by S. J. Higbee
“No!” I couldn’t imagine anything worse.
“Though you’d be better in some sort of disguise…” Diana’s voice trailed off as she turned to Axil. “Didn’t we get hold of some Gaiast robes for the General, way back? Rick managed to snag a few…”
“Yeah! An’ they cover every las’ inch’ve yer. That’d work! I won’t put out a rec – I’ll track ʼem down and get them to yer so there’s nothin’ ter track,” offered Axil.
“Hm…” Eileen’s eyes glazed while she consulted her aug. “Yeah. So we’ll be a party of priests and priestesses the Gaiast Church travelling to Earth.”
“We’ll be as much use as a space-spooked cat in long gowns if it kicks off!” I turned to Wynn, hoping he’d also zilch such a lame-brained notion. “That sit well with you? Dragging around the ship in some dreggy dress and sharing your air with me?”
He was leaning back, his hands linked behind his head, clearly enjoying himself. I’d forgotten how laid-back he generally was. It had been one of the things that first attracted me, apart from his physical good looks. And his willingness to face up to the likes of Norby to keep us stupid girls safe. His grin made his eyes sparkle. “Don’t care, as it happens. So long as I get to Earth.” He leaned forward towards me, the grin suddenly gone. “Though it’ll be a dealbreaker if you’ve gotten into the habit of snoring. Can’t be doing with that.”
While I was spluttering, he winked, reducing Diana and Eileen to giggles.
“That’s a solid plan,” announced Peter. “Specially if we send a bunch of girls your build and colouring on a number of shuttles and ships out over the next week dressed in your uniform.”
“You’ll be hard put to find many so damn skinny,” muttered Wynn.
“Well good luck with getting her to stand still long enough to eat a proper meal,” snapped Diana. “Think we don’t try?”
As everyone muttered in agreement, I realised that the situation was sliding completely out of my control. I was the Chief – didn’t that count for anything?
I jumped up. “I’m not doing this! It’s insane!”
“Chief, you need to face facts.” Peter used that tone of voice when he figured I was being completely unreasonable, “Cos of Hawking and that song of yours – your face is one of the most immediately well-known across the galaxy. The bounty on you is running at approximately half a million creds. And too many people already know you’re already leaving Restormel, so we can’t keep that quiet.”
“Hell yeah. Only way you’re gonna keep uprigh’ an’ breathin’ is if you make like smoke once you’re on Hawkin’ an’ yer priestship wafts yersel’ onna Earth liner, wiv yer priest friends ʼlongside, there,” added Axil.
I looked around the room. Everyone was nodding, except Wynn. Who was lounging in the chair, loose-limbed and relaxed, a small grin on his face. Clearly enjoying this flagrant mutiny.
“Just as well I’m resigning. You’d never have pulled a stunt like this with the General – let’s hope you all recall how to follow orders when Jasen Starcaster takes over!” I snapped.
Which was how I ended up going to Earth with Garion Wynn.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I lay back in the seat, pressed into the squashy padding by the fierce acceleration while Restormel lurched away beneath us.
The last few hours had been a dizzying blur of frantic activity. Starting with officially nominating Florian Starsearcher as temporary leader of the P’s before the election – the admin had all been readied for my anticipated departure, anyhow. We just brought it forward in a speedy Emergency Council Meeting – my very last one. I’d then packed… organised supplies of air and water for Wynn… liquidated a chunk of my assets… then more packing.
Diana explained that Rick has managed to snag the robes for Gaiast priests and priestesses, harking back to a time when Norman was busy sweet-sliming around them. His plan to provide security for their church members when transporting their plants and vegetation around Sector Two didn’t work out, because when trying to be Mr Charming, he held a dinner where everyone wore Gaiast robes to honour the priesthood. Apparently, the High Priestess, icily furious, immediately demanded the return of all the robes, which Norman promptly refused, so it all slid away from there. However there were a dozen or so of these garments tucked away in the corner of Procurement somewhere, gathering dust. Axil scooped them up and delivered them to my apartment, once more impressing me with his knowledge of what the P’s actually owned.
