by Natalie Grey
The answer did not come in words. Instead, a pair of missiles appeared on the Shinigami’s sensors in a storm of beeps. A map of the two projectiles replaced the dark holoscreen, and a touchscreen swung from Gar’s chair for him to coordinate a response. He looked at Shinigami for the go-ahead.
“I’ve taken care of— Dammit.” The speakers cut off, and Shinigami used the body instead. She turned her head somewhat unnaturally. “I’ve taken care of it,” she told Gar.
“You have to blink,” Barnabas said. “It’s making my eyes sting at this point. Just put a subroutine in there or something.”
“I’d like to point out that you’ve gotten a lot more confident in my ship-to-ship combat skills if this is what you’re focusing on.”
“Yes, well, you taking out three ships in orbit around High Tortuga made quite an impression. Blink.” Barnabas shook himself and blinked several times for good measure. He looked at the screen, where the two missiles were still showing up. “You said you took care of them?”
“I did.” Shinigami managed a smile and turned her head back to watch the screen.
Closer, the projectiles raced, and closer. Their speed did not alter in the slightest and Barnabas had the sudden thought that he had not felt the Shinigami disgorge weapons of its own. It was a well-constructed ship, but still, one could always feel a faint tremor when missiles or countermeasures launched.
“Um,” Gar said faintly, “Shinigami...”
“Wait for it,” Shinigami said sweetly.
Gar made a gesture that Barnabas guessed was the equivalent of crossing himself. Meanwhile, on the screen, the ship had changed its cloaking algorithms and was flickering on and off the sensor net as it slid into the blackness. Doubtless, it thought that the crew of the Shinigami had not yet noticed the missiles and would soon be dead.
Barnabas found it difficult to argue with that assessment at present.
“Shinigami?”
“Keep waiting.”
“Shinigami, is this so that you won’t have to spend time learning to walk?”
Shinigami said nothing.
The beeping was nearly constant now as the missiles hurtled closer, and despite himself, Barnabas was beginning to sweat a little. “I’m not going to give your body to Achronyx! That was a joke!”
Shinigami flipped her hair out of the way and leaned on one elbow, putting her chin on her fist.
“You can’t blink, but you can do that?” Barnabas demanded. “Why is this going to be the last conversation I have before I die? Shinigami, for the love of all that is holy—”
The beeping stopped. Barnabas squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the explosion to tear through the ship, and a moment later cracked one eye open to look around.
“Shinigami…”
“The missiles are not on the scanners,” Gar reported. He sounded hesitant, as though he might be misinterpreting the completely blank screen. Understandable, in Barnabas’ opinion.
“Yes, we see things as the other ship sees them. Or, more accurately...” Shinigami brought up a report on the screen. There was the fading heat signature of an explosion and shattered pieces of metal and plastic swirling.
“You…made him think we’re dead?” Barnabas felt the engines kick in. “What are we doing now?”
“Surprising him. I want to see his face.”
“And you didn’t tell us you were doing this because...”
She looked at him as though he were a complete idiot. “Because I wanted to see your faces.”
Barnabas considered this as the ship maneuvered. He sat back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the arm. “I’m going to get you for that.”
“How? Are you going to send me to my room without dinner? Will I have to mow the whole lawn, Grandpa?”
Barnabas’ face went stony. The sound of Tafa giggling in the background did nothing to improve his mood. The alien ship replaced the false images on the screen, sliding and jumping. The cameras could not seem to get a good fix on where it was. He could only hope that Shinigami did.
A moment later, however, he grinned when the ship swung around hard, and Shinigami said, with feeling, “Boo, motherfucker!”
They must have been hooked into the audio from the other ship because there was a sudden storm of cursing. Shinigami’s face went blank as she tried to interpret the words.
“Jotun, I think,” she told Barnabas in an undertone. “As for the make of the ship, I got nothing. It shares characteristics with any number of species’ ships.”
