military record, since he wore a Union dress outfit, his chest fixed with a large block of ribbons. I couldn’t guess what any of them were for, but if the biography was any indication, the man understood war better than most.
Name: General Marcus H. Brigham
Age: 62
Place of Birth: Androsia
Rank: General, Grade-2
Height: 182 cm
Marital Status: Divorced
Latest Assignment: UFS Galactic Dawn
-List of Medals and Awards-
I reached over and touched the list of awards. It expanded, revealing what must have been an additional fifty lines. There were several impressive-looking ones, although I had no idea whether they actually were.
Medal of Valor (on three occasions)
Norsdad Medal of Excellence
Legion of Honor
Galactic Cross
Union Medal of Excellence (on six occasions)
Union Fleet Decoration for Gallantry
Union Fleet Award for Valor
The rest of the list went on for several pages, dating back twenty-five years. This was a dedicated soldier if ever I’d seen one.
I collapsed the awards and brought up the model for his ship, the UFS Galactic Dawn. It took the place of Brigham in the holo display—a carrier with what must have been a thousand strike ships. There was probably enough firepower onboard this monstrosity to glass an entire city, maybe even a planet.
“What do you think?” Abigail asked, staring over my shoulder.
“I think we’ve got a problem,” I said, stepping back from the display. “And it’s worse than I expected.”
Twelve
“Where have you been?” asked Octavia as Abigail and I joined her in the cargo bay.
Hitchens was there beside her, each of them near the electron microscope. “In all the commotion, we nearly forgot to check in on the blood analysis,” said the doctor.
“Did you find anything?” asked Abigail, passing me in a hurry.
I stayed back and observed, having learned a long time ago that sometimes it’s better to shut up and listen.
Octavia retrieved a vial of blood from the table. “It’s interesting, actually. Lex’s—”
“Where is Lex?” asked Abigail. “I’d rather she not hear this.”
“Frederick is looking after her,” assured Hitchens. “I believe he’s going over her spelling lesson.”
Abigail nodded. “Thank you. What’s wrong with her cells?”
“Actually, that’s the strange part. There’s nothing necessarily wrong with them. They’re just…better. In fact, the more I examine Lex, that’s the conclusion I keep drawing. She’s simply better.”
Abigail tilted her head. “I’m not sure I’m following.”
“The human body is a funny thing. No matter the situation, it will try to heal itself, to survive as long as possible.” She took her fingernail and slid it along her wrist. “When you get cut, there’s damage, so it needs to be healed. You have to be put back together. Normally, we’d apply some medicine and it wouldn’t be a problem, but out in the wild, your body has to do everything on its own. Scarring is how it does that.”
I leaned forward, away from the wall. “Lex didn’t scar, so what does that mean?”
“From what I can gather,” continued Octavia, “which isn’t much since I don’t have access to a lab, Lex’s body isn’t creating a disorganized scaffolding for the cells to grow on. That’s unusual, because if it were one of us, we’d see the opposite. Our cells would attempt to heal the wound, building that scaffolding in the process, and a scar would form. Instead, Lex’s blood is creating a crystalline structure with clean regularity. This is beyond unusual. It simply doesn’t happen.”
“You got all that from testing her blood?” I asked.
“Partially. Her blood cells, unlike the rest of ours, contain no defective or inadequate copies. They grow orderly, making for flawless regeneration.” She looked at the vial of blood in her hand. “They’re perfect.”
“Does any of this make sense to you?” I asked, looking at Abigail.
“A little,” she said, giving me a nod. “Octavia, if I’m understanding you correctly, you’re telling us that Lex’s body can heal faster, is that right?”
It’s not just that,” said the former Union medical officer. “If these early screenings are right, her white blood cells are also far more efficient. For whatever reason, she was born like this.”
“Could those Union scientists have done this?” I asked.
“As far as I know, the technology to genetically modify a human at this level does not exist, but the Union has its share of secrets and hidden labs, so who knows?”
