by Stefon Mears
Jacobs turned his gaze on Tunold, matching the younger man’s passion with some fury of his own.
“So you’re volunteering? Well, maybe I’ll let you go, and maybe I won’t. I agree that command needs to be represented in this little venture, and I agree that my ex oh should go in my place. But does that mean you?”
Tunold’s jaw jutted far enough forward that his narrowed eyes looked as much like a function of angle as of suspicion. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I need an ex oh who treats me like the Old Man, not an old man. Limiting the information my crew gives me? I won’t have it. Not on my ship. So you need to decide right now if you’re spacer enough to handle serving under my command.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, John.” Tunold looked away, an action so unlike him that surprise tried to pale Jacobs’ skin. “Dr. Ramirez caught me before takeoff. He’s worried about you. Zoltan jumping ship, Mancuso your new partner, now this flight.
“You’re the oldest helioship captain still flying. He’s worried about the stress and your heart.”
“My heart’s as strong as anyone on this ship, and stronger than most.”
“He begged me to do as much for you as I could. Take all the pressure off you I could.”
Jacobs grimaced and shook his head. “How long have you known me now, Kris?”
“Hell, I don’t know,” said Tunold with a wave of his hand. “A long time.”
“Which do you think is better for me? Sitting back and letting someone else do my job, or digging in and getting my hands dirty?”
“He’s the doctor, John. Retirement’s no good if you don’t live to see it.”
“Enough!” Jacobs slammed his fist down on the oak desk. “Ramirez doesn’t command this ship. I do. And you don’t report to him, you report to me. So make the call. Are you my ex oh or do you quit?”
Tunold rubbed his eyes with those great paws of his.
He has to think about this?
Finally, Tunold said, “John, I’d hate to see you die if I could stop it, but my guess is you’d rather die commanding from the big chair than live watching with the passengers while your crew struggles.”
“Too goddamn right.”
Tunold breathed out a chuckle. “How are you going to survive retirement?”
“I’ll deal with that after I survive this voyage.”
“Fair enough,” said Tunold in that growling tone that meant he only conceded a point for purposes of the current discussion. How many times had Jacobs heard that tone over the years? So many that hearing it now almost made him smile. But Tunold wasn’t done talking. “So I’m in. And, Captain, I formally apologize for exceeding my authority.”
“Accepted. Now I need you and Cromartie to take that shuttle and check out this bogey. Grabowski can feed you aggregate coordinates and likely locations.”
“Cromartie?”
“I can’t imagine him not volunteering, and the expedition could use a magician.” Jacobs tossed down the rest of his whiskey. “Besides, would you want to risk taking Mash off this ship?”
“As if he’d volunteer to leave his comfy bunk,” said Tunold with a laugh. Then the two men put their heads together and planned a scouting expedition.
◊
Back in his suite, Donal sat cross-legged on the carpeting, deep within a circle of his own thoughts. Eyes closed, his body moved only to the rhythm of breaths so deep they fully expanded his lungs and diaphragm. Each single breath took perhaps a minute to complete from the moment the inhalation began to the moment the exhalation completed.
But Donal’s mind spared no attention for these details. The body would attend to them without conscious intervention. Donal’s mind had spent time it had not tracked divesting itself of speculations, conclusions, hopes, fears, concerns, impulses, and finally details, each thought joining the others to whirl about the circle in which Donal sat. Nothing escaped him, but nothing troubled him. Not just then.
Absent of thought, Donal hung in a suspended moment of perfect peace. Perfect ... until he felt the gentle touch of his familiar’s mind.
“Master, Ricardo Montenegro knocks upon your door. I have informed him that you meditate, but he feels his need is sufficient to interrupt.”
Returning took time, but how much time the effort required, Donal could never tell. He could tell only that his thoughts seeped back into his mind like rolling fog, then he became aware of the tingle of air on his scalp, the smell of dragon’s blood incense in his nose, the sensation of his shirt on his shoulders and chest, the weight of his arms as they moved to stretch above his head, the plush comfort of the carpeting underneath him, and finally the prickling tingle of his sleeping legs.
“Just a moment,” Donal called to the knock, a reflexive response that made him realize he could hear the world around him again. He rolled onto his back, then side to side to help straighten his legs, and finally used his hands to help get his feet under him.
He stood by bracing himself on the coffee table as his legs agreed to hold his weight. To Fionn, he said, “Is Mr. Montenegro carrying any enchantments?”
“One, on a tie tack, that would defend against mental intrusions or manipulations.”
On his way to the door, Donal’s gait had to have looked as awkward as it felt, his feet and thighs still protesting as though they properly belonged to another body. At last he managed to get the door open to see Ricardo Montenegro, a middle-aged gentleman whose coloring and bone structure told of heritage somewhere south of the United North American States. His black hair had grayed at the temples, but his tailored suit looked as crisp and new as though it had just been sewn.
“There you are, Cuthbert. I was starting to wonder if your familiar delivered my message.”
“Deep meditation...” Donal almost explained about states of mind, but remembered Magister Machado’s advice about an ‘air of mystery.’ Not a complete fabrication, thought Donal. Just the proper spin doctoring. “...involves direct communication with primal forces. Even a critical interruption wouldn’t excuse a rude exit on my part.”
