by Dana Kelly
He folded his hands on the table. “Hey, we did what we had to. We took back the ship, and we saved hundreds of lives, not to mention our own.”
She glared at him. “Oh yeah, right. We saved so many lives. You know, there were a lot of people on the rest of those ships. Hundreds, maybe thousands. Do you know how many?” She wiped her nose. “Because I don’t.”
“I…” Mike stared forward. “I don’t think I want to know.”
“Yeah,” said Torsha. “And when we get home, you know what everyone’s going to be talking about—how one little Falcon spaceship took down all of Blacktusk’s fleet, never mind that they never stood a chance. And if they ever figure out you were here? Or Orin? I hope you like the paparazzi, that’s all I’m saying. No, Mike, there’s no more normal, not for any of us. Not ever again.”
Mike exhaled audibly. Nodding slowly, he got to his feet and quietly cleared his throat. “I’m going to top off my coffee. Do you want anything while I’m over there?”
“No,” said Torsha, and she sank against the table.
Mike crossed the deck and refilled his coffee. When he returned, he and Torsha sat awhile in silence.
“Got room for two more?” asked Orin. “Oh, wait. Are you guys okay?”
Torsha exhaled and nodded. “Yeah, we’re fine. Have a seat.”
“Are you sure?” asked April. “We can come back, if you’d prefer.”
Torsha’s expression flattened. “Yes, we’re sure. What the hell are you two so happy about?”
“Well, a couple things,” said Orin. “I’ll be able to stay off the grid, for one. Malmoradan got me an alternate ID, so from now on you guys have to call me Skyler—Skyler Stern. I’ve also been invited to join April’s company, and since I already lost my scholarship, I said yes. Don’t worry, Mike. I can always come back and finish my degree when I’m ready. I’ll probably have to start over since I’ll have a new name, but I should make more than enough money to afford tuition.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Torsha. She regarded April. “What is he talking about?”
April sat down, and Orin sat beside her. “Shona, Malmoradan and I have laid the groundwork for our own company,” said April.
At that moment, Shona crossed into the mess hall. She and April exchanged waves, and Shona hurried to join the others.
“Shona suggested skip tracing to start with, that we build up from there,” said April. “Personally, I think we can aim a little higher with Orin on the team.” She smiled Orin’s way. “Excuse me, Skyler.”
“Skylar’s a girl’s name,” said Torsha.
“If it’s spelled with an e, it’s a boy’s name,” said Orin.
“I’m not calling you Skyler.”
“Orin is fine when it’s just us. Calling him Skyler after we’re back on Rhyon will help minimize his risk of being discovered,” said April.
“I’m not calling him Skyler,” said Torsha.
“What if we use a callsign instead?” asked Mike.
“I already have a new identity,” said Orin. “Why would I need a callsign?”
“Whether it’s as Orin or Skyler, you’ll be using your powers, and that’s going to draw attention,” said Mike. “If you don’t have something catchy to answer with when people ask who you are, you’ll be known as whatever they come up with.”
“Besides, every famous binary has a callsign,” said Shona. She retrieved her phone and searched the t-net. “Mantis Mercury, Red Gunnar, Artemis Eclipse, Prime Fracture, the Human Tornado—”
“Shitty Meatball,” said Torsha.
Shona frowned at her. “Torsha, please.”
She smiled slightly. “Just trying to help.”
“How about Gravitonic?” asked Orin.
“Already taken,” said Shona.
“So? It’s just a name. I’m not the only Orinoco in the galaxy.”
“The agency trademarks all their callsigns,” said Shona. “If you use your powers under someone else’s name, you’re asking for a lawsuit.”
“Sure, I guess that makes sense. It’s annoying, but it makes sense,” said Orin. “How about Sunspot? Is that taken?”
“Definitely taken,” said Shona. “You can pretty much assume that all the names for constellations, celestial bodies, and cosmic events have been taken. Try to think a little more creatively. More poetically.”
“Gravity Hammer?”
“Too close to Gravity Glamour,” said Mike.