“Jotun?” Barnabas’ eyebrows shot up. That was interesting—and it was something he intended to ask Jeltor about as soon as they were out of this mess. He added equally quietly, “Dare I ask—where are the missiles?”
“Oh, that.” Shinigami wiggled her fingers.
“Seriously, you know jazz hands, but you don’t blink?”
“At this point, I’m not blinking because it annoys the crap out of you.”
Barnabas sank his head into one hand and groaned softly.
“The missiles are circling toward his ship.” Shinigami abruptly remembered to grin. The sudden change was terrifying.
“Ah.” Barnabas looked at the screen. “As you may be aware, there are two missiles headed toward you. Be so good as to answer some questions, and we may deal with them for you.”
“Who the hell are you?” the alien demanded.
“No, I said answer some questions, not ask them.”
“Leave this place!”
“He’s not very good at this, is he?” Barnabas asked generally. He focused on the dark screen once more. “So, you’re Jotun. Why are you hiding here trying to kill the ships responding to distress calls?”
There was stony silence, and then the ship tipped up and accelerated away sharply. With a whoop, Shinigami gave chase.
“I love it when they run!”
“Are you descended from coyotes? And keep the channel open.”
Shinigami shot him a grin as she guided the ship through a series of tight twists and turns to follow the escaping Jotun. She was no longer even pretending to use her body to give the commands. She had adopted one of Bethany Anne’s signature poses again, sitting at attention and swaying slightly as Shinigami used her computers to maneuver more tightly than any human could have.
“You seem to be having some trouble,” Barnabas remarked to the Jotun. He thought he heard another muttered oath. “As you see, you can’t get away from us. I don’t necessarily want you to die, simply answer some questions. The ship that’s waiting out there is still broadcasting its distress signal. If you didn’t want it broadcasting, why not simply destroy it?”
There was no answer.
Barnabas rolled his eyes and looked heavenward, praying for patience. “If you want to die for this, you can, but I admit I’m curious. What could be—”
Shinigami gave a yell, and their ship veered sideways. Barnabas gave her a confused look that disappeared a moment later when the Jotun’s ship exploded in a white-hot blaze.
“Were those its missiles?” He looked at her. “Because I think we could have—”
“No.” She gave him what Tabitha called “a Look with a capital L.” “Give me a little credit; I wouldn’t have blown him up while he still might have talked. No, he did that to himself. He set off a self-destruct.” She shrugged. “Or she, I guess. I couldn’t run a reverse on all of the voice modifiers.”
“They killed themselves?” Barnabas looked at the screen incredulously. “Rather than answer a few questions about...” His voice trailed off, and he frowned.
He did not like this in the slightest. What was on that civilian transport that could cause an unaffiliated assassin to destroy rescue ships?
“We had better find out what’s going on,” Barnabas remarked coldly.
“I agree.” Shinigami looked vaguely regretful. “Too bad he didn’t stay around a while longer. I was almost into his systems.”
“Whatever we find on the transport ship may give
us the answers we need.” Barnabas shook his head.
He wasn’t particularly hopeful, however—and he wasn’t looking forward to this mission anymore, either. What had seemed like a nice, simple rescue operation was quickly becoming quite a bit more complicated.
Chapter Three
Despite its name, the Srisa was registered to a Brakalon corporation, and thus—apparently—subject to Brakalon law. In this case, the law stated that the engines must be cut, and the ship must come to a complete stop until the legal issue on board was resolved.
“Legal issue?” Barnabas asked the captain delicately. He peered into the captain’s mind, but the thoughts he saw were not entirely clear: a smashed jar of some kind, a Jotun, and a mess of the usual things that would occur to a captain, such as low food stores and angry passengers. The captain was also on his guard when it came to Barnabas, viewing him as a potential threat.
Barnabas supposed that was fair. Piracy was a big industry in almost all sectors. Several people had tried to take the Shinigami, and it wasn’t unheard of for pirates to talk their way onto ships. The captain must feel like a sitting duck.
