“I know, sir. But I want Falcone, sir.”
“Like you wanted him when you took off after that symp and got Kris Rilke killed? I don’t like renegades in my crew unless they work for me. But you’re not working for me, in this, since you’ve been keeping it a secret.”
“Sir, I don’t want to go renegade.”
“Indeed?”
“This is just me, sir. Me and some contacts I made on Austro and elsewhere through the satlines. It’s not going against any of our missions.”
“Burndiving into unauthorized systems using a Hub carrier link. You don’t see a discrepancy here?”
I can’t answer that. Any answer would just put me in deeper shit.
“Mr. Musey, I thought we had this conversation over a year ago.” His voice is hard. His eyes bore into mine now, no longer impassive. “When you took it upon yourself to chase down symps you put your teammates in jeopardy. Now you are corresponding with burndivers—criminals, for all I know—using carrier lines. Do you recall my admonition after Rilke’s death, Mr. Musey?”
“Yessir.”
“Do you? Because I see now that your memory is rather short and quite convenient. You are on a deep-space carrier. You are a jet. You’re my jet, on my carrier. While I don’t discourage a certain independent spirit, I don’t like my crew doing things under my nose, especially things that threaten the security of my ship or its personnel—and that includes linking up with unauthorized contacts to investigate pirates. Do you understand that, Mr. Musey?”
“Yessir.”
“I don’t think you do. I don’t think you truly understand the sheer stupidity of your actions. If it weren’t for the fact you might have discovered some things about Falcone hitherto unknown, I might vent you out the port side airlock.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Shut your mouth, Musey. Now. You’re going to write a full report of everything you know. That means the names and comm numbers of all your contacts and what information you’ve gathered so far. You’re going to be detailed and thorough. I’m going to give you some privacy to do it too. You’re going to the brig.”
It’s better than out an airlock, I guess. Though not by much.
He comms Sanchez to take me. He wants me to hurt.
I have to sit, looking at him, while we wait for Sanchez to show up. He stares at me.
“Sir,” I venture.
“What?”
“Sir, my contacts won’t like it that I reveal their comm codes. I can lose them, sir.”
Not to mention most of them are symps.
“And how will they know that I have them, Mr. Musey? Are you going to tell them?”
“No, sir.”
“Then they won’t know, will they. You’ll keep in touch with them, never fear. Only this time you’ll work for me, with my knowledge, and with Firsken riding your ass in the comps. Since you seem to have this diving skill, you can share what you know with her. I am excited to see you use it.”
His face says otherwise. His face says I better be agreeable or he’ll forget where he put me.
“Your belongings will be searched. If I don’t find those holopoints you will direct me to them. From now on your comp codes will be blocked from all systems unless you receive Corporal Dorr’s authorization. That goes for duty reports too. He will sign off on all your comp usage. That will doubtless piss him right off. You can explain to him why this will be—after you get out of the brig, of course. If you get out of the brig. I haven’t yet decided if I want you roaming my decks.”
Sanchez buzzes the hatch. The captain lets him in.
I stand and salute. I manage not to shake.
Azarcon doesn’t notice. He looks at his comp. He has already dismissed me.
* * *
V.
At the end of the shift, Evan sneaks in to see me. I don’t have a guard, just the optics somewhere in the bulkheads. I’m one person in a vast quiet, and the sound of the hatch opening makes me jump. He turns up the lights, only twenty percent, but I still see the cuts and bruises on his face and knuckles when he limps to the cell gate.
I remember other things. “What happened to you?”
“I should ask you the same thing. Sanchez was bloody gloating that he’d got you, after he touched base with Firsken, the bitch. I tried to stop him from telling Cap.”
“You?”
“Yes, me. Don’t act so shocked. You forget who used to chase your little ass up and down deck?”
I want to hit him. “Are you stupid to take on Sanchez?”
