“You sick bastard. Let go of the door, I’m going back up.”
Musey stared at him, unmoving. Curious.
“Get your hand off that door before I make you.”
“Why are you panicking?”
“I’m not panicking. I don’t appreciate your little joke. What’d you plan to do, get me down here then leave me?”
“No.” Small frown. “I just wanted you to see what your father does for a living. Then maybe you’d understand why he’s talking with the striviirc-na.”
“I know what he does for a living, thanks.”
“No. You don’t. You know what’s on the Send, and I think you know that shouldn’t be entirely trusted.”
“Get your hand off that door, symp.” He thought he saw shadows move behind Musey.
How many people had died in that attack at Meridia?
Musey said, “This is what pirates did. Take a long look. You wanted to know why the captain went after Falcone? This is part of the reason.”
“Fine. Whatever. Tour’s over. Take me back to command deck.”
Bloody sadistic symp. Ryan stared at him as he stepped in and let the lev doors shut.
“Jetdeck,” Musey said. Then, “I don’t know what your problem is with your father, but considering you were shot at on station you ought to be grateful he took you aboard.”
“You don’t know a damned thing about me, so shut the hell up.”
“Are you always this angry?”
Anger and boredom, his shrink had said, are oftentimes symptomatic of deeper emotions.
Sid wasn’t here now to stop him from pounding the symp, but he folded his arms. Tight.
Musey didn’t say anything else, just left his question hanging. It pitched and swayed in Ryan’s mind like a dead body on the end of a rope.
Musey deposited him outside his father’s hatch and left, no words, not a single look. Ryan took a long breath and stared at the tag scan and since he had no tags yet to open any private rooms on this ship, he had to bang a fist on the thick door. Hatch. Door.
Gripes.
Admiral Grandpa opened it. “Ryan,” he said, “glad to see you in one piece.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t be?” He moved in, forgot the raised threshold, and stumbled.
His grandfather had to grab his arm to keep him on his feet, and laughed. “Careful.”
He wasn’t exactly swangraceful, but deep-space carriers made stationers feel doubly clumsy. Damn boat. He glanced around but the captain wasn’t anywhere in sight.
“He’s in the bedroom,” the admiral said. “We just had some tea, do you want a cup?”
The screen was shut. Ryan looked up at his grandfather and sat at the island counter in the kitchen. “Yeah, sure. Did you two fight? Is he still pissed at me?”
His grandfather tousled his hair and went around to the zap plate on the back counter, where the avianshaped kettle sat. “I can’t believe what you did to your hair.” He poured the tea with a grin.
“So you did fight. And he’s still mad.”
“No, we didn’t fight. We talked about tomorrow’s negotiation session. And I reminded him that he was far more of a terror on me than you are on him.”
“I’m not a terror. He just makes me so—mad. He always has to be so right.”
“A lot of the times he is, even though his methods aren’t always—diplomatic. But he’s a deep-space captain, not a politician. I believe he is right about the striviirc-na.”
The admiral slid over the cup and Ryan put his cold fingers around it. The ship was always so damn cold.
“You and he must be the only ones in the entire government that think so.”
Admiral Grandpa leaned on the counter across from Ryan. “We aren’t. President James is on our side, he just needed some convincing and a bit of balm on his pride. He doesn’t like to be upstaged. The others, like the Hub Council… I think they’ll come around once they realize it’ll be better in the long run. We’ve got support from most of the major stations in the Dragons, some in the Rim and Spokes. It’s just going to be a long process. We’re just at the point with the aliens talking about defining new borders. We haven’t even touched upon arms, caches, communications, ship routes…”
He thought about Musey being the fulcrum in those discussions and figured his grandfather had to know what was going on, even if the captain might be a bit (voluntarily) clueless about the dangers of relying on a symp. Even if it was just in everybody else’s perceptions. People wouldn’t get behind a treaty if they knew the translator in the negotiations was the same symp that had murdered a man. A pirate, maybe, but still a man that should’ve been put through the justice system in the civilized Hub. “What about the Centralists? And that—First Minister Damiani.”
“Well…” His grandfather didn’t seem pleased. “Let’s just hope she doesn’t get elected.”
Ryan sipped the tea, peered down at the tiny dregs collecting at the bottom of his cup.
“But,” Admiral Grandpa said, “the problem you have with your father doesn’t have anything to do with the war, does it?”
He didn’t answer that. He didn’t know that he could explain it, if his grandfather followed up on the reply.
“Have you told your parents about London?”
Ryan shook his head. “I don’t want the looks.”
“What looks?”
“The one you’re giving me now. Pity. Disappointment.”
“Understanding?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
His grandfather was silent a long minute. “Try to talk to him. Maybe not about Earth, but just in general.”
He reached a finger into his cup and poked at the soggy tea leaves. “How much do you talk to him? I mean, about stuff other than what you have to talk about because of your jobs.”
“Less now. That’s why I think you should.”
“You never told me much about him, even when I was on Earth. I mean, aside from some pictures in your house… how come you never talk about him? You adopted him for a reason, didn’t you?”
