Badger

by Kindal Debenham

  Michael snorted. He’d been about to drink, and he lowered his glass with a jerk as he coughed a little. “You’re right there, Captain Hull. Still, I feel better for the man. Now that he’s asked them he can move on in life.”

  A flicker of camaraderie glowed through Jacob’s determination to dislike the man, but it was short-lived.

  Catherine, for her part, threw an all-too familiar elbow into her boyfriend’s flank. Exasperation colored her tone when she spoke next. “Very funny, you two. A couple of comedians here.” Her expression grew focused again, and far more serious than Jacob really felt like being at the moment. “I was talking about the last one, Jacob. The one about leaving the Navy?”

  Jacob blinked again. He felt a chill inside him. “What about it? The reporters always ask things like that, probably because so many people stick it out just long enough to run for office.” He shrugged. “That’s not the way I see things.”

  Catherine shook her head. “Of course not. You’re doing your duty to defend people, like dad taught us.” She leaned forward. “But staying in the Navy wasn’t always the plan, Jacob. You’ve been at command level rank for well over two years now. Are you planning on leaving the Navy any time soon?”

  Michael frowned and broke in before Jacob could find the words to answer. “Plan? What plan?”

  Jacob glanced at the man, wondering if he was making another joke, but he seemed uneasy instead of jovial. Catherine was the one who responded.

  “When we lost Mom and Dad, Jacob and I came up with a way we could start up our own trading business. You know, like they used to run.” She smiled. “I would study business at Corleigh until I had my degree, and Jacob would go into the Academy until he’d served long enough for an honorable discharge. That way we’d have enough money to buy a ship and set out on our own.”

  “Ah.” Michael sat back in his chair, expression thoughtful. Jacob wished his sister hadn’t made the whole thing sound so mercenary, but it was, at the core of everything. The Celostian Navy had established the monetary incentive to guarantee the continued flow of capable officers through the Academy, and while he had intended to serve the entire time required in the interest of his nation, it would have been a good opportunity for Catherine and himself once his time of service was over. He would have gone into reserve status, ready to respond if the Navy needed him, but he would have been able to take care of his sister.

  Things had been clearer back then. The time of service required of a Lieutenant generally came out to about ten years, with higher grade officers being required to serve less and less time. As a commander, his time of service had shrunk to six years, and when he had received his promotion to captain, it had shrunk further to nearly three. Given his previous service, there was a distinct possibility he could resign from the Navy, receive his reward, and continue on with his own ship, just as they’d planned.

  There was only one problem. Their plan had been made before he’d served aboard the Wolfhound and before he’d commanded a ragtag fleet at Reefhome. It had been made before he’d seen the desperate circumstances at the border and before he’d held the responsibility for people’s lives—the lives of the crewmen who depended on him—in his hands. He had forgotten about the plan and had nearly dismissed it to the pages of history. Jacob could never resign as long as his friends and fellow sailors were still facing death on the front lines. Not while they would still need his help.

  Then again, they hadn’t done so well with his help, had they?

  The realization he might have been doing more harm than good burned in his mind, and beside the temptation to leave behind all of that complicated agony for the life of a simple trader, it was making Catherine’s question much, much harder to answer. Jacob shook his head, trying to resolve the doubts and fears within his own mind. “I don’t know, Catherine. Things have changed.”

  Stubborn refusal—mixed with no small amount of hurt—entered her eyes. “They haven’t changed much, Jacob. The Navy can handle itself without you trying to look after it. They don’t need you to act the hero for them. You can come home now. You’ve done your part.”

  Anger flickered at the edges of Jacob’s mind. He shook his head again, trying to control his voice. “It’s not that easy, Catherine.”

