Caspian's Fortune

by Eric Warren

  Again? That ship sure did go outside Coalition space a lot. “Yes, sir,” she said. She tapped her chest and rose from the seat.

  “Dismissed.”

  16

  “Crewman Robert Abernathy,” Box said, using the terminal on the wall opposite of where the Reasonable Excuse had been “parked”.

  “That’s him?” Cas asked, eyeing his ship. “Is he still in there?”

  Box shrugged. The ramp had been extended when Yamashita had finally gotten them down to Bay One. The ship was a flurry of activity, everyone running around preparing for the mission. Most paid Cas no mind but the few that did glance up passed by with angry looks on their faces. Yamashita didn’t say anything else on the way down, Cas couldn’t tell if she knew or not. When they arrived a guard was already waiting for them at the door to the Bay. Yamashita had handed them off and Cas had stormed past the guard, intent on seeing his ship. So far, no one had stopped him and the guard hadn’t said anything about Box accessing the terminal.

  “I’m going in,” Cas said, making his way up the ramp.

  “Every punch is another four months on your record,” Box reminded him. Cas stopped, took a breath. Box was right. It wasn’t Abernathy’s fault he’d had to move Cas’s ship. No, it was Evie’s fault. They could have easily gotten back in the Reasonable Excuse and flown down here rather than take that ridiculous propaganda ride. It wouldn’t surprise Cas if visiting dignitaries got the same treatment during their application to join the Coalition. It was such a pony show.

  A hiss of air above him notified him the lock was opened. Abernathy came strolling down the ramp but stopped short upon seeing Cas.

  “Did you scratch her?” he asked, pushing past the boy—he couldn’t have been older than twenty-one—and making his way into the ship.

  “Scratch her, sir?” He turned to Cas, confusion on his face.

  Cas laughed. It had been a long time since anyone had called him sir. Abernathy was like Evie and Yamashita. Either too young or too new to this area of space to know who he was. Cas turned to face him. “Yes, scratch. Or dent, or otherwise injure. I just got her repaired and ready to go. I don’t need some inexperienced pilot tearing microfractures in my ship’s hull.”

  Recognition dawned on Abernathy’s face. He knew who Cas was, he’d just never seen a picture of him before. “No. I didn’t scratch her.” He made a noise in his throat that sounded a lot like a curse and turned to leave, passing Box at the end of the ramp and exiting out through the nearest door.

  “You do have a way with words,” Box replied.

  “Get up here and help me do that systems check. I want to make sure they didn’t do anything to her.”

  “Like what?” Box asked, approaching him.

  “Like disable the engines so I can’t—so we can’t leave.”

  Cas’s comm beeped before he could take another step. He tapped it while keeping it on his belt. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Robeaux, please report to the bridge. We are preparing to depart,” said an unfamiliar voice.

  Cas sighed, closing the comm. “Fine. You do the full systems check. Look for anything out of the ordinary,” he said. “I want to make sure when it’s time, we’re ready.”

  “Got it, boss,” Box replied, heading into the ship.

  “And no vids until you’re done!” Cas called after him receiving no response in return. He estimated there was a fifty-fifty chance the check would be done when he returned.

  He shook his head and made his way back down the ramp. The same guard that had been near the door stood at the very bottom. “You’re my escort?” Cas asked. The man nodded. “Then lead the way.”

  ***

  The doors to the main bridge opened and Cas had to steel himself. The last time he’d been on a Coalition bridge it had ended with him being led off in a pair of cuffs. He never thought he’d see one again.

  Despite the relative variety of ship configurations most Coalition bridges were laid out in a familiar manner. Though Tempest was completely different and it took him a moment to figure out where everything was.

