Flotsam

by R J Theodore

  “Listen to your heart and follow it. And we will follow you.”

  She sighed and leaned her forehead against his chest. His skin was as hot as the desert sand, even out here in the cold. She put her hands over his wrists and inhaled, and a light spiced scent from his aftershave filled her nostrils. Myrrh, lemon, sandalwood. He’d always worn the same combination. Scent memories flooded her mind. Barroom brawls that ended in laughter and another round. Other, more worthy battles that drenched them in sweat and blood and left her shaking as the bravery fled her afterward. From things that only mattered to a drunk and restless mind, and now to things that, maybe, could truly make a difference.

  The smell mixed with the spices of Zeela’s ointment. She felt shivers down her arms, down her spine, straight into her feet.

  “Okay, Dug.” She pulled back to look him in the eyes. Gripped his biceps, gave them a firm squeeze. “Okay. You want to follow my heart, I’ll follow your lead.”

  He nodded, and touched his forehead to hers. “Good.”

  An absurd joke occurred to her exhausted mind as he started to walk away. She called after him, “You know that means we’ll be following each other in circles, don’t you?”

  He looked back, a genuine smile puckering the old scars over his left eye.

  “Until the end of time.” Then he ducked through the doorframe and went back to work.

  Chapter 33

  The Yu’Nyun armada had arrived. Distant, at the edge of Peridot’s atmosphere. To the naked eye, it looked like a great sparkling storm cloud.

  “Silus help us,” Tisker said, the scope to his eye.

  They all winced, the blasphemy striking with its own irony.

  He held the scope out for someone else to look again, but no one took it. They’d all seen. The vision was etched in their minds.

  In the magnified view, the gleaming starships were even prettier. Much like the aliens’ rifles, they were elegant in their deadly design. The scout ship they’d left smoldering in the sand on Fall Island had one cannon mounted below its nose. These newly arrived ships—which were also larger, if they were judging the distance right—were heavy with the stylized weaponry. The silhouettes of the ships called to mind the petals of an open lotus, ridged with gun houses, evenly placed and changing in scale according to some organic mathematical pattern. They formed a blossom, cradling a main cabin at the center, like the seed pod of the flower that the ship called to mind.

  Meran had not looked through the spyglass and apparently felt no need to. She was crouched on the roof of the wheelhouse, one arm around the base of the azimuth compass. Talis had stowed the ring in her cabin, and Meran had been less obedient since. She followed them around the ship as they saw to their duties but would then vanish. They’d find her atop the engine houses, ascended on the ratlines, walking foot-sure along the lift envelope’s catwalk or atop the balloon on the weather watch. The woman seemed to be everywhere.

  As with Hankirk’s fate, Talis felt burdened by her control of Meran’s power. And so far, Meran had been fairly cooperative without Talis wearing the ring. She was exploring the ship, that was all. Behaved according to fleeting animal interests, like a ship’s cat or monkey. She stayed out of their way, so Talis didn’t figure that trying to get her to stay in a cabin was worth putting on the ring, and keeping it on, to order her there. Stuffing her in the brig with Hankirk wouldn’t lead to anything good. She wasn’t making trouble.

  Talis knew in her gut that it was at least partly because Meran intended some mischief once they reached Nexus and had no desire to delay their arrival.

  Sophie reported that Hankirk had asked to talk to Talis, after she’d brought him some food and made sure the knock on his head hadn’t resulted in too much damage. That mind, Talis figured, was scrambled enough. Somehow the delusional man thought he was still going to mend their past and that Talis was going to see his side of it.

  Sure, kill the gods. Commit quadruple genocide. Become the protector of the planet, or at least over those you deem worthy. Because that’s a thing reasonable people aim for. He’d seemed so normal when they first met. Or she’d been that naïve. The more he opened his mouth, the likelier she was to give Dug what he wanted.

  She hadn’t gone down to see him.

