by Stefon Mears
Machado sighed as he moved sideways down a cramped hall, past rooms dedicated to communications, navigation, detection, and other systems.
No wonder Jitters never puts on weight. You have to be half-clothesline to work down here.
At the end of the hall, eventually, he reached the Deception Drive. Its door stood open, showing the three-meter square room with walls covered in layers of spells, runes, symbols and bindings that contained a single lacuna in a web of illusions that kept it content and happy, tied into certain key systems that motivated it to carry the ship where its captain wanted through positive reinforcement.
Sales material implied that the Deception Drive was so named because it was deceptively fast for an engine needing only a single space elemental. The truth was that the lacuna was the one deceived into doing its job, rather than forced and compelled as other engines had done before it.
Jang moved about the main circle in her potion-stained coveralls. Within that circle resided the lacuna itself, invisible but all too audible in the multi-tonal sounds it made: three just then, not quite harmonizing. Jang wafted incense toward the circle from her portable brass censer, the size and shape of a deck of cards. She spoke to it as well, in low soft tones. Machado could not make out her words, but he knew that she was not casting. No thread of power moved through her.
Still, he clasped his hands behind his back and tried to wait politely, even though he knew she wasn’t casting. Which meant that what she did now could not be critical. Which meant that waiting was wasting his time, time that could be invested in another task for the ship.
Time during which Machado could not keep himself from remembering the pain that innocent-sounding spirit had seared through his system, when Machado’s will alone stood between the lacuna and a slip in its bindings.
Finally, to break the silence and ensure that she knew he was there, he said, “More verbena, Jang?”
“Verbena seems to soothe it, and it dominates the grassroot portion of the incense.” She paused and gave Machado an evil grin. “Plus, I know you hate it.”
She wanted to get a rise out of him. Machado refused to succumb.
“How’s it holding up?” he asked, his gaze dancing across the various spells inscribed along the walls, floor and ceiling, but saw nothing immediately amiss.
She clapped the censer closed and tucked it in her breast pocket. “Got a bit agitated when we had that unannounced high-speed chase.”
“It wasn’t unannounced. I warned you it might happen before I turned in last night.”
“‘Jang. Probable incoming pirates. Be ready.’ Some warning.”
Machado stared at her. Her complaint sounded almost right. Almost normal. But not quite.
“That’s not what’s bugging you.”
“No! It’s Burke up there playing fucking dodge ball with my ship!”
Machado shook his head and folded his arms. He felt Saravá take up a supporting position behind him.
“Out with it, Jang.”
Jang started tapping her knuckles together.
“Look. I know Cuthbert’s the hero of the day and all, but that spell of his almost sank us.”
“The other lacunas ignored us. He augmented the conjuration with a clever bit of deception. Besides, I—”
“No. I mean he almost conjured our lacunas too. Damn near called them right out of their bindings. This one,” — she jerked her head at the singing spirit in the circle to her left — “and the one in the scanners too. Never seen anything like it.”
“Both at the same time? How did you hold them together?”
“Spit and bailing wire.” She tried to laugh at their old joke about maintaining the Horizon Cusp while at space, but couldn’t manage more than a half-hearted attempt. “No, the bindings held, but it was a near thing.”
“That’s why it’s so verbena-heavy in here today.”
“Really does help soothe them, though damn if I can figure out why.”
“I’ll add it to my list. Maybe I can figure out a way to use that detail to improve the deceptions.”
“Not with whatever they call facilities on Venus,” Jang said with a derisive snort. “Won’t matter much anyway. We cut the lacunas off from the outside space any more than we do and they won’t be able to do their jobs for us.”
Machado thought about that as the two of them looked up at where they knew the spirit to be. Machado shifted more of his consciousness until he could see it, like the empty outline of a stream of water, shifting and twisting and curling about itself.
He sighed.
“All right. I’ll ward the deck against conjuration magic. That should keep our lacunas where they belong — at least for the time being — and all our other elementals while I’m at it.”