“Err...” The captain, Kelnamon, gave a pained-looking smile and scratched his collar nervously. He was an unusual shade of greenish brown. Barnabas could not determine if that was due to long hours inside the ship, or simply a Brakalon ethnic group he had not come across before.
Kelnamon took his time answering. He peered at Barnabas. He shook his head side to side a few times.
Finally, he said, “We should speak alone.”
Barnabas gave a gracious nod and prayed for patience, motioning for Gar to stay and Shinigami to come with him. They had arranged this in advance. Shinigami would accompany Barnabas and might be able to unravel any secrets within the Srisa’s systems, and Gar and Tafa would pretend to wait docilely by the airlock until Barnabas was out of sight, after which they would set about exploring the ship.
Shinigami had wanted to explore, but Tafa had observed that there were still some issues with Shinigami's body doing things like walking. Navigating an unfamiliar ship full of ladders and unusual surfaces was going to enhance Shinigami’s jerky movements and tip people off that she wasn’t an organic life form.
Shinigami had acceded but had kept up a steady stream of muttering in Barnabas’ head even as she stalked along beside him. Barnabas meanwhile looked around and felt vaguely out of scale. The Srisa had been built with Brakalons in mind, and the corridors dwarfed most other species. Only Gar seemed tall enough, and the ship’s size made him appear even more unnaturally thin than usual.
The captain’s chambers were lived-in, but there was no luxury. It was a matter of small touches: carved icons along the metal beams, a hand-stitched blanket on the bed, a rag rug that fit the unusual shape of the floor exactly.
Barnabas had a much better opinion of Kelnamon after seeing this. Many captains became despots, glorying in their tiny realm and wanting to rule with an iron fist, and they invariably shoved as many luxuries as they could into their lives. He hadn’t gotten a striking sense of self-importance from Kelnamon so far, but a fleeting glimpse into someone’s mind wouldn’t always give the whole picture. This cabin helped flesh things out.
“So,” Barnabas leaned against the wall, one eyebrow raised, “what’s the legal issue?”
The Brakalon groaned and rubbed his temples.“I shouldn’t say. It needs to be handled by the authorities. They were supposed to arrive yesterday.”
Barnabas and Shinigami exchanged a look. They had seen the wreckage of the Brakalon ship, and now they knew why one had arrived so quickly.
Barnabas cleared his throat. “I’m afraid that ship isn’t coming. There was interference.” He tried to keep his voice light to avoid making things sound too meaningful. He did not particularly want to get caught up in the story of the ship they had encountered—not until they knew what was happening with the Srisa, at any rate.
“What do you mean it’s not coming?” Kelnamon looked at him worriedly.
“It’s like this,” Shinigami said.
Shinigami—
No, I got this, it’s cool.
“It’s cool”?
Yeah. It’s cool. She tossed her dark hair over her shoulder and gave the Brakalon captain a grimace. “That Brakalon police ship? It’s in lots of little pieces with some other ships also in lots of little pieces. About half an hour...” She considered, looking around, and then pointed. “That way.”
Most people don’t know that sort of thing off-hand, and why did he need to know the direction?
I don’t know what information you people find useful.
You’re insane. Also, your bedside manner needs work.
Who’s at a bedside?
It’s an expression.
Kelnamon, unaware of the conversation going on between the two of them, looked alarmed. “You saw it?” His eyes narrowed. “Or...”
“We had nothing to do with the accident,” Barnabas assured him. He gave Shinigami a severe look. Behave yourself. “We were surprised that there was another ship already here, given how remote you were. This explains why the ship was there, but I’m afraid it doesn’t explain why it was destroyed.”
The Brakalon went an even more sickly shade of brownish green. It must be a sign of stress, Barnabas decided. Kelnamon began to pace around his little patch of the room.
“We don’t have enough supplies to stay here much longer. We have to get this cleared up.”