I yawned. While I didn’t enjoy shuttle journeys through any atmosphere – far too much flaring heat and noise – just the knowledge that no one would be tapping on the door, demanding that I deal with some crisis released tension knots in my backbrain I hadn’t realised were there.
I was drifting off to sleep, when Wynn cut through the general chatter, “So what did you slip in my drink?”
Even in doze mode, I sensed the sudden tension in the small cabin.
“Not all that much, as it happens. If you recall, you were well on the way to getting warped out’ve your skull without any help from us.” Judging from his tone, Chris hadn’t forgotten Wynn’s earlier comments. Or forgiven them.
If you’ve an atom of sense, Wynn, you’ll stop flapping your mouth. These are not people you want to annoy.
Evidently, Wynn’s instinct for self-preservation was buried back on that dirtball, Ceres. “So – what? Because I’d had a drop too much, you reckoned it was fine to go ahead and scoop me up?”
“Let’s get something straightened out right now,” Hugo Gently’s voice rolled around the small space with the force of a grenade. “You made your views very plain. And the Chief offered you the chance to go home. In fact she was desperate for you not to sully her air, by all accounts. And you? You chose to staple your sorry self to her side, anyhow.” Sarge had spent years delivering verbal smacks to know-nothing newbies and was good at it. “You’re purely not wanted by anyone on this voyage. So during the rest of this trip, you’ll keep your mouth slammed shut. And if you upset the Chief again – you’ll be sucking on hard vacuum so fast, you’ll find your frozen eyeballs staring at your corpse ʼfore it stops twitching, are we clear?”
“Yeah. You guys are good at threats.” Wynn’s bitter laugh raised the hair on the nape of my neck, recalling his reckless behaviour around General Norman a lifetime ago. “Just a rotting shame that for all your fawning around the Chief no one thought to look after her. I seen starving fugees with more meat on their bones! And she’s worn – bags under her eyes, worrylines on her forehead and around her mouth! You scumsacs’ve sucked her dry. So stomp away, soldierboy. I don’t give a staled airpack for your opinion!”
Mother Earth above, they’ll kill him! I opened my eyes and stretched. “We nearly there?”
The poisonous mood shifted. Though Wynn should’ve been a smoking heap if Chris and Hugo had their way, judging by their glares. While Eileen was staring at him with something close to admiration.
He thinks I’m a worn hag. It was a shock how much that winded me.
“We’re approaching the docks. ETA with Pugnacious in fourteen minutes and thirty seconds,” announced the pilot, all cool efficiency.
I recalled the skeletal, filthy wreck of a skilled man down in the Crypt and shivered.
“You cold?” Wynn rootled in the pac by his feet. “Here.” He tossed me a hical bar.
I caught it and tucked it in my seatpouch. “Thanks, I’m not hungry. They taste like cardboard, anyhow.”
“You’re cold. Eat,” he ordered. “You can pull your P’s Princess act once you got more inside you than fresh air and shuttle fumes.”
I scowled at him. “Norman was always trying to force food down my throat. Reckoned I was too skinny.”
“Murdering prodder had to be right once in his sorry life.”
Chris spluttered in mid-swallow, spraying water over himself.
While Wynn continued as if he hadn’t just majorly insulted the General, “C’mon, Lizzy! Everyone her
e is counting on you to steer us right. Yet you’re undernourished and dropping- down tired.”
Blondie is right, girl.
Oh this is shiny – I’ve got you agreeing with Wynn! You hated him when you were alive, Jessica. I dug down, grabbed the bar and, ripping the wrapper off the wretched thing, bit into it.
“Thank you, Wynn,” he mimicked my English accent.
I glared at him, but with a mouth full of hi-cal mush, decided not to respond. It’ll probably only encourage him, anyhow.
And you wouldn’t want to be a worn, worrylined woman spattered with half-eaten hi-cal, would you, Lizzy?
Shove it outta the airlock, Jessica! He’s flapping his mouth enough for the two of you.
It was something of a surprise when the bar was gone, which after the first mouthful had been unexpectedly tasty. And that was when the pings started going off.
“Docking now,” declared the pilot.
I looked across at Chris. “It’s Predominant.”
“And Perseverance, Peacebringer and Punishment,” he added.