  The spacious room was circular in design, with eight different stations situated around the center, all at different height levels. Sunken into the floor were stations one and two, which were the navigation and piloting stations. They were tilted up at a slight angle to get a better view of the primary navigation display in the middle of the room, which was a three-dimensional projection of what was ahead, behind, above and below the ship. On either side of the two primary stations were the tactical station and the ship control station. They were on floor level with control panels in front of them and chairs, but they also had secondary control systems behind them as backups. On either side of those were the Captain and XO chairs, each with their own consoles as well. While some ships had these two stations directly next to each other it seemed the Tempest had set them some distance apart; perhaps to get a better view of the projection in the middle? Cas wasn’t sure. Finally, rounding out the circle were two final stations directly across from each other, also at floor level, but about five meters back from the central projection. One of these had to be the engineering relay station and the other—the station closest to the hypervator door—was probably a station configurable to whatever was necessary for the particular mission. It was blank as if it hadn’t been turned on.

  Along the curved walls of the bridge were various other fold-out stations. Some were redundancies in case of damage and others controlled other aspects of the ship that weren’t necessary to be manned at all times. The other parts of the walls sported giant screens that could produce more traditional two-dimensional views of what was happening outside the ship. But the redundancy ensured if one was damaged there were three more the crew could use if necessary. Cas took notice of the heavy-duty carpet under his feet and the decorative details on each of the stations and along the walls. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make this place feel comfortable. At least subconsciously.

  Captain Greene stood from his chair as Cas entered, taking the three steps down and walking over to stand in front of him. “Mr. Robeaux.”

  “Captain.”

  “Crewman Welles, please remain by the hypervator,” Greene said. The man behind Cas nodded and returned to the back wall. Greene stood to the side. “Would you like an introduction or…?”

  Cas forced a smile. “No, thank you.” He glanced to the people staffing each station. Most shot him dirty looks. Though he realized the Ship Control officer wasn’t human. It was evident by the dark blue robe he wore covering everything except his face and hands. He looked human, but anyone who’d ever met an Untuburu knew it was nothing more than a hard-light projection. Their natural form underneath was decidedly very un-human. He was the only member of the crew who greeted Cas with a smile.

  Cas glanced to Evie, who sat at the executive officer’s station. She didn’t return the favor, instead focusing on the projection in the middle of the room.

  “Take a seat at the empty station,” Greene said. “We are about to depart.”

  Cas walked over, doing as he was told. It was eerie, taking orders from a captain again. Though he much preferred Greene over Rutledge. If he looked past the display in the middle he was staring directly at the engineering control station; the one he really wanted to see. The woman in charge of the station didn’t glance up, instead stayed focused on task. Though the station was nothing more than a glorified backup for the main engineering station somewhere else on the ship. On most ships it wasn’t even manned. On this vessel, with a Claxian in charge down in engineering, he saw they might need a liason. Especially since Claxians only communicated with their minds.

  “Commander, are we ready?” Greene said, standing in front of his chair, eyeing the display in the center. The projected image was of inside the shipyards.

  “Aye, Captain,” Evie said. “All hands, prepared for departure. Clear all moorings and disengage all docking clamps.”

  Everyone went to work
on their respective stations, Cas couldn’t do anything other than watch. Why had Greene brought him up here? Surely it wasn’t for Cas’s own benefit.

  The screens showed the ship moving away from the central hub of the station, clear on all sides. Behind them open space beckoned beyond the threshold of the station itself. The pilot didn’t bother turning the ship around, instead backed it out using the primary thrusters; something Cas could appreciate. It took a certain amount of skill to send a ship “backward” since most of its propulsion systems were designed to send it forward. The pilot was to his left and he glanced over at the young man with a bronze complexion in the sunken seat, watching his hands move with grace. He was a junior grade lieutenant but he flew like a pro.

  As they cleared the station Cas uttered, “Impressive.” The pilot turned his head so his hazel eyes landed on Cas. He looked as though he was about to say something then thought better of it and returned to his duties.