“Mmm. Well, given that your friends won’t be arriving anytime soon, perhaps you could tell us what’s going on?” Barnabas gave him a pleasant schmoozing-over-martinis sort of smile. “After all, I have some legal credentials.”
And you call me clueless, Shinigami commented.
What?
You think that’s going to win you any friends?
He needs police. We’re…kind of police.
He’s nervous, you were a Ranger, and you radiate that you’re going to cause massive trouble wherever you go.
I do not!
You do. But don’t take my word for it. See what he says. She didn’t look at Barnabas, but her face glowed with self-satisfied pleasure.
She had a point, in that the captain looked nervous rather than reassured. Kelnamon was wringing his hands, and finally said, “What sort of legal experience?” His tone sounded like he was expecting to hear Barnabas admit to going around lopping people’s heads off at the drop of a hat.
Go on, Shinigami urged wickedly, Tell him.
I’m not sure this is a good idea.
She was grinning like a Cheshire Cat by now, and Barnabas wished he hadn’t said anything. He had no choice, however. He met the captain’s eyes and gave a small shrug. “Before the Etheric Empire disbanded, I was one of the Empress’ Rangers.”
“He was Ranger One,” Shinigami clarified.
The Brakalon looked more nervous than ever. “This is Brakalon business. There’s no reason the Etheric Empire has to get involved.”
“There is no Etheric Empire anymore,” Barnabas explained. “I am no longer an instrument of the Empress’ Justice, but instead of…Justice in general.” When Kelnamon looked blankly at him, he clarified: “I travel, find issues that require intervention, and aid anyone who needs me. At present, it seems like you need someone.”
The captain looked like a very massive deer caught in headlights.
Barnabas fought the urge to sigh deeply. He drew himself up, smiled his best do-not-even-think-of-weaseling-out-of-this smile, and asked, “So what’s going on?”
Kelnamon was startled into speech. Barnabas’ question didn’t offer the possibility of turning down help, and in any case, the captain was desperate. He dropped into his chair—which creaked ominously—and began, “One of the passengers was murdered.”
Oh, now this is interesting, Shinigami commented.
You can say that again. Barnabas kept his face from showing any emotion and nodded for the captain to continue, moving to tak
e the other chair.
What he did not do was waste time feigning shock and horror. Most people would, and Kelnamon might allow his emotions to get the better of him, allowing not only shock to overwhelm him, but also fear about allowing Barnabas to intervene. At Barnabas’s nod, however, the captain shook himself and simply continued with the tale.
“It happened in his cabin. A crew member went to clean the room, and he was dead. It was neatly done. Someone had gone through his things.”
“You say, ‘Neatly done.’ Tell me about that.” Barnabas was intrigued.
“The wires that held—well, he was Jotun. I should mention that, or it won’t make sense.”
Coincidence? Barnabas asked. A Jotun dead, and another hiding near the place of the murder dispatching anyone who might try to investigate.
Shinigami didn’t even bother responding to such an obvious question.
Kelnamon gave a few half-hearted attempts at explaining power sources and electronic systems and finally gave up. “His suit was ruined. When I arrived, I smashed the tank to get him out, but it was too late. He had already overheated—and suffocated.” As he spoke, the memory played out in his mind vividly, and Barnabas could see the truth of it.
“That’s how you’d do it, I guess.” Barnabas scratched his head.
The captain gave him a look. “Which is why the Jotuns have a very large number of backups and safety measures in their suits.”
Barnabas paused. “So you’re suggesting...”
“The person who did this knew a lot about the suits in general, and probably knew a lot about his suit in particular,” Kelnamon said flatly. “They chose a time when Captain Ferqar—his friend—was out—”
“Tell me about the friend,” Barnabas interrupted. A conveniently-absent bunkmate was an interesting detail.
“Another ship’s captain,” the captain explained. He shrugged. “Nothing particularly noteworthy about him. Well, I guess the fact that they were traveling with us in the first place. But it happens.”
“Another ship’s captain, as in, you’re saying that the murdered Jotun was also a ship’s captain?”