Ranger Bayne (The Deep Black Book 3)

by James David Victor

  He stood at her side, his shoulder touching hers. There was a time when that was all she could have focused on. But, like her, Sigurd was somewhere else. Like Bayne, that somewhere else was someplace angry.

  Bayne cleared his throat, not that he needed to—the mess was silent as the void. “You have done nothing wrong.” He took a moment to scan the crowd, to meet the eye of as many as he could to ensure that message sunk in. “You have been labeled criminals, fugitives, but you did nothing to earn it. You followed my orders. You are good sailors. But we are in a time when being good sailors does not carry the weight that it should. The Navy has been infiltrated. Even some who claim to serve its best interests have twisted what they believe those interests to be. The Navy is sick.”

  Some rumbles sounded from the crowd. Disbelief.

  “I will not rest until I clear my name and the restore the reputation of this ship and its crew,” Bayne continued. “But I will not force any here to do the same. The Navy has dissolved your obligation to it. You will not be considered deserters should you choose to leave, and I will not stop you, but you must make the decision now. We will be approaching the Iron Port within the hour. Any who wish to do so can disembark there and book passage wherever they choose.”

  He turned his back to the crowd and took a deep breath before continuing. “All those who wish to leave, please speak to XO Mao in the landing bay. He will remove your names from the ship’s ledger.”

  At first, none moved. They just stared at Bayne’s back like they were waiting for him to turn around and yell, “Just kidding.” But he didn’t. He kept his back to them, his head hung low, a position in which they had never seen their captain.

  Maybe that was when they realized that he was no longer their captain, the ones who left. Slowly, one by one, they began to leave. They didn’t make a show of it, didn’t yell anything at Bayne’s back. It felt like a funeral procession as they began to funnel out of the mess hall.

  As the mourners passed by Delphyne, and the ship began to empty out, she felt the pull to join them, like a current, a plug pulled from a drain. She swam against it out of instinct. She was a sailor. To abandon ship was the vilest action she could take.

  But she wasn’t a sailor. Not anymore. Not in the Navy. She was a criminal. A fugitive. As long as she stayed on this ship, she was no better than a pirate. Worse than a pirate in the Central Command’s eyes. A traitor.

  Where else could she go? What would she do? The label would follow her to any ship. The only captains who would take her now would be actual pirates and cutthroats. Was that all that mattered? What of her soul? What kind of person would she be to continue serving under Drummond Bayne, a man who no longer garnered her faith and respect the way he once did.

  She projected herself into a dozen futures. Some of them brought tears to her eyes because she knew they would never come true. Captain of her own UNS ship. Admiral. A family on a peaceful forest moon, watching the stars from the front porch as crickets sang.

  When the exodus ended, more than half the crew had left.

  But she had not moved.

  Bayne turned around to see his dwindled crew. He nodded, swallowing hard to keep everything down. Then he was captain again, not a heartbroken man. “The rest of you will assist in seeing the others off. Help them pack their things. Assemble ration packs. Say your good-byes.”

  The remaining crew dispersed, a heavy feeling causing them to move slowly. Sig tugged on Delphyne’s arm, encouraging her to leave and give Bayne, whose knuckles were turning white as he squeezed his hands into fists, some space. She told him that she would catch up.

  Then it was just the two of them, Delphyne and Bayne. They were rarely alone. They had no reason to be. But she was never uncomfortable around him. Not until now.

  “What is it, Lieutenant?”

  “I need to know something, sir.” She surprised herself with the strength of her voice. “I need to know what our mission is. And how we plan on achieving it.”

  Bayne squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

  “Then you better.”

  His head snapped up, fresh anger flaring in his eyes. “I’ll remind you who you’re talking to, Lieutenant.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Your captain!” His anger finally boiled over and rushed out of his mouth in a hot wave.

