“Sir,” Hazel said carefully—apparently she’d lost the silent argument as to who should broach the subject. “In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never let... feelings for someone influence your command decisions. I’m—we’re—concerned that might be the case now, and that it might be to the detriment of the company.”
This time a lot more jaws than Tick’s fell open. Zimonjic looked particularly apoplectic, even if she soon rearranged her face into a more neutral position. Viktor understood why, but he didn’t know what to say to her. He never had.
“You’re wrong, Sergeant,” Viktor said, though he was speaking to all of those in the room, all of those staring eyes fixed on him. “I’ve let my feelings influence my decisions from the beginning. There are a lot of people here—” he spread a palm toward the table, “—who didn’t know much about their jobs and had no military experience when I brought them on board. I chose them over more qualified individuals because we share an ancestry, roots we could trace back to the first colonists who landed on Grenavine.”
Several people looked down at the table or at their hands. Viktor hated to use their common history to try to take advantage of past favors like this, but the truth was he needed a favor. Who else could he ask?
“Sometimes, you have to trust that people are worth more than their résumés,” he said, “and that they can grow into the responsibility you give them.”
“But, sir,” Lieutenant Sequoia said, “they’re not applying to join the company. They’re... I don’t know what they are. I’m not sure I can trust them.”
“I understand,” Viktor said, “but I hope you can trust me. I won’t put the company at more risk than is necessary. I can go down with a small team and deal with this. If I get myself killed, Garland can rename the company, steer the Albatross off to distant stars, and likely avoid any wrath my actions might draw.”
The expressions around the table ranged from sullen to glum. He hadn’t expected more. He could only hope he could prove them wrong, prove that he wasn’t doing this because Ankari had a talented mouth. That it was because she was like them, like him, someone worth putting trust in.
“I wanted you all to know what the plan was,” Viktor said. “I’d prefer the rest of the company didn’t, not until after I’ve confronted Felgard. There are those who might take it upon themselves to attempt to collect the bounty on their own, stealing the women and sneaking away in a shuttle once we’ve made orbit. Two hundred thousand is a lot more than anyone’s salary around here, so I’m sure it’s crossed some minds. I’ll be increasing security in case anyone is considering that or other mutinous intentions.”
Borage flinched at the word mutinous. He wasn’t the only one.
“But as long as people believe they’re getting a share of the bounty, that might be enough to keep them in line. The women will be busy in a lab rather than staying in the brig for the rest of the journey. I want twenty percent of a viable and profitable company, so that’s what I’ve got them working toward. If anyone asks, let them believe... whatever they want. That we’re using them to make us intellectual property to sell after we turn them over. I don’t care what they think, so long as it’s not the truth. Not yet. I’ll explain everything afterward. I believe I can make everything work out in the company’s favor in the end—” Viktor hoped he wasn’t being delusional in saying that, “—but it’ll be easier if I don’t have people second-guessing me at every step. There’s much to be done before taking a team into Felgard’s stronghold. I want to concentrate on that, not on damage control.” He looked around the room, trying to gauge people’s reactions, their feelings. Nobody was happy about this, but would they make trouble for him? Nobody spoke during his pause. “I’ll consider it a favor from each of you if you help me maintain this ruse for a few days and let me know if you hear of anything troubling.”
There were words that would never be spoken within a captain’s hearing that other, lower-ranking soldiers might be privy to, and he knew it. That was a big part of why he had shared all of this with them. He might have clammed up, explained nothing, and gone on pretending to everyone that the women were prisoners until the end. But he needed a team to take down with him, and he would need a good pilot and some good fighters. He had all of those in this room. And Garland and Borage could keep the ship together, the crew under control, until he returned victorious. That was the meaning of the name he’d taken, after all. Any other result was unacceptable. It always had been.
He thought about asking if there were objections or concerns, but if he asked, there would be. Better just to be the captain in this, make the decisions and not invite a discussion.
“That’s all I have for you right now,” Viktor said. “I’ve got an incursion team in mind, but I’ll talk to people individually about that.” He hoped he could select most of it from the people in the room, but he planned to ask for volunteers, not force anyone. “Dismissed,” he said.
People slowly got to their feet. Tick, Zimonjic, and Borage all looked like they had something to say, but when he made eye contact with each of them, they simply sighed or shook their heads and looked away. For the first time in some years, Viktor found himself wishing for the counsel of Doc Aglianico. His old friend had been somewhat outside of the regular chain of command and had never feared speaking bluntly or offering advice. Zimonjic was a capable medical officer, but she had never filled that particular role for him.
Commander Garland was the one to linger after the others left, standing at the foot end of the table, stroking one of the old cedar boards. His expression said he would miss those boards if something happened and he was no longer able to visit that table. It had a special meaning to all of them. Viktor knew that, but he tried not to read too much into his second-in-command’s expression.
“You’ve always had a knack for making life more complicated than it needs to be, Viktor,” Garland said.
Viktor snorted. “Tell me a new story.”
“Other mercenaries don’t worry about moral issues; they just worry about making money. Keeps things simple.”
