Augment

by C R MacFarlane

  Kieran frowned. “Narrow band?”

  “For classified communique.”

  “Yeah, but —.”

  “New security measures. It’s alright, I can program them in the console. I have an algorithm.”

  “No, it’s fine. Good thing I brought my toolkit.” Kieran swung the screen open again, revealing the connections inside. “Besides, I don’t like people loading programs onto my ship — even if it’s just local code — without my knowing. Safety risks, you know.”

  “Of course.” The Poet placed a small data tablet on the desktop with the specified frequency.

  Kieran adjusting the wiring, switching connections until he had the system configured to the Poet’s specifications. The Poet appeared relaxed, and Kieran chanced digging for more information. “I heard there’s rebels afoot on the planet, whispers of John P. Are you having security issues at the Speakers’ Compound?”

  The Poet flinched, colour draining from his cheeks, eyes suddenly hard and unreadable. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

  Kieran bowed his head, pausing for a final salute as the Poet shepherded him out the door.

  He grinned as the door closed behind him. The Poet’s reaction couldn’t have been more clear: there was something happening on the central planet. Something with John P.

  Kieran had read the words of the famous rebel, his counter-broadcasts against the Gods disappearing almost as quickly as they arrived. Kieran had saved every one from the last ten years up until three years ago when John P had suddenly disappeared without a trace. But the crewmen brought whispers of a resurgence, and the Poet had all but confirmed it.

  * * *

  Eight hours after departing from the orbital station at Etar, Rayne felt like she might be catching up. She made her way to the Cargo Bay to check the last few items on her list before they made their first jump into the Black.

  The Cargo Bay took up the entire lower three floors of the ship. The space was designed to be malleable depending on what they were hauling, and they currently had the scaffolding configured with a half-deck on each of the upper two levels. The lower floor housed the heavy cargo — building supplies mostly — and the hover carts and lifts they used to move it. The upper floors held smaller containers: food rations, medicines, clothes. And the colonists.

  Descending the stairs to the second level, she scanned the deck quickly. The Central Army technicians at the orbital station had installed an approved living area for the colonists. It was spacious and set out with comfortable looking cots and benches, even a vid-screen. A thick fence surrounded them, stretching all the way to the floor above.

  “Hello,” Rayne called.

  There were twelve colonists, and they sat in a rough circle, heads bent in prayer. At the call, glances turned her way. A middle-aged woman with wavy auburn hair slowly rose to her feet and came to the barrier.

  “How are you and the others doing?” Rayne smiled, suddenly nervous. “We’re preparing to jump out of Etar’s system.”

  The woman stared at her, face slightly obscured by the mesh.

  “I’m sorry about the fence,” said Rayne. “Central Army regulations — we can’t let civilians wander around an Army ship, you understand.”

  “We’re not criminals.”

  “Of course not. To leave your home for a new colony is incredibly brave and righteous. I am Commander Nairu. Please let me know if there is anything you need to make your journey more comfortable.”

  The woman glanced behind her, looking to the group still on the floor. Each of them watched the interaction with interest. She stared at them, and then turned to stare at the floor, deciding. “I’d like to speak to Captain Idim.”

  Rayne stepped back. At a loss, her mouth flapped open and closed.

  The woman stepped forward, grabbing the fence and rattling it like a cage. “Please, take me to see the captain.”

  Shaking her head, Rayne regained her senses. “I’m afraid I cannot. You’re civilians on a Central Army ship, you must stay in your approved area.”

  “You don’t understand,” she cried.

  Rayne bit her lip. “I can ask the captain if he has the time available to visit you here. That’s all I can do.”

  “Please, please tell Galiant I need to speak with him.” The woman clung to the fence, her features drawn tight as her eyes searched over Rayne.

  “How do you know his name?”

  “Please tell him it’s Minerva.”

  Rayne frowned.

  The colonist rattled the fence with her hands. “Will you?”

