Augment

by C R MacFarlane

  “Permission to speak freely?”

  He cast a grin back at her. “Always.”

  Her lip slid out from between her teeth as she stared at the ground. “We’ll be returning a day ahead of schedule.”

  “Yeah.”

  “With the extra time, I thought we might visit the General.”

  He jumped. General Oleander Nairu: Rayne’s father. He turned away, shaking. “I —.” She wanted to ask the General, as an official, to sign his consent to their union — they had talked about it often enough — but Gal couldn’t. “We work together,” he said weakly. It sounded pathetic even to his ears, but he couldn’t tell her the real reason. He started again towards the bridge.

  “It’s not fraternization if we’re married, Gal,” she called after him.

  He stopped, not daring to turn around. Rayne, whom he loved and could not hope to love, who lived her life by the UEC handbook, was suggesting a loophole. But it was too dangerous. Bad enough that she had stayed on his ship for three years, turning down multiple promotions to stay. “I’m sorry, Rayne. I truly am.” He put a foot on the first of the two stairs that marked the entrance to the bridge.

  “Is there nothing between us?”

  Pain seared through his heart and he clutched the handrail to stop himself from rushing back and wrapping her in his arms. A distant memory, a threat, played in his minds ear: “He may not know what you’ve done, but I do. And I will pick at every person you ever care about until I am satisfied you have paid for your crimes.”

  “Of course I love you.” He forced his legs up the stairs, triggering the automatic door to hiss open. “But you deserve a better life than I can offer.” He loved her so much he had no choice but to push her away.

  * * *

  Gal steeled himself, staring at the grey carpeted floor as he walked directly ahead to the padded captain’s chair in the middle of the deck.

  The crew — seated or standing at the glossy control panels that wrapped around the bridge — had already dropped their salutes and turned back to their work by the time Gal looked up. If they had bothered with the formality at all. A side effect of Gal’s constant effort to avoid direct contact with any of them. It was important he not get too close. He could give them that much, at least.

  Kieran Wood, the chief engineer, peeked up from the blocky Engineering console, studying the captain. He caught Gal’s gaze and flashed him a wide-mouthed, idiotic grin.

  Footsteps treaded softly onto the bridge, staying behind Gal and out of sight. The other crewmen turned, and his jaw clenched as he twisted to see.

  Rayne’s expression stayed rigid as she took her position at the Tactical console to his right. And where the crew barely acknowledged their run-down captain, they flashed adoring smiles in her direction.

  He couldn’t blame them. Rayne — a fierce tactitian — had once confided her intense desire for children. Until that time came, she put all her mothering efforts into the cadets. Each of them had arrived young, green, and too incompetent to earn a posting on a more respectable ship. Now an efficient crew surrounded him, thanks entirely to her.

  “Have you completed your final checks?” she asked.

  The mathematicians nodded at each other and confirmed their final report. They fed the calculations to Navigation where the pilot entered the jump into the computer.

  “Gravity drive reads full capacity,” reported Kieran. “No issues on the engine readings neither.” This was the most important piece to Gal — he didn’t care if the calculations were off and they ended up on the wrong side of the galaxy, but considering they would be travelling via a gravity pulse literally strong enough to bend space, he wanted to know the engines and graviton generator were working properly.

  Begrudgingly he admitted Kieran was a decent engineer, and he at least felt confident the gravity drive wouldn’t explode around them. Small miracle.

  The large viewscreen that occupied the fore of the command bridge currently showed nothing but vast expanse of empty space.

  “All systems report ready, Captain,” said Rayne.

  Gal grunted his assent.

  “Preparing to jump,” said the pilot.

  “Jump.”

  Gravity tugged and pulled, and Gal felt weightless for an instant, his spine jarring as they landed back in normal space. The viewscreen showed familiar system, a single star at the centre.

  “Confirm position,” sighed Gal, although he already knew.

  “Back at Etar,” confirmed the navigator.

  “Set a course for Etar 1.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “I’ve got normal reports from the Engine Room,” said Kieran.

