“You unspeakable bitch,” Terson said incredulously. Laughter roared up again and did not begin to taper off until the hatch opened behind Han-Ju and Shadrack stepped through.
“Looks like I arrived just in time,” the Embustero’s captain said. He motioned to Figenshaw and Han-Ju. “If the two of you would do the honors, please.” The two officers took their places beside Terson and Shadrack called the bridge to attention.
“Joseph Pelletier, inasmuch as you have attained the minimal qualifications necessary to perform the duties of Helmsman, as witnessed and sworn by the Master Helmsman and Officer of the Watch, it is my pleasure to promote you to the rank of Warrant Officer Five.” At Shadrack’s nod Han-Ju and Figenshaw turned and pinned rank tabs on the epaulets of Terson’s shipsuit. “Congratulations, Mr. Pelletier.
“There will be an informal reception in the commons at the end of the shift,” Shadrack announced. “Drinks are on me, of course. Mr. Han-Ju, you have the bridge.”
“Aye aye, captain. Congratulations, Joseph.” The others crowded around to shake Terson’s hand and offer their good wishes. Lita chased them off after a few minutes and escorted Terson to the hatch.
“Get cleaned up,” she said. “The party starts at one past shift change. You’ve got tomorrow off, so feel free to make good on your promise.”
“This isn’t necessary,” Terson objected. “I’d rather get some sleep.”
“Sorry, trainee Pelletier—orders.”
“Okay,” Terson sighed. How bad could it be?
The party was already in full swing when Terson arrived and he was able to slip into the commons relatively unnoticed. He wasn’t personally known to more than a dozen crewmen on his watch and believed that his promotion was an excuse to celebrate rather than a cause.
“About time you showed yourself,” Mackey said as he sidled up to Terson at the bar and inspected his new shoulder tabs. “Being seen with those is nothing to be ashamed of; I think you’re the same man you’ve always been no matter what everybody else says.”
“You want’em?” Terson offered.
“Naw. I’ve heard that they shove a tube up your nose to suck out part of your brain the night you get promoted. From what I’ve seen, I’m pretty sure it’s true.”
“He doesn’t have much to lose,” another voice chimed in. “Congratulations, Joey.”
“Thanks, Doc.” Terson experienced a rush of warmth as Druski embraced him. It felt, finally, like he was home.
“I expect you’ll want to get into the armory again sometime soon,” she said. “Just let me know.”
“I will,” he promised. “Don’t know when, though. Depends on what other torture Figenshaw’s got in mind.”
“I think you can handle what she throws at you. Have fun,” Druski said, heading off in response to a summons from across the room. A stream of crewmen meandered by, a few known to him, but most simply to introduce themselves. Several offered drinks, which Terson accepted politely but did not intend to consume. He sipped for only as long as it took to ditch them at other tables as he mingled, but the cumulative effects resulted in a familiar light-headedness and ringing in his ears.
Liz entered then and Terson offered her a nodded greeting as their eyes met. She declined to acknowledge him as usual. He might have felt slighted in other circumstances but he could imagine that she might regret her encounter with him at Tammuz and resolved to keep her secret in confidence.
Crewmen drained from the commons slowly, heading for their quarters to catch some rest before their next shift. Terson turned to leave as well and bumped into an unwelcome acquaintance.
“Tammuz not to your liking, huh?” Grogan asked.
“It was alright,” Terson replied neutrally.
“As long as you were living on our dime,” the mean-eyed crewman added.
“Look, we’re stuck with each other,” Terson said. “I’m willing to let bygones be bygones.”
“That’s mighty big of you,” Grogan smirked. “Yessir, we’re gonna be the best of pals from here on out—until you find a bigger, better deal.”
Shadrack appeared next to them. “Good to see you getting along,” the captain said. “You’re on shift in a few hours, aren’t you Mr. Grogan? Might be best if you turn in.”
“Yessir. We were just catching up on old times, right pal?”
“Absolutely.”
“Yeah. Well, see you around, Joey.” The big crewman ambled off without so much as a glance back. Shadrack watched him vanish with an introspective frown, lost in thought until Terson spoke to him. “Hm? Say again?”