  “Easy? Really, Jacob, easy?” Catherine looked away for a moment, and when her gaze returned it was filled with rage as well. “Let me tell you just how easy it’s been for me here, while you’re off on your wild little adventures.” She leaned in again, her eyes flashing. “Every time I turn on the news and hear the Navy’s fought the Odurans on the border, I have to stop and remember which system you’re in, and figure out if you would have gotten yourself hurt in the fighting. Every time your letter takes a bit longer, even if it’s because the courier got held up somewhere, I have to wonder if it’s because there won’t be another letter. And every time I hear another one of your damn ships got destroyed, I had to wonder if you aren’t ever coming back, because you’re dead and locked in vacuum somewhere. And you’re calling that easy?”

  Guilt flailed at Jacob, but his jaw tightened as anger began to chill the pain left by her words. He struggled to control his voice. “It’s been hard for everyone, Catherine. This isn’t something I do because I want to.”

  “Then leave! Turn in your resignation and buy a ship. You can be running around the frontier, trading away to your heart’s content. You can go anywhere you want, and some Oduran ship won’t be shooting holes in you.”

  His anger started to slip out when he responded this time. “Oh really? They’ve started to not shoot Celostian traders now, have they? Because the last time I checked, they blow up anybody they can get their hands on—and that’s if the Telosians haven’t gotten to them first. If I’m going to be shot at, it might as well be while I’m on a warship.”

  Catherine threw up her hands in frustration. “Then don’t trade along the border! Get yourself a nice run that doesn’t go near the frontiers. There are ways to make a living doing that, you know. Some people do manage it.”

  Jacob clenched one hand into a fist. “And you know why they manage it? It’s because while they’re back here in the center of the Union, somebody else is fighting on the border. The Odurans and Telosians and whoever else out there aren’t going to raid a few worlds along the edge and be happy. They’d come all the way here if they could, and they’d do the same thing they did at Rigannin, Erad and Reefhome. They’d butcher and enslave anybody they could get their hands on, and that’s if they didn’t just set up shop and conquer you.”

  He realized he was nearly yelling, and attempted to lower his voice. The words still came out harder than he liked. “Somebody has to stop that from happening. Lots of times they have to die for it, and we do. Too many of us do.” The Terrier’s crew rose up in his memory, but Jacob shook his head to dispel his grief. “But if I can keep somebody alive by being out there, then I will. If I can help hold back the League and their pirate cronies by fighting a little longer than the minimum required of me, then I will. And if by dying I make sure nobody like Dianton or Al-Mustafa makes it far enough into the Union to reach you, or anyone else, then I will.”

  Jacob ground to a halt, his grief, anger, frustration, and guilt all swirling inside him. He waited for the explosion to come from his sister, but none did. She stared at him, her face pale. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line.

  Finally, she stood, pushing her chair back hard enough to nearly turn it over. “Fine, Mr. Martyr. I hope you’re happy with what the Navy can give you for your heroism. I hear the funerals are extra nice for the selfless ones.”

  With those cold words she turned and stalked away, her fists swinging at her sides like battering rams. Jacob watched her go for a moment before he turned his attention back to the food in front of him. Somehow the burrito didn’t seem nearly as appetizing as before.

  Then somebody cleared his throat, and Jacob looked up to find Michael watching him warily. A flush of embarrassment swept
through him, and he resisted the urge to excuse himself and run for the hills. “Sorry, Michael. We don’t exactly have gentle tempers in our family.”

  The bulky engineer raised both eyebrows as he brought his cup to his lips. “Oh, I know. One time she found out I was stressing the limits on one of our performance skiffs. I thought my ear was bleeding for days afterwards.”

  Jacob grunted and glanced down at his burrito. It seemed even less appetizing knowing the only person he had left to eat it with was his enraged sister’s boyfriend. “Yeah, well, she’s like that. Catherine likes to take care of people. She’s not one to watch idly while somebody she loves does something stupid.”

  “True.” Michael sighed. “You probably already know, but she’s trying to look out for you. Not a day goes by that I don’t hear how worried she is about her little brother, up there fighting pirates. Your letters are a big deal for her too.”