“Oh yeah, the clothing company.” Orin shrugged. “I could be Shield… er… man. Shielderman.”
“That’s available,” said Shona. “I don’t know if you should commit to it, but it’s available.”
“Shielderman? That sucks worse than Skyler,” said Torsha.
“No, it’s because I made those shields out of steel and stone when I wrestled Blacktusk! Come on, Shielderman’s not that bad.” Orin thought about it. “Okay, it’s terrible. I guess I’ll just be Shitty Meatball, then.”
“You really shouldn’t pick your own callsign,” said April.
“Why?” asked Orin. “Is it bad luck?”
“No, it’s bad form. Much like a nickname, your callsign should be earned in a sense, or bestowed upon you by another at the very least, or else it doesn’t mean anything.” She pondered awhile. “We should think of something that’s close to your real name, in case someone slips up, but something that also captures the essence of your powers.”
“We could go with Rocco in place of your full name,” said Mike. “How would you feel about Rocco Slaughterdome? According to the agency callsign generator, it’s available.”
Orin laughed. “The Rocco part’s not bad, but Slaughterdome? That’s like the opposite of me.”
“I like Rio,” said Torsha. “It’s got three of the same letters, and since you’re named after the Orinoco River on Earth—and you’re powerful like a river—it has two meanings.”
“Rio’s taken,” said Shona, and she offered Torsha an apologetic look. “It was a good suggestion, though.”
“Of course, it’s taken,” said Torsha, and she sighed.
“What do you think about Orion Sky?” said Shona. “Most of the northwestern systems know about Orion, and there’s just a hint of Skyler to go along with your new ID.” Smiling wistfully, she leaned over the table. “I grew up on Gladius Prime, deep inside the Orion Nebula, and I’ve always loved that name. Orion, I mean.”
Mike entered it into the availability checker and nodded. “Orion Sky is available.”
Orin brightened. “Orion Sky. I really like the sound of that. Thank you, Shona!”
“Great,” said Mike. “It’s been reserved!”
“Thanks, Mike,” said Orin.
“Nice one,” said Torsha, and she met Shona’s gaze.
“Ah, it’s nothing,” said Shona, and she sat on the edge of the table. “Hey, April, if we’re picking Orin’s callsign, does this mean what I hope it means?”
“Indeed, it does! Orin’s agreed to join our company,” said April. “How’s Malmoradan doing?”
“Really good! He should regain the full use of his arm, but he’s got lots of physical therapy ahead of him. His nurse said he could be discharged in the morning, and he can start seeing visitors in about an hour.” Shona beamed. “Malmoradan says hello, by the way. Hello!”
“I say hi back,” said Orin.
“That’s wonderful news,” said April.
“Hey Shona, I was wondering. What was it like growing up inside a nebula?” asked Torsha. “I imagine it was really scary or really pretty.”
“Both, actually.” Shona gazed back in time, smiling dreamily. “You should get out there, some day. If you can.” She told them about newborn suns, about shimmering starscapes, and the rolling auroras of Gladius Prime.
◆◆◆
Casey exited her shuttle’s top hatch into the Fox Mendes boarding tunnel. “Here,” she said and offered her hand to Cajun as he neared the junction. He let go, drifted slightly
, and she pulled him close.
“Oof,” he muttered as he joined her, and he took a moment to get his bearings. Stout with a mottled complexion, he wore a full, jet-black beard, with shocks of white. Decorative steel rings capped each of its three braids. “Me, I much prefer dockin’ with somethin’ that spins.”
“I hear she’s got full-time gravity,” said Casey. “If it’s true, we’ve got that to look forward to, at least.”
He reached down to retrieve a HealiOS-branded toolbox and unclipped its tether. “At least there’s that. Ya sure Edison and Krané’ll be fine runnin’ the new recruits?”
“I’m sure,” said Casey. “I’ve got them sorting and stacking crates in the cargo hold. They’ll eventually figure out why the ranch-hand keeps moving things around, but not before we get back.”
“Ya got a mean streak, mon Capitaine. Ya do.” He straightened his green flannel and smoothed out his faded jeans. His hands looked even sturdier than his build.
