Chapter 05
Names have power. Of course they do. To pretend otherwise is either the height of arrogance, ignorance, delusion… or some kind of agenda, most often unsavory. ‘The power to name a thing is the power to control it’ might sound overblown, but it hints at the reality behind the words. Why else do we tend to invent new and cumbersome ways of saying something, often clinical and unnecessarily detached, if not to rob the reality of power? Death becomes passed on or away, euphemisms for being below average abound; even my word choice there, ‘below average’ is just a fancy way of saying stupid. As if there was something morally wrong about being stupid. That… that is one of the real dangers of disguised language, the banished words or idea become negative in our minds. There isn’t anything morally wrong in being stupid, any more than there is anything morally upright about being smart.
- Jackson Carlin, linguist, Planet Kaledon.
MORGAN LUXURIATED in the sauna, her workout having been tiring, but rewarding. She liked working out late in the station’s day because it made it so much easier to crank the gravity up to match her homeworld, due to lack of foot traffic, but she liked it even more because it usually meant she’d have the sauna to herself afterward.
Beyond the awkwardness of sharing such an intimate space, any company also ruined the sense of belonging the sauna gave, thanks to its conditions closer to the home she had shared with her parents than anything else she’d found after leaving Hillman.
For just a moment, she closed her eyes and imagined she was back there, safely tucked away in the little alcove lying on her bed rather than a towel on a bench.
She imagined the sounds of Daddy tinkering with some tools in the storage area, Momma heating up some soup in the main room.
She could almost smell the corn…
…And then the door to the sauna opened with a hiss, as Morgan shot up on reflex, clutching the towel to her chest, despite the other towel securely wrapped around her from armpit to knees.
When she’d settled down a bit, she realized she knew the newcomer. What Lieutenant Marigold, lately of the mercenary contingent of the Fate of Dawn, was doing in the gym closest to STEVE, she did not know. Just that moment, though, she was focusing on something else.
Small favors of being short indeed, she thought.
The towels that were so voluminous on Morgan were barely adequate on Marigold, covering her from, well, a fair bit lower than her armpits to a lot bit higher than her knees. Morgan was used to being quite a bit shorter than most people, but most people would be just as much shorter than Marigold as she was them.
There was something else bothering Morgan, aside from the embarrassment, but she was so distracted she couldn’t place it. Meanwhile Marigold just nodded and settled into the corner opposite Morgan, giving her as much space as was possible in the small room.
I knew she was strong, but I hadn’t seen her outside that armored skinsuit the mercs use. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone that muscled since… oh. That’s what’s bothering me.
Marigold had the build of one of the miners back home, a build she hadn’t seen since leaving, but without the scars that Morgan expected to go with it.
Scars like her own.
The silence stretched on, Morgan unsure what, if anything, to say. Uncomfortable just sitting there clutching her towel, she finally lay back down, adjusting the towel so it was draped over and under her, instead of just under.
“I hear you’ll be working as liaison between your people and mine, on this next trip,” Marigold said at last, the words sounding too loud to Morgan’s ears after the silence.
“Yes, I suppose I am,” Morgan said, grabbing her other, tiny towel and wiping her neck and forehead. “Wait, your people? Do you mean in general, or that you’re coming along for this trip?”
“The latter. Not much call for a mercenary force on a ship too undermanned to go anywhere, is there?”
Morgan could only shake her head.
“I’m really glad it isn’t part of my job to handle all of the staff shuffling caused between the attack and the accident. But you’re right, the Fate doesn’t need you just now. I’m a bit surprised you’re here to begin with, though. Shouldn’t your force have shipped out with the Daystar more than a month ago?”
“Normally yes, and in fact most of them did, but there were enough injured and fatalities that there was a need to consolidate two of the platoons. I was the lieutenant with least time in position, so I found myself temporarily without a command. As such, I took the opportunity to take some time off. In fact, I only got back yesterday morning.”
“I hope it was restful.”
“Certainly more restful than yours was, I’m afraid.”
Morgan couldn’t help but groan at that.
“Does everyone know what happened to me?”
Marigold shook her head.
“No, no. Of course not. Those who saw only the news reports know only that someone was taken hostage, not who. The reports did not even mention generalities like age, sex, or planet of origin.”
“I suppose that’s some comfort,” Morgan said, not quite feeling any.
“And yet, from what I can hear, you don’t quite feel that way.”
“That obvious?”
“Yes, and no. I can hear it in your voice, but anyone would feel the same, so it is only natural to assume.”
Morgan sighed.
“I suppose I might as well find out. How do you know?”
Marigold shrugged.
“It isn’t that complicated. Many mercs, especially the officers, are former regular military, others former peace officers. Don’t let the weapons and serious expressions fool you; mercenaries, and to an extent regular military types, are a bunch of gossipy schoolgirls. Your participation in that little skirmish on the Fate got the attention of many of us, aided by the speculation as to just how you know Lady Novan, and when a companion of hers was kidnapped? It was only natural for many to make quiet inquiries.”