  Whether Michael was on his sister’s side or not, the big man was pounding the guilt home a little too effectively for Jacob’s tastes. He grunted and speared a fragment of burrito with his fork. “It must be annoying for you. Is that something you’re willing to put up with for long? I mean, all that drama must wear on a relationship.”

  Michael’s slow smile returned. “I think I can manage.” He shook his head and set his glass down. Jacob popped the bite of burrito into his mouth and had just begun to chew when Michael continued. “In fact, inconvenient as it is, I was going to ask you if I could marry her at some point.”

  Jacob choked. He made something like the noise a bad car engine made when someone tried to start it, and Michael suddenly looked up in concern. A few more noises brought the man around enough to slap Jacob on the back a few times. “Hey, you okay, Captain Hull.”

  The food popped free, and Jacob gasped for air as it slid to his stomach. He took a few deep breaths to stabilize himself, and glared at Michael. “You’re what?”

  Michael held up both hands defensively. “I want your permission to marry your sister.”

  Jacob continued to stare at him, and Michael crossed back to his seat.

  “I know it’s kind of sudden, but I’m not doing anything soon. It’s just with you away so frequently, I wanted to know you wouldn’t object to the engagement.” The man paused. “Or at least, I wanted to know about what you would say before we decided.”

  The words made a certain logical sense, but Jacob still felt poleaxed by the question. He continued to stare at Michael for an uncomfortable amount of time, until finally the engineer glared back at him and spoke. “Well? Anything you’d like to say?”

  Despite himself, Jacob smiled. He shook his head. “Not really. Not yet anyway.” Michael let out a short breath, and Jacob tried to pick his next words carefully. “There are a few things I’d like to ask. Have you asked yourself where she’s going to want to live? My sister grew up on a wandering trade ship. She may not want to settle down next to the spaceport for the next two decades.”

  The other man nodded. “You’re right, but in some ways I think she’d be fine settling down—probably not on Celostia, but somewhere. She loves Corleigh, and there are some major shipyards in that direction who would love to have someone with my skills onboard. But if push comes to shove, I have enough to invest in a ship for her to turn into a home.”

  Jacob grunted. “Okay, next question then. Why haven’t you joined the Navy?”

  Michael’s expression darkened. “Not everyone has to, Jacob. The Union needs civilian engineers as much as they do military ones. Who do you think develops things like the Wolfhound?”

  Surprised, Jacob sat back. “You helped develop the Hunter class destroyer? Catherine didn’t tell me that.”

  A hint of embarrassment crossed Michael’s face. “No, actually I didn’t. Sorry; I meant engineers like me are the type of people who come up with those new ideas.”

  With a snort, Jacob leaned forward again. “And what kind of new ideas have you come up with then? Some kind of super railgun system?”

  Michael shook his head. “No, weapons aren’t really what I focused on when I was working. My field is more focused around improving the systems we use to riftjump.” The engineer had a sudden, almost intimidating light in his eyes and he leaned forward as well. “I’m working on a new kind of Capistan mechanism that might be able to shrink the size of those systems. That way they won’t be hit as easily by enemy fire, especially on smaller craft.”

  Interest began to intrude on his skepticism. “Really? How are you going to manage that trick?”

  Michael raised an eyebrow. “Now, now. An engineer never gives away his secrets. When I manage it the military won’t be the only one who benefits. Small trading ships and other spacers will benefit as well.” He grinned. “Of course, I do have to get the kinks out of it first. Then maybe you’ll start seeing it pop up in some of the newer designs.”

  Jacob tapped the table with one finger. It sounded like a useful project, and Michael had a point. Without the construction crews working on their ships, the Navy would be handicapped in its ability to produce warships. Given how much repair work his ships typically needed, he had grown to appreciate how much work they needed to do to repair the damage. “Impressive, but the Hull family has always served in the Navy. My father said it was a mark of courage to put your life on the line and stand up to those who would hurt people.”

  A serious look crossed Michael’s face. “I respect the Navy and those who serve in it, but you don’t have a monopoly on courage. And you don’t have to serve in the military to confront evil.” A sudden smile cracked through the mask of solemnity. “I think I’ve already proved that to both you and your sister, haven’t I?”