  So, too, did Delphyne’s. She hadn’t realized it was there, bubbling below the surface, an anger to match Bayne’s. “My captain would never have put me in this position. Forcing me to choose, to question my loyalty. To compromise myself. I am a damn good sailor, sir, and I have been nothing but dutiful and loyal to you.” The lava in her voice began to cool and crack. “I’ve done nothing to deserve this. You have betrayed me.”

  Bayne looked at her in a way he never had. Eyes wide but laser-focused. Completely at a loss, like he’d just stepped off the ship in the middle of the vacuum.

  “Worse,” Delphyne continued. “You betrayed yourself. A man to whom I pledged my loyalty. A man I served. A man I believed to be honorable. I don’t know if you’re that man anymore.”

  He remained silent but did not look away from her.

  She did not look away from him. “You’ve done things since setting on this path that don’t become an officer of the Navy. In following you, I’ve done things that don’t become an officer of the Navy. If I continue to follow you, will I do more?”

  Bayne shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Will you continue to do more?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Can you guarantee that you won’t do anything that would besmirch the honor of this ship and everyone serving aboard it?”

  Bayne paused. He shook his head again. “No.”

  A shudder ran through Delphyne. A tremor that threatened to shake her apart. “Then, Captain, I am afraid that I can no longer serve as your lieutenant.”

  The tremor ran along the floor and up through Bayne’s leg, shaking him to his core. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Her eyes fell to the floor. “I will report to Mao right away so that my name can be removed from the ship’s ledger.” She turned on her heel and marched toward the exit.

  “Wait, Delphyne,” Bayne called, stopping her cold. “Before you go, I’ve one last thing to ask of you.”

  7

  Present…

  Bayne’s breath caught in his throat. It forced its way out when he’d forgotten to keep breathing. “Hep, patch the call to my quarters.” He sprinted off the bridge before Hep could answer or Mao could object.

  He didn’t care to hear either. He hadn’t heard Delphyne’s voice in months. He knew there was a chance he’d never speak to her again. Since the moment she’d stepped off the ship, Bayne had tried to convince himself that it was only temporary. He tried to convince himself that everything was temporary, while still living as though this was his life now. The life of a fugitive. Constant vigilance. Prepared to move and fight at all times. To live any other way would mean death.

  He didn’t slow until he reached his quarters, almost slamming into his door before it had time to open. He didn’t take time to catch his breath before opening the channel to Delphyne.

  Her visage appeared on the monitor mounted on the wall over his desk.

  “Lieutenant,” he said. He caught himself and corrected when he noticed the twinge of pain the word brought to her face. “Delphyne, it’s good to see you.”

  She did not appear to feel the same. “You can’t contact me now. What happened to the protocol?”

  “You know how I am for protocol.” He smirked. He fell into his old pattern, like seeing a classmate for the first time in years and becoming the person you were in school. His roguish behavior was not as charming as it once was.

  “You’re going to get me killed,” Delphyne snapped in a hushed voice. “If they ever trace this signal, find out I’m talking to you, then we’re all dead.”

  “Hep is scrambling
the signal. You taught him well.”

  Delphyne’s eyes flicked about, like she was scanning the horizon for predators. “Just get on with it. What do you need?”

  The change in her demeanor was startling, but not wholly unwelcome. Bayne had only ever known her as an officer. Even when on leave, she maintained a certain decorum in his presence. She made no effort to that effect now.

  “I need you to set up a meeting,” Bayne said.

  “No.” Her response was immediate and concrete.

  Bayne reeled from the rejection. “Delphyne, it’s why I asked you to do this. Why I set you up with the identity architect.”

  “Aside from providing me with a fresh start, you mean,” she said.

  Bayne’s cheeks grew hot. “Yes, of course. Also that. But this is important. It could clear our names.”

  “My name is clear,” Delphyne said. “Adele Feeny has never run afoul of the law in her life.” She spit the false name like it was spoiled milk in her mouth.

  Bayne squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Please, Delphyne. If not for me, then for everyone else still on this ship. For the Navy. It’s rotting from the inside out, and this could help cure it.”