“Only natural, huh? Not sure I like that.”
Marigold shrugged again.
“The gossip network can be heartless, but it is rarely cruel or malicious. For most the interest is in the strange or interesting, not the individuals connected with it.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Not particularly,” Marigold admitted. “But it has the virtue of being the truth. Most of the people who have heard the story won’t remember your name beyond the time it takes to listen to it, and for those that do Black is hardly an uncommon name.”
“Great.”
“It could always be worse. Believe it or not, the gossip about your misadventure has actually all but died down; replaced by a new, even ‘juicier’ story.”
Morgan’s first inclination was to ask what could possibly be crazier than assassins attacking dozens of military officials, culminating with a three-way firefight between the Marines of Lady Novan, the revolutionaries hired by the assassins, and the assassins themselves.
Her second was to scold herself, hadn’t she just been lamenting that she had been caught up in the gossip network?
The struggle must have been visible on her face, as Marigold chuckled before starting to speak again.
“And myself, being more prone to gossip now than when I was a schoolgirl in pigtails and pleated skirt, I am just dying to share it with you, regardless of whether you want me to or not.”
“If you insist,” Morgan managed, repressing a chuckle of her own at the mental image of the statuesque Marigold dressed in such a fashion.
“This one should have a happy ending, if a very uncomfortable middle, but it is also something all spacers fear. A few months back a freighter skipped its shot.”
The term sounded vaguely familiar to Morgan, but not enough that it was coming readily to mind.
“I don’t think I’ve heard about whatever that is, or at least not under that name.”
“It has several, I’ll grant you,” Ma
rigold said, nodding. “Put simply, they somehow managed to screw up not only their own computers’ guidance, but the double checking from gate control, and misaim their system-to-system jump. Instead of popping back into realspace at the ‘top’ of the Parlon system where the incoming gate is, they came in on the bottom.”
That Morgan understood, and she shuddered, feeling quite cold for a moment, despite the heat of the sauna.
“Indeed,” Marigold said, apparently having observed her reaction. “Instead of a few hours journey to the gate, and from there to whatever planet they were headed towards, they are facing at least six months to reach the nearest planet. More, perhaps. I’m not sure what the geometry comes out to right now.”
“Do they even have the supplies for that long a trip?” It wasn’t an idle question. There were reasons ships like STEVE were used for the long trips, very good reasons. Multiple very good reasons. Even beyond the issues of shielding and engine power, most ships didn’t have the life support capability for that long away from any port, let alone the food and water requirements.
“From what I’ve heard, yes, they do. Half-rations aren’t fun, of course, and they’ll be eating part of the cargo they were carrying, but they’ll make it. Assuming they don’t run into any asteroids, of course.”
Morgan couldn’t help but shudder again. Asteroids were a potential problem even near a planet, where its gravitational pull ‘swept’ the space around it of most of the dangerous stuff. Out in the long stretches between planets? Without even the armored mushroom head ships like STEVE had? Another of every spacer’s fears.
“That’s an odd way to make me feel better about being the subject of gossip, Lieutenant,” Morgan admitted, but the truth was she did actually feel a bit better. At least she wasn’t those poor fools.
And the compound level of mistakes that had to have happened to even get there was staggering. Frankly ending up on the wrong side of the right system was lucky on a literally astronomical scale. Even the slightest degree off in trajectory in almost any direction and they’d have missed the system entirely and ended, well, almost anywhere potentially, but almost certainly in an uninhabited system.
Suddenly Morgan felt cold again, and possessed of a very firm desire to change the topic.
“So, Marigold, tell me. Have you worked with the Sergeant before?”
“What, Eck? Sure. Not since he got his third stripe, mind you. What about him?”
“Is he always so… him?”
Marigold laughed.
“The enthusiasm or the flirting with anything feminine?”
“Both, I guess.”
Marigold laughed again before answering.
“I’ll be honest with you. Because I like him, and I like you. The enthusiasm is mostly genuine, but not entirely.”
Marigold paused suddenly, standing up and drizzling some water over the stones.
For a moment, Morgan could see her face go sad, just a flicker, but then she was all mirth again.
“A lot of us come from real hellholes of planets. Mercenary work isn’t exactly lucrative, compared to the risks involved. But the chance to escape to somewhere else? That is often without price. I’m not sure if most people can understand that.”
“No, I understand that perfectly,” Morgan said, giving Marigold a smile, if a sad one.
“You do, don’t you? Well, if you ever want to talk about it, let me know. As for me personally, my homeworld is quite nice… for most people. The polar mining regions, well, that’s another story.
“But we were talking about Eck. His planet makes those mines look downright homey, and his exaggerated bravado and energy is a way of defying that part of himself.”
I’m almost regretting I asked. I wanted to hear about him, not empathize with him.
“And the flirting? Bit excessive, isn’t it?”
Morgan had anticipated a few different possible answers, a shrug was not one of them.