We stared at each other, stunned. What’s going on? Have they cornered Eddy? Nah. It wouldn’t take four of the P’s most powerful ships to haul him in…
Hugo said, “My guess is that Admiral Starcaster floored it and has done us the honour of rendezvousing with us. We’re being seen off by a formal honour guard.”
Hell in a black hole! “That’s wonderful,” I managed, brushing crumbs from my uniform, tugging my dress tunic straight and checking the braid hadn’t twisted during my slump into a doze.
Eileen was busy straightening Chris’s belt and swearing quietly over the damp patch on his tunic. Hugo Gently, of course, looked like he’d just stepped off the holovid promo-ing the P’s. I turned to Wynn, whose tunic was unbuttoned at the collar and feverishly started doing them up.
“Hey! That’s way too tight—ˮ he protested.
I slapped his hand away. “Stand still! Civvies never get this right and we haven’t time to prone about. We’re about to be judged by the P’s best troops and you got to pass as one of my personal guard. Or our cover’s blown before we even get aboard Pugnacious.”
“What happened to your prodding hair?” yelped Eileen. “Took me a long light year to plait into a fishtail.”
Wynn shrugged. “Told you it was too tight. Tried to shut my eyes and nearly scalped myself, so I loosened it off.”
“FYI…” she snapped, as she yanked a hank of his flaxen hair hard enough to nearly jerk him off his feet, “you wait to be told before you turn back into civvy flotsam.”
“Ow! Pulped planets, woman! Leave me a couple of strands.”
“‘Loosenin’ it off…’ her mimicry of his faint Ceran accent was spot on, before she snarled, “What – you thunk I’d done this to pass the sodding time?”
I watched Eileen in full bossy mode, while Wynn was grumbling, with Sarge muttering under his breath about civvy prod-ups – and got a fit of the giggles. Trying to keep a straight face was pointless. The more I tried to stop, the more laughter bubbled up, escaping in cackling whoops. I clapped my hand over my mouth, breathless and wheezing.
Till Hugo stepped in and gripped my arm. Hard. “Enough, Norman! The eyes of the galaxy will be on us out there. You need to maintain the honour of the P’s. For all our sakes.”
And suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore. “Sorry, Sarge.” I blotted the laughter tears from my face, drew on my parade-ground expression, pulled my shoulders back and put a snap in my step, as Hugo nodded and marched off in front of me.
Wynn stared after him, his eyes shards of ice. As we started filing down the gangtube, he put his hand on my shoulder, his sudden nearness a shock. “This is your moment, not theirs. Be you. It’s more than good enough,” he murmured in my ear.
I had little time to gather my scattered wits, for as soon as I stepped off the gangtube, a cry went up, “Three cheers for the Chief!”
Hugo stopped as the roars ricocheted around the echoing chamber.
This is my moment.
Only because you’re the Chief. So don’t you get above yourself—
Prod off, Jessica!
Military protocol demanded that I snap out an answering salute. Instead, I blew them all a kiss and waved at everyone. The answering yell made the marrow in my bones buzz. And the next thing, Jasen had engulfed me in a huge bearhug, which I returned.
“Thank you for all you’ve done. You’ve made us all so proud,” I said, to the ranks of mercs lined up on the docks, once he put me back on my feet. “And this… a lovely leaving present.” I gestured to them all.
“We’re devastated at your going. Please reconsider, Chief,” Jasen said.
While another ear-holing cheer broke out, I was shaken to see he really meant it – tears were on his cheeks.
“It’s time for someone else to lead the P’s into the new era,” I announced. “And you have a wonderful candidate in the upcoming leadership election.” I clapped Jasen on the shoulder. “I don’t have to ask you to make me proud – you’ve always done so. It’s been an honour to serve you. Goodbye, my friends. Keep safe.” I gave the P’s sig.
It’s your moment… Be you… Wynn’s advice seemed solid.
I jumped off the makeshift platform and plunged into the ranks of the brave men and women who’d I’d lived and worked alongside for the last five years.