Viktor didn’t think Garland was actually suggesting he do that—he had been a freighter pilot hauling livestock before the fall of Grenavine, not some soldier or hardened killer. Likely, he was only pointing out the difficulty of their situation and perhaps a frustration with it.
“I don’t know if that’s true of all mercenaries, but I didn’t get into this for the money. You of all people should know that. It was about finding a way to stay free in an increasingly unfree universe. On a planet or a moon, they can always find you. Out here...” Viktor gazed out the porthole to the stars. “Out here, there’s a chance to live freely, to make your life simple or complicated, in the manner of your choosing, in the way that suits your nature.”
Garland grunted. “Good thing you don’t say that poetical nonsense in front of most of your soldiers.”
“Yes, you’re probably right.”
“I don’t know what the girl means to you, and I don’t care, but this deception of the crew, I think that might come back to haunt you. You could have been straight with them, told them how it is, and if they didn’t like it, they could get off at the next stop. That’s how you’ve usually operated. They expect that. They’re all too afraid of you to mutiny or even think of crossing you by stealing your bounty. You don’t need to worry about the crew. Felgard, now. That’s a problem. If you don’t manage to cut off the head with one swipe, that particular viper is going to kill you.”
“I’ll keep your words in mind, Garland.”
His second-in-command ran his hand along the table one more time, then walked out. Once again, Viktor found himself wishing for his old friend’s counsel. Perhaps one day, if he survived the next week, Ankari would become someone in whom he could confide. But in the meantime, he had better keep his distance, lest the crew have reason to guess at... too much.
* * *
Ankari stood up, flexing her back and stretching l
egs that had been sitting for too long. At least she was clean and had experienced three straight nights of sound sleep in an actual bed. So what if the beds were simply set up at one end of their lab? And so what if their “lab” was nothing more than the equipment they had been carrying in their backpacks set up in what was nothing more than an environmental controls room, complete with an engineer wandering in every hour to check the systems? And so what if there was a guard who stood outside day and night and had their meals delivered? It wasn’t the brig.
She had access to the net and all the information the system could offer. Oh, she would have preferred to share Viktor’s bed at night, but he came by once or twice a day to check on them, and during an unobserved hug and kiss had intimated that he would like shared beds, too, and that he planned to make that a reality as soon as they were done with Felgard and he could officially change their status from prisoners to business partners. A few people seemed to know the truth, but the rest of the crew was still under the impression that she and the others were to be turned in for money. So long as that wasn’t the case, she didn’t mind going along with the ruse. Lauren was twitchier about the whole situation, and Jamie, despite having a romantic streak, seemed uneasy, too, as they traveled closer to Paradise, the planet where Felgard owned an island. Ankari occasionally wondered if she was being naive in trusting Viktor so fully, so early in their relationship, but he seemed like someone who preferred blunt honesty to chicanery. Even if, as Lauren was quick to point out, he had to be lying to someone: either his crew or her.
But Ankari had come to accept that they had to face Felgard one way or another, and whether someone got paid or not probably wouldn’t change much for her team in the end. She had sent messages back and forth to Fumio, and had done more research on Felgard on her own, enough to learn that he had seen a number of doctors in the last couple of years. The tightest security locked down his medical files, but she could guess that he thought Microbacteriotherapy, Inc. might have a solution the other practices hadn’t. Ankari still didn’t know why he had chosen to kidnap her people rather than simply contacting them to make a deal.
“How’s it going?” Jamie asked from a pile of spare parts on a counter. She was trying to build Lauren a bioreactor for cell culturing using a schematic she had scrounged off the net, since she had no piloting or engineering duties at the moment and didn’t know much about the research and experimentation side of the company. She didn’t seem to have much of a knack for—or perhaps an interest in—helping Ankari with the marketing and customer acquisition aspect, either.
“For me?” Ankari asked. Lauren was working two feet away from her, reviewing blood and stool samples more modern than the twenty-thousand-year-old alien ones acquired in the ruins, but she didn’t seem to hear the question. “Good. We’ve already got a few customers signed up, and several people have given their financial information to prove they’re willing to pay. Of course, I can’t charge them until we arrange a way to perform the procedures or figure out a way to ship specimens so their own doctors can do the insertions. Being on a ship is tougher than having a static clinic, but it may actually be a boon in the end, since it’ll allow us to service more worlds.” Ankari had spent the last two days building a virtual clinic, listing services, and marketing their company, something made easier by the publicity Lauren’s work had already received.
“That’s impressive,” Jamie said. “I thought it would be years before we made money.”
“It’ll be years before the alien angle is ready to try, I think.” Ankari glanced at Lauren. “But there are plenty of people with health issues that can be improved, if not absolved altogether, by a microbiota transplant. There are already clinics that do that, but those who sign up to perform the service with us will have early access to the alien microbiota when we’re sure it’s safe for human implementation. There are people signing up now who want children they haven’t even conceived yet to be able to take advantage. I find it interesting that those from fundamentalist religions who won’t consider the benefits of genetic engineering are willing to consider this. Maybe it’s a workaround? I don’t know. Oh, and we have some interest in the Grenavine human strains we may be able to introduce shortly. It’s widely known that the inhabitants adhered to a natural lifestyle on a world with a rich and varied eco system, and that they were relatively disease-free compared to the galactic standard.”