  “Good.” Gal let out a breath and stood from his chair. All routine. He could hide in his ready room until they reached the orbital station.

  A computer chime sounded, causing the crew to pause in their work, glancing surreptitiously to the Tactical console which currently doubled as Communications.

  “We are receiving transmissions,” said Rayne.

  Spontaneous clapping erupted around the bridge. Gal gripped the back of his chair and steeled himself.

  “Quiet now,” said Rayne, and the crew obeyed. “Your personal messages will be sent to your quarters where you can read them later. Central Army business first.”

  They bent their heads to their work, but the bridge buzzed with renewed excitement. He envied them.

  “There’s a high priority transmission,” she said, studying the display in front of her. “My Gods!” She looked up at Gal, eyes wide with wonder.

  “What?” His fingers dug into the grey fabric.

  Her hand came up to her open mouth.

  “What is it?” Gal needed to know.

  “A request from the Speakers.”

  “The Speakers?” His knees nearly collapsed under him.

  She nodded, eyes bright. “We’ve been requisitioned to transport the Poet Laureate, Halud DeGazo. He’s coming here. Aboard our ship. Gal, do you know what this means?”

  His lungs seized and left him gasping for air. He didn’t know what it meant at all. The Poet was the sixth most powerful man under the stars. He reported directly to the Five Speakers, who purported to be the direct descendants of the Gods. They spoke the Words of the Gods, the human race following along on the Path.

  But the Poet… on the their run-down freightship… on Gal’s ship — there was no reason.

  “Hey, isn’t that somethin’?” said Kieran, his lazy drawl filling the deadly silence in Gal’s head. “Geez. The Poet Laureate…. Could be a real boon for the ship, I would think, Cap’n.” He grinned like an idiot again.

  Gal stared. Kieran Wood was a lunatic, he was sure of it.

  Rayne continued to read to transmission, giddiness dripping into her voice. “It says he’s making the journey to report on the conditions of the new colonies.”

  “Really? That’s it?” Kieran scrunched up his face. “There must be some happening for the Poet himself to go. He’s been quiet for months.”

  “It just says he’s going to report on the colonies.” Rayne shrugged, but her grin only grew.

  “Or maybe there’s some special something goin’ on.”

  Gal, for the first time, agreed with the engineer. But it wouldn’t be a good special something. They knew, and the Poet was coming to report on him.

  “Gal? Are you alright?”

  “Huh?” He spun to see Rayne watching him. “What else is in the manifold? What else are we taking on?”

  She glanced down, scanning quickly. “The usual — supplies, rations, medicine. Oh —,” her eyes lit up with surprise, “and a group of colonists going to Selousa.”

  It hit him like a physical blow. “Colonists? To Selousa? The colony is dead.”

  “Maybe that’s why the Poet is coming,” said Kieran.

  “Of course,” Rayne said. “They must be trying again, now that there’s been more time for the terra-forming to take hold. If the Gods say it’s time, th
at’s wonderful.”

  It was not wonderful. “I need full background checks on all the new crewmen,” ordered Gal, springing for the door and moving faster than he had moved in a long time.

  “What? Gal, what’s going on?”

  The doors slid open in front of him, and he leaned into the doorframe, suddenly dizzy. “Do it, Rayne.” He stumbled away.

  He heard the last strains of Kieran’s drawl behind him as the doors shut. “I’m not sure he’s really feelin’ better, Raynie.”

  He gripped blindly at the wall, finding his way to his cabin by rote.

  They knew. They had to.

  It was a message: the Poet, the colonists.

  Maybe it was just meant to shake him up. Test him.

  He scrubbed his hand across his eyes as a vision of Aaron flashed over him. His mind played a memory, clear as the day it happened:

  Aaron’s hand gripped the iron bars. “How did you get in here?”

  “It wasn’t hard to sneak in.”

  “This is the most guarded place on the planet.”

  “Are you alright? I didn’t believe there were prisons, not the way Hap tells it.”