  Eyes wide, Rayne pressed a hand against her chest. “Yes, of course. I said I would let him know, and I speak truth. We are all servants of the Gods.”

  “Okay.” The woman sighed and pushed away from the barrier. “Thank you.”

  “I pray to Gods for your safety,” Rayne called after the woman. She turned, taking the stairs two at a time.

  “Don’t bother,” a voice floated after her. “No one’s listening.”

  Shaking the icy chill that crept over her, Rayne pressed her five fingers to her chest and prayed, as she had promised, for the colonists’ safety. She shut her eyes as she walked and sent the prayer to the stars.

  Gal would be hiding in his quarters, and she took the most direct route to see him. Biting back the memory of her last visit to his quarters and the failed proposition that had followed, she pressed the chime.

  One day, Gal would get over his irrational fear of her father, and her father would agree — because he always said yes to his Rayne —, and they would be married, a True Union under the eyes of the Gods.

  The door did not immediately slide open like usual, and she pressed the chime again. Still no answer. Banging her fist on the actual metal of the door, she called out, “Gal, it’s Rayne. I need to speak with you.”

  He could be somewhere else — the mess, or even the bridge — but she knew him too well. He avoided the crew at all costs. Abusing her power as senior tactician, she overrode the lock and forced the door.

  “Gal?” She said into the dim lighting of his small room.

  Her eyes fell upon his form, curled up on the bed.

  Maybe he was just sleeping. He’d been frantic since they’d gotten their orders to transport the Poet, and probably hadn’t slept the entire two days they rested at Etar station.

  She crept across the room, sitting carefully on the edge of his bed. “Gal?” she said softly, shaking his arm.

  He groaned, remaining as immobile as a stone.

  She shook a little harder. “It’s time for our FTL jump out of the system. The captain should oversee it, yeah?”

  He groaned again, flopping over and leaving a thick line of drool on the pillow. And under him, curled in his arm, laid a half-full bottle of Jin-Jiu.

  Rayne bolted off the bed. She paced in the little room, palms pressed against her cheeks. She tried shaking him again, hard, but his eyes only fluttered and he fell back into his stupor.

  He had promised. He said he would be better. And stupidly, she had believed him.

  “Oh Gal,” she muttered, propping the pillows around him. She pulled the Jin-Jiu out of his hand and tucked it deep in the back of the nightstand, promising herself she would come back to dispose of it properly as soon as she could.

  The trip to the command bridge was short, barely long enough to dry her eyes and recollect herself, but she bounded up the landing with determination. New faces greeted her, and she made a point of acknowledging each of them.

  She took a seat in the captain’s chair, and she wiped the sweat from her palms across the grey armrests. It had been a while since she’d had to occupy it in Gal’s absence — another stark reminder that he was not improving as much as she had thought. Foolish, wishful thinking.

  Clearing her throat, she announced, “The captain is occupied. Have you finalized your calculations?”

  The new junior mathematician wrinkled his brow and turned his gaze from her to his senior.

 
Fortunately, the senior mathematician — who had been the previous junior mathematician — did not appear terribly shaken by the change. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Engineering?”

  “Ready to rock and roll,” said Kieran absently, his fingers dancing over the console in front of him.

  She turned at the odd turn of phrase. “What?”

  Kieran shook his head, a bashful grin creeping ear to ear. “All systems are go.”

  “Thank you. Navigation?”

  The pilot turned around. “We’re meant to have the captain here. No disrespect, ma’am. Only it’s our first jump as a new crew, and the captain should be present for all major ship functions.”

  She sighed, pressing his palms into her thighs. “In the absence of the captain, I am your commanding officer and will oversee the jump.”

  “Where is he?” continued the pilot. “According to subsection thirteen-dash-A, the captain should be on the bridge for all gravity jumps.”

  Rayne ground her teeth together. She knew the rulebook backwards and forwards, probably better than this crewman. And normally she stuck to it. But if they waited to Gal to wake up, they could be floating at the edge of the solar system for hours. And Central Command would definitely notice, and definitely investigate the reason for the delay. “The captain will not be joining us.”

