Captain Cosette

by R. Bruce Sundrud

  “But…?”

  “But…”

  Cosette wondered why the woman was hesitating. She imagined horrible things. “Yes?”

  “But…your back. You’ve got scars. Old ones, lots of them.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Stripes, like you’ve been whipped.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, I’m not. Didn’t you know you had scars?”

  “I can’t see my back. I don’t remember anything happening to my back.”

  Rasora spoke up. “Cosette’s had a memory loss. She doesn’t remember anything about her childhood.”

  “Oh,” said Tiebout. “Amnesia.”

  “Not really. Well, sort of. It was an accident with a teaching machine. A lot of her memories are still buried, including those about her childhood.”

  The medic arrived, clucked at the wound, and began spraying something cold on her back. “Worm?”

  “No,” said Tiebout.

  “Ragged metal,” said Riling.

  “Ah. Good. Those worms carry some bad diseases.” The medic pulled some equipment from his bag and began closing the wound.

  “Don’t you remember getting those scars on your back, Cosette?” asked Tiebout. “Someone whipped you pretty bad. Who would do such a thing?”

  Maybe I was a wicked child, stealing whatever I wanted. Or I had older sisters who hated me because I was so much more beautiful than they. Or maybe I knew where the man I loved was hiding, and they wanted me to tell because he was a spy and I wouldn’t, no matter how they whipped me and…

  “Whoever did that should have been jailed.”

  “Maybe he was,” said Rasora. “Or she was. Until Cosette’s memory comes back, we can only guess.”

  “There should be records,” said the medic.

  “If there are, they’re back on Sorine somewhere.”

  “She’s going to have another scar from this,” said Riling. “Maybe she should give up being a soldier and learn how to fish. As I said, I could always use a….”

  “Could we have some privacy?” said the medic. “I need to put some dressings on her.”

  “Everybody out!” said Tiebout. “Now!”

  Cosette watched them file out. She felt some tugging at her back as the medic finished closing the wound, but no pain.

  The last to leave was Major Dyson. She had not heard him come in, but he looked at her with concern, and grasped her hand.

  She squeezed back. “I’m okay.”

  He nodded, and pulled the door closed behind him.

  “You’ve cut into some muscle here, but you’re young and you’ll heal fast,” the medic said. “For the next couple of days you need to limit your activity. No work. No sports. Nothing fun, you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t ‘sir’ me, I’m not an officer.”

  “Yes…..doctor.”

  No work.

  And every hour the Union forces locked the planet in tighter.

  Chapter Twelve

  Audrey waved a feminine hand at Geraldo, who was unpacking her exotic faux silk dresses. “You’re such a darling to put those away for me, Geraldo,” she said, unaware that her world and her heart were about to be shattered again in Blazing Hearts on Fire Again, the sequel to this novel (soon to be available as a major vid production).

  Geraldo held a diaphanous red dress in front of him as though wondering if it would fit. “I’m sorry, babe, but the bodice is ripped on this one.”

  “That happens often,” she said, waving her hand again.

  Cosette turned off the Renée Chevalier book and watched the wooden boat slide onto the beach. Private Riling leaped out, his dark skin sparkling from the surf. He pulled a net from the boat with several flopping fish in it.

  “Hey, girl!” he shouted to her, “I got a couple ardomi today! Tonight we feast! You ain’t lived until you tasted ardomi!”

  He hefted the net over his back and hauled the load up to a hut topped with wooden shingles as children wearing tops in blue and purple and green danced and cheered alongside him. Tiebout leaned in the doorway, her arms folded. She was wearing native clothes, a combination of blousy pants, a bare midriff, and a short top of riotously colored cloth.

  “Did you find a woman to clean for you?” Cosette called to Riling.

  He grinned and pointed to Tiebout. “My wife does the fish. She’s a good cook.”

  Cosette twisted in her hammock and looked at Tiebout with puzzlement. “You’re his wife?”