“I took her from one, so clearly they were doing something to her,” said Abigail. “I thought it was because of her tattoos, but what if…” Her voice trailed. “…what if there was more to it?”
Hitchens, who had been silent for most of the conversation, cleared his throat. “I believe we still have much to learn. As talented and brilliant as Octavia is, she isn’t a biologist. None of this is certain, not without more evidence and testing.”
Octavia nodded. “I agree. We’ll need to find a proper facility with—”
“We don’t have time for that,” I interrupted. “We’ve got a Union ship the size of a small moon after us. Whatever this is,” I motioned at the electron microscope and the vials of blood next to it. “We can figure it all out later, once we’re in the clear.”
“But what about Lex?” asked Abigail.
“You heard Octavia. Her health is fine. Better than fine, if I got it right.”
“You did,” confirmed Octavia.
“See? I’ll admit, half of the science was lost on me, but I got the important shit.”
Abigail took a step closer to me, staring at me with her green eyes. “Once we take care of the rest, I want your assurances that we’ll find answers for Lex.”
The tone in her voice was vulnerable, in a way, or about as close to vulnerable as a woman like this could be. It caught me off guard. “We’ll do that,” I said, staring at her.
“I have your word?” she asked, leaning in.
Her scent flowed across my face, like I was noticing it for the first time. Her blonde hair fell below her shoulders in a disorganized mess, but there was something to the madness, the way the light bounced off the strands. It was…
What the fuck am I doing?
I took a step back. “Yeah, all right, lady. You got it.” I turned away from her. “If we’re done talking about magic blood, I’m going to bed. Hitchens, make sure you feed the prisoners. Don’t touch my fruit.”
“Y-You want me to…to feed the three of them by myself?”
“Someone has to. Get Freddie to help you.” I walked into the corridor, not giving him a chance to respond.
Thirteen
“…leaving slipspace, sir.”
I cracked my eyes open, groggy and tired. Siggy’s voice, calm as it was, felt like needles in my brain. The holo screen in my room was still on, illuminating the dark. When
had I fallen asleep?
“Sir,” said Sigmond. “We’re about to—”
“Okay, I heard you,” I said, turning on my side. All I wanted to do was go back to sleep. “Siggy, how long until—”
I froze when I felt it. The wet, cold liquid in my bed.
Had I pissed myself?
No, that wasn’t it. It didn’t smell like piss. I licked my chapped lips, tasting what remained of the whiskey in my mouth.
I swept my hand across the drenched sheet, to where the puddle was at its deepest, and felt the empty flask with my index finger. I must have fallen asleep drinking it.
I eased off the bed, drops of whiskey falling from my boxers. I need a shower, I thought.
The sheets would need to be changed. I’d have to clean the mattress, too. The last thing I remembered, I was in bed, watching an old holo film about a professional thief. He was trying to rob a bank, but I couldn’t remember the ending.
It didn’t matter. I’d spent longer than I meant to, and I still had to bathe and dress, all in the next few minutes. If Abigail saw me like this, she’d lose her mind.
Not that I cared. Let her try to lecture me. Doesn’t matter. This is my ship.
I yawned and took a swig of water from the jug beneath my bed, then told Siggy to start up the shower, medium hot.
Eight and a half minutes later, I was clean and toweling my face. I stood in front of the mirror, examining my bloodshot eyes, thirsty as hell. Maybe I should lay off the booze, I thought, remembering how when I was twenty-five, I could drink my way through every bar in town and still be sober enough to take a woman home to bed.
In those days, back when I was just some punk kid on Epsy, I thought I could drink and fuck my way into eternity. No one would stand in my way. I was going to have it all and live forever.
But that was how it was when you were young and stupid. You thought the world was yours, and maybe it could’ve been, had you played a better hand, but kids are always too stupid to see it, to know what the right call is.
They fall in love, make silly choices. They kill the wrong guy or screw the wrong girl. That’s how you end up dead in a gutter, a worthless little shit without a credit to your name, gone before anyone knew who you were.
Without a ship or a crew.