  A snicker from the back of the room drew her attention. The crewman whispered to the man next to him. “Told you he was a drunk.”

  Rayne shot to her feet. “He is your captain. He is occupied with ship’s business. And you will show him his due respect.”

  “Sorry, ma’am. It’s just, he has a reputation.”

  She straightened her uniform, flattening out an imperceptible crease, and glared at the crewman until his eyes dropped shamefully to the floor.

  “Anyone else? No? Then are we ready to jump?”

  There were no arguments and the pilot put her hands on the controls.

  “Jump,” Rayne ordered.

  The ship hurtled across the galaxy, accompanied by the standard sucking and squishing feeling that still made her insides churn.

  “Everyone alright?” Rayne asked.

  Half the crew clutched their heads or steadied themselves against the wall, but they seemed okay. No one vomited at least.

  “Good. Next jump is in nine hours. Get some rest.”

  * * *

  Gal groaned as the door chime sounded, pulling him from his drugged quasi-sleep. The pillows had been piled around him, and his bottle had gone missing.

  The traitorous door slid open, and Rayne stood in the corridor. “I didn’t expect you’d open the door.”

  “I didn’t mean to.” He tore up the sheets, looking for his missing drink.

  “We made the first jump.” Her cold expression told him he was in trouble.

  He stopped fumbling. “Sorry.”

  She sighed. “I thought about being mad at you, but we have a long trip ahead of us.”

  He became suddenly hyper-aware of his twisted sheets and rumpled dress uniform and the dried drool that caked across his cheek. “It was just one time — the Poet and the colonists, it was too much.”

  She held her hand out to stop him.

  He waited for her to speak, but she looked lost. “Rayne?”

  She sighed, then pulled on his wrist and tugged him out of bed. “Come on.”

  Of all the times he’d imagined her in his room late at night, this was not how it was supposed to go.

  He tugged down the rumpled uniform with one hand while she dragged him by the other. “Where are we going?”

  “You missed dinner.”

  “So?”

  She scowled at him.

  Anyone else, and he would have turned back, but Rayne, and especially an annoyed Rayne, he obeyed, following her through the corridors like a child.

  A handful of crew sat around a table playing some game on a tablet, but otherwise the room was quiet. The lights were dimmed except over the tiny kitchen.

  Rayne chose a small table at the far side of the room and gestured for him to sit.

  “What time is it?” he asked, taking a chair.

  “Oh-three-hundred. We’ve got about three hours left until the engines are ready for the next jump.”

  He stared down at his hands neatly folding in his lap, unable to look her in the eye. “Thanks.”

  “Sure.” She paused and he could feel her trying to catch his gaze. “What happened?” she asked.

  Gal shrugged. “Just tired.” He made an effort to look alert, even though the Jin-Jiu haze still surrounded him like a fuzzy bubble. He molded his lips into what he hoped was a sober smile.

  She looked away, watching the crewmen that cawed with laughter — the game must be getting good. When she turned back, her expression sagged with resignation. “Come on, I’ll fix you something. What do you want? We’ve got a full stock of rations.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “We have protein noodles, if the crewmen haven’t eaten them all already.”

  He shook his head again. “I’m really not hungry.”

  Her smile fell, cooled into an impatient frown. She walked away without saying a word.

  He heard the familiar opening of a vacuum pack, the hum of the kitchen’s warmer, and then a bright ding. Rayne returned with two steaming ration bowls. She plopped one in front of Gal unceremoniously.

  Questionable contents in a paper bowl. Rayne had been raised on the stuff and loved it. But he had grown up on a farm and tasted real food.

  “Now tell me what’s wrong,” she ordered him. “You were supposed to be cutting back.”

  He’d known her long enough, and there would be no evasive maneuvering when she was in this mood. “The Poet asked about the war,” he said. That was true, after all.

