Burndive

by Karin Lowachee

  The captain took a breath and set his spoon down. “I care. What I don’t care about are ignorant people in Hubcentral thinking they know what it’s like in the war when they’ve never moved their asses farther out than Pluto. If I didn’t take steps toward this treaty the Hub would drag their feet for years just to make a decision to cease fire. You, Ryan, have no experience in this area. Don’t try to tell me that I don’t know what I’m doing.” He picked up his glass.

  “No,” Ryan said, “it seems you know exactly what you’re doing. You bullied me and Sid onto your boat just like you’re bullying the Hub to make peace with terrorists who blow up our stations and attack our ships. You never compromise unless it’s on your own damn agenda.”

  “I’m not going to have it out with you when you clearly have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  He couldn’t stand to be dismissed, even as one part of him knew that the war wasn’t really what he was arguing about. “I’m not the only one who sees it. You can’t just go around forcing people to comply with your decisions. Pirates do that!”

  “Your father is not a pirate,” Musey snapped.

  “Who asked you?”

  “All right,” the admiral said. “That’s enough.”

  Ryan said, “Nobody seems to have the guts to tell him when he’s wrong.”

  The admiral said, “Ryan, enough.”

  “It is possible,” the captain said, “that you don’t have all the facts, considering you’ve lived most of your life on a station filtered by its own politics.”

  “Don’t patronize me.”

  “Say something smart and I won’t have to.”

  “Cairo.” From the admiral.

  “Sorry, sir,” the captain said, perfectly respectful in the way you got when you felt the exact opposite.

  Ryan knew it well.

  “Eat,” Sid murmured to Ryan. “Before I slap you.”

  Judging from the captain’s expression, that seemed wise advice. Even though his blood still boiled. And he wanted to reach across the table and hit his father in the face. A few times.

  The admiral said, “This reminds me of dinners when you were his age, Cairo.”

  “Thanks,” the captain said.

  “At least he isn’t throwing cutlery. Must be his mother’s influence.”

  “Sir.”

  Grandpa Ashrafi hid a smile behind his glass. The captain looked chagrined. Ryan sipped his water, wishing suddenly he had the wine after all. Or something to steady his nerves. Settle his stomach.

  Make his father stop staring at him.

  The symp, at least, had his eyes on his food.

  Sid cleared his throat and made art in his mashed potatoes. “Uh, Admiral… how are the negotiations going, if I may ask? I saw on the Send that there’ve been protests on the general dockside here—anti-alien rallies?”

  “Yes,” the admiral said, frowning. “A small group, but they’re loud. So we’ve decided to hold the talks on Macedon, beginning tomorrow. There won’t be rabble on our dockside, at least, since the Marines here do a good job of enforcing the military restrictions.”

  “The aliens…” Sid glanced at Musey, who didn’t seem to be paying attention anyway. “I mean, the striviirc-na… they’d come aboard?”

  “They’ll be well guarded,” the captain said. “And we’ll be working over there too, eventually. To be fair.”

  “Where?” Ryan said.

  “To Turundrlar.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Captain S’tlian’s ship.”

  Ryan stared. “You can’t be serious.”

  Of course they were. Everybody was.

  The ship that the Send called The Hand of Death. Supposedly that was the translation of the strit name, though humans on the Hub side didn’t exactly have a complete strit dictionary or grammatical workup.

  His father over on that ship—anything could happen. The symps could break dock and make off with the best captain in the Hub fleet and the admiral of the Joint Chiefs, not to mention a bunch of govie suits from Hub Command. Did nobody think of that?

  “It should be interesting,” the captain said, like he was talking about a sporting match. “So, Ryan, you see the diplomatic suites will be occupied after all.”

  That wasn’t even remotely funny.

  “Speaking of which,” the captain said to Musey, “can you inform Captain S’tlian that we’d like to reconvene at oh-nine-hundred next shift?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That should give you enough time to take Ryan to medical and then come to the conference room.”

  Ryan said, “Take Ryan where?”

