by Kal Spriggs
They came up towards the lounge just as Run pushed a pallet out of the galley. Pixel frowned at the sight of Run dressed in his full jump suit, complete with helmet. He pushed the fifteen cases of Coca Cola into the corridor, and then froze at the sight of them. Rastar’s hide went through several shades before he seemed to settle on a dull red. “Where are you going with that?” Rastar demanded.
Run looked up, “I need to dispose of this hazardous material.”
“Hazardous?” Pixel asked.
“Dispose?” Rastar’s deep voice dropped to an ominous growl. “You will put that back in the galley. You will not threaten the Cokes.”
“This material does not belong in the galley,” Run said. “Your own addiction does not mean I need to tolerate…” Run trailed off as Rastar walked slowly forward. The big Ghornath reached down and pulled a glass bottle out of the top case. He popped the cap off with one hand, and then stared down at Run.
“This behavior is illogical,” Run said even as he took several steps backwards.
“I think this pallet would look great in my quarters, Run,” Rastar took a sip from his bottle. His hide had shifted green, “Unless you would like some.”
“Of course I would not want any of this material…” Run trailed off as Rastar took a step forward and extended the bottle.
“What’s going on?” Pixel asked. He looked between the two aliens, suddenly confused. He knew that the two aliens would handle different chemicals in odd fashions, yet he couldn’t help but think that the two of them were arguing over cokes. While Pixel liked it as much as anyone else, he didn’t think it worth fighting over. He certainly didn’t know why Run seemed to want to get rid of it.
“Nothing to worry about, dude,” Rastar said. “Run just wanted to move these someplace safe, like next to my bed in the cabin, right Run?”
“You understand that this is not over,” Run said.
“You shot me with your little tranquilizer gun,” Rastar said genially, “Consider us even.”
“Guys, what’s this about?” Pixel asked.
“A mere discussion regarding the disposal of this manufactured poison,” Run said. “But I have no logical counter to Rastar’s threats, for now.” The little Chxor turned the pallet around and pushed it away towards the cabins.
“I’m really confused,” Pixel said.
“No worries, man,” Rastar said. “Hey, want a coke?”
* * *
Pixel sipped at his coke and considered a second steak as he relaxed in the lounge.
He watched as Rastar squeezed peanut butter onto his third steak. While Pixel thought it rather unusual, the sounds that Eric made as Rastar did so served as entertaining background. Granted, Eric makes a damned good steak, he thought.
Most of the team had assembled for the meal, and even Mike had made an appearance in the lounge, though he kept his back to the tank and he seemed a bit jumpy to Pixel.
Pixel frowned as he remembered the charter that Mike had drawn up. The other man had shown a great deal of thought in regards to what the others would find fair. It also addressed a number of issues that Pixel had not even thought of, which both surprised and embarrassed him. Pixel had no problem with the admission that with the exception of Run and possibly Ariadne, he was the most intelligent person aboard the ship. More than that, he had the most education, as far as he knew, only Simon had finished college. Yet they continued to surprise him by how they thought of things that never occurred to him.
Pixel frowned as his mind returned to the main engineering issue. The fusion coils he needed to replace would require approximately twelve hundred meters of conductive filaments. He knew that some way must exist for him to produce that without scavenging the ship. He had already analyzed the on hand stock of copper and even iron and come up short.
“Crowe, if I see you near my gold again…” Anubus growled.
Pixel tuned the threat out as soon as he realized the Wrethe had returned to his normal topic of conversation. Did Anubus really believe they had some plot to take his gold or did he simply amuse himself with his threats? Pixel could care less about those gold bars.
Now where will I find… Pixel’s thought trailed off. “Yeah… that could work.” He glanced over at Anubus. How will I convince him to give up that much of his gold, even for such a good cause?
He figured he should do the calculations, both to see how much he would need and what kind of issues the use of gold rather than copper might cause in the fusion reactor. For all he knew it might even boost efficiency. Best to do those calculations and then once they chose a captain, to deliver those to him or her, and then let them talk Anubus around.