  Her eyes narrowed to dagger points. “Don’t pretend you’re doing this for anyone but yourself.” She took a breath and willed herself to calm. “I can’t set up a formal meeting. That would be insane. You’re the most wanted man in the system. But maybe I can arrange an…impromptu crossing of paths. I’ll send you the details once I have them.”

  “Thank you.”

  Before Delphyne could respond, a voice from her end of the comm cut her off. A woman’s voice, very business in tone. “He wants to see you.”

  Delphyne stood, the upper half of her body disappearing from view. “Of course. Tell Mister Byers I’m on my way.” Her finger reached below the area of the monitor, and the call was cut off.

  8

  “Are you sure?” Mao said.

  Bayne arched an eyebrow at his XO.

  “Right,” Mao relented. “Of course, you are.” He turned his attention to Graeme. “Set course for the Rickard Sea.”

  “Aye, sir,” Graeme answered. He keyed up the coordinates but hesitated before entering them. “Are you sure? That sector is ninety-five percent controlled by the Byers Clan. And they currently want us dead.”

  “I’m aware,” Mao answered. “Set the course, Officer.”

  Graeme shrugged and muttered something to himself. It wasn’t an insubordinate act, at least not as Mao viewed it. It was more a tic than anything else. Graeme could not help but voice his thoughts. It was grating initially, especially to Mao’s strict sensibilities, but the XO had grown to understand Graeme’s quirks.

  “Course is set,” Graeme said. “We will be surrounded by the enemy in twelve hours, thirty-one minutes, and sixteen seconds. Thirty-one minutes and fifteen seconds. Fourteen seconds.”

  “Thank you, Officer Graeme,” Mao said.

  The bridge fell into standard cruise protocol, which was once the medium alert protocol—constant monitoring of radar, scanning all communication frequencies, combat stations at the ready. There was no more protocol when combat stations were not at the ready.

  Mao stood by Bayne’s chair, which currently held a very tired-looking captain. “How is she?” Mao asked.

  Bayne was steady. “Fine.”

  His terseness did nothing to endear him to Mao, though Mao knew the captain did not have that intention. When Mao remained, Bayne looked up at him. “Is there something else?”

  “There are a great many things else,” Mao answered. “I’ll settle for why we’re sailing into a Byers-held territory.”

  Bayne rested his chin on his knuckles and stared ahead at the map display. “You’ll need to settle for because I said so.”

  The anger bubbled up in Mao and burst out his mouth before he could think to stop it. “Perhaps I would if I were a child. But I am a sailor who has chosen to follow you into the dark, so I think I deserve some stars-be-damned respect.” His face burned hot. Beads of sweat formed on his upper lip. He cleared his throat and straightened his coat, as if it was somehow responsible for his outburst. “Sir.”

  Bayne rose slowly from his chair. He stood nose to nose with Mao, not speaking. Mao felt the captain’s hot breath on his face, like Bayne was spitting fire on him with every exhalation. Mao stared straight ahead, through the captain, hands folded behind his back.

  Silence swallowed the whole of the bridge until, finally, Bayne spoke. “With me.” He marched off the bridge.

  Mao was frozen in place, surprised by Bayne response. Rather, his lack of response. He spurred himself forward and followed Bayne all the way to the captain’s quarters.

  Bayne uncorked the bottle of black rum that sat on his desk. Mao had lost count which bottle it was. There was a time when Mao believed the bottle nothing more than a desk ornament. And that was after Bayne had removed it from whatever dust-filled corner of his quarters it had been hidden in all those years. Now, there was rarely a time Mao saw the inside of Bayne’s quarters when Bayne was not drinking from it.

  It was also becoming alarmingly infrequent that Mao did not join him. Bayne handed him a half-full glass.

  Mao could gauge the severity of what Bayne was about to tell him based on the fullness of the glass. When he learned of the true nature of conflict on Triseca, Bayne had filled the glass near to the brim.

  Bayne sipped as he walked away from Mao, stopping at the small viewport that looked out the starboard side of the ship. His shoulders rose and fell in rhythm with his breathing, which was surprisingly calm.