“Sheez, Jos. A simple thanks would go a long way.” I stand and go to the bars. “Thanks for what? You’re swollen purple and I’m still in here.”
“Yeah. You are. And when that bastard came to tell me specifically that he was going to take you down, I didn’t have to think about trying to make him stop, I just clobbered the shit. ’Cause I don’t care ’bout what you don’t tell me, Jos. I’ll still try to help you.” He wraps his fingers through the gate.
“You’re crazy.”
For some reason that makes him smile. His chipped tooth shows.
“You better get out of here before somebody finds you.” He watches me, then threads his other fingers through to pluck at my sleeve.“Just get yourself out somehow. Okay?”
“Well I don’t plan on starting a colony here.” In one flash, through the cell door, we look at each other as if we’re both young. But it’s only a moment, and a second later he hobbles to the brig hatch and cuts the lights, leaving me the way he found me.
* * *
VI.
The shift in the brig stretches out to a week, then a month. I’ve become accustomed to the total darkness in my sleepshift, the cold, and the thoughts. Sometimes I dream, and I’ve become accustomed to that too. It’s not like I’ve never been in darkness before.
I have a slate where I write everything as I remember it. Dorr comes in to take it from me after every shift, so he can give the information to the captain. The first time he came he yelled at me, opened the gate, and hit me. I guess I deserved that. The jets go out on missions after pirates and strits. I don’t.
Firsken comes in every three shifts with holopoints—a set for me and a set for her. She follows me in the dives, like Ash did when he trained me, watching me drop my codes to Otter and pick up the info packets from him—all of which she screens first. I haven’t sent a message to Niko in a month. Otter will tell him I’m still alive, but I don’t mention sympathizer stuff to Otter, only about Falcone. I dropped a duress code in one packet, a prearranged, seemingly innocent greeting that he’ll know means I’m being watched in the dives. So Otter never mentions symp stuff and that part is safe from Firsken’s adept eyes.
I think Azarcon will never let me out.
He’s got his own resources of information, but too much never hurts when it comes to pirate hunting. At least the stuff I give him has nothing to do with Niko or the striviirc-na. Niko’s still uncompromised.
It’s only me that is compromised. And in that brig, I’m unreachable. Niko couldn’t get me out even if he wanted. I don’t even know if he wants to. Maybe I’m still useful where I’m at. I’ve been useful for over a year. Alive, at least.
One shift Aki brings me food instead of the regular jet, and turns the lights up. I get off the bunk and go to the gate. I know I must look like shit. I think I need a haircut and I can’t take showers because there’s no shower, only a sink that I have to dunk my head in. I usually splash my body with water and wipe off with a small towel. The water is always cold.
She slides the tray through the slot. It smells wonderful. Not the usual dry food. There’s hot caff and soup and toast and synth eggs with pepper on them.
“Thanks.” I smile at her.
“Sure,” she says, looking at me with a physician’s eyes. “How are you?”
“Good.” I sit on the bunk and eat.
She puts her fingers through the bars and slides her gaze around the cell, then back to me. “
Jos, what are you doing?”
“I’m eating.”
“Not that.” She frowns. Her hair is down and it’s grown past her shoulders, straight. Her eyes are darker than Niko’s. “I mean, what’re you doing? Sending illegal comms, talking to burndivers? You don’t do things behind Cap’s back, Jos. Not illegal things like that. Not things that bear on missions. You should’ve at least told Cap what you found out about Falcone.”
“It wasn’t much. I was waiting until it was something conclusive.”
“You could’ve at least told Dorr.”
I look at her and laugh. “And admit I had the holopoints?”
“You know Erret is a rulebreaker. He could’ve spoke up for you before Cap found out on his own.”
“You mean before Sanchez spied on me.”
“Whatever. But you could’ve told somebody.”
Told her, she means.
“You said it yourself, I was doing something illegal. I’m not going to tell people.”
“Some of us wouldn’t rat on you.” She pauses. “Did Evan know?”
