By Darkness Forged (Seeker's Tales from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper Book 3)

by Nathan Lowell

  “You talked Al out of retiring, I hear.”

  “For now. I put her in for the captains’ board. Even if she doesn’t pass it, she’s earned a seat at the table.”

  “You think that’ll keep her?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know what happened that she got beached on Breakall. She hasn’t talked about it and I haven’t asked.” I looked at her. “You know she’s an artist?”

  Alys nodded. “A good one, too. Have you seen any of her work?”

  “Some sketches. She showed me a few pieces in her stateroom. She passed on the art show in Diurnia last time around. I’d like to make sure she has a chance at that again.”

  “You just need to get her there. Christine Maloney will do the rest.”

  “I suspect we can arrange that.”

  We stood there staring out at the sky and the sea for a few moments. “You seem better,” she said. “Calmer.”

  “You remember when you met me the first time?”

  “Neris, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah. You gave me the speech about how signing the articles would mean my ass was yours.”

  She laughed. “I loved giving that speech. I can’t tell you how many times I got it from my father. As far as I know, he got it from his.”

  “Why?” I asked. “Why did you love giving it?”

  “Because every time I did, I found out something about the new member of my crew. It scared some. Completely broke a few. I used to feel bad about those, until I realized it was better they knew early rather than late. Some showed me the glimmer of greatness.” She winked at me. “You weren’t one of those, but I had to give you credit. You had grit. There were times I wondered if I’d made a mistake, but even when you had your head so far up your ass you were looking out your navel, you always looked out for the crew. Even when it wasn’t in your best interest to do so.”

  “So why did you recommend me?”

  “Because I knew you wouldn’t do it. It’s amazing how much of an obstacle a little paperwork is and how often people accept the filled out form to attend a program that dooms them to paperwork for the rest of their lives.”

  I laughed because it was so true.

  “At the time I wondered if I would have to arm-wrestle officers to sign for you,” she said. “For a nobody, you sure made some big impressions even before the academy. Cassandra still asks after you.” She looked at me as if to gauge my reaction. “So when are you going to send some candidates my way?”

  I shrugged. “Chief Stevens has a hot one. She’s been after me to pass on some recommendations.”

  “Why haven’t you?”

  “I lost track of what I stand for,” I said. “I held on to lessons I should have forgotten and forgot lessons I should have remembered.”

  “That’s pretty navel-gazery. Gaines?”

  “He’s helped a lot.”

  “He’s a good man,” she said. “Did he give you homework?”

  I chuckled. “He did. Miserable unanswerable questions that I couldn’t ignore.”

  “I’d have expected no less. His business is pushing buttons.”

  One of Alys’s aides stuck his head in the door. “Commandant? Your next appointment.”

  “Are they on the ground yet?” she asked.

  “They’re on final.”

  “Thank you, Remi.” Alys looked off to the west where a tiny spot of light angled across the sky. “Duty calls. I need to go put my commandant pants on and go apologize to some alumni. Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck,” I said.

  She left the room from one door as Pip came in another. “That went well.”

  “The meeting? Yeah. You’re not going to get the second ship.”

  “I don’t want it,” he said.

  “What do you want?”

  He paused and swallowed.

  The action was so unlike him, it worried me. “What? What are you asking for?”

  “A spacer academy in Toe-Hold space.”

  “A what?”

  “A school for crew.”

  “You think they need it?”

  He shrugged. “Yes. At least I think so.” He motioned with his head. “Come on. We need to get back to campus.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve got three cases of Clipper Ship on ice and we’re hosting a party in my cottage tonight. I want to make sure the catering is there.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what? The party? Recruiting.”

  “What? Officers?”

  “How many do you think we need?”

  He shrugged, leading the way out of the conference room and into the elevator.

  “I want to know what kind of upperclassmen we’re putting into the field,” he said when the doors had closed.

  I frowned at him. “You want to recruit them into your data project on the cargo distribution model.”

  He shrugged. “Is that a crime?”

  “No, I think it’s a great idea. Will you need to be back for the conference? When is that?”

  “Next spring. It’s covered. I’ve got a company that handles it for me.”

  We left the hotel and stepped out into the early afternoon traffic in downtown Port Newmar.

  “This place has certainly grown,” I said. “I wonder if Erik James still has a studio here.”

  “We’ll be here for a few days. You can look him up.”

  Pip struck off for the shuttle bus stop and I followed along in his wake.

  “Why didn’t we rent a car and driver?” I asked.

  “You have any idea how much that would have cost?” he asked.

  “Less than we’ll spend on Clipper Ship Lager while we’re here, I bet.”

  He shot me a dirty look. “Philistine. What have you got against the shuttle?”

  “Nothing. It was just a question.”

  We got to the stop and jumped on the bus just as it was ready to pull out. We flashed our IDs and took seats near the front.

  “Busy day?” Pip asked leaning forward to address the driver.

  “Midday, midweek. Cadets are in classes. We don’t run that many shuttles during the day.”

  “Still run on the halves after 1800?” he asked.