“I can’t believe you got Captain Aloof to give you a sample.” Jamie grinned, pointing toward the refrigerator that held recently acquired specimens.
“He’s not aloof; he’s just reserved with who he opens up to.”
“Mmhmm. So long as he lets us—”
The door slid open. Instead of the expected environmental-systems engineer, Dr. Zimonjic walked in carrying her medical bag and wearing her sweater with the stuffed pockets.
“Good evening, Doctor,” Ankari said with a friendly smile, though the woman’s presence made her nervous. She wondered if word had reached her that Ankari and Viktor had spent some time together on Sturm. Even if it wasn’t as much time as she would have liked, she had definitely gotten the impression that Sergeants Hazel and Tick had connected the dots. Ankari sat down and propped her arm on the counter, trying to look casual, but she doubted she managed it.
“Good evening.” Zimonjic looked around the lab. She had been a skeptic when Lauren had first explained the research in the brig. Had something changed?
“Are we getting another check-up?” Jamie asked. “I feel fine now.”
“No, not unless someone needs one. I’m on my way to the station to pick up medical supplies.”
A couple of hours earlier, faint clunks and shudders had reverberated through the Albatross as it docked at the space station where repairs would be done, the last stop before the ship continued on to Felgard’s home world.
“And you came by to ask if we needed anything? How thoughtful.” Ankari smiled, though she doubted that had anything to do with the doctor’s visit.
“No. I came to...” Zimonjic glanced toward the door, but it had shut behind her, so there was no chance of the guard or anyone else in the hallway overhearing her. “I heard you were collecting fecal samples from Grenavine natives and that there might be payment down the line if they were used.”
Ankari sank back in the chair. Oh, that was what Zimonjic wanted? Extra cash? Nothing to do with crushes on Viktor and dark feelings toward the one who was getting all the hugs from him?
Lauren, who had heretofore ignored their visitor—and the rest of the lab in general—spun around in her chair. “That’s right. Are you interested in making a deposit? Oh, are you Grenavinian? Not that we wouldn’t consider samples from those of other origins, but Ankari said—did you tell her how much interest there’s been?”
“I was telling Jamie that, actually, but, ah...” Ankari could tell Zimonjic didn’t want the spiel. She was wearing a long-suffering look. She probably just wanted extra spending money and was still a skeptic in regard to the business. “Here, Doctor. The form and more details are on the tablet.”
“I’m sure it’s all fine. And, yes, I grew up on Grenavine. I was married for a time and never went back to the typical plant-derived surname.” Zimonjic made a hasty signature in the air over the tablet, then set her bag down on the cluttered counter and rummaged through it. “I already took the liberty of collecting a specimen.”
“Oh? That’s very efficient.” Ankari took back the tablet with the now-signed form, surprised that a doctor wouldn’t have wanted to read more details, but maybe she had already received them from one of the other Grenavinians.
“Yes.” Zimonjic placed an opaque tube on the counter by Lauren’s microscope and closed her bag. “I’ll check back with you later and see if you need anything else.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
Lauren made sure the sample was dated and labeled, then stuck it in the refrigerator and returned to her work. Zimonjic walked out the door without another wor
d. Ankari found the encounter a touch strange, but she was relieved not to have been interrogated or denigrated over her relationship with Viktor and decided not to worry further about the doctor.
She returned to her marketing project, but was yawning within a minute or two. Odd, she hadn’t been tired before. The guard hadn’t brought their dinner yet, so it couldn’t be very late. It wasn’t until she glanced at Lauren and saw her slumped forward in her chair, her cheek pressed to the counter and her eyes closed that Ankari realized something was wrong. Very wrong.
Zimonjic.
When she had set her bag down... Ankari stood up and almost fell over. Her legs had turned into leaden weights. She caught herself on the edge of the counter. “Lauren? Jamie?” Her voice came out in a croak, as if her vocal chords were falling asleep too.
Neither woman answered. Jamie was slumped in her chair too. They were both closer to that section of the counter where Zimonjic had been than Ankari was.
She stumbled toward it, using the counter for support. A faint gray smoke was wafting from behind a rack of test tubes. Ankari couldn’t smell anything, but whatever Zimonjic had left was having an effect. Hers eyelids were heavier than mountains.
She tried to maneuver around Lauren without knocking her out of the chair, but her dead legs and numb feet were useless. She couldn’t feel the counter under her hands, either. When she tripped over the leg of Lauren’s chair, there was no hope of saving herself. She struck the deck, the side of her head smacking down. It would have hurt more than it did if her nerves were functioning correctly...
Ankari tried to get up, but it was useless. Her muscles had no strength. She looked for a tablet, a comm patch, a way to send a message. Anything. But the floor was empty.
The door whispered open.
“Get the gurney in here,” Zimonjic said.
Mandrake Company- The Complete Series Page 21