“The promotion came a little fast,” Terson repeated. “I hope I live up to your expectations.”
“You already have, Mr. Pelletier. You’re the first new recruit we’ve taken on in a long time. I can feel the optimism in the air this evening.”
“Optimism?”
“Yes, optimism. I assume Figenshaw gave you tomorrow off? Good. See Markland as soon as you’re up and about. You’ll be moving to officer country.”
“Is that necessary?” Terson asked. “I’m happy where I am.”
“Rank hath privileges, Mr. Pelletier; it hath obligations as well.”
Terson wasn’t fully convinced of Shadrack’s motive. There were higher-ranking warrant officers on the crew that still resided in common quarters, Grogan and Liz among them. Figenshaw had made no mention of the impending move, so Terson’s suspicions fell on the encounter with Grogan. It was likely that Markland had related his conversation with Terson regarding self-defense to the captain. Witnessing the surly crewman’s antagonism toward Terson first hand had probably spurred the decision on the spot.
Terson slowed as he approached the Embustero’s uninhabited crew quarters. Markland had hinted at a number of people unhappy with Terson’s return. Grogan had motive, but who were the others, and why? Terson hadn’t had any serious run-ins with anyone else, nor become romantically involved with anyone on the Embustero. Some certainly resented what could be characterized as special treatment, but such resentment didn’t seem sufficient to warrant the fear of physical danger.
But far less significant motives had led to murder.
The hair prickled on the back of Terson’s neck. His quarters were isolated from the rest of the crew. The Embustero was a large vessel, possessing hundreds of places to conceal a body. A minimal amount of planning could make it look like he’d managed to jump ship at the next port while his body lay frozen in some obscure void in the bulkhead.
Any other person would have shaken off such thoughts as baseless paranoia brought about by alcohol and an over-active imagination. Terson did not dismiss his intuition so easily. Quite the opposite. His fault, if it was to be considered such, lay in accepting such intuition as fact too readily. He proceeded cautiously, casting his senses about him in a net as if he were making his way through the jungle. His sense of “nature” was now completely artificial, but the Embustero’s normal rhythms would still betray human activity.
He reached his quarters without becoming the victim of an ambush, but immediately noticed that the double zipper of his door flap was not in its accustomed place. Terson crept up to the door and held his ear close to the fabric without touching it. He sensed motion within; breathing.
If Grogan or anyone else thought that they were going to assault him in his own quarters they were in for a nasty surprise. Terson stood to the side of the door where he would not be backlit by the illumination from the corridor. He reached out and took hold of the zipper, then, in one fluid motion, he whipped open the flap, thrust his arm through the opening to stab the light switch, and leapt inside.
The startled gasp that greeted his violent entrance confirmed the presence of an intruder, but Terson wasn’t prepared for the gender, identity or intent of said intruder. He froze halfway through the door, fist raised, while Michelle Lytle scrambled to cover herself with the blanket.
“Ohmygod!” she squeaked, eyes wide with fright. Terson lowered his fist and let his brea
th go with a shudder. His muscles twitched with adrenaline that suddenly found itself without an outlet.
“What are you doing?” he demanded a bit more harshly than he intended.
“I—I, um,” she stammered. Her eyes shone with a slightly inebriated glaze. “I heard you might like some company,” she managed. “It’s an old tradition—you know, ‘welcome aboard?’” Terson couldn’t help but smile at the bawdy pun, and Lytle let out a nervous giggle.
“You might get your clock cleaned if you surprise me like that again,” he cautioned.
“I noticed you’re wound a little tight,” she said. “So how about it?”
“Look, Michelle,” Terson grimaced, “I’m, well, flattered, but…”
Color rose in the girl’s cheeks as the silence stretched awkwardly. “You’re not ready yet?” she offered.
“Not yet,” he agreed. “It hasn’t even been a year.”
“I understand,” she replied with an embarrassed smile. Terson stepped back into the corridor while she dressed. He caught her forearm to steady her when she swayed out and she planted a chaste kiss on his cheek. “I’m sorry if I offended you,” she apologized.
