by J. S. Morin
“Retired?” Carl scoffed. “Do I look retired to you? You were the in the hold. I was on that transport, hauling salvage right along with the rest of my crew.”
“About that … I’m going to need records of that salvage op. Your first officer told me …” Wellington trailed off. He paused to look at Tanny. “I thought you looked familiar. Tanny?”
She smiled. “Hey, Dingo. I didn’t recognize your voice over the comm, but Carl did, apparently.”
“Carl?”
“My middle name. I stopped going by Brad when I mustered out. Keeps things compartmentalized. Anyone who calls me Brad’s from back home. Don’t hear Blackjack much these days.”
“So what’s Carl do with a hodgepodge old diplomatic shuttle with more scrapyard parts than original?”
Carl shrugged. “Little of this and that.”
A pair of marines entered with blaster rifles at the ready, as if Carl and his crew were going to ambush them. Behind them, a small squadron of techs tromped in with scanning equipment.
“Hey, watch it with that stuff,” Roddy said from the counter. He gestured with a beer can at the navy scanners.
“Ahh, yes,” Wellington said, as if noticing the other crew members for the first time. “She mentioned you had a couple xenos aboard.”
“Wait a minute, now. Roddy’s a full citizen. Phabian Two is an ARGO member.”
“I’ll verify that, but that isn’t,” Wellington said, hooking a thumb at Mriy. Her eyes tracked him, but no other part of her moved. “You running a ship or a zoo?”
“C’mon Dingo, ease off,” Carl said. “What’re you boys doing tossing a little freighter like we were big bad pirates?”
Wellington raised an eyebrow. “I’m just hoping you’re not smuggling anything. For an old pal, if you want to mention anything I might find that … shall we say … might not look good in an official report, I might be able to take care of it discreetly.”
“I’m clean as your service record,” Carl said with a grin. There was no objecting to that one with four of Wellington’s own crew in the room. One of the techs cast him a surreptitious glance to check for a reaction. Wellington just frowned slightly.
“Have it your way.”
“Just a ‘so-you-know-it,’ my ship’s wizard is in the forward port cabin. I told him to stay there until you were done your inspection.”
Wellington gave Carl a beleaguered glare. “You know I’m going to have to search his quarters. The old ‘my wizard hates scanners’ bit got old years ago.”
“Mine’s a little rough on A-tech,” Carl replied. “You just might want to watch out for your shiny toys when you interview him.”
“Another dreg in a crew of dregs?” Wellington glanced over at Tanny. “No offense. A grav-jockey who can’t keep his magic in check for a simple scan?”
“Mort? Mort’s not my star-drive mechanic. He’s more like a partner—old family friend who comes along to see the sights. Keeping ‘dark science’ from invading his innards is a reflex. Just a warning, do whatever you want. I’m not the one who’ll be stranded out in nowhere’s back garden without a scanner and trying to explain it in a report.”
“Fine. Give me his biographicals, and I can at least run a manual check in the system.”
“His name’s Mordecai The Brown, from Boston Prime, born—”
“Wait, I need his official name, not his professional title,” said Wellington. Roddy snickered.
“That is his given name. Whole family’s got “The” as a middle name; it’s traditional. He’s got a sister who married into the name Sarajah The McGowan.”
The two techs exchanged a worried look.
# # #
Mort sat on the edge of his bed with his hands tucked into opposing sleeves of his sweatshirt. It was, all things considered, a dignified, wizardly pose. At his elbow sat a ten-year-old boy trying to mimic him, fingers trying to worm their way into sleeves to snug for them to fit. Mort elbowed Adam in the side to get him to stop fidgeting. One of the two techs scouring the room glanced over at Mort, but the wizard glared at her until she went back to her work.
“You know,” the tech said to her colleague, “when the commander said we’d be checking a wizard’s quarters, I expected more …”
“More magic?” the other tech asked.
“Yeah,” the female tech replied. “This stuff’s all phony. The staff, the robes, it’s like costume wizardry.”