“Ramon… how’s it going? Julia – is the back mended? You dodging those flashcharges now, Victor?” Pushing through the crowd towards me, was another face I knew… “David!” And we hugged – because we’d been training companions and shared a whole lot during that first, crazy year on Restormel. Suddenly Irena was also alongside – the surviving member of our training group – looking sheepish. Clearly this was David’s idea as we hadn’t been on the best of terms last time we’d encountered one another. And I was suddenly also weeping as I embraced her. Not only for my leavetaking – but for Romeo, the fourth member of Red Group, lying in a grave too many lightyears away.
“Chief, we need to embark, now. Or we’ll miss our launch window.” I could barely hear my eardrop message, still touching the forest of outstretched hands and answering those I could hear in amongst the wall of yelled goodwill messages and last farewells, I made my way towards Pugnacious’s gangtube. This was a lightyear from the formal, dignified exit on Restormel, yet felt a lot more real.
“Make way for the Chief!” roared a familiar voice.
Immediately, the crowd fell away with many of them trained to obey that particular voice in their sleep as Hugo Gently swung in alongside me, ensuring any tardy wellwishers were back in place. And yeah – I know the stories of that occasion have everyone warbling the P’s anthem, with me leading the singing. But I’m here to tell you that not a single note was sung. Though I do believe there was a big party in honour of my leaving that kicked off in the docking area, the minute Pugnacious was towed out of her mooring. Nothing to do with me, really, as those folks had just returned from an arduous campaign and needed to blow off some steam.
*
It still seemed unreal. Sitting in the Stateroom with the lights dimmed in order to better enjoy the starscape transmitted onto the mu-screen from the hullvids, I was sipping an excellent cup of coffee after a peaceful meal in my cabin. Which was surprisingly good, given it was vac-packed. However I’d got to eat it while the meat was still hot and uncongealed and the veg still steaming in the tasty sauce. No one is ever going to interrupt a meal asking me to deal with P’s business, again.
The events of the last hectic weeks were already taking on a dreamlike quality. As if they’d happened to someone else. The only part all too real was the sick swirl of dread I felt whenever recalling Eddy’s fury as he promised to torture and kill Mum and the boys. His threat was no less terrifying because it came from the emaciated body of that doomed pilot.
Talking of emaciated… I drained my coffee, jumped up and stood in front of the star-speckled mu-screen that ran the length o
f the wall. “Mirror mode!”
Wynn’s words about my appearance had bitten deep. For a while now, I’d done little more than ensure my hair was tidy and my uniform was unwrinkled. There wasn’t any point since Tomas had gone. After the outside views blinked out, I glared at my reflection, noticing the dark smudges under my eyes and the frownlines etching my forehead. When had my uniform become so baggy? No wonder I’d gone down a couple of levels in BalanceJoust – I was definitely on the scrawny side of skinny. Small wonder Wynn found me so repugnant.
The door bleeped.
I spun around, straightening my shoulders. Never mind I was no longer Chief, I’d see them all at the bottom of a black hole before they’d catch me slumped in despair over my scarecrow looks. “Enter.”
“Chief.” Eileen hovered in the doorway. “I’m truly sorry to disturb you. The others thought I should leave you in peace this one evening, but I don’t think this can wait…”
I waved away her apology. “I know you wouldn’t sully my airspace for some limp-wristed reason. C’mon in and sit down.”
She was clutching her com as she perched on the edge of the chair. “Thing is… when I got to thinking, I realised what I didn’t know about these Gaiasts would fill a fat-pac, so…” She hunched over her com, her fingers a blur. “Permission to holo this, Chief…”
They need to shed that habit. I’m betting Gaiast priestesses don’t get called Chief.
A tall, fully robed figure bounced onto the holo-mu. I stared at her, my jaw dropping.
“I thought they spent their days grubbing about in the dirt, growing plants and trees and stuff…” I caught my breath at the effortless grace and skill on show. “Pulped planets! How’d she manage that without tripping up?”
The dark brown robe billowed and refurled around her whirling figure, as she spun the staff in a flurry of moves. Thought they used those staffs to lean on, or make holes in the ground for seeds. Didn’t realise they used them as weapons. Obviously they wouldn’t stand a chance against any projectile weaponry, but I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of this priestess if I was only carrying a knife. The speed she’s twirling that staff’d make it mighty hard to reach her. And she’s constantly shifting. Dancing backwards and forwards on the balls of her feet. Holed Heavens – she’s barefoot!