“Not ’til Sanchez had to rub it in.”
She would like to own me too.
I think if I ever get out of here and the ship docks at a station, I will quit.
She usually looks like there’s always something more she wants to say, but never bothers. Maybe she thinks I ought to be attracted to her or want her like she thinks I want Evan, or how Evan wants me. But she doesn’t get it. Evan doesn’t get it. I don’t want anything. Except to get out of this damn brig.
“I wish you were outta here,” she says. To fill the silence, I think.
“Yeah, well,” I say, “wishes don’t count for much.”
The brig hatch opens as I say it and Corporal Dorr strolls in.
“Oh, yah?” he says. “Well rub this genie’s tummy. You’re free at last.”
Aki looks at me for a reaction.
“Yeah?” I don’t accept it at face value. “What, are we going to take a promenade to the airlock?”
“Nah, worse,” Dorr says, with an evil little grin. “To Cap’s office.”
* * *
VII.
“Have we learned our lesson, Mr. Musey?”
His office is warm. It makes me sleepy. I think I’ve played this scenario so long in my head, for the past month, that numbness pervades every reaction.
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ve been diligent with your reports. I appreciate that. It’s helped us tremendously. One step at a time, that’s how you catch pirates.”
He’s in a good mood. I’m so glad. I’m so glad he can sit there behind his desk and smile at me in that way adults get when they know they have successfully disciplined a kid. Behind me Erret Dorr stands silent. Sometimes he’s my advocate, other times he hits me.
“Are you ready to return to full active duty, Private Musey?”
I blink. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. There will still be restrictions, however. No unauthorized main access comp usage. Corporal Dorr will keep signing off on you. You don’t get your holopoints back, needless to say, except for when you dive for me—supervised of course. This talent of yours is quite handy.”
I’m sure.
“Erret, that’ll be all for now.”
My back straightens a little as Erret sirs him and leaves. Azarcon looks up at me.
“You can sit.”
I do. He seems pleasant enough, not like the last time I spoke with him. He’s had a month to temper. He watches me for a long minute.
“Jos, have we moved on now?”
“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
He leans forward, hands folded on his black desk. “I mean, are you past the point of rebellion? Do you trust me?”
I don’t forget that this man screens his crew. He knows how to read them. He might even be as skilled as Niko at reading me.
“I trust you, sir.”
“Jos, I don’t want to hear what you think I want to hear. I want honesty and I want you to look me in the eyes.”
I drag my eyes from the wall to his face.
“Can you see it from my standpoint, Jos? You came aboard with a file that says you had a year with Falcone. You escaped him. This told me you’re a survivor. You found yourself on Austro, in an orphanage—and I know how those places are. You ran with a questionable crowd. Not surprising and not exclusive. Quite a few of your comrades come from similar backgrounds. Except you had a year with Falcone. I know the man. I know his tactics. I know what he does and what he leaves in people. I had to wonder if this wasn’t some sort of elaborate setup on his part to get somebody from his camp onto my ship. Because I know he tries.”
I can’t take my eyes away now.
“So I gave you a hard time. I tested you. You didn’t disappoint me—for a while. I know you’re insular. I know you don’t trust easily. But I’ve given you chances, Jos, so many that I’m starting to really wonder if I was right about you. Am I right in thinking you’re not trying to screw me?”
If I tell him everything now, what will happen?
“I would never do anything to harm this ship, sir.”
Except tell the enemy all about it. But it’s an enemy you can trust, I promise.
I’m used to looking people in the eyes. And I learned to lie to faces, beginning with Falcone.
I lie to Captain Azarcon. With my face and my words, I lie to him.
“Macedon is my ship too, sir. I’m not trying to screw you.”
“I believe you,” he says. “Maybe I’m a fool. But someone took a chance on me once—more than once—and I guess I can take a chance on you. Let’s not repeat the brig episode again. Deal?”