She led him to the far airlock, and they stepped into the staging area. The Officer of the Deck greeted them with a smile and a nod. Behind him, a screen displayed the Falcon flag standing proud against the sea of stars; Cajun and Casey paused to acknowledge it. “Permission to come aboard,” said Casey, and she presented her identity profile.
He scanned her gene key, as well as Cajun’s toolbox. “Permission granted,” he said, and he smiled slightly. “Welcome aboard Fox Mendes, Officer Cartwright. The liaison officer will be here momentarily. He’ll show you to sick bay.”
Before long, the liaison officer led Cajun and Casey along the passageways, up a ladderwell to Deck 1. They passed by the fusion uptakes and several storage compartments before reaching the Fox Mendes medical center. “He’s right inside,” said the liaison officer. “The nurse should be around in fifteen minutes or so. Where are you headed after this?”
“We were hoping to catch up with the rest of our friends, so wherever they are,” said Casey.
“The Officer of the Watch will know,” he said. “I’ll find out and meet you back here. Okay?”
“Sounds great. Thanks for your help,” said Casey.
“My pleasure,” said the liaison officer, and he took his leave.
Casey opened the sick bay door, and Cajun followed her inside. Sitting up halfway, Malmoradan occupied the compartment’s single bed, and he greeted them with a groggy smile. “Hey, strangers.” He adjusted his gown to better cover his bandaged shoulder.
“The shaved look totally works for you,” said Casey.
Malmoradan turned his ears back, and his whiskers flattened against his cheeks. “It’s just the one arm, and the fur will grow back,” he said. “Don’t get your hopes up.”
Cajun set his toolbox on a counter and stepped close. “Where ya fur is black, ya skin is too. Same for where it’s white. A little surprisin’, is all.”
“All right, all right,” grumbled Malmoradan, and he pulled his blanket up over his arm.
Cajun cleared his throat and took a step back. “Apologies, mon chère. Did not realize it was a sensitive issue.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Malmoradan.
Casey moved a chair over and sat beside him. “How are you holding up?”
“Fine, I guess. Nothing hurts right now, thanks to the drugs. How about you? How’s the old girl doing?”
“I’m all right,” said Casey. “Watchtower’s doing fine. The new recruits have enough bad habits to be dangerous, but they’re learning the right way to do things. Shulana’s got leadership potential, and Sturmhardt had us all enthralled last night with one of her sword dances. We’re working out the kinks on Ikunku’s lifting rig, and we’re still trying to figure out what Saki’s good at, because it isn’t shooting.”
“Train her in hand-to-hand combat. Assign her to the takedown team,” said Malmoradan. “Trust me, she’ll excel, even if she’s a little uneasy about it at first.”
“You spent five minutes with her. How can you possibly know that?”
“She’s a calico,” said Malmoradan, and he regarded her expectantly.
Casey chuckled. “Sure, I’ll give it a shot.” She took a deep breath. “So… you gave Orin your warrior’s oath, huh?”
“Ah, yes. That,” said Malmoradan. “Allow me to dispel some of your assumptions, first. I never gave you my oath because we were in the business of saving each other’s lives. Orin and I were enemies in that moment, and he saved my life anyway. That’s as close to moral bedrock as it gets.”
“That’s not what I’m getting at,” said Casey. “You were the first person to join my team, Malmoradan! It’s always been you and me, no matter what. No matter who else came through, it was always us two, and you didn’t even talk to me about this!”
“And I quote: ‘the tenets of ilvalori call for swift and decisive action when the opportunity for honor presents itself,’” said Malmoradan. “Besides, no one knew where you were, so it’s not like I could talk to you about it, anyway.”
“Since when do you give a damn about honor?”
“I’ve always given a damn, I’ve just kept it at a simmer,” said Malmoradan. “Shona will be thirty in four years. It takes a year for the Council of Elders to review anyone’s plea, so that means I’ve only got three years left to secure us a place in the Roaring Halls. If I don’t, it’s excommunication for both of us.”
Casey took a deep breath. “I never took you for the religious type.”