“You didn’t,” he assured her. “Good night.” He entered his cabin, but stepped back out when a question occurred to him. “Who said I was looking for company?”
“I can’t quite remember,” she replied, “but I think it was Grogan.”
FIFTEEN
The Embustero: 2710:05:11 Standard
“All sections report ready for drop,” Markland informed Shadrack.
“Very well. Seal all airtight compartments. Let’s button up, ladies and gentlemen.” One by one the remaining command stations slid forward and engaged. Shadrack waited until all the other indicators blinked green before he followed.
The Embustero was about to drop out of jump in a commonly used but uncontrolled waypoint where the navcomp had the opportunity to calibrate and resolve coordinate drift before the final jump carried them to Assend. The statistical likelihood of encountering another vessel dropping at the same time was infinitesimal at best, and irrelevant at worst. The crew of the Embustero and its unlucky companion would die in a flare of subatomic particles without ever knowing what hit them.
It was the possibility of stray matter drifting through the navpoint that prompted Shadrack to employ what some considered anal safeguards. Whereas controlled jump zones and navpoints were continually scrubbed of foreign debris, the uncontrolled were not. Theoretically, matter would drift out of such places on its own before another vessel passed through.
Theoretically.
The drop was scheduled to occur during second watch, but Shadrack ordered both shifts to duty during the transition. From them he assigned his most capable and experienced crewmen to fulfill their primary roles. The others stood by to handle contingencies.
“Ten seconds,” Systems reported. “Nine…eight…seven…”
A ripple of stars appeared around the ship without so much as a bump. Shadrack breathed a sigh of relief and was about to let his crew stand down when an alarm shrilled.
“Nav to command! Radar paints a vessel one hundred twenty thousand kilometers off our starboard stern. Our transponder is being interrogated.”
“Return the favor,” Shadrack ordered. “Anyone else out there?”
“Negative.”
Transponder data from the other ship scrolled across one of Shadrack’s screens, identifying their fellow traveler as a Commonwealth military vessel, but that was all. He wouldn’t know what type until Systems got the freighter’s long-range optics locked on it.
“Medium cruiser,” Markland reported after studying the image. “Cordoba class. Wonder what he’s doing out here?” Shadrack wondered the same thing. Uncontrolled did not necessarily mean unpatrolled, but the warship’s presence was an unsettling coincidence considering the Embustero’s recent activities.
“Commonwealth warship, Commonwealth warship, this is cargo vessel Ladybird off your port bow,” Shadrack transmitted. “What are your intentions? Over.”
“Ladybird, Ladybird, state your destination, over.”
Shadrack quickly scanned his directory for a convincing reply. “Destination is Phoenix Outpost, warship. Anything happening we should know about? Over.”
“Affirmative, Ladybird. We recommend you return to and remain in controlled space lanes due to pirate activity in this area. Over.”
“Thanks for the advisory, warship. Ladybird out.” He contacted Markland on a private channel. “What do you think?”
“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if he was after us,” the first mate replied, “but we’ll be tracked if we head directly for Assend from here. Much as I hate to, I advise that we jump to a tertiary navpoint first.”
Shadrack agreed. The navcomp archive gave up a long list of possibilities: old jump zones that once serviced now-deserted habitats or abandoned trade routes, and navpoints made obsolete by improved navigational capabilities. He chose one that lay close to a vector the Ladybird might take if she intended to follow the warship’s advice and return to the main shipping lanes.
A few hours later the Ladybird vanished from sight for the last time and joined the roster of mysterious and suspicious disappearances.
Terson and Figenshaw turned the helm over to second watch a few hours after the Embustero jumped. “I can’t wait to get out of this thing,” Terson’s diminutive trainer sighed. Her pressure suit had to weigh almost as much as she did. “Then I’m going to wash the taste of that boxed nasty out of my mouth with a beer. Or three.”
