Mero struggled to understand; for a moment she almost asked Branwen what it had been like to feel being shot, to not just, well, start healing up automatically. To not know how, or if, you’d get fixed. She wondered idly if Branwen would have a scar, and if it would bother her if she did. But, in the end, Merlo didn’t like thinking along those lines any more than she would have really liked to ask the questions. Losing one Captain had been almost too much for her as it was. Instead, she saluted again, crisply this time. “I’m glad, Captain.” She raised the datapad indicatively. “I should still go put these in though, you know? I’ll see you at dinner.”
Branwen nodded, and Merlo retreated with quick strides from the Captain’s thoughtful, deeply contemplative expression.
6.1- Branwen
The next day, Branwen stood behind Merlo and watched the pilot cruise easily through the traffic and toward the docks at the second world in the Kepo system, Kepo-Analun’te… something-something Bandazar.
As much as Branwen had tried, she couldn’t even manage to pronounce the trade world’s whole name properly in her head, and knew for certain she’d just embarrass herself if she tried to stumble through saying it out loud. She liked to imagine that she was not alone in having that difficulty; she assumed there was a reason most people simply referred to the world as “The Bazaar.”
Grip tight on the back of Merlo’s chair, she continued to watch as The Bazaar grew and grew, rapidly devouring the open view in front of her and Merlo with its looming mass as they entered the atmosphere and headed toward one of its many star docks. Like the first planet in the system, Kepo Kepoa, which was the original home of the Kepo, it was mostly a desert planet. However, unlike other worlds in the cluster that were mostly desert, like Koltan, neither Kepo world was short of resources.
Branwen knew that Kepo-Kepoa had plentiful oasis scattered across its single supercontinent, with countless islands and atolls strewn across its massive ocean. The Bazaar, by contrast, was a tiny world, with more land masses but also more mountainous areas, as well as many rivers criss-crossing its surface. Branwen didn’t know how it had come to be, though she made a mental note to read about it later; at some point the Kepo had converted the majority of The Bazaar to its current iteration as a ‘trade world,’ where almost anything legally tradeable was for sale somewhere on the planet. Of course, many Kepo also made the world their home, either living in or near the shops and facilities, or in those odd, sandy-colored mud-brick homes she’d seen on a previous visit.
She could no longer see the more vibrant, blue and green halo of the third inhabited world in the system, a small garden world referred to as Kepa'ohalei. Despite being a fully livable garden world, the Kepo seemed to generally prefer the warm, dry climate of their other two worlds for actual habitation. They had long ago converted Kepa'ohalei into a sort of vacationer’s paradise, making it a premium destination for travelers from every planet in the Altairan Alliance. Well, save Fade, of course. Indeed, it was the most popular holiday location across the whole of both the Dreamcatcher and Chimera star clusters. She hadn’t been to Kepa'ohalei personally, as of yet, but had heard others speak rather fondly of its balmy, breezy islands, fancy housing and hotels, and Kepo-constructed tourist attractions.
Being a world based around trade, the now-massive tan and blue orb of The Bazaar had an expectedly large amount of traffic going to and from it. As she watched their approach, Branwen’s nerves had her clutching the back of Merlo’s seat with one white knuckled hand as she observed the girl threading between ships of all shapes and sizes, all the while totally relaxed. To Merlo, she supposed, this must be routine; but to her, it was always nerve wracking. And that was exactly why she kept on gazing forward, because this time was less daunting than the last, which was less than the time before, and so on.
In due time, Merlo guided them through the relatively turbulence-free descent through the atmosphere, the ship’s front viewscreen going temporarily digital as the outside of the ship heated up from the friction of reentry. The pilot’s hands slid and danced with skill and comfortable ease across the lights and levers of the controls, pausing here and manipulating there. For a moment, Branwen stopped looking at the approach and watched Merlo instead. She honestly always enjoyed watching an artist, a professional, absorbed in the joy and nuance of their craft, whatever it might be.