  She sat back, her face twisting as she picked at her words carefully, “I know you don’t think kindly on the war, Gal, but many people are proud. Even if we lost our planet, humanity is still here, still strong — who knows what could have happened. You defended us. No one knew what was going to happen. As much as you don’t think you did, you saved us.”

  If she only knew the half of it. What if there had never been a war in the first place?

  “We have a planet. It’s not the original one, but the crewmen tell me people are starting to think of it as home. Warmer too. And there aren’t any supercharged killing machine-children on it.”

  Gal poked at the semi-solid mystery-food mass before him. “Do you really think the kids were that bad?”

  “The Augments? If they were half as dangerous as the government told us they were, they would have killed us all. It was the virus, it made them hyper-aggressive. You know that as well as anyone.”

  That’s what the researchers had reported.

  “The Poet’s job is to report on all facets of humankind. You fought in the war, it makes sense he would want to ask you about it. The anniversary is coming up. Don’t let it get to you, yeah.”

  At that moment, Kieran Wood, previously unnoticed, popped out of the shadows and swivelled around in his chair. He shifted it noisily towards their table. With an unrefined plop, he dropped his own ration container on the table, gobs of gravy spilling out. “Hey, guys,” he grinned.

  “Gods,” muttered Gal, dropping this head down. He hadn’t even seen him tucked away at the little corner table. The chief engineer made a point of showing up at the worst times.

  Rayne smiled politely and set her hands in her lap. “Hello, Lieutenant.”

  Kieran grinned, eyes lighting up like some idiot child, and he started spooning some of the glop past his lips. “So, whaddya know about the Poet?” he said, mouth half-full with the resequenced protein they were calling potatoes. He leaned back in his chair, throwing his feet onto the table.

  Gal shuddered at the drawling accent — he never had bothered to ask where Kieran came from. And the manners — oh why, if he was stuck out here, did he have to be stuck with Kieran Wood? A
whacko, a real spread-mad individual, who actually requested a posting on the freightship, so he could ‘explore the planets in the Deep Black’.

  Gal shoved some of the food-glop into his own mouth, making a point to chew it all the way down, staring laz-bolts at the engineer. It was true they weren’t the strictest on protocol this far out, but Gal could be a real stickler when the mood struck. “Get your cracked feet off the table, Kieran.”

  The engineer jumped, but the size-ten, UEC-issue, grey boots stayed on the table.

  Gal tried a different tactic to get his point across: “I know the Poet annoys me only half as much as you do, Wood.”

  The boots slipped down and Kieran shrugged.

  “I know he’s getting off at Selousa, and that’s all I need to know,” said Gal.

  “We have orders to transport him, it’s not up to us to know why.” Rayne spoke softly, her voice carrying warning.

  Kieran seemed to take a moment’s pause, and Gal let himself hope that would be the end of it. But his eyes got bright again, and he said, “He’s kinda an odd fella, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Lieutenant!” Rayne’s voice pitched half an octave higher than normal. “You’re directing your scans where they don’t belong.”

  “Nah, I was in there fixin’ his computer for communications. Weird guy. Why do you think he chose the Ishash’tor. I mean, she’s a great ship, but the messenger ships can get to Selousa in half the time. Nicer fixins too.”

  “Kieran,” Rayne warned.

  But Gal had had enough. Enough of the day. Enough of the Poet. Enough of the engineer. “Quit trying to make something out of nothing. Not everything is a secret plot, there’s not something to explore on every uncharted moon. Life isn’t that interesting. And the Poet definitely doesn’t care about anything that happens on this ship.” He took a heaving breath, forcing his seizing heart to calm down. “The commander and I were talking. We were having a private conversation, and that’s what we would like it to be.”

  Kieran froze, and the laughter from the far side of the room stopped.

  Gal recoiled from his own sudden outburst, realizing he was standing up, fists on the table with his food spilled all over the deck — the Poet must have shaken him more than he thought.