  “Yep,” he said. “Going in is almost always full. Thins out around 2000 and picks up again after 2200. Commandant runs a tight ship, she does. School-night curfew is 2400 and woe be unto the cadet who misses that.”

  Pip laughed. “I may have forgotten a lot about the academy but I remember that. Her father wasn’t any different.”

  The driver laughed and pulled up to the next stop.

  Chapter 41

  Port Newmar: 2376, May 15

  They’d assigned me to the same cottage with the white roses as I’d had on my first return. Pip asked for and got one of the larger buildings closer to the admin tower. I was happy with my cozy cottage. When I’d arrived the previous evening, it had been too dark to see much. In the afternoon light, it seemed like home. Silly, I suppose, but I noted the roses had been recently pruned. Some of the stalks still showed the white scars of new cutting.

  Inside was the same furniture. Why would it have changed? I looked around, remembering it festooned with my old clothing. Recalling how it felt to be embarking on a new adventure.

  Gaines’s question came back to me: How did it make you feel?

  I wasn’t supposed to answer it. Just let it linger. The feelings rose of their own accord as long as I didn’t try to name them. It was the question that made me remember Alys Giggone’s initial speech. Remember my early days on the Lois. If I closed my eyes and thought back, the sounds and smells flooded me. The melding of fear, excitement, triumph, and anxiety keeping me off balance. Except the words failed to express the feeling that I remembered. Poor boxes that lacked the scope or integrity to encompass what that feeling had been. Or at least the feeling I remembered.

  This place I remembered. The sorting and shuffling, keeping and tossing. My absolute certainty th
at a correct answer must be here. The desperation that drove me into a partnership that I knew would be flawed from the beginning.

  And yet.

  And yet.

  The afternoon had not yet gotten to the point of long shadows. I grabbed the cup and tea from my grav trunk in the corner and went in search of Margaret Newmar.

  The path to the studio behind the gym still curved the way I remembered. The trees that had seemed barely taller than my head now arched high above. Here and there I spotted small plantings that looked natural, but consisted of species not native to the sector, let alone the planet. I snorted to myself. None of it was native to the planet, was it? The scent of green and growing plants gave the air a texture no scrubber could match.

  The studio looked much the same. The beautiful weathering on the wood siding. The tall glass window wall reflecting the sky and trees. At night the lights inside turned the sanded floor into a stage where we danced to a silent rhythm.

  The knob turned to my touch. The door opened. Inside I slipped off my shoes and bowed to the studio. The old forms coming back. A deep peace falling from the rafters.

  Sifu Newmar stepped out of the kitchen at the back and smiled at me. “Ishmael Wang. How lovely to see you.”

  I bowed to her, student to master. “Sifu. I have a gift for you.”

  She returned the bow, equal to equal. “Your being here is the gift.”

  I crossed to her and offered the packages.

  She took the tin in both hands, holding it to her face and inhaling. “A green. Lovely. Come. Sit. I’ll make tea and we’ll chat. Like old times, yes?”

  She drew me into the kitchen and seated me in my old chair facing the wall of cups. My gaze went to the still-empty slot.

  I placed the cubic box on the table and watched her moving through the familiar routine—cold water in the kettle, hot water to warm the pot, pinches of tea between two fingers and thumb. Rough measures. She seemed just as I remembered her. Memories are such traitors, happy to replace what was with what is. I’d been out of the academy for twenty-odd stanyers. She’d seemed so old then. Moving slowly. Deliberately. Wise. On the floor she moved with a fluid grace, her core strength beyond my own in the beginning. Even years later, I never matched her in grace or strength.

  She poured water over the tea and clinked the top on the pot before turning to me.

  “You want to tell me about it?” she asked.

  The question surprised me. “About what?”

  “Your last voyage, maybe?” Her sharp eyes glinted in the light. “You seem quite different.”

  “The man who killed Greta is dead.”

  She nodded. “Are you sorry?”

  “Sorry that he’s dead?” I asked. I shook my head. “No, why would I be sorry?”

  “Sorry you didn’t kill him.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the counter in that way I remembered.

  I took a deep breath and considered it. “No,” I said after a few moments. “I never wanted to kill him. I only wanted justice for Greta.”

  “It’s an old law,” she said. “Eye for an eye.”

  “Doesn’t make it a right one.”

  “But the notion of reciprocal harm? You think that’s wrong?”

  “I think I prefer restitution to retribution,” I said.

  She raised an eyebrow at that.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I didn’t want to have to become a monster to beat a monster.”

  “What justice would you have preferred?”

  I shook my head. “In the beginning, dragging him back to CPJCT for trial seemed the correct course.”

  “You changed your mind.”

  “Yeah. Pip tried to convince me that he was actually a TIC operative. That he’d never stand trial.”

  “What if he had?” she asked. “Would you have considered it justice if he were acquitted? Or if convicted and put out an air lock?”

  “You mean if I’d pushed the onus onto somebody else?”

  She smiled and waited.

  “It’s a slippery idea, justice,” I said.

  Her smile widened and the tea timer dinged. She selected two of the plain, round china cups with no handles, christening them from the pot over the sink before bringing them to the table. She poured the tea and set the pot aside.