So much for Machado’s plans for the rest of the afternoon.
◊
“Excellent work, Mr. Burke,” said Jacobs from the forward portion of the perimeter walkway that surrounded the bridge. Through the transparent ceramics of the hull surrounding the bridge, he watched the last of the asteroids pass to port, leaving clear space ahead for the rest of the day.
Beautiful, when he took the time to notice.
Jacobs turned to face his bridge crew. “Excellent work, all of you. I’ve served with many crews over the years, and I can’t think of any I’d rather have around me during a crisis.”
Jacobs savored their stunned expressions at the highest compliment he had ever paid them, but only for a moment. He turned and made his way to the stairs and continued on back to his station, hiding his pleasure at the elation they must be feeling behind his impassive mask of command.
But inside, Jacobs felt warm affection for them all, every member of his crew. But especially his chosen bridge crew, because he had meant every word of that compliment. They had earned it. Jacobs even allowed himself a sigh of pleasure as he eased into his captain’s chair.
But then, to work.
“Mr. Grabowski, how is my space?”
“Clear as morning, Captain.” Jacobs did not even have to see the man to hear the smile in his voice. “No threats emerging from the feeding ground, not even any sign of wild lacunas in the last hour.”
That was good. That was as it was supposed to be, according to the charts that Jacobs even now reviewed to reassure himself that this quiet moment might last for a time.
At least until his next command performance at dinner that night.
But even then, Jacobs expected no more trouble until tomorrow, that final day of approach to Venus. That day would be fraught with possible dangers, from the nearness of the zuglodon hunting ground to the mysterious no-fly zone that Jacobs had chosen — perhaps in a fit of irritation — to skirt as closely as he could.
No. Tomorrow would present the sort of challenge Jacobs preferred to face as a captain, the sort that did not leave hundreds of men and women floating in space, men and women who would not likely survive the night.
At moments like this one, Jacobs felt glad to no longer serve in the Navy, pleased that such incidents were rare for him now, and never initiated by him. He also felt glad, if wistful, that Rhonda and Carl were not alive to explain this to.
Of course, if they were still alive, they would understand. They would have lived through too much, seen too much to blame him for what had happened.
But in Jacobs’ mind, Carl was eternally a little boy, full of ideas and promise, and Rhonda was idealistic girl he married, a pacifist who struggled with her love for her Navy man.
To them Jacobs would apologize at length before he slept.
But right then, on the bridge, all Jacobs could do was dry his eyes and see about getting their flight back on schedule. Not that anyone would care but him.
“Mr. Burke, our little dance with the Ragnarök has put us exactly four-and-one-quarter hours behind schedule. I expect you to increase speed to compensate. Ms. Jefferson, I would like you to run that calculation as well.”
Jacobs allowed himself a small smile at the surp
rised confirmations he got. He wanted to see how well they handled this task, but he knew they would get it right.
They really were a good crew.
◊
Donal stretched like a contented cat, warm pleasure suffusing his being. Some of that, he had to admit, came from the well-enchanted bed and sheets around him, but more of it came from the fact that he was still half-entangled with Li Hua.
She reached the dozen or so centimeters between them and kissed his throat at the pulse point, then pulled back smiling as though at something more than their recent activities.
Then Donal remembered that Li Hua had said something about discussing their future. But just then the only future he wanted to discuss was how much time they still had before either of them — meaning Li Hua — had to be anywhere, and how that time might be passed.
A subject on which Donal had a few ideas, none of which necessitated leaving the bed.
But Li Hua spoke first. “How did you feel? After pulling off that spell?” She danced her fingers along the hairs of his chest. “Not easy, was it? Combining that big a conjuration with that intense an illusion.”
“I admit it was quite a rush.” Donal wanted to mirror her movement, but confined his fingers to her shoulder, at least until she signaled that she was ready to move beyond words. “Did you see it?”
