by Zen DiPietro
Arin walked over, seeing the tight formation of the knives. He reached out and pulled them free with a hard yank, then handed them back to her.
“Did you know I could do that?” Em asked.
“I’ve never seen you throw that fast, or quite that close together, but yeah, I know you’re good.”
“Better than my record indicates,” she clarified.
Arin showed no surprise. “Yeah.”
Relief washed over her. If he knew that, then she must have known she could trust him. Thank goodness for her knife throwing. Now she had two allies.
She could work with that.
“Report.” Captain Nevitt eyed Em with the look of distaste she’d become accustomed to.
Em ran through the morning security briefing. The usual rundown of the day’s scheduled comings and goings, along with some petty misbehavior during the night shift. Her staff had handled it all perfectly.
Nevitt acknowledged the report with a lift of her chin. Instead of dismissing Em as she’d expected, the captain said, “I need to see you in my annex.” Without waiting for a reply, Nevitt stood and strode across ops to the doorway at one side. The door opened and Em followed her into the captain’s annex.
When the door closed behind them, Nevitt sat and indicated that Em should do the same. From behind her desk, the captain studied Em, not quite frowning, but almost.
The small room was decorated sedately in shades of burgundy and charcoal. The standard-issue desk and chairs ate up most of the space. The only other noteworthy features were a low shelf filled with infoboards and a window that was more than a porthole and less than a starport.
Nevitt spoke abruptly. “Any improvement with your memory?”
“No. So far I haven’t remembered anything about myself. Everything not directly associated with my identity is completely intact, but I’m sure Brannin already told you that.”
“Yes. He also said that your condition could prove to be permanent.” Nevitt’s expression gave nothing away.
Em acknowledged the fact with a small nod. “I have an appointment to see him this afternoon.”
“During your shift?” Nevitt’s tone sharpened.
“Doctor’s orders. He said it was the only time he could manage it.” The chief medical officer had the authority to countermand the captain’s orders, when he judged that health matters trumped all else. Besides the doctor, Em was the only other person on the station who could countermand a captain’s order. In the case of a security crisis, Em could take full control of the station. Which was precisely why a captain preferred to select his or her own security chief.
Nevitt narrowed her eyes, staring at Em for long moments that would be uncomfortable for most people. Finally, she spoke again. “I’ve been informed that a Briveen ship is on its way to Dragonfire. They’re experiencing a malfunction in their navigation system.”
“I’ll add the arrival to the schedule and assign an officer as their liaison.”
“I want you to handle that personally. One of the Briveen is a high-ranking official and I want to be sure that they feel they’ve been properly received.”
Oh, scrap. Em kept her expression neutral, but dealing with a Briveen group was as appealing as driving a nail through her hand. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the Briveen. But the most basic thing, such as saying hello, became a ritual that took at least ten minutes, and often longer, depending on which ones were necessary. Oh, and woe to the officer who did not perform the ritual properly. That would require an atonement and apology ritual.
Em simply nodded in compliance because there was nothing else she could do.
“Good. I’ll send you their ETA and the ship’s registry. It will be up to you to organize the repairs.” For once, Nevitt’s expression softened. She didn’t quite smirk, as she was too regal for that. But she knew exactly what she was demanding of Em, and how unpleasant it would be.
Em kept her tone brisk and professional. “Excellent. Thank you. Is there anything else I can do for you?” She wasn’t about to let Nevitt think she’d scored one on her.
“No, that’s all. The doctor will update me if he discovers anything I should know about during your appointment.” She paused. A normal captain would inquire about Em’s general well-being. “Dismissed.”
Em stood and bowed, and Nevitt returned the gesture from a seated position. A tiny slight, but not technically impolite, by PAC standards.