“He flirts a lot, yeah, and he certainly likes women a lot, but there is one thing you notice after being around him for more than a few weeks. He chases ladies a lot, but doesn’t ever seem to catch them.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning he’s harmless. I won’t pretend to know why he does it, but whatever his outward façade, he isn’t the type to have a girl in each port. Or any port, for that matter.”
Morgan sighed.
I brought this up to distract from the earlier topic, now I need a distraction from my distraction.
“I didn’t learn much about the galaxy, where I came from. You talk about mercs recruiting a lot in the bad parts. Are there really that many places that are so terrible?”
Marigold didn’t answer immediately, instead adding a bit more water to the rocks. It wasn’t really necessary, so Morgan assumed she was just using it as a stalling technique.
“Everywhere has the potential for ugliness. Even a planet as outwardly happy and prosperous as Albion or Zion. Hell, you just proved that true with that nonsense with the terrorists.
“Seriously, terrorists and assassins, on Albion of all places. But there are also good parts of each planet too. I remember…”
Marigold trailed off, looking up and smiling, her eyes closed.
“I remember,” she continued just before Morgan was going to break the silence and say something herself. “I remember Mother baking bread, just the way we liked it. I remember her telling us stories about Earth, which may or may not have even been true. I remember how much the people in the town cared for each other, and how they worked together to make things as bright as possible. We were still poor, still primitive by the standards of most of the galaxy, but we were also happy. Happier, I’d dare say, than many of the people on the planet below us, or on this station.”
Maybe I should ask her about the name? I came here to think about it, in part, didn’t I? An outside perspective could be useful, especially if she will understand a bit better where I’m coming from than Gertrude can, try as she might.
“Can I ask you something, something very personal to me?”
“That’s an odd thing to ask. If you were asking me something personal that’d be different, but why ask if you can share something?”
“We don’t know each other very well; I didn’t want to presume.”
“Yeah, well, I already admitted to being a gossipy little schoolgirl, didn’t I? Go ahead and share whatever you’d like.” She paused for a moment and chuckled, “Though I promise not to spread any of the gossip around. I’m a gatherer, not a spreader.”
Not like it’s anything scandalous or interesting anyway, Morgan thought as she decided to do it. “I’m not even sure why I’m so unsure about this. Without boring you with all the details, on my homeworld we didn’t have last names, at least not the workers. My father wasn’t a worker, though, before I was born. He worked on a big project, and afterwards fell out of favor and was exiled. My friend found something from that project, something that lists the names of people involved, some of them anyway.”
It was hard to continue, all the emotions swirling around inside her making the words catch in her throat. Luckily Marigold seemed to understand, and spoke up herself after a moment.
“And suddenly you know what your family name is, or at least maybe you do. So now you’re wondering if you should change your name?”
“Yeah, that about covers it,” Morgan managed to get out after a moment.
“How sure are you it is his name?”
“That’s probably why I’m so hesitant. There is only one Samuel listed, but…”
“Common first name? It is out this way.”
“More common than that. The founder of the planet was named Samuel.”
“But if there is only the one listed?”
Morgan shrugged.
“The plaque might have been made after they started pretending he’d never existed.”
“Do you need to make it official? Is it enough that you know?”
All she could
manage was shaking her head. That was the crux of the problem, and she just didn’t know how she felt.
“Do you need to make a decision on this now? Is there really any reason to rush into something?”
“I guess not,” Morgan admitted.
“Quite right.” Marigold stood and stretched, chuckling as she had to stop and grab at her towel to keep it from unwrapping itself from around her. “Now, are you almost done, or did you want more time in the sauna?”
Furrowing her brow, Morgan looked up at the other woman with what she was sure was a puzzled look on her face.
“Why would my being done or not matter to you?”
This caused Marigold to chuckle again.
“Because there are about four other mercenaries out there who are just dying to join us in here, or rather join you, but are holding off because of my presence.”
“Eep,” was all Morgan could get out.
“That’s about what I thought. I took you for a more sheltered girl when we first met. Makes sense, I suppose, now that I know you came from someplace not too different than mine.” She shook her head. “Growing up without the pampered technology definitely helps us know a lot about getting along in the galaxy, but doesn’t help us much in getting along among the people of it.”
She sat back down, they stretched out along the bench.
“That’s okay though. I could use some more time relaxing anyway. If I’m in here for a reason, it’ll quiet the little voice that tells me I’m wasting time, at least for a while longer.”
They lay there in silence for a few minutes before Marigold spoke again.
“Do you want me to speak to Eck? Tell him to back off?”
Morgan would have assumed her answer would have been an emphatic and unambiguous yes, but now that the opportunity was actually upon her, she wasn’t sure. Marigold was right, she wasn’t used to being the object of someone’s interest, at least not in a positive way. A few scattered men being creepy didn’t really count. How to respond to that was easy enough.
Then she remembered something the captain had said.
Running Black Page 6