  Tiebout laughed. “I hate to admit it, but yes. As I said, some of us have gone native.”

  “But, back at the compound, he was asking me, I mean, he sounded like he was looking for a wife, didn’t he?”

  Tiebout shook her head. “He was just complimenting you. You have to know these people. Besides, if he had been serious I’d have taken his head off.”

  Riling laughed, dropping the net at Tiebout’s feet. “I don’t know nothing about nothing, I just have fun!”

  Tiebout picked up the net of fish and carried it inside. Riling winked at Cosette and followed his wife into the house with a swagger.

  Cosette rolled back in the hammock and tried to resume Chevalier’s romance novel, but soon gave it up and walked to an open bower where Major Dyson and Rasora were chatting. Lieutenant Garale was stewing in the local brick jailhouse, still wearing the bracelet that prevented his escape.

  Cosette sat in a wooden chair under the vine-covered bower and waited for their conversation to finish. Rasora wore the ragged pants and rough shirts of the native people, which went well with his dark hair and craggy eyebrows. His lighter skin and large size set him apart, though. He stood half again as tall as the average Aquataine native.

  Major Dyson was in fatigues, apparently reluctant to set aside his military clothing entirely. His long brown hair was pulled back and tied behind his head, and his blue eyes were peaceful. He looked comfortable living among the natives.

  A man for all seasons, as Renée Chevalier put it.

  Cosette had switched to native pants and a hip-length shirt. She was uncomfortable with the bare midriff style, and besides, it showed the bandages on her back. During the past week Cosette had mostly recovered from her injury; she could now bend without pain, and she was growing restless.

  Every day Dyson spends on this planet, the tighter the Union fences us in. He’ll be a prisoner just as if he was wearing a bracelet.

  As if overhearing her thoughts, Dyson turned to her. “Good morning, Captain. How are we feeling today?”

  She smiled at the title “Captain,” however unofficial. “Better. I can sleep on my back, now. I’d get in the water except it’s salty and I don’t know what’s in it.”

  “Their children swim in it.”

  “To be honest,” she said, “those waves frighten me. I don’t think I’ve ever swum in an ocean before.”

  “Still missing some memories, eh?”

  She nodded.

  Rasora tilted his head. “You still don’t remember how you got those scars on your back?”

  She shook her head slowly. “Not a clue. Something’s blocking those memories, something big.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Dyson.

  She shifted in her chair, crossing her legs under her. “All the other lessons that got jammed into my brain by that machine came loose one by one, usually because something made it happen, something triggered it. Like when I first tried to assemble an E7 field rifle. I had no idea that I knew how to do it until I picked up the pieces. I don’t know and I haven’t a guess what’s covering my childhood memories, but it’s some layer of knowledge that hasn’t shaken loose yet.”

  “When you remember something,” asked Rasora, “is it like seeing the pages of a book? What are the lessons like?”

  “No, it’s not at all like book learning. It’s like they pulled the knowledge from someone who knew that information, and I get their experience as well as their knowledge. After I assem
bled some rifles, I found that I was a dead shot with them. And when I took the controls of the cruiser, I knew how to fly as though I’d spent years at it.”

  Dyson nodded. “I had a couple sessions in my early training on one of those teaching machines. I know what you mean.”

  Rasora turned to Dyson. “I don’t understand. Why don’t they do all your training on machines, then, if they can do that?”

  “Good question. Camaraderie, for one thing, the cooperation that comes from learning as a group. And flexibility in what you learn. The Alliance only uses the teaching machines to speed up training, or to fill in background stuff. And of course, Cosette here is an example of the dangers of teaching machines.”

  She started to snort but caught herself. “It wasn’t the machine’s fault. Professor Roland was reading the manual when he wired me up. He called the machine ‘second-hand Alliance technology.’ I don’t think he knew what he was doing. He put hundreds of titles on the screen just to show me what was in the machine’s library, and when he went out in the corridor and got himself shot, every file on the screen got dumped into my head.”