A gentle impact rolled through the ship and a distant echo of metal on metal heralded the Destiny’s segmented landing gear extending to support the ship’s weight. Out the window, she could see the star port’s heavy bracing arms extending to settle against the Destiny’s steely carapace in the fore and aft. The deep rumble and pressure of the engines’ blast subsided, indicator lights across the bridge’s displays settling into steady, pleasant blues and greens, their meanings ever a mystery to the Captain.
Branwen looked down at Merlo and cleared her throat. “Well, let us get to it.”
“You got it, Captain.” The girl nodded, settled her controls into their final positions, and was quickly out of her chair.
Branwen tapped the buttons for the ship-wide com system, announcing their arrival and getting her crew moving in the right directions. She set Mr. Leonard into motion calculating repairs and preparing for maintenance and refueling, though she was certain he knew what to do by now as well as she did; then she called for Zimi to come help them unload.
Merlo would do the delivery, and she’d let Zimi browse for more jobs and potential passengers; the girl was so friendly, she was the natural candidate for it. People reacted to her more positively than they did to Merlo, and Branwen had difficulty finding work without having to repeatedly reassure people concerned or obsessed with her Fade origins. Mr. Leonard, it went without saying, wasn’t really an appropriate choice at all for that type of job, even if his expertise wasn’t currently required elsewhere.
After releasing the controls for the com, Branwen made quick strides towards the cargo bay, but, by the time she got there, Merlo had already vaulted down the stairs and unloading was underway. Zimi had cautioned Branwen against strenuous activity, like trying overmuch to keep up with Merlo. The young pilot seemed to have tons of energy; maybe she got some of it from that mystical space armor of hers.
Branwen simply shook her head. Young people. She started down the stairs, watching Zimi hover around making helpful gestures while Merlo strode about and efficiently did most of the work. Merlo left Zimi standing and holding an armload of durable woven straps but otherwise unable to help, despite her best efforts.
Striding over, Merlo gave Branwen a crisp salute. “Think we’re ready, Captain, but our little transport isn’t going to cut it for a load this big and fragile. I’m going to go rent a bigger one with a lifter. We’ll get this loaded up and I’ll go drop this cargo off and collect our payment.” Branwen wondered idly when the saluting had started, and barely gave a nod in response before Merlo was off, hopping easily down from the Destiny’s ramp onto the docks before the metal walkway even had time to settle securely onto the ground.
Branwen and Zimi shared a look as she departed, Zimi seeming impressed (or perhaps intimidated) by Merlo’s work ethic, and Branwen simply amused. “Well,” Branwen announced, “It seems she has this well in hand. Let us prepare everything else.” The pair of them went to work, getting the cargo and the cargo hold in general ready for Merlo to come back, as well as preparing everything for the hopeful load of goods that would come soon to replace the Panacea.
They chatted as they worked; Branwen had noticed that Zimi enjoyed hearing the stories and tales from Branwen’s past, and she was likewise impressed with how much Zimi knew for her age. For seventeen winters, the girl had seen a lot of places, travelled to a lot of worlds. Mostly, as Merlo would call them, ‘backward’ worlds: frontiers and harsher climates where people couldn’t find it easy to survive. The girl had been to those places, and had tended to the people, healing their ills and teaching them what she knew of animal life and herbology, learning
in return, and then moving on. As far as Branwen knew, this was her first ‘stable’ job that wasn’t just to pay her transit from one system to another.
Branwen, despite being fully willing to chip in with the work effort, didn’t get to help for even a full hour’s span. Merlo came and went with a small, flat, six-wheeled transport, needing no real help loading the pallet and assuring them she could handle it just fine by herself.
As she continued tidying up afterward, Branwen eventually noticed Zimi eyeing her more and more reproachfully with her bright green eyes, until finally, she just came over and firmly took Branwen’s tools and cargo straps away from her. The girl shook her head, tossing her long ponytail of golden brown over her slender shoulder as she marched away, grumbling quietly to herself, “Seriously. Ain’t in no condition to be doin’ all this stuff…”
It brought a grin to Branwen’s face, and she decided she’d probably be better off if she took the hint. Leaving everything downstairs in Zimi’s hands, she went back to her quarters, passing and heartily greeting Mr. Leonard; he was on his way down to the cargo bay to take a closer stock of extra supplies and fuel, she supposed.