  “My CMO already gave Sidney a physical and I want you to have one before you start training tomorrow.”

  “Why does he have to take me?” Ryan glanced at Musey, who seemed to be doing his best to memorize the food configurations on his plate.

  “Because I’ve decided he’ll be the one to train you.”

  He didn’t think it could get worse, but now he knew better.

  Musey didn’t seem surprised, at least he didn’t react. It was nice of the captain to warn the symp, but not his own son.

  “Before you explode,” his father said, “it won’t be for the full eight weeks. When Jos isn’t in the talks with Captain S’tlian and me, he’ll orient you to weapons, comps, and basic combat techniques. When he is in the talks, you’ll be at school.”

  “School.”

  “Yes. I don’t want you idle on my ship.”

  He wondered if his mother had a hand in that idea. He looked at Sid, but it was clear he wasn’t going to get help from that quarter.

  “Why can’t I just train with Sid?”

  “Because you’re not at Sid’s level and I don’t think you’ll deal well in a class of recruits or with my jet instructors.”

  “But I’ll deal better with a symp who murdered a pirate? I don’t want this symp to train me.”

  “Your language,” the captain said with a hard stare, “can use some work.”

  “I don’t want this symp to train me, sir.”

  “Ryan,” the admiral said.

  “I’m not one of your recruits!”

  “That’s obvious,” the captain said, putting a hand on the table, “since I would brig any recruit who bitched as much as you. Four weeks of training isn’t a difficult thing to do and you will do more on my ship than laze around and scroll the Send. Get used to it.”

  “Why did you bother dragging Sid here if I’m never going to see him?”

  “You’re going to see him, Ryan. In off-hours. And after training.”

  Maybe his father wanted him out of Sid’s influence, and wanted Sid out of Mom Lau’s.

  He saw it then, in one glance that the captain cast Sid before looking back at him.

  “You’re jealous,” Ryan blurted. Fueled by anger or idiocy, he wasn’t sure which, but it got more of a reaction out of the captain than anything else up to this moment.

  The mask slid, revealing a sharp irritation that could only point to the truth. “I’m what?” the captain said.

  “You heard me.”

  “Everybody heard you,” the admiral said. “And both of you are stepping on my last nerve. I try to keep a sense of humor about family but this has been quite a test. You both should be ashamed. Sid, why don’t you return to your quarters, you have a long shift tomorrow. Musey, give Ryan a tour of the ship, then bring him back to his father’s q when you’re finished.”

  It was so ordered by the Admiral of the EarthHub Joint Chiefs, and none of them, not even the captain now, dared argue with the man.

  “I already had a tour,” Ryan said to Musey, paused in the corridor on the command crew deck, just outside the captain’s mess. That wasn’t entirely true, of course. He and Sid had never gotten around to it, except through avoiding jets.

  “Good,” the symp said, as if he knew. “But you’ll get another one.”

  Musey looked ready to snap. Not like a soldie
r on parade or anything, his stance was casual enough, but he seemed to expect something that would require retaliation. Ryan wondered if that was normal for a symp (if normal was a word you could apply to symps). Maybe just for a symp on an EarthHub carrier.

  “You don’t want to do it,” Ryan said heading to the lev, “so let’s not and say we did.”

  “Then you can tell the admiral,” Musey said, “when he asks. Because he will ask.”

  “Don’t argue about it,” Sid muttered, positioning himself between Ryan and Musey.

  It was impossible to have a normal conversation with the third wheel rolling along beside them, so Ryan said nothing. The lev opened up, thankfully prompt Two female officers exited, casting Musey discreet, not altogether friendly looks. Sid got in the lev first and told it jetdeck. Ryan waited until the doors shut with its loud swish-clank, then looked at Musey.

  “You’re real popular around here, aren’t you?”

  Musey leaned against the lev wall, apart from them, and didn’t answer.

  “You talk a lot too. Is that why they beat you up?”

  Sid said, “Maybe you should leave him alone.”