  Mao drank and felt the warmth spread through his body. He was acquiring a taste for the pirate liquor, which may have made him feel queasier than the liquor itself.

  “We’ve been through much together,” Bayne said, still looking out at the stars. “Countless battles with the most brutal pirates in the system, navigating the Black, always on the brink of running out of fuel and supplies. But I don’t think you’ve ever sworn at me before.” His shoulders shook with muted laughter.

  The shift in tone caught Mao off guard. He expected the same combative attitude to which he’d grown accustomed. He didn’t adapt well to drastic changes in expectations. “I’ve often felt the urge,” Mao said, trying to insert some levity into his voice, though the statement was true.

  “I’m sure you have,” Bayne said, turning to face him. “And I understand why that urge finally overtook you.”

  Dark circles had formed under Bayne’s eyes. Mao knew they couldn’t have appeared just now, that they must have been there for days, weeks perhaps, but it only just struck him how tired the captain must be. He knew Bayne wasn’t sleeping more than a couple hours a day, always focused on what must come next.

  “But now may be the worst time of any to let your impulses get the better of you.” Bayne sat, like a sack of flour dropping into his chair. “It may seem counterintuitive to you, being a man of protocol and regulation.”

  Mao nodded. “A bit, yes.”

  “Without the threat of court-martial, of sentence and punishment being handed down from Central, the weight of punishment rests solely on me.” The idea seemed to press Bayne deeper into his chair. “If I don’t act on every instance of insubordination, then what remains of my crew could quickly spiral out of control. I need tight reins right now.”

  “Then I’m to be punished?” Mao asked.

  Bayne sighed. “No. And I’m afraid you’re missing my point.” He leaned forward and looked into his glass, at his reflection in the rum. “We are on a knife’s edge right now. The slightest step in the wrong direction will see us cut in half. If I lose the crew, then all is lost. I need them. I need you.”

  Mao wanted to feel some pride at that. But, underneath Bayne’s words, he heard the true nature of the sentiment.

  Without the crew, I will be alone. I cannot be alone.

  To be needed to right a wrong, to oust Colonel Tirseer as a bad a
ctor, a poisonous seed implanted in the heart of the United Systems, was something in which Mao could find a sense of pride. But to fall in line so Bayne wouldn’t have to clean his mess up alone? That was not something Mao cared to do.

  But he realized that he may not be able to do one without doing the other. And, regardless of all that had transpired to date, Mao considered Bayne not only his captain but his friend. A man for whom he had much respect and loyalty. He wanted to protect the United Systems as much as he wanted to protect Bayne.

  “Sir,” Mao said. “Everyone on this ship is here of their own will. That cannot be said of any Navy ship. They choose to join the Navy, not which captain they serve. As much as I loathe saying this, now is the time to embrace your Ranger background.”

  Bayne looked up from his liquor reflection, confusion in his eyes. “Don’t think I heard you right.”

  Mao took a bigger slug of his drink than intended and spoke through a tightened throat. “You did, I’m afraid. Running this ship as though it’s still part of the Navy, and like we’re all still sailors, would be a mistake. Not that I would have ever accused you of following protocol.”

  Bayne seemed to fall into a comfortable posture for the first time, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other, running his forefinger along the rim of his glass. “No, that is one thing of which I can say I’ve never been accused.”

  “My point being, you can’t continue to operate somewhere in the shadowy area between Navy and Ranger captain. It creates a sense of unease among the crew. You can’t expect them to know where they lie if you don’t know where you lie.” Moa took his turn studying his reflection in his drink. “And I recall a story you once told me of your Ranger days, serving under Captain Alistair Kyte.”

  Bayne shifted in his chair. His posture changed, shoulders tensed and hunched forward as though preparing for a fight.

  “You spoke of the crew and how they had a certain amount of say aboard the ship,” Mao said.

  The tension in Bayne’s shoulders eased. He sunk back into a comfortable position. “All whose name was written on the ship’s ledger had equal share in the ship’s success.”