  “Ensign Blackburn, set course for the BLV undercurrent, best possible speed,” Greene ordered to the young woman with long, dark hair sitting on Cas’s right. He turned his attention to the rest of the bridge crew. “For those of you who don’t know this is a search and rescue mission for the USCS Achlys, lost near Sil space ten days ago. Mr. Robeaux is joining us temporarily until we locate the ship and he can confirm it is in good, working condition.”

  “Sir?” said the man at the tactical station. He had wheat-colored skin and sported a trimmed beard and moustache hiding a gaunt face. To Cas he looked about forty but his hard-edged voice and sharp features made him seem older. “He’s confirming—”

  “Yes, Lieutenant Page,” Greene said. “On orders of the admiral himself. Unless that’s a problem for you.”

  “No, sir.” Page flashed Cas a quick glance before returning his attention to his own station.

  Greene took a seat and turned his attention to Cas. “Mr. Robeaux, we will begin our search in the area where the ship was last seen. I understand it carried a portable spacedock.”

  Oh hell, the spacedock. Cas had forgotten. Or he’d chosen not to think about it. Either way, it made sense the ship still used it, given its mission. “Yeah, the Coalition built a spacedock that the ship could tow to a remote location. To save it from needing to return to Starbase every time it needed a tune-up,” he said. That hadn’t been the real reason, of course.

  “A portable spacedock,” the woman with the light blonde hair at the engineering station said. “That seems terribly inefficient.” Cas couldn’t quite place her accent, but if he had to guess it was Draconian. Draconian families were some of the oldest in the Coalition; it was rare to see any of them serving on starships.

  “Believe it or not,” Cas said. “Last I checked it had its own crew, twenty to thirty workers and about a hundred drones and automated pieces of equipment.”

  “Why would they need their own spacedock?” Evie asked. “It isn’t that far between starbases or friendly planets. It doesn’t make sense.” She continued to avoid looking at Cas.

  “Regardless,” Greene said. “It’s out there. We find the spacedock we find the ship. Hopefully.”

  “Undercurrent in ten minutes,” Ensign Blackburn said from the navigation seat.

  “Very good. Ronde, once we’re in there make sure it’s a smooth ride.”

  “Yes sir,” the man who almost opened his mouth to insult Cas replied.

  “Ship reports ready,” the Untuburu said. Like all of his species his voice was like “death’s whisper” as in it had a heavy quality to it. There was just something about when an Untuburu spoke the atmosphere around them seemed to dim in some intangible way. They often sent shivers down his back. Cas always assumed it was the translator the Untuburu built into their hard-light projections. Though they all looked different they pretty much sounded the same. They were also the only species in the Coalition to be given special permission not to wear Coalition uniforms as—according to their religion—their robes were all they were allowed to wear off-world.

  Greene nodded. “Then it seems we are ready. Initiate all procedures and may our efforts be fruitful.”

  Cas watched one of the side screens as they moved through the inky blackness of space toward the invisible undercurrent. This was it. There was no more going back.

  17

  Box stuck his head into Cas’s quarters. “Whatcha doing?”

  Cas glanced up from the desk he’d cleaned off. For the first time in years he’d found time to clean parts of his ship that had never seen the underside of a sonic mop. With most of the crew hating his guts and nothing else to do he and Box had retreated to the Reasonable Excuse. They stayed there for everything except meals and periodic status requests from the bridge. All of which gave Cas plenty of time to get things in order.

  They’d hooked up the Excuse’s power conduits to the Tempest, keeping the batteries charged but also allowing Cas to print anything he needed. The first thing he’d “purchased” was a brand-new set of 1800 thread count sheets. He’d also managed to get rid of so many junk food wrappers he’d started to question if Box had been sneaking food into his system when Cas wasn’t looking. And after everything had been cleaned there hadn’t been much to do other than brood. So Cas had pulled out all his old star maps; the ones he thought he’d never use again after Veena had wrapped her chain around his neck.

  “Just plotting our course.” Cas returned his attention to the maps. They were old, printed on paper he kept rolled up and stored in special tubes in the back of his closet. He hadn’t even thought about them in years. But they were reliable. Drawn by some of the first explorers of these sectors. They had been the one thing he’d managed to retrieve after deserting the Coalition.