The admiral gazed at him, almost unreadable except he wasn’t at work now and Ryan saw the face he used to see in the mornings, in his grandparents’ breakfast room on holidays, when the admiral would come in with the dog at his heels and kiss Grandma on the cheek.
Ryan blinked and his grandfather’s hesitation straightened out to decision.
“I made a promise to him. Like I made to you. Your father’s a very private man and not just with meedees. With his family too, sometimes. You know that. It’s not something I care to infringe upon. I don’t think I have the right. But you’re his son. Some things are different for you than they are for me.”
“I can’t see what.”
“Maybe that’ll change. So… tell me. What do you think of Musey?”
He couldn’t help it; he laughed. More out of surprise than mirth. “Don’t even start with that symp. What is his problem anyway?”
“Does he have one?”
“I think he’s got more than one.”
The admiral seemed amused. “He’s been a tremendous help in these talks. Captain S’tlian truly respects him and the way your father’s dealt fairly with him has been a big factor in getting the strivs and the sympathizers to the table. Don’t stress him out, Ryan.”
“Me?” He was honestly offended by that until he saw his grandfather’s sly, habitual smile, “It wasn’t my idea to be in his orbit, you know.”
The admiral laughed. “Make the best of it, all right? For the sake of peace in this galaxy. And for your father’s peace of mind.”
“What about my peace of mind? That symp is dangerous.”
“You know your father wouldn’t trust him with you if he really was a threat.”
No, he didn’t know that at all. Logically, yes, but what he felt—that was another thing. The captain and the symp both claimed this ship was safer, yet he’d just seen its scarred, exploded innards and been accosted by crazy, unpredictable jet
s.
“I’d better turn in,” his grandfather said. “And so should you; you’ve got your physical early next shift.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Comm your grandmother, all right?” He tousled Ryan’s hair again on his way to the hatch.
Sid had started that trend and now everybody did it. He’d be fifty years old and they would still mess him up.
After Admiral Grandpa left, Ryan went to the washer drawer and spent a few seconds looking it over. It wasn’t like the one at home and he hadn’t paid attention when his father had shown him. He figured the biggest button must make it open, and at least he was right. Having it turn on when there weren’t any dishes in there would probably give him a couple demerits, on a ship that conserved water output if the timed showers were any indication. Then his father would make him scrub the decks or do the ship’s laundry or some other bit of slave labor. He had to watch his demerits, yessir.
And on that thought the screen slid back and he turned around as the captain came out to the living room.
“I’m finished in there if you wanted to go,” his father said. He was dressed in an old pair of fatigues and a white T-shirt, and sat on the couch with his slate.
Not a word about the dinner.
Even his silences tended to ignite Ryan’s irritation. So instead of starting anything, Ryan just went into the bedroom and slid the screen shut.
He didn’t know how his grandparents put up with the captain all these years. Or how his mother did, for that matter. He really had no idea.
He took a timed shower even though he’d had one earlier, but he needed the hot water on his cold skin; blasted himself warm from the body dryer, then rummaged through the drawers in the bedroom in search of his sleep clothes. Outside in the living area loud music played.
At this hour.
It certainly wasn’t the sedate background ambience his mother favored, or the Earth classical stuff his grandparents liked. It wasn’t cultured or highbrow.
Ryan padded out to the kitchen and had to nearly shout. “What’re you doing?”
His father looked up and went to the unit in the wall to palm it down a few decibels.
“Sorry about that, but I work better with it on and I heard you in the shower.”
Ryan stared. “You work better with it.” He did too, not that his mother or Shiri ever believed him.
“Yes. If I can’t hear my comm then I can’t be interrupted.” His father grinned at the joke, rather uncaptainly. “‘Do you know this artist?”
A slate sat activated on the coffee table, with a steaming cup of tea beside it. The quarters had a small area rug, blue like the furniture, and the captain was barefoot.
“I think I have their latest upload.” Ryan went to the kitchen, unhinged a glass from the counter stack and tapped out some water from the coldcase unit by the sink. “I thought you’d be asleep already.”
“Hell no. I’m used to operating on five hours. More than that and I’m draggy all shift.” The captain returned to the couch and sank down, picked up the slate and put his feet on the table. “Besides, there’s too much to do for tomorrow.”
“Grandpa told me a little. I met the Minister of Alien Affairs one time on Earth at some ambassadorial party, and he’s here, right?”
The man had a polite but patronizing view of the strits. He could imagine his grandfather doing damage control on the minister’s negotiating volleys.
“Musey’s got his work cut out for him with Minister Taylor, trying to interpret his platitudes. Speaking of which, how’d you two get along?”
He sipped his water. “Me and the minister?” Of course he knew better.
“You and Jos.”
“Like a moon and a planet.” Sarcasm, he couldn’t help it.
“Well, you’re in one piece.”
“That’s what Grandpa said. I guess you expected the symp to trounce me.”
“Something like that.” Another smile. “Why don’t you sit down?”
It was a quiet invitation. A completely different demeanor than what was at the dinner table. So Ryan took his glass and went, hesitantly, and sat on the opposite chair instead of beside the captain on the couch.