Donal felt his right knee begin to shake with the need to move more blood. “What can I do for you, Mr. Montenegro?”
“May I come in? I have an important matter to discuss with you before dinner.”
“Of course,” said Donal, moving to one side and gesturing for the man to enter. “But I should make clear that I’m not allowed to take on side contracts while out on delivery.”
“I don’t need your magic,” said Mr. Montenegro, who sat in one of the two recliners and made a show of surveying the room before bringing his eyes back to Donal.
Donal saw expectation there, but as he followed into the main room after closing the door, he could not guess what the man wanted.
That expectation hung in the air between the two men until Fionn muttered, in tones only Donal could hear, “He’s waiting for you to offer him a drink.”
“Oh!” said Donal. “I’m sorry. Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you,” said Mr. Montenegro, but Donal noted that the formality had relaxed the man a little. He sat back more casually, but continued speaking as Donal approached to sit in the other recliner. “I do not intend to take much of your time, but there is something I must know.”
Again silence filled with expectation. But Donal didn’t need Fionn’s prompting this time. “What’s that?”
“Why did you choose to save Mancuso’s life?”
“Are you suggesting I should have let Mr. bin Zuka murder him?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m asking. I know that Red Sun gave you the hard sell.” He must have seen Donal’s eyes widen, because he raised a forestalling hand. “I won’t tell you how I know, but I will tell you that I am not allied with Red Sun.
“You could have left the matter to ship’s security. You could have taken a deal from Red Sun. Instead of doing either, you risked your life fighting a duel to save Mancuso. I just want to know why.”
“Why does it matter? Isn’t all life worth saving?”
Mr. Montenegro raised one eyebrow. The movement required only the smallest fraction of a millimeter, and yet Donal felt that the man had just read, assessed and evaluated him.
“I suppose a certain amount of quid pro quo is in order. I have an opportunity to do business with the man, which means I have dug further into his life and history than you could probably imagine.” Those dark brown eyes smiled now, but the smile never spread to the rest of his face. “Oh, I assure you, he has done the same to me. It is the life we have chosen.
“While my research indicates that Mancuso is a man to inspire many responses, noble sacrifice is not on the list. Which makes you an anomaly. You weren’t on his payroll. You aren’t in a line of work that demands or rewards unnecessary risks. Your goals, so far as I can tell, involve lab work and research.”
Mr. Montenegro shook his head, a quick, irritated movement as though bothered by the buzz of a mosquito.
“You had no reason to care. But you risked your life to save his. Why?”
“Maybe I knew I’d be rewarded with money for grad school.”
“If that were the reason, you wouldn’t have continued courier work. You’d have gotten a living stipend to tide you over until school started. Pocket change to a man like Mancuso, and probably a write-off of some sort.”
Am I the only one who didn’t think of that? “Maybe it was just the right thing to do.”
“Maybe. Is that the reason you’re giving?”
“I’ll tell you the truth, if it matters so much. But before I do, you have to answer a question for me. And I want the truth too.”
“I’m not taking off my protection.”
“Put it in writing and I’ll verify the truth by magic, then destroy the entry.”
“There is no need. My research tells me you are honorable enough, for a magician. So I’ll tell you the truth if you’ll swear it won’t leave this room. In return, I’ll keep whatever truth you tell me to myself. Are we agreed?”
They shook hands.
“Mr. Mancuso has been accumulating a lot of power,” said Donal. “What do you think his ultimate goal is?”
“That is your secret question?” Mr. Montenegro laughed, a sudden but rolling sound that continued for a moment before drifting away. “Very well. Mr. Mancuso’s ambition does not have limits. He wants it all, and when he gets it he’ll look for ways to gain more. He’s the sort of man who will bankroll exploration and colonization just to create new markets to conquer.”
Donal thought about that, and Mr. Montenegro laughed again. “Do you need further elaboration?”
“No...”
“Then please be so kind as to answer my question: why did you save his life?”
“Because even if everything Mr. bin Zuka said about him was true, murder wasn’t the answer. Magic teaches us that whatever Mr. bin Zuka might have hoped to accomplish, tainting the process would taint the results.”
Mr. Montenegro rubbed at an old scar on the inside of his left wrist.
“So despite never having fought a duel before, you challenged bin Zuka to a duel to the death to save a man’s life, over a point of philosophy?”
“It was the right thing to do.”
Mr. Montenegro played with his tie tack for a moment, staring out the porthole at the passing space. Finally he said in a distant voice, “I will never understand magicians.” He stood, an abrupt movement that had Donal halfway into a defensive gesture before he could stop himself. Mr. Montenegro said, “But I have taken enough of your time, and you have given me much to consider. Thank you very much. I will see you at dinner.”
Mr. Montenegro let himself out and Donal turned a puzzled look on his cú sidhe. Fionn lay its head on its crossed paws. Donal decided that Fionn didn’t know what to make of the man either.
Chapter Ten
Tunold settled into the pilot station of the hippogriff shuttle. The station felt too short for a man his height. His knees nearly bumped on the bottom of the console. And the chair felt too narrow, even though it had space enough for someone half-again the skinny ex oh’s breadth.