“Oh, I had a front row seat down on the Observation Deck when your lacunas tore into that ship, battering apart its wards and freeing its lacunas.” She kissed his shoulder, but the softness of her lips did a little less to stir him than it should have. “It was quite a sight.”
“They tore the ship apart?”
“Split the carterite at the joins.” She tilted her head in thought. “Heck of a salvage.”
“What about the crew?”
“Not much left to salvage there.”
Donal sat up. “That’s not funny.”
“Donal...” Li Hua urged him back down with her fingers on his shoulder. “They were trying to kill us.”
Donal sat, staring at the peaceful depiction of a nebula on the opposite wall. The whole crew, dead? Because of me?
“Donal...” There was laughter in her voice, and she began to kiss her way up his bicep, speaking between kisses. “It was just like,” — kiss — “Mars,” — kiss — “them,” — kiss — “or,” — kiss “us.” She paused to kiss the top of his shoulder, biting down just a little.
“You did what you had to.”
Donal slowly shook his head.
“They were going to kill us all.” She sat up now, grabbed his chin with one hand and turned Donal to meet her eyes. “You, me, Captain Jacobs, the steward who brought you wine at dinner last night, the tall guard who keeps escorting you places. All. Of. Us.”
She moved her hand to stoke Donal’s cheek now, and Donal let himself lean into it.
“If you hadn’t done what you did, they would have broken through the wards, breeched the hull, and come after us with some two hundred mercenaries. They wanted Mr. Mancuso, and these are not people who leave witnesses.”
Li Hua leaned in and kissed Donal again, and this time Donal could enjoy the sweetness of her lips, the subtle jasmine of her scent.
When the kiss broke, she said, “You did the right thing.”
“I did the necessary thing.” Donal searched her eyes to see if he could find even of a hint of the struggle he felt over what he had done, though he knew Li Hua had answered her own questions about such matters long ago. “I’m not sure they’re the same thing.”
“When survival is at stake, the necessary thing is always the right thing.” She quirked a smile that arched one her eyebrows. “No playing martyr on me now.”
Donal shook his head, then kissed her to reassure her that he was quite happy they were both alive.
“So you said something about discussing the future?”
“Later,” Li Hua said, swinging Donal back down on the bed. “I only have an hour till my meeting, and I have to show the hero of the day my gratitude.”
Chapter Fifteen
Jacobs sat at his desk, trying to fortify himself with fiction for the night’s dinner with the passengers. He had found a series of thrillers by an up and coming author who set his works during World War II. Jacobs found them soothing: lots of action, clear good guys and bad guys, and reminders of what life had been like before the fall of technology.
Of course, the writer had been born some thirty years after the rise of magic, so he got all sorts of little details wrong, but Jacobs enjoyed the novels anyway. Though he did sometimes feel tempted to write letters of correction to the author.
Jacobs had just reached a scene where the hero, Arnie Steele, had crept into a Nazi compound to save the brilliant Jewish scientist (who, Jacobs expected from the pattern of previous novels, had a beautiful daughter). Steele had made no sound passing the guards, but he had not counted on the acute noses of their German shepherds...
Someone had the gall to knock on Jacobs’ door.
Jacobs looked down at his novel, where the dogs had just begun to pull their guards in Steele’s direction, then back up at the door. The knock returned, a confident two-tap pulse that Jacobs did not recognize.
Which meant it wasn’t anyone on Jacobs’ crew.
My own fault for sending Kelly to dinner early.
Jacobs stabbed the spot where he stopped reading, a frustrated poke with his index finger. That would trigger the refillable to open to that spot when Jacobs returned. He tossed the novel into a desk drawer and said, “Come.”
The door opened. Mr. Mancuso, dressed for dinner in a black evening suit that was not quite a tuxedo, stepped in and closed the door behind him.
“Captain Jacobs. Or can I call you John, now that we’re partners? Seems to me that our shared business interests ought to be sufficient grounds for using each other’s Christian names. Mine’s Donatello.”