Adam looked at Mort with a question plain in his eyes. Mort put a finger to his lips and winked.
The techs opened the closet door, revealing Mort’s drab wardrobe, as well as a hastily piled assortment of military-grade blaster power packs. They looked it over, each using their scanning equipment. Mort could only guess, but he assumed one was checking for magical objects, and the other for more mundane contraband.
“You sure you’re a wizard?” the female tech asked. “Not just a street magician or something?”
Mort tapped his index fingers together, producing a spark. He graced the tech with a genial smile, but said nothing. She went back to her work, opening the cover to Mort’s bookshelf and scanning the volumes. Mort squinted at the scanner, trying to make sense of the red blinking lights and flashing text that the tech was ignoring.
“Well, that’ll do it,” the male tech said.
“Yeah, I’m finished here, too,” the female tech replied. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”
When the door clanged shut behind them, Adam let out a long breath and slouched. “How did they not see me?”
Mort shrugged. “I don’t know what those scientists left in that noggin of yours, but remember this: never fight a wizard on his own turf.”
“The scanners did find stuff though.”
Mort tapped a finger to his temple. “I de-attention-ified them. They could have been in a navy surplus yard or the grand chamber of the Convocation, they would have found the same thing: jack squat.”
# # #
Esper sat frozen to her seat, staring at the back side of Commander Wellington’s datapad. She could not look up into his eyes; couldn’t even say what color they were. He held the scanning wand in front of her eye and a soft light shone briefly over her face.
“Miss Esper Theresa Richelieu,” Wellington addressed her, butchering her last name and adding an extra syllable to it. “Says here you’re from Mars. Where about?”
“New Singapore,” she replied. The datapad must have said so. If that was the commander’s idea of a test, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
“There’s no occupation listed. What is it you do for a living?”
“I’m currently between jobs,” Esper replied.
“I understand you were the lone survivor of the Regulon,” Wellington said. It was not a question, exactly, but he paused for a response.
Esper nodded. The back of the datapad was a light grey, the color of a pigeon’s feathers, or a storm cloud. The hand that held it was thick-fingered, and one of those fingers bore a wedding band. It was simple in style, like the one Carl wore.
“Can you describe the events leading up to your ship’s destruction?”
Esper swallowed. Wellington’s cuff was starched stiff, and there was a comm built into it. It had false cufflinks with brass naval insignia. “I was just a passenger. First I knew of it was when the horns sounded that we were under attack. The ship shook a number of times, and there was an announcement to get to the escape pods. I got to mine late. I … I had to launch it myself. I don’t know if it was damaged or I did it wrong, but I got the pod stuck. Carl and his crew rescued me; a man named Chip died cutting me free.” A fresh pang of guilt jabbed her in the stomach.
Esper’s eyes strayed to Carl, sitting on the arm of the couch with the two armed marines looming over him. Immediately she focused on the back of the datapad once more. There was a scratch on the corner, perhaps two centimeters long. Parts of the back were worn smoother than the rest, near where Wellingon’s fingers rubbed.
“And
the identity of the attacking vessel?” Wellington asked. His tone hardened. This was what he really wanted. Esper relaxed, but tried not to show it, remaining stiff in her seat.
“I have no idea. Carl would know better than I,” she replied. “I wasn’t in any position to find out who attacked us.
“You’re sure?” Wellington pressed. “No one rushing for the escape pods said anything? Mentioned a ship name? Described it?”
Esper shook her head. “No. Nothing.”
“If you want, you can come aboard my ship. They can’t hurt you, you’re an ARGO citizen, and you’re under my protection.”
Esper’s eyes darted to Carl for a fraction of a second, but Carl was gazing off into space, watching the stars through the glass panels in the common room roof. “I really have no idea.”
Wellington tapped something on the datapad and it beeped. “Very well. I’ve recorded that as your official statement. You can go if you like.”
Esper nodded and headed for the stairwell to her borrowed quarters, treading the line between unseemly haste and lingering a single moment longer than she had to.