  “I’m okay. Gal, promise me, you’ll keep going. I told them I’m you, so you have a head start to get somewhere safe. But don’t give up the fight. Never give up the fight.”

  “Aaron, we’ll get you out of here.”

  He shook his head. “I’m slated for dispatch tomorrow.”

  “Dispatch?”

  “To one of the colonies.”

  Gal reached into his closet, to the far back of the highest shelf. He pulled out a long, slender bottle, half-full of amber liquid. Jin-Jiu. The only thing that helped him forget. He pulled the warmer from the drawer in his desk and dropped the bottle inside. He stared, waiting for it to heat up.

  His mind looped the scene with Aaron endlessly.

  “The colonies?”

  Aaron nodded carefully. “‘A chance,’ they call it, ‘a new start where my independence will be an asset’.”

  “Let me help you.” Gal pulled on the bars uselessly.

  “I’m done, Gal.”

  Two months later, the reports came in that the colony had failed. Starvation. No one survived. It was the Will of the Gods.

  Despite the promise Aaron had drawn, Gal did give up.

  He reached for the bottle, a new threat echoing in his head. “We know what you have done. Your life has been spared as your disappearance would cause too many questions, but should you ever show your face on the Central Planets again, we can destroy everyone you have ever cared about.”

  The threat and the loss of Aaron had been enough. He’d stopped, shutting down huge operations. He’d agreed to the freight run in the Deep Black. And he’d turned away everyone who ever tried to get close to him.

  Except the one person he could not stay away from: Rayne.

  What would they do to her?

  He’d destroyed Earth. He’d started a war. His fate was sealed. He was only kidding himself to think he’d survived this long.

  The Poet was coming. Six hours until they docked with the station.

  He gauged the Jin-Jiu — a handbreadth filled the bottom of the bottle, enough to keep him sedated for most of the trip. Then he wouldn’t have to endure the waiting.

  He poured and took his first sip, the sweet, warm drink soothing his frayed nerves. The endless loop settled to a dull roar at the back of his brain.

  Rayne still had a chance, he realized. He could save her, maybe, as the last thing he ever did. She’d be heartbroken, but he could save her career and save her relationship with her father.

  With his last ounce of strength, he pushed the banged and beaten mug away. He would need all his wits about him to have any type of chance.

  * * *

  Gal stood by the airlock, staring down the spaceway that connected the ship to the station. He had not left the ship, even to visit his regular Jin-Jiu smuggler — what was the point, after today?

  Rayne had been dispatched to handle the new crew orientation and check that the cargo had been loaded and secured properly. She’d not been quiet about her desire to be there to greet the Poet, but Gal had insisted.

  He didn’t want her there when it happened.

  His grey dress uniform blended in with the grey paint as he stood, waiting. His mind drifted in and out of focus, a not terribly light dose of Jin-Jiu floating through his veins to silence the memories and let him think.

  The sharp rasp of a throat clearing cough punched through the Jin-Jiu haze. Gal looked up to see a single man in a long grey cloak standing in front of him, a small valise tucked under his arm.

  No squadron of elite soldiers stood waiting. No media recorders. Not even a tactician present to arrest him.

  Piercing blue eyes scanned him, a bemused smile turning up the thin line of stylized facial hair and grey eyebrows. “Captain Idim, I presume?” The Poet let out a soft chuckle.

  Confused, Gal snapped to attention and saluted, five fingers pressed to a spot directly over his heart. “Master Poet, please forgive my inattention.”

  “At ease.” The Poet waved his hand good naturedly. “Many people expect a large entourage, but I much prefer to travel without one, it allows me to examine the fabric of life more clearly.”

  Gal’s tongue suddenly seemed too large in his dry mouth. This was not like any of the scenarios he imagined. What was the Poet doing? Surely, they must have known. Surely, the Poet wouldn’t actually be taking passage on the old Ishash’tor.

  But he waited alone. And he was not, it seemed, arresting Gal.

  “Captain?”

  Gal started. No knowing what else to do, he saluted again. “Sorry, sir. I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed.”

  “Oh? And why is that?”