  Dyson leaned forward. “Which makes you a valuable person. You’ve got the specs on their technology in that brain of yours.”

  And I’m putting us in more danger every day I lay around.

  “I want to go back to the compound.”

  Dyson’s eyebrows lifted. “Why?”

  “We’ve got to get off of this planet. I’m fit enough to work. I still think we can get a flyer assembled and get out of here.”

  “I see. Yes, if we can do that, we should.”

  Rasora frowned. “Are you sure your back is fit enough to work?”

  “Fit enough. I’ve lain around too long.”

  Dyson stood and stretched, which drew Cosette’s attention to his broad shoulders and chest. “I agree,” he said. “It’s been a great vacation, but we’re being wasted here. I’m foolish enough to think that the Alliance can use us, so I suppose we should pack up the rumbler and head back.”

  “Nobody’s going nowhere,” said Riling, padding up to them in his bare feet. “My wife’s got the ardomi cooking, and the other ladies are preparing goodies. We’ll have us a feast on the beach tonight.”

  Cosette looked at Dyson to see what his decision was, and to her surprise he was looking at her the same way. They both spoke at the same time.

  “That’s fine with me,” she said.

  “I can stay one more day,” he said.

  Riling laughed, something he did often now that he was back at his village. Dyson went with Riling to get firewood, and Cosette went in to help Tiebout with the cooking. She ought to learn how to cook ardomi.

  Who knows? I could be stranded here forever.

  And would that be so bad?

  *

  A row of fires along the water’s edge took the chill off the ocean air, and some plant juice rubbed on their skin kept away the stinging insects that came out at sunset. Plates of ardomi were laid out, lightly seasoned and steaming from the charcoal pit. Arrangements of fresh and cooked vegetables adorned the wooden tables, interspersed with fruit.

  Word had gone out that the visitors might be leaving, and everyone had put on their brightest clothes and festive behavior. The short native women were freely kissing everyone on the cheeks, a custom new to Cosette. She thought about taking the opportunity to kiss Rasora and Dyson, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. A kiss still meant more to her than just hello or goodbye, and she wasn’t ready yet. Besides, Rasora had already fended her off just for looking at him affectionately.

  Drums and flutes played and the native men danced fearlessly, showing more enthusiasm than talent. Cosette filled a plate and was amazed at the delicate meaty flavor of the ardomi. She appreciated the vegetables but a taste of the red fruit was sour enough to send her to the flasks of water. Some things were just an acquired taste.

  She found herself sitting by Private Tiebout and chatting. Private Tiebout’s first name was Janyn, and she hadn’t taken her husband’s name when they married. “That’s not their custom,” Janyn explained. “Sometimes three or four of them will move into a house and take care of each other, sharing everything, and as a group they’re considered married. Riling’s a good man and he knows I expect him to be faithful, so he is. He’s kind of proud of his giant white wife, though I don’t know why.”

  “Any children?” Cosette asked.

  Janyn shook her head and looked sad. “My fault. Can’t have any. But there are lots of mixed children.”

  “How long have you been on this planet?”

  “I was born here. My folks would have been scandalized that I took up with a native man, but those old prejudices are passing. I guess it’s…”

  A distant boom interrupted her, and Cosette looked up. Her memories told her that it was a sonic boom, and after searching the evening sky she saw a thin contrail, lit by the last rays of the setting sun.

  Major Dyson walked up to her, and she pointed out the thin line to him. “Looks like they’re starting to visit,” she said.

  “I’m afraid so.” He exhaled. “Enjoy the party while you can. We’re heading back by way of the tunnel at dawn.”

  *

  They entered the tunnel at first light, carrying provisions from the village and wearing their uniforms again. Tiebout and Riling stayed behind to help clean up after the feast, as did Sergeant Cogshank. “The compound at the landing strip is closed as far as I’m concerned,” the Sergeant said, “and I’ve got no skills you can use.”