“You’re an ass, Dingo,” she heard Carl say just before shutting the door and buying herself enough privacy to sit down and cry.
# # #
Half an hour later, and with all the crew interviewed, the inspection and scanning crews reported in. Carl had lost count of them, but apparently there had been a dozen junior naval officers swarming through his little ship like bees in a hive. Wellington let Carl sit and listen to the officers’ reports.
“… parts all have IDNs, none in the database as stolen …”
“… this tub has a heavier shield generator than the Tally-ho. I don’t think the engines even throw enough juice to fully power it …”
“… guns check out. This thing is armed like an escort frigate, but all the readings are in the approved civilian range … just barely …“
“… no contraband, including the salvage. Looks like this lot wasted a lot of time cutting out the computer cores. No data anywhere. Must have been a hellacious EMP …”
Carl swore under his breath. He had been counting on selling the cores with the data intact. Blanked and possibly EMP damaged, a transport’s computers were worth only their spare-parts value.
“… no sign of stowaways, unreported crew or passengers, and no unauthorized plant or animal life. The two xenos have been IDed as Rodek of Kethlet, ARGO citizen from Phabian II, and an azrin from Meyang VII. We can’t verify her claimed identity until we get signal from the core, but she says her name is Mriy Yrrsis …”
Wellington nodded along with the reports as they came in, each officer departing for the airlock as he or she was dismissed. When they finished, just Wellington and his two marines remained with Carl, Tanny, Mriy, and Roddy in the common room.
“You people seem to be looking for trouble,” Wellington observed, giving a nod to the pile of weapons spread on the table. He picked up a sword from the pile and drew it from its scabbard, revealing a black graphite blade with a graceful curve. “This isn’t the sort of thing they taught in that fencing elective in flight school. You even know how to use one of these?”
“Not really,” Carl replied. “But I’m a shit aim with a blaster, too, so what’s the difference? It’s sharp, won’t ricochet off energy shields, and works around active magic.” He shrugged. “I like to be prepared.”
“Prepared …” Wellington said. He slid the sword back into its scabbard. “Prepared like having engines running on three different fuel sources, guns that I’m lucky you’re not aiming at my ship, a shield generator that you can’t even get up to full power on a dinghy like this, and more obsidian-hardened systems than I’ve seen in a space-faring vessel.”
“I heard obsidian keeps the gravity nice,” Carl said sheepishly.
Wellington bounced on the balls of his feet. “Well, I’ll say that much for you. This is nice gravity. You wouldn’t believe how many times we get stuck combing through zero-g heaps. Crazy spacers who never set foot in a gravity well.” He shook his head.
“You’re welcome,” said Tanny flatly. She sat with her arms crossed on the couch, willing Wellington off the ship. She had a special talent for making someone feel unwelcome. She had never gotten on with Wellington, even when they had first met.
“I’ve gotta ask, or it’ll kill me wondering: what do you do with this thing?” Wellington asked. “I can’t cite you for anything. You’re a millimeter from breaking a dozen regulations, but you haven’t. Why go to the trouble?”
Carl smirked. “I like feeling safe, but I want to see the sights in the galaxy. I don’t want to be stuck where Earth Navy can protect me. Some folks pay good money to deliver things interesting places. I like good money.”
“And yet you’re cutting dead computer core from derelict transports?”
Carl raised his palms. “Work’s been a little scarce.”
“And what about your crew? No offense to any of you,” Wellington added hastily. “But what the hell, Blackjack? You used to be an ace, now you’re … and these … you let your ex-wife fly your ship for you?”
“They threatened to mutiny if I kept flying Mobius,” Carl replied. “He may be mine, but the crew aren’t. Tanny flew troop transports, and that’s the sort of ride my crew prefers. They kept thinking they were going to die with me flying, so it was either let Tanny pilot, or watch everyone leave Mobius. Speaking of which …”
Wellington nodded. “Yeah. So long, Captain Ramsey. Blackjack’s a long way in your ion trail, huh?”