  And then there was Scrimshaw. Xe stood with her crew on the deck, explaining the features of the alien ships, their speed capability in the spaces between planets, and how they slowed, firing forward thrusters as they entered an atmosphere so the gun houses didn’t burn up and fall off.

  Xe was an orphan. And voluntarily so, since Meran could heal xin up without a blemish. But xe wanted the scar. Which meant xe didn’t want to go back to xist people. It was no way to live. Once the whole world knew that Onaya Bone had declared war on the aliens, a lone Yu’Nyun wasn’t going to make it far.

  Xe doesn’t have to be alone, said that bastard of a voice in her head. Xe has you.

  That wasn’t a road she was prepared to travel right now. Xe was with them for now, on the way to Nexus. Likely as not, Onaya Bone would sort xin out when they got there.

  Talis ran her hands along Wind Sabre’s railing and whispered an apology to her old tub. For the mess, for the passengers. For all the troubles of the world that Talis seemed so keen to pull down from high atmo. She promised her ship a proper outfitting and repair. Those upgrades that were long overdue, a polish to all the hardware, and a proper coat of paint.

  She wondered what shape the world would be in when they could put all this behind them. What kinds of contracts a captain could find for her ship after an alien invasion. And what would be left of the crew for her to captain once they had their shares and had docked somewhere that could offer other opportunities.

  She pushed off from the railing, took the scope back from Tisker and stowed it in the leather case mounted on the wheel pedestal. If they didn’t get to Nexus with Meran and the ring, she could stop her wondering right there.

  “Full speed,” she told Tisker. “Let’s finish this blighted mess.”

  “Captain!” Sophie cried.

  Talis turned to see what the alien fleet was doing, but Sophie had her back to the Yu’Nyun. She was looking off their starboard side now, pointing.

  Out came the scope again, as though it had never left Tisker’s hand.

  “Helsim’s holy fertile excrement,” he said, and then whistled. He lowered the scope and Talis snatched it from him before he could offer it.

  That expletive was a new one, and Talis thunked the brass scope against her eyebrow ridge in her rush to see what had inspired Tisker’s vocabulary to expand so colorfully.

  “We’re in it now,” she said, feeling her stomach drop.

  Sophie took the scope next and climbed to the top of the wheelhouse with it, where Meran had risen to her feet and crossed to the starboard side to watch the new arrivals with obvious interest.

  “Like I said,” murmured Tisker, going through the paces of his joke but without the enthusiasm for it.

  A fleet of Cutter Imperial ships, in a lovely and regimented Imperial formation. In Bone space.

  Talis cringed to think of the mess they must have left behind at the border crossing.

  It was a gallant response to the alien invasion, set on their course well ahead of her own knowledge that the aliens were coming. Hankirk had told her that the Veritors didn’t know about the invasion force. So, someone else knew something that had put the Imperials a step ahead.

  She might have been relieved to see them, if she didn’t know the alien weapons would blow a hole through their lines before the Imperial force was close enough to fire off a cannon.

  And Wind Sabre was sandwiched between them.

  “Full speed and up!” she yelled, modifying her previous order. “Or we’re in their crossfire!”

  The deck shifted below them as Tisker pulled hard on the altitude
lever. Talis bent one knee, leaned toward the bow to maintain her balance. The others matched the motion or grabbed onto something for stability. Absently, she remembered the mess of charts she’d left out on the table in her cabin. Course-plotting tools loose and likely flying across the decking with the pitch of the ship. Shameful poor ship-keeping for a captain. The ring, at least, was protected in a small box she’d set atop her desk.

  Dug recovered his balance and made his way to watch position at the bow, leaving Talis to aid Tisker as needed with the rigging. Scrimshaw stayed where xe was, holding fast to a railing to keep xist-self upright. Those hands were not made for gripping and pulling thick, coarse rope lines.

  Meran had disappeared again, probably following after one of the others, or maybe aloft on the weather deck to watch the fleets converge.

  As they lifted off the Horizon altitude, Talis saw that the aliens were moving slower than the Cutter welcoming party, those beautiful flower-petal ships fragile against the wind resistance of higher speed.