  “I don’t know. If he’s going to be my guru, then I’d like to know if he’s human at least.”

  The symp’s eyes slid off the light bar and landed on him.

  Sid straightened where he was standing.

  Ryan met the stare. “It figures my father would put me with the pariah.”

  “Why do you do that?” Musey said, in his Austroan accent. Ryan wondered if it was real. Austro had symps, they’d blown up a dock a while back, but he wondered how this one had ended up on a deep-space carrier.

  “Do what?” he said.

  “Provoke people,” Musey said.

  “Am I provoking you?”

  Musey stared at him. It was impossible to read the symp. He just looked exponentially somber. He said, “You don’t agree with what your father’s doing? The peace?”

  “I didn’t say that. Exactly.”

  “No, you just make bigoted slurs every other word.”

  “By calling you a symp? Isn’t that what you are?”

  “And are you a spoiled brat?” Musey said.

  Ryan took a step. Sid’s hand shot out and grabbed his arm. Sid looked at Musey.

  “I think that’s enough.”

  Musey glanced up at Sid but he didn’t seem concerned. “It’s no wonder people were shooting at him.”

  Ryan yanked his arm free and went for the symp. But Sid got in the way again. Too fast.

  “Settle down!”

  Musey hadn’t even moved or blinked. Ryan stared at him over Sid’s shoulder.

  The lev announced the deck. The doors slid open with a metallic clang. Musey walked out without looking behind him.

  Ryan looked at his bodyguard. “You need to talk to my father about him. Please.”

  “You’re unbelievable. You got him going and now you want me to put my neck on the line?” Sid walked out after Musey.

  Ryan followed. “I mean it. I’m not going to put up with him.”

  “You’d better learn. The captain gave you both an order.”

  “It’s punishment. For both of us. You and me.”

  Sid shoved Ryan’s head, not entirely playful. “Speaking of that—don’t bring it up again, okay?”

  “He is jealous, you know.”

  “Just shut up about it, Ryan. And keep your voice down.”

  Musey was only a few strides ahead of them, parting the way like a plague. The half-dozen jets in the corridor went by with muttered comments Ryan couldn’t hear, but he didn’t need to. At least with Musey occupying them, most just ignored him and Sid. He thought Musey would just go on ahead and forget Admiral Grandpa’s order, but the symp led them right to Sid’s quarters and stopped.

  Ryan said to his bodyguard, “Can I hang out in here for a few?” Hoping to ditch the extraneous body.

  Sid glanced at Musey, sighed a bit. “I don’t think you should, Ryan.”

  “You can take me back to the captain’s quarters after.”

  “That’s not what the admiral said.”

  “So?”

  “Look, I’m not in the mood for crossing his orders—or your father’s. You don’t have to listen to them but I do. They can do things to my career, not to mention my health. I’m sorry.”

  “How do you sit down with that pole up your ass?”

  Sid opened his hatch.

  Ryan said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  “Look, tomorrow’s going to be hard. I think I want to crash out. Maybe you should just do this tour and get a good sleep?”

  Sid was tired of dealing with the Azarcons. Ryan saw it. He wished they were back home. He even preferred Sid and his mother making eyes across the dinner table to where he was now.

  Now it was Musey making eyes—the kind snipers gave before pulling the trigger.

  Ryan said, “Well, if you don’t hear from me next shift you know what happened.” He glanced at the symp.

  “Comm me when you get back to quarters,” Sid said. He was serious.

  Ryan nodded. Maybe Musey was insulted but neither of them cared. Sid would still do his job, however he could, and Ryan found it in himself to smile at his bodyguard for that.

  Sid returned it and gave the familiar hand sign. You’re okay.

  Ryan signed back: For now.

  Sid’s lips twisted, wry acknowledgment. He shut the hatch and the corridor enclosed Ryan and the symp in its shadows.

  He waited a long moment before turning around to face Musey. “So…” Ryan folded his arms. “Give me the tour then.”

  He told himself this symp wouldn’t lead him to a dark corner and kill him.