# # #
That evening, the crew and guests of the Mobius all gathered in the common room, under a ceiling that showed the stars above. The ship was on auto-pilot, limping out of ARGO controlled space. The Tally-ho had gone back to its own patrol route. The food fabricator was churning out dinner after dinner as everyone settled in to eat.
“I can’t believe you did that for me,” Esper said. “Thank you all so much.”
“Mort did all the hard work,” said Carl. “I nearly gave myself a hernia not laughing when those two wet-eared techs came out of your quarters like they’d just wasted their time.”
“Think nothing of it,” Mort replied. Roddy tossed a hamburger across the room, and it slowed to a drift as Mort collected it and reassembled the pieces that had drifted apart in flight. “I enjoy practicing the subtler arts once in a while. Their scanners were no match for my magic.”
“You could have let me do all the hard work,” Mriy said, slumping back on the couch with Adam tucked under her arm. She had eaten first and quickest, and was already finished. “We’d have two ships and plenty of money once we sold theirs.”
“Last thing we need is ARGO hunting us down,” said Tanny. “Don’t we have enough enemies as it is?”
A quiet hung in the air as everyone carefully avoided delving into that particular subject. The only sounds were of eating and the ding of the food processor finishing meals.
“Guy was an asshole,” Roddy said, breaking the silence. “Can’t believe you were friends with that xenophobe.”
“Friends?” Carl scoffed. “We called him Penny-Toad until he earned his wings. One of those spoiled navy brats who shows up to flight school with an admiral’s last name. I made his life hell for a good two years.”
“Should have done it my way,” Mriy muttered, flexing a hand and extending her claws.
Carl winked at her. “I was tempted.”
# # #
That night, Tanny sat alone in the cockpit, reading. There was no guessing the Tally-ho’s sensor range, and they did not want to do anything but a slow drift until they were sure Mobius had some privacy. No matter their speed, the view outside the glassteel windows remained the same. There were times when she stopped to contemplate the dissonance of the ship. Outside, the majestic infinity, separated from them by a void so vast it defied imagination, with nothing but stray hydrogen atoms for light years. Inside, the sweat and stink of a half dozen
sentients, the thrum of the engines through the ship, and the sound of Caro Jay and the Brainwaves trying to drown out Mriy and Mort’s holovid blood sports.
A soft knock on the cockpit door startled her. Tanny juggled the datapad she was reading and pulled her feet off the co-pilot’s armrest. “Who’s there?” It was a stupid question, she knew. None of the crew knocked.
“It’s me,” Esper replied through the door. “Can I come in?”
Tanny opened the cockpit door. “Just don’t touch anything.”
Esper sat down gingerly in the co-pilot’s seat and closed the door. “You know the captain well, right?”
Tanny opened her mouth to say something scathing. Something about Esper’s earnestness gave her pause. “Not as well as you might think. But yeah, I guess I know Carl well enough.”
“Please, if this is too personal, just tell me,” said Esper. “I mean, you were married to him after all. But—”
“But what?”
“Can I trust him?”
Tanny burst out laughing. Esper paled, which was a trick considering how pale she started out. Tanny held up her hands to placate the priestess. “I’m sorry, but you just asked the trillionaire question there, didn’t you?”
“He explained how to deceive that commander so simply. I … I can’t imagine I got away with it. He must be a lot better himself.”
She was a delicate creature, inside and out. Tanny had known girls like her; maybe not ones that looked so mannequin perfect, but ones that got by on looks and trust and luck. “Listen to me. You’re a big girl now, and you can do whatever you want. But if you give that man your heart, he will put it in his back pocket and forget about it when he sits down. I can already see the little twinkles in your eye when you look at him. Snuff ‘em out quick, or it’ll hurt. I used to think I knew him better, that I could tell when he was being honest. Well, I’ve divorced him three times.”
“Three times?” Esper asked, gaping at Tanny. “How the h— why would you do that?”
“The man can talk a pretzel straight, and be sweet enough to rot your teeth.”