by Dave Barsby
He smiles, slaps me on the back. “Good on you. I knew we could count on you.”
“But…” I begin. A full tray of food is handed to me. Rogdo levers me out of my seat.
“You’ll do just fine,” Rogdo tells me. “I know you will.” He guides me out of the mess hall then leaves me to my own devices.
I stand in the corridor, silent and motionless, feeling the weight of the tray start to pull at my muscles. What should I do? I don’t really owe the crew anything, not anymore. On the other hand, whoever talks to Larisa needs to do it with sensitivity, and that nominates me by default. At the very least, she deserves to be fed.
I walk slowly and purposefully to Yew’s cabin, spinning my mind into a frenzy trying to decide what to say. When I reach the door I take a moment to listen – if I can hear her milling around there is less chance she is preparing a sneak attack. I can hear quiet sobs interspersed with sniffles. She is trying hard not to cry, but her efforts are failing.
I knock lightly on the door.
“Go away,” she sobs.
I unlock and open the door slowly and carefully step in. Larisa is sitting on the surprisingly clean bed, her hands still tied. The tiara and necklace lie on a bedside cabinet, her heels tucked neatly to one side. She turns her face away from me and dabs at her eyes with the sides of her index fingers.
“I said ‘go away’,” she insists, her tears coming under control.
“I’ve brought you some food,” I tell her, keeping my voice as friendly and sympathetic as I can.
Finally she looks at me, her large emerald eyes glistening, her cheeks red. “Why?” she demands bitterly.
“Well…aren’t you hungry?”
“Why have you kidnapped me?” she insists, clarifying her previous question. I set the tray down on the bed next to her, close the door and pull up a hard, metal-legged chair.
“I haven’t,” I tell her, sitting. “I’m not a member of this crew.”
“Then you are…a captive too?” she asks, hope in her voice.
“Not exactly.” I see her hope deflate. “I’m a journalist.”
“A what?” she asks as though she didn’t properly hear me.
“A journalist. I’m doing a report on a year in the life of a mercenary ship’s captain. For a book,” I add.
Larisa sniffs at me and looks away.
“Is it poisoned?” she asks.
“What?” I ask back.
She looks at me again.
“Is the food poisoned?” she asks loudly, like a school teacher repeating a question to a disobedient kid.
“Oh, no,” I say, attempting a smile. “Not intentionally, at least.”
She looks down at her hands on her lap, fighting back another bout of tears. “I don’t even have my taster with me.”
“You’re..?” I ask.
“Food taster,” she answers, still staring at her bound wrists.
“If you want, I could…” I offer.
She looks at me, sniffs gratefully and flashes the merest hint of a smile.
I puff out my cheeks and slap my hands on my thighs. “Okay…erm…what would you like me to try first?”
She looks at the tray. “The…the…I don’t know what any of that is.”
“That’s a valid point,” I tell her. Animal, vegetable or mineral? Only Dirk would know. “Tell you what, I’ll just nibble a bit of everything.”
She nods, still unable to smile. To save time, I hack off minute quantities of food from each recognisable variation, including the dessert, and load it all onto a fork. I shove the fork into my mouth and chew. The combination is a miserable failure.
“Oh, God,” I mumble in horror with my mouth full.
Larisa looks at me concerned. I try a grin and swallow.
“Just don’t try eating your dessert at the same time as the main course, and you’ll be okay,” I tell her, wiping the fork clean on my clothes and replacing it on the tray.
Larisa takes the tray and begins to eat. Ravenous though she must be, she still eats daintily as though on inspection. She even waits until her mouth is empty before speaking.
“How can you condone the things these people do?” she asks me. “Do you have no moral fibre?”
“I don’t condone what they do.”
“But you still let it happen.”
“I have tried to persuade them otherwise.”
“What happened?”
“They voted to evict me from this ship.”
She looks surprised at me, her mouth full of food. I elect not to wait for her to chew, swallow and ask her inevitable question.
“The eviction is impending,” I say. “We’re two days away from The Comb-Over.”