He expected the captain to say something but the silence stretched. He peered over his glass, across the low coffee table, but couldn’t hold the thoughtful stare.
“What? Stop doing that.”
The captain leaned back and rested a hand on one of the square couch cushions, fingering the corner. “You may have noticed that Musey isn’t well liked here.”
“Yeah, he’s got lovely conversational skills. How do you keep him from being killed?”
“I issued an order. They aren’t ignored. But I realize that it’ll take some getting used to. His unit seems to have forgiven him—he was a jet here, did he tell you?—or at least they don’t ignore him, but the rest of the crew… it’s another matter.”
“He was a jet? He’s a symp.”
“I didn’t know he had affiliation with Captain S’tlian—at the time.”
It just kept getting better. “You want him to train me and he was a spy? How can you trust him?”
“That’s between me and him, but I do trust him. He’s a good kid. The crew will come around.”
Like the Hub was going to come around about the strits.
“There’s a lot between you and him, isn’t there?” he said, before thinking he should’ve kept that one in his head.
“What do you mean by that?” his father said, neutral.
“Never mind. So what if your crew doesn’t grow to love him?”
“I’ll dump them,” his father said.
Ryan stared. “Over one kid.”
“Not just over him. Over the fact I prefer acceptance to prejudice.”
This was new. “You run a warship. Your jets kill people like him for a living.”
“I know it won’t be immediate.” He sighed. “But that isn’t what I mean to say right now. Just be mindful of Jos, all right?”
His father’s insistence irked him beyond habit. “So, you want me to be his pity partner?”
“No.” His father frowned. “But he needs interaction outside of the military forum and you’re pretty much it on this ship.”
“Glad to be of service. Now I know why you drafted me. Isn’t it funny that we even look alike?”
The frown deepened. “What?”
“Me and the symp. We both have blue eyes and dark hair. Well, when mine is natural.”
“That’s ridiculous. You don’t resemble at all.”
“The subconscious is a funny thing.” He drank his water. He wondered if he should chance something harder now.
“Ryan, don’t create conflict where there’s none. I know it’s a talent of yours, but try.”
He opened his mouth.
His father continued, “Besides all of that, I think you really can learn something from him. He’s smart, he can fight, and if you don’t provoke him he can be patient.”
“Why do you care so much about him?”
“He’s a member of my crew. Sympathizer or no.”
That wasn’t the entire truth. Ryan stared at him but his father gave nothing.
“Why do you think I’d want to learn how to fight? Or that I need to? I handle myself pretty well as it is.”
His father said, “I can see that. But words are your weapons.”
He got caught in the accusation, which sounded mild enough until he saw how much his father meant it.
He got up and strode to the kitchen and spun the cold rack until he saw his vodka-spiked juice. He poured some into his glass, which still had dregs of water and ice. No repeat of the toilet tango, thanks.
“I had my shrink sessions on Earth, by the way,” he said over his shoulder.
“How did they go?”
“Well, my hats fit looser.”
“Ryan, do you think I’m just trying to upset you for no reason?”
“You don’t u
pset me.”
“Then turn around and come back here. Without the alcohol.”
He considered going straight into the bedroom and locking the screen, but his feet took him back to the chair, with his drink. He wasn’t going to waste it.
The captain hadn’t moved. His feet were still on the table, knees bent and body in a small slouch. As if nothing about him was aggressive.
Pure deception. Unconscious or not, Ryan had no idea.
“I authorized your comp usage, by the way, but no transcasting. You won’t be able to link for that. Use ID AzarconRl. Your mother will probably want a comm.”
“Thanks,” he said. And sipped his drink. “This is all right since I assume we won’t be leaping anytime soon.”
“You never know. Take your chances.”
“The Warboy might pull out of station when you’re on his ship, have you thought of that?”
The captain smiled. “Yes.”
“Why are you smiling?”
“Because you’re concerned about me but you have to be sulky about it.”
This was worse than talking to Musey. “I’m just saying. I mean, you’re the one with symps running around your ship, and even though some of your crew and the entire Hub might not be happy about this treaty you’re going ahead with it anyway.”
“You think they’ll mutiny?” The smile grew.
“Never mind.”
“No, really. That would be something for the Send, wouldn’t it?”
“I thought you captains aren’t supposed to joke about mutiny.”
“No, that’s for the crew. Captains can joke all they want.”
Ryan pulled on his drink. “You should take the Send more seriously.”
“Why?”
Because I have to defend you, he almost said. Because your family lives with the fallout. “Because they say nasty things about you, wrong things, and Mom always has to issue statements.” He knew his father knew that. He’d overheard enough arguments.
“What do they say?”
“You know.”
“What do you hear them say?”
Well, then.
He took a breath. “You think you’re above the rules. You run around out here ignoring laws, even from your own father—adoptive father, because for some reason all your files before you were eighteen are closed. And why is that anyway? Your crew is full of orphans and criminals. You torture prisoners of war. You have lovers on ship even though you have a family on station. Now you’re harboring a symp. You’ve probably gone all the way rogue and you’ll go over to the strit side with this treaty. Do you get the idea now?”
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