by Kathryn Hoff
Kojo. “You’re just an accident.” As if a three-year marriage contract made any difference to a man’s children. As if family didn’t exist without it.
And thinking of family, I needed to have a little talk with Hiram.
I cornered Hiram in the galley. “You knew.”
He sighed, leaning against the freezer, holding his cup of hot tea in both hands. “Ah, missy, I told him to go to you and fess up. Told him you’d find out, soon or late, and it would be better soon.”
“You could have told me.”
“The two of you need to work it out yourselves.”
One of the Gavs from the checkpoint came into the galley looking for a ration pack. I handed him one and scowled until he left.
Hiram laid a gnarled hand on my arm. “Don’t be too hard on Kojo, missy. They targeted him special, ’cause o’ me.”
Hiram dropped his voice. “The Cartel tried over the years to get your pa and me to work for ’em. They’ve been trying to expand into the sectors around Kriti, and they knew we’d sailed there and learned all the backways in and around the Gloom. Your pa always turned ’em down. Now, with your pa gone, they made a play on Kojo’s weak spot, to get to me.”
Zub’s pitchfork. No wonder Hiram was ready to jump ship.
“Kojo come to me, full of woe, and I give him my advice, to take or not, as he sees fit. Now you come to me, and I do the same.”
“So, what advice do you have for me?” I asked.
“Do what you must to protect your ship, your crew, and yourself.”
“I already made him sign his half of the business over to me. But how can I deal with Kojo after this? How can I trust him?”
Hiram laid a gnarled hand on my shoulder. “Kojo ain’t your pa. He’s a crackerjack pilot who’s been put in a position he never asked for and doesn’t much want. Trust him to be what he is and stop expecting him to be something he’s not.”
What Kojo was not included trustworthy with money or skilled at business. But maybe he didn’t have to be, if I stepped up more.
I rubbed my eyes tiredly. “That means me taking on more responsibility. All the trades, all the cargo, all the passengers.”
Hiram nodded. “That’d be best. You ain’t exactly blameless in this, you know.”
My head jerked up. “Me? What did I do? He lied to me, again and again. About his debts, about Ordalo—even about Papa.”
That was the worst of all. He’d made me doubt Papa’s trust in me, Papa’s love for me.
Hiram snorted. “And you believed him. You ask why I didn’t tell you? I shouldn’ta had to. Can’t you see through Kojo’s tales by now? Didn’t you know your pa wouldn’t leave you in such a bind?”
I felt like I’d been dashed with cold water. Hiram was right. I should have been suspicious of the whole business with Ordalo, but I’d fallen for Kojo’s story like a frontier rube hitting the chinko table for the first time. I knew how Kojo got through life on charm, bluff, and deception, but I’d never expected him to use those talents on me.
I should have trusted Papa better. I’d prayed for guidance and Papa had come to me warning of lies. I’d failed to understand. Instead, I’d resented Papa and blamed him for saddling us with the risky cargo and I’d trusted my lying brother.
Forgive me, Papa. Beloved ancestors, help me find wisdom. Wisdom so I never make that mistake again.
Danto wrinkled his nose in annoyance when I asked him to transmit the contracts to the registrar. “I’d do it myself,” I said, “but since you’re making all communications go through you…”
He read the documents suspiciously. “Transfer ownership of Sparrowhawk? You make your brother a mere employee? What is the purpose of this?”
“A private matter, Sergeant,” I replied frostily. “Resolving an issue of inheritance after the death of our beloved father. Do you really want to know the details?”
“I have no interest in your personal matters.” He looked again at the title transfer. “But this is wrong. You list yourself as Terran.”
“Under Terran law I can elect either of my ancestral races. My implant says I’m Terran and so does the existing registration. You’re not questioning the registrar, are you?”
He shook his head. “But surely this matter can wait until this mission is completed.”
“No, Sergeant, it can’t wait. You must know that the law requires the ship’s ownership to be properly recorded.”