But then, maybe the problem was that this shuttle was entirely insufficient to its assigned task, and Tunold knew it. Not enough acceleration. Not precise enough scanners. No defenses built in, only whatever Cromartie could bring to bear, and the man was only an Initiate.
Doesn’t mean this is a suicide run. Just have to be careful, Kris.
Tunold could hear Cromartie now, coming into the shuttle and setting up over by the station that handled both scanners and communications. Tunold glanced back at him, and felt a moment of camaraderie. Cromartie had to have felt as crowded as Tunold: they were both of a height, and Cromartie’s shoulders were broader with muscle.
“I’ve got the extra supplies,” said Cromartie, holding up a small pouch that probably had eye of newt and toe of frog, or whatever the hell else it was that alchemists put into their brews. “If we’re out long enough to stress the bindings, I should be able to smooth things over and keep us in good running shape.”
“So you can handle the basic engineering for a ship this size?”
Tunold waited until Cromartie nodded before asking his next questions, even if that nod came with a furrowed brow.
“What about scanners? Ever handle scanners before?” Like the communications station, the controls of the shuttle seemed simple next to those of the Horizon Cusp, but Tunold knew they contained subtleties that they might need for this mission. “I can give you a quick rundown on the basics.”
“I’m fully rated with runabouts, shuttles, and airborne craft.” Cromartie’s face split in a smile. “Some of us like to get out of the lab once in a while.”
“Will your magic be any help if we run into trouble?”
“Depends on the trouble, but I did help fight off those zuglodons. I know what I’m doing, Ex Oh.”
“All right, Mr. Cromartie. I’m not trying to ruffle feathers. I just needed to know you’re ready for this.”
“Ready as you are, Sir.”
“Fair enough.” Tunold ran through the pre-flight sequence, and transferred the planned route from his memopad into the navigation system. If all went according to plan they would sweep out in a broad arc that would carry them past the four likeliest locations for the shimmer, see whatever there was to see, and get back to the ship without running into any problems.
I should be so lucky.
All the pre-flight checks from both stations came up clean. Tunold ran through final details with the bridge, then spread the hippogriff’s wings, lifted off from the nest, and soared out into the not-quite-black of space.
Immediately Tunold felt claustrophobic. From the bridge on the Horizon Cusp he could have seen every direction except straight down, but the bridge of the shuttle sat in the hippogriff’s chest. A forward view only, maybe one hundred sixty degrees. He had a good angle to see relative down in front of the ship, but his view of relative up was impeded by the throat and head of the hippogriff.
Tunold’s eyes kept flitting from the space ahead of him to his small phantasmal display of the sphere of space about the ship, fed to his station from the scanners.
Behind him, he could hear Cromartie give the final exit report. “Horizon Cusp, this is the mule. We are away and beginning sweep. Will report as needed.”
Tunold waited until the Horizon Cusp signed off, then said, “Mule?”
“We’re in a shuttle shaped like a hippogriff that flies out of a gryphon’s nest. Figure that means mixed parentage, and probably an inability to breed.” Cromartie waited until Tunold glanced back at him before finishing, “Besides, we needed a code name.”
Tunold shook his head and went back to flying. He needed to spend more time flying the shuttle once the Horizon Cusp was his ship. Hopping up and down to the docks didn’t draw attention to the slight starboard pull of the controls or the sluggish updating of the navigation elementals
.
“You better check the shuttle over when we get back,” he said. “I think the nav binding has a problem.”
“I checked the bindings before we left. They’re fine.”
“It’s almost a half-second too slow.”
“That’s not the binding, that’s the compulsion. It must be... Wait, do you actually want the details?”
“No, I want the damn thing to work.”
“Right.” Cromartie got quiet, and when Tunold glanced over his shoulder, he could see the Initiate finish a quick probe through the scanners, then dig into the pouch for ... something small. Tunold turned his attention back to his flying, but could hear Cromartie mumbling something that didn’t sound like English.
The Initiate hopped out of his seat and threw a handful of reddish gray powder onto the navigation display and barked out orders in some harsh, guttural language. Before Tunold could say anything, Cromartie was back in his seat, checking the scanners. Tunold checked the nav and sure enough, its response was quick and clear.
“The helm pulls a little to starboard too,” said Tunold.
“Deal with it, Ex Oh. I only brought so much, and we may have greater need later.”
Tunold raised the speed to three-quarters. They were as ready as they were going to get.
◊
Jacobs trudged up the stairs to his perch above the bridge, his legs bone weary from the long, stressful shift, but his back straight and his head high. A man might grow exhausted, but a captain had to stay strong for his crew. Much as he might have wished to settle down to dinner in the crew mess with his officers, he knew that was impossible.
Jacobs stood atop his perch, looking aft through the transparent section of the enchanted ceramic hull at the black of space and the swath of royal green in the distance. Somewhere out there two of his men risked their lives for his crew. Jacobs could do nothing less than stand ready to save them if needed.
And abandon them if the safety of the ship left him no choice. A small part of him knew that too, though most of him pretended otherwise.
