Starship Ragnarok
Page 22
The translator package in Yas’s dress uniform seemed to be trying to make words out of the patterns of the music on Desultory's skin. Through the speaker in his cap poured was a whisper of half-coherent things, phrases that meant nothing but that evoked strange emotions. Perhaps this was what the Ocuilin heard in human music? Something evanescent, just out of reach?
He was just going to join the Ocuilin and ask when someone took him by the elbow and moved him toward one of the doors. His natural startle turned into quick pleasure when he realized it was Captain Harcrow, and he fell into step and followed the man out and into one of the smaller reception rooms, where they could talk privately.
The place was empty of anything but dusty blue chairs and an overhead projector, but Yas smiled at it anyway. Harcrow had not been in touch, and over the past couple of days in the middle of his shopping and his being feted as a hero, the fact that he had still not been asked back had occasionally troubled him.
It was just an oversight then, and Harcrow meant to do it now. The thought was the jewel on the crown of an amazing day. He would be gracious about accepting, and the Captain would never hear from him that he had ever considered resigning rather than taking the posting in the first place.
“Sundeen,” said Harcrow slowly. He was frowning, but then even the newer, perky version of the Captain often frowned as he thought through what he was saying. “I want to talk to you.”
“Yes sir.” Yas smiled. “I would love to come back and serve on the Raggy mark two. We worked really well together, and I think you can be proud.”
Harcrow gave a little nod and his shoulders jerked in what was perhaps a silent laugh. “That’s not what I was going to say, Sub Lieutenant. But it’s a good example of why I’m letting you go.”
Yas’s emotions tripped themselves up and pratfalled into the floor. “What?”
It was as though he’d smacked his face into the floor and broken his nose. There was fury at first and then came pain. “Why?”
“Mr. Sundeen.” Harcrow folded his hands together behind his back. He was still staring at the carpet, for which Yas was very grateful. “I interrupted your fight with the Ambassador because it wasn’t doing us any good at the time. But that doesn’t mean I forgot it. You—a wet behind the ears tech officer—took over negotiations from a trained Inquisitor at a time when she was seeing progress, because you felt your personal concerns came first—”
“We… We forgave each other,” Yas stammered. Looking back on that outburst cracked open a store of shame in him that he very much wanted to wall straight back up.
“She forgave you. I did not,” Harcrow corrected him, his voice slow, but implacable as a glacier. “She only saw it the once, but I saw a pattern. You’d barely got on board when you attacked Lieutenant Mari.” He gave a quick flinch of a smile. “I should have dealt with it then, but, you know. I was not in a good place myself at that point. You provoked Freya on numerous occasions—you were lucky to get away with that. You provoked Kelkalyn and directly caused the final bombing of Ahoa Nda'iilniih. And all along the way, you’ve thought you knew better than your commanding officers. You’ve been insubordinate and downright disobedient and I…” He sighed heavily. “I can’t have you on my ship.”
The medal on Yas’s chest crushed the air out of him like it was a boulder. He couldn’t raise his chest to breathe. Of course they’d want him back. Of course they would. And he would graciously go even though he was too good for them all, and—
All his assumptions twisted in him like a nest of live eels, as the thought that they didn’t want him made him see with blinding clarity how damn much he wanted them. He liked them. He admired the captain, feared and respected the Ambassador. He thought the doctor and Desultory were his friends, real friends. He’d looked forward to serving longer with them, becoming friends with the rest of them too. He couldn’t— Harcrow couldn’t just take that away from him.
Yas opened his mouth to say so, and the words stuck in his throat because the captain was right. Just the threat to Mari was unforgivable. And the thought that he might have caused the bombing of Ahoa Nda'iilniih—that he might be directly responsible for all those deaths?
He shut his mouth on silence, because—you know what—the captain was right. He’d thought he was better than the rest of the crew right from the start. He’d looked down on them. He’d regarded being posted to serve with them as a fate worse than death. He deserved this.
Embarrassingly, his eyes prickled and filled with tears. Harcrow awkwardly patted him on the shoulder.
“You had some good ideas, kid. And passion. You get over that attitude and I’m sure another captain will give you a chance. There’s going to be a hell of a lot of new ships looking for crew, especially crew with your experience, in the near future.”
“Sir?” Yas asked, confused and far more bereaved than he could have expected. He wanted to throw himself on the captain’s mercy and be taken back. But that would have been part of the problem, wouldn’t it? Him never facing the due punishment for the choices he’d made. “Kelkalyn isn't out there any more. Nor is Freya. We won."
“This time,” said Harcrow doggedly. “We’ve got to get ready for the next.”
“They… they’re a thousand years away,” Yas faltered. He didn’t want to be insubordinate again, but he wasn’t getting this and he didn’t like the sense of dread that he could hear in Harcrow’s voice.
“Oh yeah, you don’t know the myths,” Harcrow said. “You’ve gotta know there’s more than one of these Oses. That comm you intercepted the day you attacked Mari? I’ve seen the recordings now. That wasn’t cat paws in the sky, that was hooves, right? Maybe goat hooves, maybe boar. That’s Thor, or Freya’s brother, Frey. When they find out what we did with her, they’re going to be pissed, and we’re going to have to be ready for that.”
The thought of starting out with another crew was devastating. Yas didn’t want to face this uncertain future with a spit-smart, ship-shape military crew any more. He wanted his friends from the Raggy. He thought again of begging, but even begging would have proved Harcrow’s point.
Yas lowered his head into his hands. “This isn’t over,” he breathed, half horrified anew by the threats he had so easily dismissed, half promising that he would be back. He would earn his way back into the berth he had learned to value too late. He would show them, somehow.
In the hall, the crowd’s convivial murmuring picked up abruptly into a darker, disturbing roar. Only moments after, the tiny dormer windows of the room in which Yas and Harcrow stood rattled in their frames, then shattered with a downrush of cold air and glass splinters. Far above them etched on a storm-dark sky, something massively gold floated, glowing.
“No,” Harcrow agreed grimly, heading for the door. “I’m pretty sure it’s just started.”
∆∆∆
Afterword
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Copyright: Alex Oliver 2019
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