That brought his thoughts around to the pending election. If the previous two served as any judge, Pixel felt certain this one would turn into another deadlock. Though he worried about the psychic tampering in the last one, he feared that regardless of the selection they would face issues.
Yet he no longer felt bothered by who would eventually win or even if he could convince them of his own belief that they didn’t need a captain. The revelation of his own blindness and hubris disturbed him. He had grown arrogant, he had to admit. He had assumed that because he was smarter than the others, then it must follow that he knew better than them.
And as he listened to their laughter and talk, he realized that he had fallen into the same trap that he and Jack had back on Lithia. They had tried to change society based upon the assumption that they knew better. That they’d done so from a desire to give people greater freedoms and improve their lives made no difference. Pixel had somehow come full circle, he realized, and had almost reached the point where he fell into Jack’s side of the argument. He had derailed the initial election with his refusal to vote. The last one he had made a bargain to intentionally twist the election result to one that he had hoped would show the others the danger of a tyrannical leader.
Yet he had never considered whether they might have chosen the correct action from the start. Certainly a captain would limit his own freedoms, yet a good captain would also protect them from each other, enforce the peace, and in times of crisis would indeed allow them to act in a quick fashion. That last, which seemed so trivial before, took on a more profound importance now.
Pixel had never wanted to serve in the military. He did not, he knew, have the right mindset for it, even if he had found some nation or cause which inspired that selfless dedication. Pixel had his own flaws, and he knew that a level of selfishness was one. Yet he found himself aboard a warship, in hostile alien space, far from safety. The crew consisted of dangerous people, some of them quite able to kill without remorse or hesitation.
Yet he had never felt as part of a team as he did now. He watched Mike’s eyes dart nervously to the fish tank and Ariadne laugh and smile at everyone, and even Anubus, who sat in the corner and stared at them all with suspicion. They had become friends and companions. People, some of them entirely alien, who shared in some of the most terrifying events of Pixel’s life. He valued them all enough that he cared desperately about what they thought of him. He wanted their approval and he wanted their friendship.
And he realized, he wanted their security. Pixel might risk his own safety on the odds that the group would have time for discussion or that they would not require instant reaction to a threat. He could not bear the thought that his friends might die, that Ariadne would never laugh again, or that Eric would never cook another meal for Rastar to ravage with some terrible mixture of ingredients, not when something so simple as the loss of some personal freedom might prevent it.
Pixel had thought to convince the others of the importance of their own freedoms. Instead, he had discovered that in some circumstances, at least, on the edge of survival, he would give up some of those freedoms to protect those he had come to love.
* * *
”Well, since we have everyone here,” Ariadne said, “And since everyone’s in a good mood with great food, why don’t we knock out this election
now?”
Eric gave a bow, “My thanks, and you’ll note I managed not to call you an idiot for the entire meal.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that!” Ariadne said cheerfully.
“I did not benefit from any meal,” Run said. “Therefore I think you owe me something in order to gain my good will.”
Eric glared at Run, “You cut on me with a dull shiv without painkillers and I owe you?”
Run stared at him, “The water has passed under that bridge.” Pixel snorted some coke out of his nose. The painful burn allowed him to keep a solemn look on his face when Eric shot a glare in his direction.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Eric asked. Pixel tapped a note on his datapad to give Run some more phrases to use inappropriately.
“The situation is in the past and you would be illogical to feel any ill will—”
“How about this vote,” Ariadne interrupted with a smile. “While we’re all still in a good mood from Eric’s cooking.”
“So we do this entire farce again,” Anubus growled. “Good plan to sate my hunger. The meat slows my blood and makes it less likely I’ll murder my competition. I’ll take your forethought into consideration, Eric.”
“Thanks,” Eric said. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, or anyone really, I appreciate that.”