“I ain’t, and you know that. The Roaring Halls is a palace that stretches across all of northern Ocely, from shore to shore. Everywhere you look, there’s towers with fur-lined plateaus. There’s pillars, open-air apartments, and shaded nooks, all connected by ramps and bridges as far as the eye can see!” Malmoradan eased back against his pillow. “If we’re excommunicated, it means we’ll never set foot in there. They’ll treat us like we don’t exist, and I could never do that to Shona. Casey, I made a promise to safeguard her future. I’m not willing to break that promise.”
“We could’ve done it together,” said Casey. “We still can.”
Malmoradan laughed quietly. “Honor’s not really our thing, though. We grabbed jobs a little beyond our rating because April’s been the ace up our sleeve, and you have a knack for surviving things no one has a right to survive. That netted us tons of guild incentives, but that’s all we ever did.”
“That’s not true,” said Casey. “We made a big difference in a lot of lives, and some that really needed help, too!”
Malmoradan winced. “I’m too tired to argue about this. Just… give it some thought. Okay? You know I’m right.”
“No, you’re not!” Casey caught herself, and she sighed. “But maybe you’re not completely wrong, either. April told me pretty much the same thing a couple days ago. Listen, we can do it different from now on—do it right; do some real good! I’m getting so much money for Blacktusk, we can take poor man’s bounties for ten years and not break a sweat. What would you say to that?”
Malmoradan shook his head. “Honor is rooted in sacrifice. If we’re only taking poor man’s bounties because we can afford it, there’s no honor in it.”
Casey looked defeated. “Look, I’m trying to change, here. I’m trying to do better. I’m trying to be better.”
Malmoradan reached over and squeezed Casey’s hand. “I know you are. Don’t give up.”
“So, this is really it then,” said Casey.
“For now,” said Malmoradan. “We ain’t ever going to stop being friends, though. Count on that.”
“Good. I’m glad.” She took a deep breath. “I guess we better go find the others. Cajun promised to have a look at Nimbus, and I’d like to get that squared away.” She stood up and gingerly hugged Malmoradan. “We’ll stop by on the way back to the shuttle. You take care of that shoulder in the meantime.”
He hugged her back. “See you soon.”
“See you soon, old friend,” said Casey. Cajun grabbed his toolbox, and they exited into the passa
geway.
They walked a few paces, pausing near a medical storage room. With an exasperated sigh, Casey ran her hands through her hair as she leaned back against the bulkhead. Cajun regarded her sympathetically. “Ya goin’ to be okay, mon Capitaine?”
“No,” said Casey. “You saw how he instantly knew what to do with Misaki. It’s a gift! One I’ve come to depend on.” She glanced to her left and waved at the liaison officer as he stepped into view from around a corner. “What am I supposed to do without him?”
“Nothin’ right now, unless ya plannin’ on a season o’ turnover,” said Cajun. “Malmoradan would’a warned ya if he saw somethin’ bad.”
“I guess so,” said Casey.
The liaison officer stepped close. “Your friends are gathered in the enlisted mess. Please follow me.”
◆◆◆
“That was the first time I boarded a starship and the only time I ever saw the Sapphire Skyfall,” said Shona. “But I’ll never forget how beautiful it was. Go ahead and look it up if you want, but even the best holos won’t come close. It took my breath away.”
“Malmoradan said Gladius Prime was a hellhole,” said Mike. “You make it sound like paradise.”
“I prefer to remember the good things,” said Shona, and she glanced away. “But since you asked, yeah… growing up out there was hard. Most of the time it was very hard. The starshipyards pay the directors a lot to let the kids work for them, so there isn’t much incentive to adopt anyone out. You can leave when you turn eighteen, but they’ll let you stay on until you’re twenty-one if you help manage the kids. After that, they give you a choice: work for the starshipyards until you die up there or find your own way on the streets. Wherever you end up, most don’t make it past thirty, and wherever you die, guess where they send your kids?”
“Right back into the hands of child services,” said Mike. “Straight to the orphanages.”
“You got it,” said Shona.