On the way to her office, Em bristled. Nevitt must really hate her to stick her with a Briveen official during a time that was presumably already difficult for her. What was the point of all that animosity? It wasn’t like Em had appointed herself to Dragonfire. An admiral had done that, for no reason Em had been able to discern thus far. Nevitt’s pique should have been directed toward the admiral, but she couldn’t risk that. Instead, she clearly enjoyed complicating Em’s life.
Fine. It would be boring and tedious, but Em would do her job flawlessly. Once in her office, she updated the schedule with the Briveen ship’s details and requested Arin’s assistance for the arrival. Having the top two security officers greet them would certainly look good, and if they liked Arin, she might be able to excuse herself from a ritual or two. She smirked. The benefits of authority worked in a downward trajectory, and being the second most senior officer had its perks.
She raked her fingers through her hair, shrugging off the interaction with Nevitt. Fortunately, her duties ensured that she only crossed paths with the captain once or twice per day. Now she could get down to work.
First, she ran through her mechanical checks, ensuring the proper performance of all sensors and security subroutines. Then she went through her non-urgent messages. She liked the feeling of efficiency as she worked through her morning work ritual. The thought made her pause, wondering if the Briveen got a similar feeling from their customs. It was something to think about. Later. When she didn’t have work to do. She was booked up for today.
She made her boardwalk rounds early, adjusting for the arrival of the Briveen. She nodded hello and exchanged pleasantries with the shopkeeps and maintenance workers who kept an eye out for her on the boardwalk. She peeked into Cabot Layne’s shop but he was busy showing some sort of instrument to a customer. He gave her a wave though, before she moved on.
“Hey, Chief.” An adolescent Atalan girl grinned at her. She was twelve or thirteen, and all elbows, knees, and teeth. Em smiled, recognizing the awkwardness of the age. In spite of her gangliness, the girl had enviably smooth, naturally tan skin and huge violet eyes, as well as a crop of long brown curls. Atalan genetics had a lot to recommend them. Whenever the girl burst out of her awkward cocoon, she would be stunning.
Em didn’t recall her own awkward adolescence, though she was sure she’d had one. For once, her memory loss didn’t seem like such a terrible thing.
“Hey, sport,” Em answered playfully, going with her instinct.
The girl rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t dim. “That’s the worst one yet. What age do I have to be before you’ll just call me by my name?”
“Fifty-two.”
The girl rolled her eyes again, giggling.
“Tell you what,” Em said in an I’ll-make-you-a-deal sort of way. “Get top marks in all your subjects this term and I’ll think about it.”
The girl pouted thoughtfully. “I earned seconds and thirds last term. I could probably get some firsts if I studied extra. I don’t know about all firsts though.”
“I’ll sweeten the deal,” Em offered. “Get top marks this term and I’ll give you a student internship in security.” Could she do that? Did that exist on Dragonfire? What the hell. She was the chief, so she’d make it exist, if it didn’t already. Maybe the girl wouldn’t be at all interested, anyway.
But the girl’s jaw dropped. “Seriously? Would you teach me to fight?” Her eyes glowed with excitement.
“I would teach you self-defense, as well as some methods to subdue, if your parents agreed to the internship.”
Her antics caught the attention of a boy about the same age, who approached them. “What’s up, Nix? Is there a sale on holo-vids?” He nodded to Em. “Hey, Chief. Cool hair.”
Em nodded back. “Thanks, Ratboy.” She froze, horrified. Prelin’s ass, what kind of thing was that to say? Who called a kid Ratboy? But the boy laughed and flashed two fingers, which Em interpreted as the latest way of saying something akin to “cool.”
Huh. She got along with kids and they liked it when she called them names. That was certainly interesting. She’d have to ask Wren about that later. And do some studying up on the children of the station. Kids would be a lot harder to fool than adults. They didn’t respect the same boundaries and demanded more.
“You should add some color to it,” Nix suggested. “Like some bright blue and purple. That would look really good on you.”
Actually, Em liked that idea. “I’ll have to think about it. Maybe I will. For now, I need to finish my rounds. Stay out of trouble, all right?”