“I prefer Captain Jacobs.”
“Course you do.” Mancuso smiled, and Jacobs would have sworn the stretch of lips somehow managed to look predatory and sincere all at the same time. Mancuso continued speaking as he crossed the room in swift strides. “You’re a military man, and I’m just the sort of successful businessman your type hates. Just as used to giving orders, but you don’t feel I’ve earned the right because I’ve never fought anyone to the death.”
Jacobs decided that those words were a trap and chose to sit, waiting for the man to get to his point, rather than rise to the bait.
“Nevertheless, you risked yourself and your crew to protect me from those pirates.” Mancuso smiled, and this time Jacobs had no doubts about the predatory thoughts behind Mancuso’s eyes. “Yes, I know they were after me. I even have a pretty good idea about who sent them. Not that I can do anything about it from here.”
Mancuso gestured to the books and images on the walls. “I see you’ve redecorated. Does that mean you’re interested in staying on with Starchaser Spacelines after this trip?”
“What can I do for you, Mr....” Jacobs felt his eyes widen at the implication in the man’s words. “Wait. You saw this office recently? Before I moved back into it?”
“Couldn’t buy a business sight unseen,” said Mancuso in a chiding tone. “Your boy Zoltan gave me a tour of the facilities to prove that the ship had recovered after the damage from those zuglodons.”
Jacobs hated the thought of that man, that landlubber, violating the sanctity of the crew sections of the ship. But this was not the time to let that show. Jacobs forced his lips to part, aware that the effect was more snarl than smile.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Mancuso?”
“I want Donal to join us at the big table tonight. Hero of the hour and all. But it’s your table and I didn’t want to invite him without talking to you first.” Mancuso raised a sardonic eyebrow. “I can pay for his seat, if you’d prefer.”
Jacobs felt a real smile intrude on his expression, but it was the smile he got when an opponent dropped his right in t
he boxing ring. Mancuso had been thorough in his research. Half the seats at the captain’s table were only available through invitation from the captain, while the other half could be purchased for a set price. The contract for this flight had included seats for each of the top executives, but technically one purchasable seat remained unused.
Jacobs wanted to take Mancuso’s money, both on principle and to avoid agreeing with the man. But damn it, in this case he was right. Jacobs would have already invited Cuthbert to the table, except for one detail.
“I’m not sure we’d be doing the boy a favor. If last night was any example, the conversation will run heavy on the business side.”
Mancuso shook his head. “You’re a brilliant captain, Jacobs. I don’t mind saying it because I’m smart enough to recognize talent when I see it. Part of the reason I’m where I am today. But you sailors lose your sense of anything but sailing. Cuthbert gets his doctorate and he’s going to need funding for his research.”
Mancuso shrugged with a what-can-you-do gesture.
“I’d be happy to fund the boy for his entire life, but he might think I’m trying to buy him if he never receives any other offers of grant money. So let him start seeing what his options are. That way he can pick me because he knows I’m the best choice.”
“Modest. Aren’t you.”
“I told you I recognize talent, and that means my own talents too. Far as I’m concerned, modesty is as big a sin as pride. Lose control of either and you’re just as badly off.”
“I want the Daedalus Dream as part of my retirement package.”
“That’s what I mean!” Mancuso rubbed his hands together, excitement brimming his eyes. “Have to have the confidence to go after what you want. The Daedalus Dream’s profit margins are too sweet for me to just throw it in, but I’ll do some thinking about this and get back to you.”
Mancuso stood.
“The Daedalus Dream,” said Jacobs.
“We’ll see.” Mancuso straightened his jacket, even though not a wrinkle or crease had intruded on its smoothness during the time that Mancuso had been sitting. “If that’s a deal-breaker for you, realize that your buy-out offer will exclude the costs and profits of that ship. You’ll either get a lesser ship for free or one way or another you’ll pay for the one you want.”