He grumpily transmitted the documents.
For the next four days, Sparrowhawk remained linked to Betanda, at rest near the checkpoint.
Jamila stayed in her stateroom when she wasn’t on Betanda conferring with Lyden. Grimbold played hours of solitaire games in the salon, complaining to anyone who would listen. Balan moved back to his small cabin on Sparrow. He had started some sort of project, dictating his experiences with the bloodstone. It would probably be a best seller among the religious set on Gavora.
I shifted provisions into storerooms, cleaned emptied holds, set up cabins, and tried not to snarl and snap at everyone who crossed my path.
Kojo stayed out of my way.
Workers came aboard to install the guns and to help Archer with the upgrades on the propulsion and stabilizers. They were a silent bunch—I guessed Danto had ordered them not to mingle—and each was limited to a two-hour shift. Hiram, released from duty at the helm, “helped” by sipping from a brandy bottle, telling bawdy tales, and generally getting in the way.
Meanwhile, Betanda’s crew members off-loaded the brandy, leaving only the fine bottles in the vault and a crate in the wardroom. That left the main cargo hold empty, ready for the installation of the survey equipment.
That made me nervous.
In a cache hidden behind one of the bulkheads lurked the synthreactor’s core, its largest component. There was nowhere else to move it to, even if we could be assured of privacy long enough to pull it out. Instead, while Gav workers came and went, I sent up battens and fussed with Prestoclean to make sure the decking showed no traces where the bulkhead wall slid open. Over each screw head I dotted a bit of dirty lube, smeared with my thumbprint, to hide the shine where the screws had recently been replaced. That was the best I could do.
Sparrowhawk was a small vessel: I couldn’t avoid Kojo forever. Somehow, he and I needed to work together. I knew from experience that Kojo would soon consider the harsh words between us to be a thing of the past. In his everlasting optimism, he would resume his usual friendly demeanor, sure everything would somehow work out.
Kojo wouldn’t change. Maybe he couldn’t change. Hiram was right: I needed to defend myself.
Terran law would prohibit him from indenturing me without my consent, but indenturing a sister was accepted practice on Selkid worlds. I needed a way to be sure that Kojo’s stupidity wouldn’t land me in servitude to a bloated Selkid merchant.
Forty-nine days left to deliver the synthreactor.
We’d be ready to leave soon, I couldn’t put it off any longer.
Archer was the happiest person aboard Sparrow, a bouncing, toe-tapping mess. His hair looked like a rat’s nest and his new jacket was already a wreck.
“I have to admit,” he said, jiggling from head to toe amid the engine room’s clutter, “the Gavs know what they’re doing. All the maintenance on the engines is done, and the upgrades, too. It would have taken me a lot longer without their help.” He turned back to polishing the controls.
I took a deep breath.
“Archer? Will you marry me?”
CHAPTER 14
Spliced
“Marry you?” For a moment, Archer was utterly still. Then, with a rush of movement, he turned back to polishing the propulsion console. “Not funny, Patch.”
I placed in front of him a five-thousand-sovereign rhollium ingot. “Consider this a dowry.”
That got his attention. I could tell because he calmed to a small vibration.
I pushed a heavy wrench and a detached flange off the chair. �
�It’s Vell, the Cartel agent. He’s been, well, persistent.”
I’d thought a lot about how to approach Archer. Revealing the truth was out: He didn’t know about the synthreactor and I had no intention of telling him. Archer was too honest to be trusted with knowledge that we were smuggling something much more illegal than the occasional hydroverter or runaway slave, and too decent to work for a captain who had tried to sell me into slavery.
But a damsel in distress would appeal to his romantic side.
“Vell’s the sort who thinks any unmarried female is available for the asking. I can’t avoid him—he’s the agent for the whole sector. But if I were married, he’d leave me alone.”
And under Selkid law, I couldn’t be indentured without my husband’s consent.