  Box entered the room. “I finished World on Fire,” Box said, melancholy in his voice.

  “All forty-seven seasons already?”

  “It got better as it went on. I started watching on high-speed. Shouldn’t have done that.”

  Cas scoffed, looking over the maps. “You know you’re as bad as I am with impulse control. Speaking of which.” He grabbed the bottle from the edge of his desk and took a long drink, exhaling at the end. “That’s better.”

  “She’s still not talking to you?” Box asked.

  “Who?” Cas asked, struggling to put the bottle down without spilling it all over the maps.

  “Commander Diazal,” Box replied.

  “Why should I care who she talks to?” Cas announced. “She’s free to talk to whomever she wants to.” He gestured behind him, feeling Box got his point.

  “Except it’s bothering you. You and women.” Box tsked. “First Veena now the commander. Is it because neither of them gave you any sex? Is that it?”

  “What? No!” Cas replied, feeling his ears go red. He rolled his map up and tossed it on his bed. It was still messy but at least it wasn’t covered in vomit.

  “Because the women you do sex don’t seem to affect you.” Box’s eyes blinked.

  “Listen to yourself. The women you do sex. Who says that?” He took a breath. “It isn’t about sex. And it isn’t about Evie. It’s being back on a Coalition ship. I never imagined myself here. I wasn’t prepared.”

  “For the hate.” Cas nodded. “At least you’re not sequestered on this ship when there’s a whole Coalition vessel to explore. At least you get to leave once in a while.” He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms.

  “What are you doing?” Cas asked, watching him.

  “Being casual. You know. Like you do.”

  Cas shook his head. “Whatever. Maybe I am upset about Evie. At least she was talking to me. Until we got here anyway.” He picked up the bottle and took another swig. “Hooray for the Coalition. May she long live in infamy!”

  “Boss, maybe you want to—”

  “Do you know she hasn’t looked at me once? I’ve seen her a dozen times since we came aboard and she hasn’t even acknowledged my presence. What the hell happened? She didn’t seem to have a pro
blem at Devil’s Gate. Or even on the way to Starbase Eight. But then—”

  “What?” Box asked.

  Cas smacked his forehead. “Someone told her.” He ground the heel of his palm into his forehead. “How could I have been so dumb?” Now he thought about it, it made perfect sense. As soon as someone who knew his past saw him, they told her what he’d done. It could have even been that ensign who’d first escorted him here the day they left.

  “Why don’t you tell her?” Box asked. “If it’s bothering you that much.”

  Cas glared at him through an alcohol-induced fog. “Yeah right. Stellar idea.”

  “You told me.”

  “You’re not a Coalition officer! Not only does it put us in potential danger, think about what kind of situation it would put her in. Especially since she’s been taking orders from Rutledge. What if she reports back to him I told her the truth? Then what?”

  Box seemed to consider it. “Space-faring accident?”

  Cas nodded. “Exactly. I just finished looking over my shoulder for the first time in a long time, I’m not about to start up again.”

  Box was silent for a moment. “Get me on the bridge.”

  Cas looked up. “What? No! These people already hate me enough.”

  “Are you saying you’re ashamed of me?” Box taunted.

  “Greene was very clear. You’re to stay out of sensitive areas on the ship.” Cas took another swig.

  “More like all areas of the ship,” Box replied, leaning into the doorframe harder. “They’re just afraid I’ll crack the ship’s code, lock them out of the system.”

  “You would, wouldn’t you?” Cas asked.

  Box shrugged. “If I got bored. But just before they lost all hope I’d turn it back on.”

  Cas shook his head again. “You’re insane.”

  “And you’re pathetic. Locking yourself in your own ship instead of finding everything out about what’s going on out there. Did you figure out how the ship moves so fast? No. Did you look into the Coalition files to see if the Achlys is still performing the same experiments? No.”