“You won’t be the only one,” Terson replied. The entire crew had been forced to subsist on space rations, also known as S-rats, ratshit, and the archaic “boxed nasty,” a glaring misnomer for squeeze tubes packaged in a plastic pouch, for the past twenty hours.
“How about you?”
“Pass,” Terson yawned. “I didn’t sleep much.” He shucked the heavy suit and stored it away in his locker on the bridge and headed for his cabin.
The quarters in officer country were the only factory-installed cabins on the ship. They each contained a bedroom, tiny private latrine, kitchenette, and combination office/living room arranged in linear fashion to fit between the ship’s structural members. Terson likened them to the medium-sized camp trailers one could rent for weekend outings on Nivia.
Terson strapped on his respirator and stood in the shower for a few minutes while tiny pressurized jets of hot water blasted his body from all angles. Hot air followed, and he stepped into the short narrow hallway between the office and bedroom to find that he had a visitor.
Liz sat on the narrow sofa with her arms wrapped around her knees. “I want to talk to you,” she said, oblivious to Terson’s nakedness.
“Sure. Give me a minute.” He went back to the bedroom and pulled on a fresh Thermogarm and shipsuit. Liz didn’t appear to have moved a muscle while he was gone. “What’s up?”
She stared at him with dark, emotionless eyes, her face reflecting the featureless wall she kept between herself and the rest of the world. Terson would have been unnerved by the experience if he hadn’t had the glimpse of what lay on the other side. “Why didn’t you fuck Michelle Lytle?”
Terson was too shocked by the question, and its clinical delivery, to respond immediately. “I’ve never been one for casual sex,” he replied after a moment. He couldn’t tell if she was satisfied by the answer or not.
“I need to try something else,” she said abruptly. She got up and strode down the hallway to the bedroom, unzipping the front of her shipsuit. Terson followed cautiously, wondering what it all was leading to and how to get her out of his quarters without a ruckus. Liz left her shipsuit on the floor, but seemed content to leave her Thermogarm where it was. “What side do you sleep on?” Terson pointed. Liz threw back the cover and climbed in on the opposite side. “Turn out the lights and get in,” she directed.
Darkness engulfed the room. Terson lay on his ba
ck as close to the edge of the bed as he could, legs together, arms straight down at his sides. The only sound was the sigh of ventilation and the subsonic rumble of the ship itself. He suddenly remembered locking his cabin door when he first entered. Or had he? It was an unconscious habit now, one he could not honestly claim to recall specifically, and it had been a long shift. How else could Liz have entered?
Liz’s voice emerged from the darkness, clear and strong. “Thank you for not saying anything about Tammuz.”
“You’re welcome,” Terson answered. Silence fell again. Terson felt her shift. When she spoke again she was facing him.
“This is strange for me,” she said. “Nobody’s ever seen me like this more than once.”
“I can’t exactly see you,” Terson chuckled.
“Maybe that’s why I can do it now,” Liz replied. “It’s easier to imagine I’m somewhere else.”
Terson didn’t reply. His eyes felt tired and heavy. A hand touched his shoulder tentatively and he raised his arm so she could slide under it, resting her head on his chest. A few seconds later her body shook with silent, grief-stricken sobs. “What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.
She stopped crying the instant he spoke. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice clear as ever. “It never happened before. I don’t want to keep you awake.”
“Won’t have to worry about that,” Terson yawned. “Stay as long as you want.” Her body began to shake almost immediately.
Terson’s mind drifted. Total darkness made it easy to imagine being aboard the hydrojet, the warm body next to him that of his wife. The alteration of a single detail might have made all the difference. He’d be a father now, or nearly so; part of a family like the one taken from him so many years before. A seep of liquid flowed down the side of his face, a wet streak that didn’t belong to his companion, he realized.
He let the silent tears flow until he fell asleep.
The simulations Terson experienced while the Embustero was in jump were considerably more realistic than the exercises Figenshaw had given him to begin with. The duties of the Helmsman had little to do with actual piloting; most of his shifts involved riding herd on the automatic systems to ensure that they followed the correct programming.
Embustero- Pale Boundaries Page 21