“Pardon? The what?”
“The Comb-Over. A G-Class cruiser. We’re to be dropped off there.”
“We?” Hope is rising in her voice again.
“The two of us. Yes.”
“And to whom am I to be dropped off?”
“No one. Events have changed. They’re letting you go.”
“Letting me go?” she breathes with joy. “What events have changed to alter their dedication so?”
“The client who ordered your kidnapping died in the explosion,” I tell her.
“Explosion?” she asks, baffled. “What explosion?”
Oh, crap, I think. All this time we’ve been talking and I haven’t even mentioned a single thing Rogdo wanted me to say.
“Ah, yes,” I begin. She takes a sip of water, then screws up her face. It is exactly the same reaction I had when first sampling the tepid H2O of this ship. “The explosion. Right…well…you see, the…erm…the geography of Almudena my have altered a little since you were last there.”
Suddenly my decision to talk to Larisa because I am the most sensitive person seems very foolish and false.
“What I mean is, there was a power plant malfunction, and…well…an explosion.”
“On Almudena?” she asks in horror. I nod. “Oh my Lord! Were there many injuries?”
“No, no,” I tell her. “Relatively few injuries. Most of them died outright.”
Curses to this misguided belief in being sensitive!
“How much?” she asks, her perfect pronunciation escaping her for the moment. The poor thing is confused as hell. “I mean, how many?”
“Lots,” I tell her. “I can’t even estimate it, but the blast radius was fifteen hundred miles.”
“Fifteen hundred,” she says in awe. “Oh, there must be millions affected. Where was the blast?”
“Erm, near the senate at the City Of Light.”
“Oh, in Ashaa? Well…” She starts talking to herself. “One thousand five hundred miles from the City Of Light…that…and that…that one too…hmmm.” She returns her attention to me. “Those are mostly developing areas. Not to worry.”
“Not to worry?!?”
“Well…” She clears her throat and adopts her regal look, as though in front of the news cameras. “It is a tragedy, of course. And my heartfelt sympathies go out to those affected by this traumatic experience.” Her face relaxes and she shrugs. “But most of them didn’t have that much to live for anyway.”
She puts the last piece of dessert into her mouth and replaces the spoon. I grab the tray, exit and lock the door, stride to the mess hall, throw the tray on the table and say: “Okay, fair enough, let’s throw her out the airlock.”
8. COMB BACK
We arrive at The Comb-Over five hours ahead of schedule. The construction of a new layer of cubes is already underway, a mass of girders and pipes are being welded to the ship’s left side by a mix of droids and spacesuited creatures of indeterminate species. We skirt the area and head for the large hangar bays at the rear of the vessel.
I have avoided visiting Princess Larisa these last two days, happy to let Dirk serve her regular meals. It is all the contact she has had with the crew – a wordless exchange of trays every few hours. I find it difficult not to feel sorry for her, but ev
ery time a bit of sympathy creeps in I remind myself of her last words.
The Diablo III executes a clumsy docking procedure on a rather favoured spot nearly the full five miles into the hangar bays. Rogdo, Tima and I alight the vessel onto a short gantry which leads to a hub of activity. A long, bustling walkway stretches down the whole 5-mile length of the cube to the exit. A short distance to front and left is the open seating area of a restaurant currently receiving roaring trade. Several of the restaurant patrons are staring at us, a few more peer out from the interior’s darkened glass. They are likely objecting to the ugly black blob that has just parked in front of their view.
Rogdo briefly frowns at the patrons. Taking the hint, they all in unison return to their meals and conversations.
“Do you have the list?” Rogdo asks Tima. She hands over a datascreen and e-stylus which contains a hastily scribbled shopping list.
I’m not quite sure why I stepped outside the ship with them – I have already elected to officially leave at the last moment, in case I can get a few more juicy titbits at the very end. I think maybe it was to get some fresh air, even if it is dubiously close to the hangar’s main traffic route. I certainly don’t want to go supply shopping with Rogdo – somehow I don’t envisage that being interesting enough to fill a few paragraphs. I concentrate instead on the locals as Rogdo and Tima clarify the more unintelligible items on the list.