  Musey watched him for a second, as unreadable as the captain, then headed down the corridor the way they had come, without a word. Ryan followed. Every jet they passed on this deck cast them dirty looks and then completely ignored them.

  “Why would you possibly want to live on this ship?” Ryan asked finally, after the tenth crewmember went through the ritual glare and Musey said and did nothing. Ryan didn’t care for the hate by association. Everybody on this ship besides the captain seemed to despise the symp (small wonder) and if the captain put them together, Musey’s reputation would spill onto him. As if he needed that. The fact he was the captain’s son must’ve been the only thing saving him and the symp from being jumped and dumped. “Hey,” he said, “are you ignoring me now? Where are you taking me?”

  “I’m showing you the ship. I don’t have to speak to you. Just look where you’re going.”

  Surly son of a bitch.

  Ryan had no choice so he trailed, hands in his pockets. The corridors all looked the same to him—absent of signs or any sort of luxury. Dingy, poorly lit, and newly attacked. Some crew in gray coveralls worked at hatches, control boxes at junction points, and overhead at the pipes. Echoes of machinery buzzing and whining at repairs seemed to bleed up through the decks from the maintenance accesses.

  “I can’t believe he sent this ship through a leap,” Ryan muttered.

  “He had to,” Musey said.

  “Just to get a pirate?”

  Musey didn’t answer. He gestured vaguely at an open hatch as if to say, Take note. It was the jet lounge that Ryan and Sid had passed before. But Musey didn’t stop.

  “Why’d you kill that Falcone guy?” Ryan said to his back.

  Musey stopped now and turned around. Only one eye showed blue from the shadows that cut his face. “My life is none of your business.”

  “My father seems to be interested in your life.”

  “That’s his business.”

  “I’m on this ship and he says you’re going to train me. So I think it’s my business.”

  “It’s not.” Musey turned his shoulder. “This is the gym on your right. Let’s go down a deck.”

  Musey had the swift, uncanny ability to make him feel ridiculous in his very existence. Somethin
g in the symp’s tone of voice or the stained-glass blue of his eyes was too quiet and too fearless. Nothing was worth Musey’s time, nobody was worth his attention unless he deemed it. And it wasn’t the haughty arrogance of the upper tier society on Austro. It resembled that, but it was something else.

  More like the captain. Confidence bred from ability, not blood.

  How well did they know each other, Musey and his father?

  The association made small, angry, and unreasonable spikes scrape at the back of his mind. A thought that wanted to claw its way out and wreak havoc in accusations.

  But he was still lost in these vein-dark corridors, still programmed enough to know he had pushed things too far at dinner and he had better not try anything now. He could ditch Musey and ask somebody how to get back to the captain’s quarters, but Musey didn’t walk ahead this time. He waited and looked at Ryan with that deflective stare.

  It would be too much trouble to run, and getting in a fight with the peace talks translator might land him in the brig. He wouldn’t put it past his father. So he walked with the symp away from the repair crew and into a secondary lev. The symp said, “Engineering Deck C.” Ryan stood on the opposite side to Musey as they descended.

  “I’m not all that interested in how these ships run,” Ryan told him. “So we can skip some sections.”

  Musey said nothing, just watched the light bar blinking above the lev doors. They stopped on a rough bump. The doors opened to a long empty corridor, eerily silent, and completely blast-scarred. As if a bomb the size of an elephant had stampeded down the deck, leaving damage in its wake. Perforated skeletal infrastructure showed through half-open interior bulkheads. A burnt metal scent hung heavy in the air, not circulating. No ambient hiss from the vents, no color in the barely lit darkness. No life.

  Ryan stayed against the wall of the lev and didn’t step out when Musey did.

  “What’re we doing here?”

  Musey had a hand on the door, keeping it open. “I’m giving you a tour.”

  “I’m not going down there with you.”

  “I won’t hurt you, Azarcon. Be realistic.”

  But it wasn’t Musey that he saw. Over the symp’s shoulder was destruction and the smell of new death, and he was not walking into that.