  Beauty is impractical, she thought, and of all things Yu’Nyun. A simple cannon mounted with heavy bolts might have done the trick.

  With a shout, Sophie descended from the lift envelope on a pulleyed line, the scope tucked into her belt. “Those aren’t Imperials!”

  “What do you mean?”

  The girl landed on the deck, her balance perfect even on this tilt.

  “Well, they are, but they aren’t.” She handed Talis the scope again. “Got some new colors flying alongside the old—look.”

  Talis raised an eyebrow at her but brought the spyglass back to her eye and leaned her hips against Wind Sabre’s railing for balance.

  Sophie was right. On every ship, flown above the Cutter Imperial fleet’s usual flag, was a simple white one. Not a truce banner, though. It featured an oxblood red herald against a cream white field. Nothing she’d ever seen before, but if these were Hankirk’s friends.…

  “Veritors of the Lost Codex,” she said, lowering the scope to watch the crews hustle about their business on the deck of the flagship. “I’d bet our run’s entire fortune on it.”

  “No fortune in that,” said Sophie, and then worked her mouth as if something unpleasant was stuck to her gums.

  “Aye,” Talis agreed. “Let’s at least be reassured they’re going to get some hurt delivered by those alien ships.”

  “You actually want the aliens to win, Captain?”

  It was more a rhetorical question, but such a nasty thought. It sent an instant queasy guilt through her gut, and she couldn’t leave it without response.

  “Those Yu’Nyun teeth won’t be broken by any punch we can throw at them. If someone’s got to take the first hit, let it be Hankirk’s ilk, don’t you think? It’ll give us a chance to get to Onaya Bone before they clean up here and turn on Nexus.”

  Sophie didn’t say what she thought. Scrimshaw offered no counsel. Together they watched, without further comment, as the two lines approached each other.

  The Veritor fleet, suited to atmospheric travel, closed more than half the distance, so that Wind Sabre was behind their line when they came to a coordinated all-stop. Tisker leveled the deck at their higher vantage point. Scrimshaw held back as Talis and Sophie crossed to the port railing, which now afforded a view of both forces.

  Silent moments hung heavy in the air.

  Nothing happened.

  “What are they waiting for?” Sophie looked to Scrimshaw.

  The two armadas had each had plenty of time to size the other up, and the aliens had come with a clear purpose, even if Talis was starting to wonder about that of the Veritors. The local fleet was well within range of the aliens to fire their cannons now. She had to imagine they’d been within the aliens’ cannon range for twice the distance, if not the entire time.

  Yet the ships sat, bobbing gently but holding formation. In the scope, the crews looked alert, most of them turned to the alien ships. But a crew anticipating a firefight ought to be readying weapons, or standing by with lit fuses, or even glancing about as a man might when he wonders who will launch the first volley.

  “They’re not…” Talis started to say, slowly, under her breath, in wonder.

  “They’re coordinating a course and attack.” Scrimshaw joined them at the railing.

  Talis cursed under her breath. It was all she could manage. She should have known.

  The Yu’Nyun ships rotated in place, angling their noses Nexus-ward.

  At the same time, the Veritor fleet came about, maintaining their formation as they took the lead.

  Together, the fleets gained speed to cruising velocity, and the glittering cloud of alien starships followed the subverted Imperial airships in an advance on Nexus.

  “You wanna tell me what in Arthel’s furnace I just witnessed?”

  Talis stood before Hankirk in the brig, arms crossed, feet squared. Knees slightly bent, as though she expected turbulence.

  Dug was with her, standing on her left and just slightly behind. No way she was going to get into another one of Hankirk’s ex-boyfriend chats by being alone with him.

  Meran had appeared as well, and sat on one of the supply crates fastened against the port bulkhead. One foot pulled up, her right arm casually resting on it. Her other leg dangled, knee straight, bare foot just skimming the decking. She leaned back on the other arm and watched them. Her eyes always calculating. That alien mechanical brain always humming under her native appearance. Well, native except for the light she radiated from those markings, softly illuminating the dark corner of the unlit cargo hold.