She retired to her quarters for a while, slowly scanning the Exonet for some potential trades to run before settling into reading some Altairan documentation of the Kepo’s history. She probably lost track of time for a bit, laying on her bed and reading, dozing a little and waiting for someone to message her on the com and let her know Merlo was back, or if they’d found a job.
So it wasn’t until a little while later when she suddenly noticed she was having trouble focusing on what she was reading. She promptly snapped to full alertness, dropping her favorite datapad onto the soft white expanse of her fluffy bed. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing at attention; she could feel that vague, electric tingle down her spine, as well as the ready vibe to the air that never failed to warn her when something was amiss.
As quietly and quickly as she could, she rolled off of the bed and onto her feet, smoothly scooping up her war sabre, which was never willingly out of easy arm’s reach. Pausing only to strap on her compact holster of alloy axes and to toss the light protection of her heavy Koltani coat on over everything, she went to the door and crouched, ready, listening intently for a few moments.
Soon enough, she was rewarded with the muffled sound of heavy, unfamiliar voices, cutting back and forth across another that she knew all too well.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tainted
Mr. Leonard
Mr. Leonard used his collapsible multi-tool to pry a metal panel free from where it was deeply set into the cargo bay walls, revealing the thick power conduit pulsing softly behind it. It was really best if he just did the bulk of the maintenance himself, and left more mundane things like hull repair and refueling to the standard technicians every stardock offered.
Aside from not wanting to draw undue attention to the Destiny’s complicated inner workings, he honestly doubted that a standard-trained dockside tech could figure her advanced mechanics out. In a way, he hated to think of it like that; he didn’t want to sound arrogant, even to himself, and it’s not like he knew the skill level of any of those people personally. Still, though, he knew the chances were high that he was correct in his assumption.
As he worked, he hummed the precise notes of Fortehill’s Ode to a Passing Nebula, which was probably his favorite classical Altairan musical piece. He’d found that, despite the beautiful and complex undertones often employed in the Elysian classics, he tended to prefer the more orderly and predictable ebbs and swells of Altairan orchestral arrangements. Besides, the Altairans had been at composing much longer, which lended to the overall technical performance, in his mind. He kept the sound quiet, though; down to a level where he was sure only he could hear it. He didn’t want to disturb anyone else nearby, even if it was only Zimi still down here, and she was busy working.
He jumped suddenly as something gripped his shoulder, fumbling his hardlight multi-tool and almost dropping it down into the gap between the thick cargo bay walls and the first layer of outer hull plating. Thankfully, due to his quick reflexes, he managed to catch it before it fell very far and was lost forever somewhere in the depths of the Destiny’s plated casing.
“Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Leonard, I didn’ mean to startle ya.” Zimi’s soft voice came out of nowhere behind him, and he chided himself for getting so absorbed in his work as to not pay attention. He also blushed.
“Oh, um, Miss Zimi. It’s… it’s okay, of course. No problem at all.” Mr. Leonard turned slightly so he could smile up at her, and mentally stamped down his blushing. “I should have been paying more attention, but I suppose I was absorbed into this conduit.”
She laughed lightly in response; he found it was a rather pleasant sound. “Well, you’d better not go and get absorbed into it, ‘cause we kinda like havin’ you around.” She beamed brightly down at him for a moment with her young, pretty face, before acquiring a mild red coloration to the cheeks also. Mr. Leonard found himself starting to blush again in response, and turned back to the open energy conduit before the cycle could continue reciprocating.
“I… I’ll be sure not to do that.” He felt as if that were a rather lame reply, but couldn’t think of anything better. Interpersonal relations were so hard sometimes.