  We sipped for a few moments, the silence of the studio settling around us. The scents of old wood, new floor wax, and green tea wafted around my head. The tea rolled across my tongue and down my gullet, almost too hot to drink and warming on the way down.

  “What else?” she asked.

  “Not much. A nuke on Dark Knight Station. We docked with the mega for a while after the ship had been contaminated by sarin gas.” I took a sip. “I ordered a new pair of boots.”

  “I heard Pip was snatched.”

  “Yes. He broke free but was still in the auto-doc while we were getting hijacked.”

  “Coincidence?” she asked.

  “Probably.”

  She let that stand for a moment.

  “I have no idea. It seemed all connected to the push to get the Chernyakova out to the mega.”

  “You think differently now?”

  “They went to ridiculous lengths to get us to take that can. Pressuring Kondur. A nuke at Dark Knight. A team of truly incompetent hijackers. Kidnapping Pip.”

  “I heard they hit Kondur, too,” she said.

  “We asked him to dinner on the Chernyakova. He got jumped on the way back to his office.”

  “Sounds like a busy trip.” She sipped her tea. “You saw Penelope and Quentin at Mel’s.”

  “We did. Also Cousin Roger. Pip seemed to think it odd that they were having a private meeting with Malachai Vagrant.”

  “Not unexpected.” She sipped her tea. “What will you do now?”

  “Extended port call. The crew’s getting some rest, the ship’s getting some maintenance. I’m visiting my therapist. Then we go back out and haul some more freight.”

  “You have some time to spend here? We haven’t danced together in too long.”

  “I’d like that. I’m out of practice.”

  “Most returning students are.” She smiled and lifted the cover on the small white box. The blue flower practically glowed against the white china background. “Ishmael, this is lovely.”

  “It’s probably not as old as the one that broke, but I thought it would make an interesting replacement and fill in the empty hole in your collection.”

  She held the cup in both hands, cradled like a bird or a kitten. “It’s not the age or even the pattern. It’s the heart that comes with it and the stories that surround it.”

  “The broken one must have had some stories,” I said.

  She gave a small smile, almost sad. “It’s last story hasn’t found an ending yet. Perhaps someday.”

  I finished my tea and stood. “Thank you, Sifu. I hate to drink and run but I need to get back to my cottage and get cleaned up. Pip’s asked me to help with the party tonight.”

  “Party?”

  “He’s trying to recruit last-term cadets to join his research project.”

  She smiled. “Ah, yes.”

  She stood, gave me a hug. “Studio opens at 0600. I’ll expect you.”

  I wandered down the path, still a little distracted by the conversation. I left feeling like we talked around the edges but never really dug into any part of it. It felt odd.

  Two women came from the opposite direction so I stepped to the side of the narrow path to let them go by. I nodded without really seeing them, but as they passed I noticed one of them holding a familiar white, cubic box.

  I looked after them just as the shorter one looked back in my direction. The same woman. They disappeared around a turn, the vegetation hiding them from view. I would have followed them but the fading light among the shade trees made me question. It happened so fast. It couldn’t have been. “What are the odds?”

  The walk back to the cottage took a few ticks. I enjoyed t
he fresh air and the sun’s shadows lengthening across the parade ground. The two women occupied my brain while my senses enjoyed the view and air that hadn’t been filtered.

  Chapter 42

  Port Newmar: 2376, May 15

  Pip’s soiree went off without a hitch. The hired caterers kept the food moving. The crowd grew from a modest half dozen to around thirty or so upperclassmen. I expect that had as much to do with the word going out about the free beer as much as interest in the structural equation modeling of cargo distribution.

  Pip, in an uncharacteristic spasm of common sense, limited the distribution of free beer to two per student. The party started to peter out relatively early and only a couple of students needed to be pried out of the house at 2200. It was a school night, after all. The caterers cleared away the mess, stashed the leftovers in the fridge, and left us to our own devices by 2300.

  I grabbed a cold one from the beer cooler and rested my weary bones on a sofa across from Pip. “How d’ya think it went?” I asked.

  He made the little teeter-totter with his thumb and pinky. “So-so. I only found one that knew what a standard deviation was.” He shook his head and took a pull off his beer. “Not exactly a bust. I might have gotten a couple of people thinking about the project. They may be more interested once they graduate and get a job.”

  “You should have restricted it to those on the cargo track.”

  He shook his head. “I should have invited the instructors from the cargo track and had them bring a couple of their students.”

  “Targeted marketing,” I said.

  “I’ll drink to that,” he said.

  “At this point, you’ll drink to almost anything, won’t you?”

  He laughed. “No doubt. I’m completely beat. Between the shuttle, the stockholders meeting, and this party, I think a couple days of sleep would suit me fine. What’s on your to-do?”

  “Tai chi at 0600.” I sipped my beer. “Do you have to check in with her?”

  He shook his head. “I quit.”

  “No exit interview?” I asked.

  “She hasn’t asked for one.”

  “You realize you basically just told me more than I’m supposed to know.”

  One side of his mouth curled up and he winked at me. “I’m not telling you anything you haven’t already worked out, and you might be surprised how much of it you’re expected to know.”