  When Dyson and Cosette went to fetch Lieutenant Garale from the brick jail, Rasora complained. “Why not just let him sit and rot? We can’t trust him.”

  “If the Union visits the village,” said Dyson, “he could get the natives in trouble and give us away. With him gone, they’ll find nothing but primitives, and while they might force a couple of the young men and women into the service, they’ll leave the rest alone. But if they find Garale there, they’ll wipe out the village and everyone in it. Then they’ll come after us.”

  Garale was in a venomous mood, but helpless. Major Dyson removed the electronic key from the jail and put it into his pocket so that Garale, still wearing the bracelet, had no choice but to follow along. They gave him a pack to carry, which he refused until Dyson pointed out to Garale that it was his food and if he didn’t carry it, he could just go hungry.

  The cart was still back at the compound, but Riling entered a code on a keypad on the tunnel wall that brought it rolling down to their end of the tunnel.

  A week before, when they had traveled from the compound to the fishing village by rumbler, Cosette had been lying on her stomach with her back bandaged, not able to appreciate the scenery they were passing. Now she would return by underground tunnel, again not seeing anything.

  I need to come here sometime when we’re not running away so I can see this world as it really is.

  Even her time at the fishing village had been hindered by the restrictions from her injury.

  The trip through the tunnel was swift and uneventful. They arrived under the compound, and hefted their packs again. “You first,” said Dyson to Garale. The lieutenant grumbled and began the long climb up the stairs.

  Before Cosette was loaded into the rumbler, she had told Spinner to hide and go dormant until she returned. She would appreciate having the assistance of the little robot while she tried putting together the remaining fighter.

  I hope that guidance unit is still in good shape. I guess I dropped it running from the worm; I don’t remember. If I can find it, it shouldn’t take more than an hour to finish repairs to the fighter.

  Major Dyson pushed up the covering of the exit, the fake pile of wood molded out of composite. He held it up as Cosette and Rasora and Garale left the tunnel.

  The dreariness of the abandoned compound did not depress Cosette. She tossed her pack onto a bunk and went directly out to the hangar. “Spinner!” she cried, not knowing where th
e robot had decided to hibernate.

  With a clicking and a clattering, the robot emerged from behind some broken crates, dipping its lenses in recognition. “Hello, Cadet Nicholas, now known as Captain Cosette! Are you healthy now?”

  “Healthy enough,” she said, stretching her arms over her head and feeling a slight twinge in her back. “And how have you been?”

  “I have been hibernating, but three of those stilts have passed by and many birds, and they kept waking me up. I was hibernating with an audible alarm sensor on so I have been awakened twenty seven times since you left.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “It does not matter. I just turn myself off again. How may I help you?”

  Cosette walked out of the hangar to the flyer she had been working on. “You can help me finish repairing this flyer. I left a guidance unit lying somewhere, either just inside or outside the old wrecked cruiser. It should fit.”

  “It does fit. I already installed it.”

  “You did? How did you even know about it?”

  “I asked Major Dyson how you got hurt. He said you were trying to get the guidance unit from the cruiser. Before I hibernated, I went to the cruiser and looked. It was on the floor inside the cruiser. I installed it in this fighter.”

  “You wonderful robot! You’re amazing!”

  “Thank you, Captain Cosette. My EM chip appreciates praise. It makes me motivated.”

  She vaulted into the cabin of the fighter and sat down in the pilot’s seat. With an ease that came from her acquired memories, she flipped the switches that powered up the fighter and ran several diagnostics on the new guidance unit. It passed every one.

  Whatever modification the Union made on that unit, it seems to work fine. It’s even ready to guide us through folded space.

  She powered down the fighter and went to find Major Dyson.

  He didn’t answer when she called his name. She found Rasora stretched out on his bunk, half asleep. He had indulged in the native drink a bit heavily the night before.

  “Where is Major Dyson?” she asked.