They laughed and both flashed her the hand sign. She considered returning the gesture, but thought better of it. She gave them a wave instead. No sense in making herself look like an old person trying to be young and trendy. She might lose her credibility with these kids.
She felt oddly chuffed about her encounter with the teens. For some reason, it pleased her that youth on the station knew and liked her. That must mean she was doing a good job. They saw her as someone to like and look up to, rather than fear and avoid. She felt really good about that. She made a mental note to check into creating a program for kids, if there wasn’t one already. She hadn’t come across anything like that so far, so she suspected there wasn’t. Getting kids involved in their community could only be a good thing, and they could learn some useful skills as well.
After rounds she had a quick lunch in her office and got herself to Docking Bay Three. Arin stood beside her, looking solemn. Once the four Briveen disembarked, the elaborate bows, gestures, and pro forma responses ensued.
Nothing about the greeting ritual was that terrible, really. It was just so long. And exacting. The Briveen official, Honorable First Son Gretch of the House Arkrid, seemed pleasant enough. The other Briveen, of lesser castes, remained quiet behind him. She and Arin gave them all a brief tour of the parts of Deck One that they’d be using during their stay, since they’d declined to visit their quarters on Deck Four just yet. It turned out that Gretch had been on Dragonfire before, but the others hadn’t.
After the tour, they took their leave of the Briveen outside the restaurant that catered to their people. Their flaring nostrils indicated their rapture at the scent of mandren meat—a delicacy from Briv that few offworlders could tolerate.
As the only PAC species descended from reptiles, the Briveen were unique compared to what they called the “simian” species, which included humans, Bennites, Sarkavians, and everyone else descended from primates. None of the species in question considered it a derogatory phrase, and in fact, many had adopted it into their own vernacular.
The somewhat dragonlike people had an acute sense of smell, far superior to that of any other sapient species. They had fewer facial muscles, which resulted in a much smaller range of facial expressions, so they’d evolved to communicate with one another by emitting scents that corresponded to emotions. Most of them were pleasant enough, but a few of the more passionate aromas were ones a wise simian avoided. A weaker sense of smell and a lack of many offworlding Briveen meant that few non-Briveen learned to interpret the smell communication properly anyway.
After the goodbye ritual, which Gretch graciously shortened to a mere ten minutes of gestures, bows, and statements, Em and Arin went to her office.
In the lift, Arin let out a long sigh. “Glad that’s done. I’ve always found the Briveen perfectly cordial, but it’s draining to be around them.”
“The rituals can be tough,” Em agreed. “And if you get something wrong, there’s the teeth clicking.” The sound could mean disapproval, frustration, or irritation, but never meant anything good. The Briveen took their rituals very seriously.
“Well, yeah, that. But also the way they look.”
“Really? I think they’re lovely. Their scales come in such brilliant colors, and most of them have that two-tone color shift. That bothers you?”
He shifted from one foot to the other. “Not really. It’s their eyes. They don’t, you know, blink a lot. Makes me feel like they’re staring. Like they disapprove of me.”
Em laughed. “I guess. I never thought about it that way. I like looking at them. Their faces are…I don’t know, almost majestic. Stoic.”
Arin shrugged. “Maybe it’s their lack of expression that unnerves me. I mean, I know it’s just how they are, and I don’t hold it against them…” He trailed off, looking embarrassed.
“Yeah, I get it. We’re used to people who smile or frown or glare. They don’t do much of that. But imagine how much harder it was back before the PAC had ironed out an official pidgin language. We have it pretty easy, comparatively.”
“Yeah, we do.” He bit his lip. “I didn’t mean that I dislike the Briveen or anything. I do like their scales,” he added sheepishly. “And they have awesome cybernetic arms. I especially like it when they don’t match their scale color and just go with metal. That always looks wildly impressive.” His words came in a rush of explanation.