“Well, hey,” She said, straightening and stretching easily. “I’m gonna go out, and look around for some passengers, or maybe track down some cargo that needs deliverin’ or some such. Maybe I can get us something to run again ‘fore the Captain comes back down, huh?”
“That certainly sounds good, Miss Zimi. Good luck!” He sighed internally, but didn’t let it show through. Everything he said sounded lame, even to himself. Or perhaps, especially to himself. He sighed again. Zimi was already walking away, waving a casual goodbye, and Mr. Leonard waved briefly in reply and watched her go. He reflected suddenly on the fact that he found her rather pretty; the simple white sleeveless tunic dress over dark worker’s leggings flattered her, he felt. But mostly, he liked that she was always so happy, so friendly, so kind.
He wished that he knew better how to talk to her, though. Or Merlo, for that matter; he felt really uncertain if she liked him. He tried his best to be helpful, and knowledgeable, but didn’t know… well, much of anything about how to make friends. Not with adults, anyways. He’d been raised around many younger children, and spending most of his time with them unfortunately seemed to leave him lacking in conversational intricacies, or so he had come to believe.
Really, it was just such a bother trying to get an outside perspective on oneself. Maybe he was doing fine, and just couldn’t see it. Or maybe he was trying too hard. There were many possibilities, and he felt woefully inadequate at times attempting to sort through them. Machines, on the other hand; machines were easy. He put the finishing touches on the conduit maintenance in his current area, then moved three meters down and began to detach another access section, intending to check the next conduit coupling.
With machines, you always knew what to expect. They followed rules, followed logic; if something went wrong, and you didn’t know why, there was still a reasonable answer that one could derive. You could always figure it out, given time.
It was people that were hard. People scared him. He wondered sometimes if other people felt the opposite way. Branwen, perhaps, though he would hesitate to pin the label of “fear” on the Captain. Still, he envied her, in a way; she seemed to always know what to expect of people. Then again, she was hopeless with technology. Mr. Leonard moved down to the third section of conduit, and idly hoped that there were people good at both, and wondered what they had to give up to gain that dual understanding. Maybe it was simply his confidence that was lacking. He figured that was also a solid possibility.
Mr. Leonard was once again fairly absorbed in repairs when Zimi returned, having pinpointed what his calculations had expected: the beginning of a conduit fracture in one of the sections I-5 thr
ough I-9. Not so absorbed this time that he didn’t notice, though, as her flip-flop shoes slapped onto the extended tongue of the Destiny. And not so absorbed that he didn’t also notice the thump of boots with her, probably of three or four people. Just a moment more… There! He finished re-sealing the conduit, and, with what he hoped was an impressive flourish, turned toward Zimi’s entry.
“Hey! You’re back!” He said as he rose, trying to sound more confident, a feeling that died even as he looked up and focused outward on Zimi and the others. “I see you found… passengers…” There were four of them, and well, they didn’t look like the kind of passengers he felt the Captain would want on the Destiny. Four males, all in shape, if perhaps a bit lean in a couple of places, one rather burly. All of them tall enough to feel like they towered over Zimi, and easily big enough to be intimidating toward him when combined with their obviously aggressive posture. They wore pants and boots, dark colors with plain shirts or tank tops. They had short hair and dark expressions. One had a fancier jacket and a patterned buzz cut, the jacket seeming incongruous with the rest of his dress.
He stopped really concerning himself with the details, however, when he noticed Zimi’s face. Defiant, but scared, twisted with a touch of pain. He could follow that trace of strain over and down to where the man with the jacket held her arm, in an angle that he could only assume was agonizing.
“I…” He trailed off, then winced at what felt like a obtrusively loud clang as he accidentally dropped his multi-tool, and it bounced off the metal floor and skittered off under a stack of empty pallets, as if seeking the shelter he wished he could find for himself. He wanted to call out to the men, to tell them to stop, or to leave, or to let Zimi go; he even opened his mouth again to speak, but nothing came out.
Destiny Abounds (Starlight Saga Book 1) Page 11