“But Kojo…”
“Kojo’s not always with me when I deal with the Cartel. I just need an extra layer of protection.” I tried to look helpless—difficult when I was as tall as Archer and a good bit heavier. “Don’t worry, it will be a marriage for show only. I don’t expect you to do anything.”
He frowned.
“Only a three-year contract,” I said, “and look, we’ll exchange divorce consents. Any time you want out, all you need to do is file the divorce.”
“I don’t know, Patch. I mean, you know I like you!” He looked down, his hand wiggling. “But I would only want to marry someone who, you know, really loves me.” He looked back at me shyly.
I made myself look desperate. “Please, Archer. I know it’s a lot to ask. But if you don’t feel you can do it…” I glanced reluctantly toward the upper decks. “I suppose I can ask Hiram.”
“Hiram? No, no. I mean, it seems kind of extreme, but if you really think you need to be”—he gulped—“married, then I guess I can.”
He threw back his shoulders. “I mean, of course I’ll help you out. But we’re stuck here on the ship. How can we get to a marriage official?”
“Kojo can do it. It’s an ancient captain’s prerogative. As long as the ship is in transit, the captain can officiate a marriage and hold the contract to be filed when the ship reaches port. It’s a very old rule, but still perfectly valid. In the meantime, I would be legally and verifiably married and no one needs to know unless I need to, um, assert myself.”
He frowned. “Well, if you’re sure that’s what you want.”
I kissed his cheek.
In the wardroom, Kojo looked at me in horror. “Zub’s beard! That is the screwiest idea you’ve ever had! It’s bad enough you extorted my inheritance away from me—”
“Extorted?”
“—but now you’re conning Archer into a sham marriage. And for what? As soon as we deliver the goods, we’ll be off the hook.”
“And when that happens, I’ll file the divorce. But until then, I’m going to use every trick I can think of to stay out of the jam you landed me in.”
Kojo crossed his arms. “Is this what it’s going to be like from now on? You blaming me every chance you get? Never trusting me? Is that the family life you’re fighting so hard to preserve? Because frankly, I’d rather do three years on a Selkid man o’ war.”
“Do you think I’m going to stop hating what you did just because you’re sorry? Do you think I’m going to stop being afraid?”
“You don’t trust me, that’s the problem.”
“Of course I don’t! Can you blame me?”
He eyed me warily. The locker still had a dent where I’d thumped it particularly hard.
“Look, sis, we have to finish this delivery. Until then, we have to work together. I screwed up, I was wrong, I’m sorry. Just…just stop throwing it in my face, will you? Once this is done, maybe we go our separate ways. But for now, let it lie.”
A crackerjack pilot, put in a position he never asked for and didn’t want.
I sighed. “I trust you—I trust you to be a great pilot and captain. I don’t trust you with money or business—leave those decisions to me.”
“Fine. I can’t stand dealing with the accounting anyway.”
“When we’ve made the delivery we can decide whether or not we stick together. But for now, perform the marriage—another layer of protection will make me feel better.”
“It’s not exactly fair to Archer,” he said.
“Why? I don’t expect him to actually bed me.” I laughed at the thought.
“Maybe that’s the problem,” Kojo muttered, but I wasn’t about to rise to his jokes.
That evening, after the passengers had retired to sleep, Sparrowhawk’s crew gathered in the wheelhouse. For once, Archer’s face was clean and his hair brushed and tied back.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Kojo asked Archer.
“Why not? I mean, yes, I’m sure.” He wiggled and jittered.
Hiram slapped Archer on the back. “Attaboy.” He pulled in a confused Patrol officer as the second witness.
Kojo mumbled the words, reading from his datacon, “Under authority as captain of this vessel, duly registered…consenting adults…period of three years…Pachita Babatunji and Virgil Archer…hereby declare you married.”
I whispered, “Virgil? Your first name is Virgil?”
“Shut up, Pachita.”
Archer and I imprinted the marriage contract and immediately exchanged divorce consents. Archer twitched and shuffled. I kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, Archer. You’re a good friend.”