“Relax. I know you’re not racist. I think if you spent more time with people from Briv, you’d become more accustomed to their uniqueness.” Her lips twisted into a slow grin. “So to help you out with that, I’ll let you be their primary contact.”
He sighed, smiling ruefully. “I walked into that. Fine. You need time for your info gathering, anyway.”
She sent him a warning glance. She hadn’t secured the lift, and it could have a monitoring device. He nodded his understanding.
“They should be fine for now. Their meals take a while, with the giving of thanks ritual and all. The mechanical team has already started on their shuttle. It’s an off-the-line cruiser class, so that should be an easy fix. In the meantime, I want to do a little sparring in the training room.”
“Sparring?” He clearly hadn’t expected her to say that.
“Make sure I’m up to par, after the accident and all.” She sent him another meaningful glance.
“Right. Sure. If you’re certain you’re up to it.”
She absolutely was. But she only said, “I’m sure.”
“Again.” Em stood sideways, ready for anything.
Arin didn’t move to strike her this time, but to trap her. A better strategy, since she’d evaded or rebuffed every one of his attacks. She was extremely strong for a woman her size, but he was stronger.
She slipped away, refusing to give him a shoulder, an elbow, a wrist to grab. He went for her feet, forcing her to the ground. Again, a better strategy than going toe-to-toe with her, where she could evade any of his attempts to strike.
She resisted the urge to throw a punch, which would give him the grip he needed to grapple her and force her to submission. She kept herself in check until she saw her opportunity, grabbing his elbow, extending his arm, and twisting herself around onto her back. She started cranking his arm back at the joint, letting physics do the work that pure muscle power couldn’t.
Arin smacked the floor and she released him. They both got to their feet, breathing hard.
“Are we done?” Arin asked, taking a swig from his water bottle. Em considered him from an esthetic standpoint. Not only did he have a handsome face, he had broad shoulders, a slim waist, and lots of muscle. For her purposes, he was a well-built fighting machine, but from a more objective perspective, it was no wonder he was one of the most eligible singles on the station.
“I think so.” She grabbed a towel and wiped her forehead. They’d been at it for nearly an hour. There’d been
no doubt from the start that though he was an excellent hand-to-hand fighter, she outmatched him in every skill set. She compensated for her inferior strength by using his own strength against him. She could anticipate moves before he made them, based on his posture and balance. Every time he tried to strike her, she’d latch on and force him down or off-balance. She used precision hits and obscure stress points. She had all the skills, and she knew how to fight dirty, too.
“The question is—” she tossed the towel to a bench that sat along the wall of the training room, “—have you seen me fight like this before?” Her blood sang with the glory of the fight. She felt nearly invincible.
“No. Not like this. You’ve beaten me before, but not every time. That means you were throwing matches, doesn’t it?” He didn’t seem offended, just bewildered.
“Seems like it. I have no idea why.”
“What’s your target accuracy?” he asked.
“Ninety-eight-point-three percent.”
His lips puckered in a silent whistle. “Your record says ninety-two percent.”
His was eighty-eight. An excellent rating. But nothing like hers.
“You should have been top of your class.” He rolled his shoulders, stretching the muscles after the workout.
“Yep. But I wasn’t. I was always right up there among the best, but never received the top scores. The question is why. Did I suddenly improve after school, or was I intentionally keeping my scores down?” She sat and adopted a yoga pose to stretch her back.
“How could you improve that much, so fast? And why would you sabotage your own grades?” He bent at the waist, stretching his legs.
“Rapid improvement wouldn’t explain why my current records aren’t accurate. I think there’s some systematic effort to keep me from looking exceptional.” She shifted into another pose, stretching her hips and thighs.
“For what purpose? You don’t want to get too much responsibility? You don’t want to overshadow someone else? You want to stay below the radar? What?”
She paused between poses. “That last one. Not wanting to stand out and get noticed too much. That seems to fit.” She pursed her lips, running the idea through her mind. “Maybe I didn’t want someone to find me? Someone from my past?”