A dark-haired man in a smart suit walks past. I notice him for three reasons. One, he is wearing sunglasses, a rarity in these surroundings. Two, he studies us and our vessel as he smoothly passes by. And three, as soon as he is past, he briefly chats into a cuff transmitter.
Interesting, I think to myself. I make a conscious decision then to dine in the open air section of the restaurant and keep an eye out for Rogdo’s return – I have a feeling he is about to be arrested for jumping bail ten times.
Rogdo returns roughly an hour later, during which time I have feasted on klam-eggs, some burgenis cooked medium rare and a rather interesting cactus soufflé. I am still washing away the taste of the cactus soufflé with a fourth cup of coffee when I spot the mercenary directing his purchases to the ship’s hatch.
I trot over to observe. Small delivery bots trundle up to the hatch with large boxes on their backs. Gronk is on hand to take over the operation from thereon in. Rogdo has returned with two shipments of fresh produce, repair tools, a crate of alcohol, a large pack of toilet rolls (finally!) and a small box of e-magazines.
“Meet anyone interesting?” I ask him, half expecting him to proudly show me another badge from a felled law officer.
“Nah,” he answers. “Bit expensive on here, isn’t it.”
“Yeah,” I answer. “Just had lunch over there, cost me 125 tabs.”
“Well,” Rogdo says, hoisting his box of ‘literature’ to a more comfortable position. “I think we’re about done here. Once we’ve got this stuff stowed, we’ll release the Princess and be on our way.”
“Very well,” I answer, feeling the end draw near. I am actually becoming quite emotional about it.
“Well…grab your stuff then. Once we set the Princess loose, we’ll have to leave here sharpish before she reports us.”
Rogdo doesn’t mention the concept of goodbyes. I don’t expect him to. Once I have gathered my belongings from Torque’s cabin I wait in the corridor next to the hatch, about to exit the ship one last time.
Larisa is led up the corridor towards me, her hands free, her jewellery proudly on display once more.
“I was expecting you to visit me again,” she says to me. I snort back. She looks faintly disappointed, but with freedom so close she has regained her regal composure.
“Well Princess,” Rogdo says. “It’s been nice having you aboard. You may now leave.”
Larisa holds her head high and steps through the hatch onto the wide gantry. Her entrance onto The Comb-Over’s walkway immediately garners attention from the restaurant patrons.
Rogdo turns to me, grabs my hand and shakes it vigorously. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out here,” he tells me warmly. “Good luck with everything. And if you do write a book about me, make sure you get my good side too.”
“I will,” I tell him. “Thanks.”
I step through the hatch. I don’t look back – not that I would burst out crying if I did, but not looking back carries a certain dignity with it. Larisa is standing patiently at the end of the gantry, facing away and waiting, it seems, for me. I walk up to her.
“Where do we go?” she asks me.
“We? We go our separate ways.”
I start walking towards the restaurant. With any luck half a cup of lukewarm coffee will still be waiting for me on the centre table.
I hear a rapid trip-trap behind me as Larisa follows my lead, but I do not turn, nor do I stop. When I am three quarters of the way to the restaurant and it is clear Larisa isn’t yet ready to strike out on her own, I halt.
“Go away!” I tell her. This comment strikes deep into Larisa’s heart. Despite her icy, regal, formal exterior I alone have had the privilege of seeing her emotional. Although her face remains composed, her breathing quickens slightly and I can see in her eyes that she is close to bursting out in tears. She is lost, totally and utterly. Torn from her home and her creature comforts, for once in her life she is in an alien environment with absolutely no help or support whatsoever. She needs me. Not just in a longing-for-friendship way, I can see in her eyes that if I don’t help her a nervous breakdown is not far off. It is a vulnerability I can’t help but embrace.
“Right,” she says quietly and turns to leave.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean that.”