“That probably means he’ll kill you if he thinks you’re about to move against him,” Simon said.
“No way,” Rastar bellowed, “Annie would never…” he paused to belch, “…hurt one of us, we’re like family to him!” The big alien swayed a bit, and Pixel noted a pile of empty coke bottles on the table near him. His fixation with the carbonated beverage suddenly took on a different light to Pixel.
“Let’s get this over with,” Crowe said. “Before I vomit from a mixture of Ariadne’s niceness and Rastar’s shirt.”
Pixel took a deep breath and looked around at the group. “Alright, before we kick this election off… I just want to say one thing.” He gathered his thoughts. “Most of you know that I’ve been against the idea of having a captain from the beginning. I am very much an Individual, with a capital I. You may not know or understand why, but I’ve had experience before with people telling me what was allowed and what wasn’t. On Lithia… well, when I grew up, the bureaucracy ran everything. Their rules limited what we could eat, what we could watch on holo, where we could go, and who could go to college. I hated that control, I still hate it.”
He met the eyes of his companions. “More than that, I fear it. When Simon first proposed the selection of a captain, I feared we would have one person who would try to command our every action and deed. I feared a tyrant, and I think that fear somewhat justified.”
“Yet I’ve grown to know all of you, and though I might fear what some of you might do with that power, I also know that you are friends and I’ve seen several of you try to do your best for the group.” Pixel typed in a command on his datapad. The lounge holovid flashed up a copy of Mike’s charter. “Mike asked me to look at his proposed Charter. We’ve all seen it already, but what struck me is not what he wrote, what struck me is that he wrote it. That he cared enough about all of us to codify something that was fair to us all. He didn’t try to write it up to his advantage or to put him in a better position. He didn’t write it to give him or the elected captain uncontested power. He wrote it because he thought it would make the ship run smoother, and make things easier for all of us.”
Pixel took a deep breath, “After reading it and after thinking, really thinking about this, I came to one conclusion. We do need a captain. More than that, we need someone who thinks of the others, who has experience in space, and who already acts as our spokesman. Therefore, I nominate Mike as our Captain.”
No one else spoke for a moment, then Ariadne stepped forward, “I agree, I think Mike’s a perfect choice as our leader. He helped to make us into a team from when we first woke up in that cargo boat. From then on, we’ve worked together, all because of him. I say Mike should be our captain.” She had a sunny smile on her face and she gave Pixel a nod.
Pixel looked around at the others. Rastar stepped forward, “I agree, Mike has treated me with respect and has shown great honor. I think he will make a fine Captain.”
Eric nodded, “He’s got some military experience. A squid, but still something useful. I vote for Mike.”
“Me too,” Simon spoke up.
Crowe didn’t speak, Run looked bored, and Anubus glared around the room. Pixel felt uncertain whether the Wrethe felt suspicion at the sudden surge of votes for Mike or angry no one had stepped forward to nominate him. Possibly both, Pixel decided.
Mike stood. Pixel saw his shoulders slump, “I really don’t want this job, guys.”
“I know,” Pixel said. “But you’re stuck with it, for now.”
“I can’t think of a more miserable job,” Mike said, “Than trying to herd this group of… unique individuals. If I’m going to do this… well the charter is only the start. We need an agreement, from everyone here, that this is not just a temporary thing. When we hit civilized space, we stick together. Otherwise, you can take this job and blow it out the airlock.” Mike glared at them all. “It is too damned much work otherwise.”
Pixel felt his tension ease a bit. He had spoken out, he had changed the outcome, and perhaps they got an imperfect result, but they got a man that Pixel knew would do his best for them. That mattered more to him than he had realized, and he knew as he looked back at his idealistic arguments with Jack, that he had taken a step that Jack would never have managed.
Pixel had chosen to do the responsible thing, to sacrifice what he wanted for the sake of the group, and that felt pretty good just then. Pixel gave Mike a crooked smile, “Sure thing boss, where do we sign?”