  He gave the man a grudging nod. “True.” So far, Michael’s answers had been sufficient. The last guy who’d made it to this point hadn’t fared nearly as well. In fact, Jacob almost—nearly—felt the tiniest bit impressed. He had to work harder to remind himself he was supposed to hate the man across the table from him, but he managed.

  “Last question. What are you going to do when she disagrees with you?”

  Michael blinked, as if surprised or confused, and Jacob decided to elaborate a little further.

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Catherine and I don’t exactly come from mild stock. She’s going to have strong opinions, to the point where you’re going to wonder if you’ll ever be able to change her mind. She’ll argue, bicker, whine, and when you back her into a corner she’ll come out swinging. How are you planning on dealing with that?”

  Michael didn’t answer right away. Instead, he bowed his head in thought. Jacob waited, confident that whatever was going through Michael’s mind, the current fight with Catherine had demonstrated his point. The last guy hadn’t understood; he’d come up with some trash about understanding Catherine’s needs and attempting to persuade her to his point of view with well-reasoned logic. It hadn’t worked well, and, just as Jacob had suspected, Catherine had given the guy the boot a short time later.

  After a few more moments, Michael looked up. His face was still serious. “So pretty much you’re worried she’s going to steamroll me because she’s stubborn, determined, and has a temper like a mule, right?”

  Jacob nodded, wondering where Michael was going with his response.

  Then Michael gave him a smile that was one part cocksure and one part self-assured. “Well, it’s a good thing that my mother tended to describe me as mule-headed as well. I think I’ll be able to handle her just fine, thank you.”

  Jacob coughed into his hand to avoid revealing a chuckle. He raised an eyebrow. “And what are you going to do to convince me you can pull that off? You’re asking me for my permission to marry her, aren’t you?”

  Michael shook his head, and Jacob felt a burst of surprise. “Sorry to have given you the wrong impression, Captain Hull. I would love to have you agree with our marriage, and it would make Catherine very happy if we had a good start between us. But if you don’t agree, I�
��m still going to ask her. And if she says yes, we will get married.”

  Jacob locked eyes with the other man, stilling his face to a professional calm. “And if she says no?”

  Michael sat back and crossed his arms. “Then it’s her decision, not yours. Though I hope she agrees eventually.” He smiled; his eyes never left Jacob’s. “As I said, I am a stubborn man.”

  They sat for a moment, staring at each other with unwavering focus. Michael didn’t seem inclined to budge, sitting back with his arms crossed and a smile twisting his lips.

  Finally, Jacob grinned. “All right then. I’m still not convinced she’ll have you, but I have to admit, you may make the cut. If she says yes, I won’t stand in your way.” He stopped when Michael’s smile blossomed into a broad, toothy expression of satisfaction. There was no reason to let the man get too overconfident, after all. “One last thing you should know.”

  Jacob leaned forward. “When the Wolfhound hit the pirates in the initial ambush, I didn’t give them any warning. I waited until they were too close to escape and too close to miss. The gun crews, on my orders, turned their ships into floating graveyards. They died from shrapnel, fire, and vacuum exposure. A few even managed to lose heat control on their ship. I imagine their last few moments, as they baked alive in their own ship, were unbearable.” Michael shifted in his seat, and Jacob grinned inwardly. “I did that to them because they had hurt my crew. They threatened the well-being of people I cared about, people I served with, and I would not hesitate to do it again.”

  He let his smile go cold. “Michael, I want you to think about what I would do if someone hurts Catherine. If someone, anyone, betrayed her trust or abused her love. I want you to think about that every single time you have a fight, feel a temptation, or start to lose control. Every. Single. Time.” Jacob let his expression grow even colder, expressing the chill he felt each time he remembered Dianton’s threat to hurt his sister. “Think on it, and let me know if you ever start to forget. Are we understood, Mr. Demarcos?”