Her face visibly brightens and a smile forms. She checks herself, realising she is still in a public environment, and the regal composure returns. But I have already seen her without the mask, and it is a sobering experience.
I glance at the Diablo III still docked with the gantry. Rogdo is standing in the hatchway, having come to the conclusion that he has time to see what Larisa does before making said quick getaway. The Princess glances in the same direction.
“Oh, what an ugly ship!” she comments distastefully. “I hope no one important saw me alighting from that thing.”
“You never know,” I answer and wave at a now puzzled Rogdo. “Your reputation could be ruined forever.”
“Do you think so?” Larisa asks, looking back at me. She is starting to attract quite a crowd of onlookers. Only around half, it seems, recognise her as the abdicating Princess. The rest are just staring at a beautiful young woman in a ridiculously expensive ball gown.
Surprising even himself, Rogdo exits the ship and walks over to us. He whittles the number of onlookers down considerably with a few well-placed glares.
“What’s going on?” he asks as he approaches.
“What do you mean?” Larisa asks back.
“Why are you still here?”
Larisa bows her head a little, like an ashamed schoolgirl in front of the headmaster. “I am not completely sure as to what I should now do,” she says quietly.
“Go home?” Rogdo suggests.
Larisa looks back up at him. I become momentarily distracted by the sight of the man in the sharp suit again. He glances at us, then slips inside the restaurant. I guess no arrests will be made today.
“How, exactly?” Larisa demands of Rogdo. “I have no money to procure passage to my homeworld.”
“That tiara would cover it,” Rogdo suggests. I start to fidget. I check the surrounding area. An onlooker is being pestered by his wife to approach the Princess.
“Certainly not!” Larisa says. “This is a family heirloom.”
“Ha ha ha,” Rogdo laughs. “Hair loom. I get it.”
“No,” I tell him. “It’s a real word.”
“What? Oh, yeah, of course. A hand-me-down.”
“It is not a…” Larisa begins. She stops, realising that the pestered onlooker has approached an
d is sheepishly looking at her, cap literally in hand.
“Excuse me,” he begins, stuttering nervously. “But you are…her…aren’t you?”
The onlooker’s chest explodes.
Ever the professional, Rogdo knows a laser blast when he sees one. He grabs Larisa round the waist and runs behind a plant-fringed concrete wall ringing the restaurant. Not being a professional, I take slightly longer to react. Fortunately, before my body springs into motion, it gives my brain time to realise that blindly following a sniper’s target is not the best option. I flee as fast as I can for the relative safety of the Diablo III. I hear blasts of energy behind me, but they don’t sound too close and the crackling, burning sound of singed decorative plants reassures me a little.
I reach the Diablo’s hatch and swing inside. “Someone get here with a gun!” I shout, then step back onto the gantry to survey the scene.
Rogdo and Larisa are pinned down behind the rapidly crumbling concrete wall. It was only four feet high to start with. The direction of the blasts indicate that the laser shots are coming from inside the restaurant. Sure enough, the window is spider-webbed and in the centre a hole with a barrel pointing from it. The barrel unleashes more shots. The open seating area is pandemonium. Directly in the line of fire, several diners have been shot and wounded as chairs and tables are overturned and people stampede blindly into each other.
Hiaelia leaps out of the hatchway and pushes me aside. In a split second she has absorbed the scene and brings her laser rifle to bear on the restaurant window. The gun shrieks as it fires a barrage of light blue at the target. The restaurant window shatters, but it is too dark to make out definite shapes inside. Larisa takes this opportunity to run wailing towards us, her voluminous skirts lifted in her hands.
The sniper cracks off another few blasts at the concrete wall then traces a wild arc towards Larisa. Hiaelia lets loose with another barrage as Larisa dashes past and into the Diablo. Rogdo bizarrely waits until there is a lull in Hiaelia’s covering fire before sprinting to the ship. He dives inside. I follow him so quickly I actually bowl him over. Hiaelia fires off a few more shots, then steps inside and seals the hatch. By this time, Rogdo has recovered and is already half-way down the corridor.