  He gripped the wall for support. Maybe they didn’t know. It would be a fool’s blunder to tell them outright. “It’s an honour to be in the presence of such grace as yourself, Master Poet.”

  The Poet held up his hand, shaking his head modestly. “Please call me Halud.” He waited, watching Gal intently. “Perhaps you could show me to my quarters?”

  “Right.” He squeezed his fist, digging nails into his palm while his mind desperately tried to work through it. “Follow me.” His pulse hammered in his ears as they moved through the corridors. There was something else, some bigger plan, he concluded, there had to be.

  Rounding a corner, Gal froze, the corridor suddenly filled by a gaggle of crewmen leaving the mess hall. The kids were fresh-faced, eager, and laughing. He glanced at the Poet — he couldn’t punish the kids just for looking at their captain, could he?

  Halud strode forward, the crewmen gawking, the ones in back running into the ones in front. He smiled broadly. “How marvellous! Welcome to Service.” He shook each of their hands.

  Gal slunk into the shadow of a bulkhead.

  “Commander Nairu!” the Poet exclaimed, pushing forward as Rayne came out of the mess hall behind the others.

  “Oh Gods,” moaned Gal, earning him glares from the closest crewmen.

  Rayne beamed as the Poet shook her hand and then she saluted, pressing five fingertips into her chest, head bowed.

  The Poet returned the gesture, and then used a finger to tilt her chin up again. “You have been out here a long time, Commander. The Gods smile upon your loyalty and dedication to serving the good of your fellow man.”

  Rayne blushed, and Gal watched in horror, trying desperately to make sense of the situation.

  The Poet kept hold of Rayne, but addressed the crew again. “None of you is to give the Commander a hard time, you understand. I am told she is both a devout and fierce tactician, so it’s in your best interest to stay on her good side.” He chuckled and whispered something private into her ear.

  The Poet made his way to the front of the group, eyes fixed on Gal, a decided unreadable ferocity in them.

  Gal prepared himself for chaos.

  But Halud turned, again
addressing the crew and leaving Gal to wither against the wall.

  “You must all be very excited for your first assignment, for this opportunity to serve your Gods.”

  The group nodded zealously, hanging on the Poet’s every word. Gal wondered if the Poet would direct them to attack, but that was hardly the way of the Speakers.

  “Know this: the Gods work in their own special way through each of you. Sometimes the Path is not the thing that we choose, nor is it the route that seems the easiest to follow, but the Path is always where you end up. Even in the darkest of situations, know that you — even in that moment — follow the Path. The Gods we Serve. In the Gods we Trust.”

  The crewmen repeated the litany.

  The Poet nodded reverently and addressed them again. “Mark my words here today. Captain Galiant Idim is one of the Gods’ finest officers. I would trust him with my life, as you now trust him with yours. Godspeed to you all.”

  The crewmen turned like a horde staring at Gal, their eyes holding a mix of surprise, curiosity and disdain.

  The Poet took him by the arm and lead him away. “So eager, aren’t they?” he shook his head, laughing softly to himself.

  Gal stumbled until his stride steadied under him. “Yes, sir.” His head started to pound as the warmth of the Jin-Jiu left him.

  “I feel badly for them, now that must leave the hallowed halls of the Gods and the Speakers and their Academy. Real life is never so black and white as we would like, is it, Galiant?” The Poet’s crystal blue eyes sliced into him like laz-fire.

  Gal stopped short, heart thumping in his ears. Irrationally, he envisioned the Poet pulling open his chest and ripping free the lungs and heart.

  “Which way, Galiant?”

  * * *

  Gal keyed in the authorization code to program the lock mechanism to the Poet’s quarters, still trying to sort out what was happening. “I’m afraid it’s not much,” he said. “We don’t normally transport dignitaries.”

  The Poet pressed his thumb to the digital scanner with a smile, imprinting the lock to his biometric signature. “No concern, Captain. I am pleased you could take me on such short notice. It is a fine ship, and I am happy to be on board. It will do very nicely for our needs.”