Dishonored
The Renegades (Short Story)
The other cubs saw me as prey. This is understandable. I had no parents. Indeed, their parents rejected me for the failures of my father. I didn’t know or understand this, at that age. All I knew, then, was that I must run. I ran like a Dronthir, with long bounds and leaps, as it flees the pursuing Koon.
I raced through the alleys and corridors of the shanty town. My skin flushed with lur and fear. I was small, less than a meter in height, which gave me the ability to dodge under and around obstacles which my pursuers needed to climb over or shift. I ran, my four legs moving me in long bounds, the sharp garbage reek of the refugee camp burned in my nostrils.
As with all pursuits, this one ended suddenly. I dove for a familiar hiding spot. The narrow crevasse where I had hidden from such beatings before. This time, however, I had grown too broad. I got halfway in before my midshoulders stuck. Before I could try to squirm deeper, my pursuers seized my rearfeet and pulled me out.
The five of them took no time to gloat. They were bigger than me, two nearly full grown. They hated me, with the rage that only comes with youth and kava. They didn’t understand why I was somehow responsible for the misery of the camp, only that their parents said I shared in that dishonor. The impacts of their fists drove me into the ground. Twenty fists beat me, twenty legs stomped on me.
I screamed when they broke my forelegs. I howled when they ground my face into the mud. The sharp stones within cut into my face. When they worked out their anger, they left me, crippled and battered, long after Ghren’s star had set.
No one came for me.
I dragged myself to my hide. It was not the first time they or others had caught me, or even beaten me. Nor, in fact, was it the worst beating I had received. There were adults of my people, broken ones driven mad by loss and pain, who had done worse. Still, it hurt. I felt my broken bones grind against one another as a crawled. My entire body throbbed and my vision blurred from the blows I had taken to my head.
In my hide, I did what I had done before. I put a length of bone between my jaws, set the bones in my legs, swallowed down some Mratha rice, curled into a ball, and went to sleep. It i
s fortunate that young Ghornath heal so quickly, because otherwise I would never have survived.
I crawled out of my hide a week later: hungry, gaunt, and limping. I was out of Mratha rice, out of drinking water, and I smelled like a drowned Aalat. I kept to the edges of the refugee camp, injured as I still was. Only when I was able to run again would I dare to walk inside, where my attackers would be.
I found edge of the camp, in the reeking garbage pits, I found my goal. The refugees sometimes hunted the local animals. Often, they would discard the bone and offal in the garbage pits. Sometimes they wouldn’t clean the carcass entirely. I found a recent carcass and took the leg from near-Dronthir. The bone had little meat on it, but there were enough scraps for me to gnaw on and gain some sustenance. Plus I cracked open the bone and sucked out the marrow. What can I say? I was nearly feral, at that point.
The faint sounds of conversation nearly made me flee. Although I knew language, it was something I rarely, if ever, shared. Still, I knew I couldn’t flee, not in my current state, so instead, I waited and listened.
“Remember, retain the sight. Hold the weapon gently, just enough force to keep it still, not enough to make your muscles tremble,” the deep voice spoke. It was an old voice, one that sounded weary, yet still strong.
The younger voice that spoke was not familiar, which meant this other Ghornath had not participated in my beatings. I knew those voices by heart. “It is hard to do it with two, Grathir.”
The voices came from behind the embankment that held the garbage pit. A glance that way showed where I could sneak through the brush to observe and yet stay hidden. “Yes, it is a matter of muscle memory,” Grathir said. “We will practice this every day, the aiming and the firing, with two hands.”
I crept up the embankment, until I could see them both. I recognized the elder, though I had not known his name. He wore the faded tatters of a uniform. His rearlegs ended in stumps, which someone had set into a wheeled cart so that he could at least pull himself around. I had seen him before, though I had avoided him most of all. He was Chigathi, most honored, and I knew that I was not worthy to even be seen by him.