At some point he’s going to make me pay this all back, all this generosity. The files from Siqiniq and now this.
“It’s a deal, sir.” He hadn’t brigged me since that first shift before training, until now. “I never meant harm. I never meant for Kris to die.”
I don’t know where that’s coming from.
But he says simply, “I know.”
* * *
VIII.
The news comes over the Send when we’re in the mess— Dorr, Hartman, Madi, me, and Iratxe. The unit on the wall blares the story. On New Year’s Day, 2197 EHSD—the year of my seventeenth biological birthday—one of our sister ships is destroyed. Completely. Wesakechak, a deep spacer I remember from my first arrival on Austro and a few joint training missions after, was attacked by Genghis Khan and a symp marauder near the Gjoa asteroid belt, one long leap from Chaos Station and three from the DMZ. No survivors, at least none when the rescue ships got there.
We’re in the Dragons, heading toward a resupply base in the old Meridia mines. The Hub converted the dusty moon Rim colony six months ago to a military depot. Rumor has it we’re also going to meet a couple of battleships sent by Ashrafi himself, some sort of powwow for the captain with officers directly loyal to the admiral.
“This war is getting too fucking long,” Dorr says, a certain distance in his voice.
“Which war is that?” Hartman asks. “Seems we’re fighting two and that’s the problem.”
“We ain’t,” Erret snaps. “And that’s the problem. It’s one big bloody one now.”
It’s going to be another year of deaths. You start to mark time that way, not by birthdays or good news. Instead you say, That was when Kris died. That was when Wesakechak blew. Every death I cause on a mission, and every one I hear about, seems to stack in the space between me and Aaian-na, until there’s no way to see over them to the place I think I need to be. Home, which is just a word I don’t believe in anymore.
A whole ship. A carrier the size of Macedon.
We sit there with untouched food, numb. It’s going to be impossible to look my Chaos contact in the face when next we dock. A symp helped on this one and Niko still hasn’t arrested Ash.
I don’t know why Niko just doesn’t coerce Ash into space somehow, and shoot him. Azarcon would do i
t, in the same position. It’s the expedient course and what’s some planet government ten leaps away going to do about it?
My contact’s been telling me for the past couple years that Ash’s tracks are so well hidden that it will take time to build a case against him. Like with Falcone. I wish I can hear that from Niko himself. I wish I can hear anything from Niko himself, something more than short messages meant to comfort and encourage me. I don’t need encouragement. I’m here already.
I haven’t sent an unsupervised outgoing comm since my release from brig. My code to even activate any main access comps is flagged immediately by the bridge. I’ve spent the last year trying to steal someone else’s access code, but Corporal Dorr has been my diligent watchdog. I’m never alone for more than ten minutes, except in the head, and there are no comps in the head.
Having to admit to my contact that I lost my outgoing communications ability wasn’t pretty. But what can you do.
Dorr pokes at his syrup-laden pancakes. “Maybe we oughtta toss these at the pirates.”
I’m just about to leave the table when Evan comes in and beelines toward me. “Did you hear?” he says, and sits down with us.
Iratxe frowns. “About K-Jack? Just now.”
“No, about Caliban. She’s been sent out here to take K-Jack’s place.”
“They don’t waste time,” Madi says.
“Can’t afford to,” Erret says, stuffing his mouth with pancake. “Gap in the ranks means a big freeway for the local criminal element.”
The item scrolls up on the Send display. I look at Evan. “Where’d you hear so quick?”
“I was just talking to Nathan. I thought you’d want to know.”
Jelilian the gossip. Somehow information takes detours to his ears, then disseminates to the rest of us.
“Caliban’s an insystem carrier,” Erret says, frowning. “Just what we need, a converted junker. Those blokes chase their own tails more than they do pirates.”
The godcomm beeps, then Commander Northam, the XO, booms through the ship. The man has no quiet voice.
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