  Hankirk was watching Meran, his dark eyes fully reflecting her strange blue glow.

  He’d gone back to acting the part of the pompous Imperial, and Talis was glad she hadn’t faced him alone. She could deal with the version of him that tried to show off in front of her crew. He might say just the thing that would swing her decision back around to Dug’s side.

  “Hey, answer the question,” Talis said, giving the iron bars a kick to jar his attention. He looked back at her, almost reluctantly.

  “As you’ve locked me in this kennel…” He looked up at her, his eyes partially focused, mouth creased at one corner. Eyebrows up. The bastard looked bored. “. . . You’ll have to tell me what it was you saw.”

  “We saw your ships,” Dug said, and Talis felt the bass of his voice through the floorboards beneath her feet. “Imperial ships, waving new colors.”

  The look that Hankirk gave Dug could have melted glass.

  “Answer him,” Talis said. “We don’t have time for your brooding hero nonsense. Why did your ships form a welcome committee for the Yu’Nyun fleet?”

  But Hankirk only glared at Dug and sat down on the alien coffers, which he’d pushed together against the bulkhead to form a bench. He slouched back and crossed his arms over his chest. Brought one ankle up on the other knee.

  “What’s the matter,” she asked, “can’t monologue in front of a crowd? Don’t you want me to know about your grand plan so I can be so impressed that I have no choice but to join you?”

  Hankirk inhaled through his nose, as if he was about to speak.

  “He does not know,” said Meran, and she slipped from her perch, as fluid as water.

  He turned his head sharply to look at Meran. His mouth hung open under the weight of words unspoken. There was a twitch in his eyebrows. It was plain that she was right.

  “His intent and his desires are a perfume in the air. They come off him in waves.” Meran looked to Talis, then to Dug. “Yours as well.”

  Meran paced around the small cage. Relaxed, slow. Predatory.

  “This man is a child. A figurehead bound to the prow of his company’s ship. He makes no decisions, only makes appearances. He has influence over nothing.”

  “No,” said Hankirk, sitting up. “No. They sent me to find the rin
g. They gave me a new ship, a full crew of seasoned officers.”

  “You have been indulged,” she said, dismissively. “That crew was your chaperone. Your mission was of no account.”

  Dug chuckled softly. “We would not say that you are of no account.”

  Meran graced him with a smile and a nod. “True, but his organization is a hive of buzzing insects. All mission, no vision. They do not see the world at large, for the paths they have set out upon are a concrete bridge, not open air.”

  She ran a finger along the cage’s horizontal crossbar at shoulder height. “This man.” She tapped one of her almond-shaped fingernails against the metal, eliciting a soft ping. “This man has vision. He represents their dogma, but he would change it.”

  Hankirk watched her. No twitches, no denials. His muscles stiff.

  “You set him free, and he will change the world.”

  Hankirk stood, as though that were an invitation.

  “Uh-uh.” Talis uncrossed her arms and put her hands on her hips, near enough to the gun holstered there as to be a warning. He wasn’t getting out of there before this mess was over. Up to him if he got out of there alive. “We aren’t in favor of what changes he’s got in mind.”

  Meran slinked back from the cage to stand very close at Talis’s side. Their shoulders touched.

  “You already change the world, but do so blindly.”

  Talis preferred when the woman was mocking Hankirk.

  “I don’t claim to know what’s best for Peridot,” she protested. “I don’t make plans bigger than my ship. But he—” she jutted her chin at Hankirk. “He got us into this mess. And the mess just keeps getting bigger.”

  Meran nodded, then stepped toward Dug. He shifted uncomfortably. She ran her fingers from the crook of his neck down one arm. He looked at her. His nostrils flared.

  “This one would raze it all to the ground for you,” she said, her eyes flashing at Talis.