“Is that it?” he asked. “But, Patch, couldn’t we…”
Kojo leered at him. “Were you expecting something else?”
I punched Kojo’s arm. “Stop teasing, Kojo. That’s all, Archer. Like I promised, no trouble at all.”
“But…”
Hiram shoved a glass of brandy into his hand. “Here you go, lad,” he said kindly. “You look like you could use a drink.”
“Thanks, everyone,” I said, turning down the shot that Kojo offered me. “See you all tomorrow.”
As I headed to my cabin, a bleary and slightly drunk Hiram called, “Best wishes to the happy couple!”
With the crates of brandy gone, the holds began filling up with power modules and provisions. There were so many jump cells I had to convert another small hold to cold storage. I checked and double-checked the lashings and balance of the load—the military jump cells were far heavier than we were used to. We would be eating them up during the first half of the journey on the ten days of long jumps Danto had laid out. Later, we would need plenty of power mods to ride the currents into the Gloom. I tried to talk to Archer about it, but he was surly and out of sorts, answering only in monosyllables. Maybe he was still hung over.
In the main hold, silent Gavoran Patrol officers installed the survey equipment: crates of specialized observation drones, consoles for monitoring atmospheric elements and imagers that could see through clouds, vegetation, and even surface soil. Soon we’d depart for Kriti.
Home.
The tablet’s plaintive cry emanated from the vault every time I came near. The Patrol officers said nothing, but they worked in pairs, eyeing one another nervously, and never tarried in the hold.
I, on the other hand, wanted very much to open the vault and see the tablet again. Its strange markings and swirling colors haunted my dreams. In some sense, I told myself, the relic was also a passenger and entitled to know what was going on.
When the installation team was gone, I told the guard I needed to inspect the lashings. The guard lingered at the hatch, shifting uncomfortably as I knelt near the vault door and fiddled with the turnbuckles.
I stopped thinking and relaxed as Mother had taught me, opening myself to communion with the ancestral spirits. I imagined the emptiness of dark space beyond the galaxies. The quiet between heartbeats.
Peace.
Beautiful swirls seemed to fill the hold.
Peace and joy.
It wasn’t words, just feelings entering my mind.
Home. Bring me home. Peace and joy await.
Yes, I thought. You’
ve won. We’re taking you home.
An image formed in my mind of a lovely pastoral world, with beasts peacefully grazing on a grassy plain. A feeling of satisfaction swept over me.
Show me the way, I asked.
Blood.
I wanted to open the case and place my hand on the relic. I felt an almost sexual urge to touch it, to pierce my skin until the blood welled out. To rub my blood into the bloodstone’s incised surface.
I reached for the pad to key in the vault combination.
“Ah!” The guard cried out and raised his weapon.
In an orange-and-white streak, Tinker dashed away from his ankles.
“It’s just a cat.” My hands shaking, I backed away from the vault.
The guard scowled. “If you are finished, you should leave the hold.”
“I’m finished.”
I left the hold all right, practically running up the aft steps for the solace of my cabin. When I slammed the door behind me, I hugged myself, still shaking. The urge to touch the relic had been so strong—what was the relic?
Worse, I still yearned to return to the vault and touch the beautiful, lovely stone.
Peace and joy.
Spirits were comfortable friends for me, but this driving desire was something alien. Could there really be a creature imprisoned in the relic? Could it really be communicating its desperate need for sustenance and its craving to return to its place in the universe? Eternally longing, eternally hungry?
How horrible, to be left alone in the dark for endless centuries. Unable to escape, unable even to die.
If I had ever revered the Sages, that would have cured me. Maybe it made more sense to Balan, as a religious scholar. But if the Sages had really left this creature to guide us to Nakana, they must have been very cruel indeed.
Kojo straightened his dress jacket, preparing to greet our passengers. “Are all the equipment and supplies secured?”
I tucked a stray lock of hair under my beret. “All secure, cabins freshened.”
