By Dawn's Early Light

by Jason Fuesting

  The door hissed open.

  “Time’s up, counselor,” the short man said. Eric bolted back the remaining coffee and sat the cup down.

  Tomas commented while stuffing the last of his paperwork into his briefcase, “Do your best to keep your nose clean, Eric. I’ll speak with the warden and try to get things straightened out.” Tomas snatched up the empty cup and darted through the doorway.

  The short man motioned for him. “This way, prisoner.”

  Clenching his jaw with frustration, Eric stood and followed the man back to the office door. “Prisoner Eighty-Seven,” the man remarked as he swiped his security card, “You will be escorted back to your cell. Your next consultation is scheduled for tomorrow.”

  Eric followed the guards back towards his cell. He frowned when they did not stop, but continued past his cell and the showers. One of the lead guards badged through a side door and pointed inside. Eric nodded and complied.

  The layout reminded him of where he’d met his lawyer, a simple cell with mirrored walls and a single table in the middle. A short man in coveralls waited in a chair on the far side of the table. Unlike the spacers’ uniforms, this man’s uniform did not have nametapes. Eric sat in the only open chair.

  “Good evening, Eighty-seven,” the man said as Eric cast a quizzical stare at the man.

  “Evening?”

  “Ship’s clock says eighteen hundred hours, I’m sure that qualifies as evening where you come from, does it not?”

  “Well, yeah? It’s just that,” Eric trailed off when he noticed the man smiling. Pascal’s warning came to him: All to keep you off guard, to make you despair. Eric nodded. All right, have it your way.

  “So, the results from your medical scan came back. I’m always delighted to work with Doctor Isaacs. She’s very thorough, a consummate professional.” Eric’s eye twitched. “She’s given you a clean bill of health and cleared you to proceed to the next stage in your detention.” The man slid a sheet of paper and a pen across the desk to Eric.

  “What’s this?”

  “Next of kin notification.” As Eric looked at the empty form, a sinking pit formed in his gut. He had no family and everyone he cared about died with the Fortune. Eric pushed the paper back. “Surely you want someone notified of your detention?”

  “Nope.”

  “Are you sure?” Eric nodded. “Being obstinate or no family?”

  “Both?” Eric grinned and paused a moment. “Neither? Does it really matter? I’m not putting anything on that form.”

  “As is your right. Before we begin, I do have an administrative matter that needs resolved. We’re having some issues classifying some of the items you surrendered on intake. Would you mind helping us ensure the inventory is correct?”

  “Sure?”

  The interrogator pulled a data tablet from under the table and tapped the screen a few times before sliding it across the table. “These items. What are they?”

  Eric glanced at the pictures on screen. “The first few are safety equipment and multi-purpose tools.”

  “We’d figured as much. I’m much more interested in the last three.”

  “No clue. I’d guess some sort of machine parts.”

  “Some sort of machine parts? You don’t know what they are?”

  Eric shook his head. “Folks forget stuff in the belts on accident all the time. I’d imagine the guy who handed me the belt forgot they were in there. No idea what they are for though.”

  The man nodded and tapped at the tablet’s screen. “So, admin’s done, now the questions. Can you tell me where you were born?”

  Eric blinked. He’d expected them to drill him about the Fortune. “Uh, no.”

  “No? Is that ‘No, I can’t tell you’ or ‘No I won’t tell you?’”

  “Can’t. I have no idea where I was born.”

  “Ah, and your parents?”

  “I don’t really remember them.”

  “Well, Eric, let’s put our cards on the table, shall we? We already know a bit about you, so lying or being evasive isn’t going to help you. Your friend Terry’s been pretty talkative.”

  Play along. “I’m sure he has.”

  “Oh? You two don’t get along?”

  Shit. “Meh, not really.”

  “Define ‘not really.’”

  “He’s just some guy I’ve worked with before.”

  “And what kind of work would that be?”

  “Whatever needed done. You know what it’s like, right?”

  “Let’s pretend I don’t.”

  “Well, it sucks being the low ranking guy on the ship. Scrub this, clean that, there’s a work detail that someone needs to volunteer for and today that’s you,” Eric said, hoping his tone evinced some sympathy.

  The man chuckled.

  Eric asked, “Ah, you’re familiar with being voluntold?”

  “Unfortunately. I guess that’s one thing we have in common.”

  “Well, I’m sure you’ve got more questions.” Eric smiled to himself at the interrogator’s sudden frown. Gotcha. Eric pondered making a game out of taking control of the conversation.

  “Well, first, when did you join the pirates?”

  Eric’s stomach growled. “How about this, get me some food and I’ll keep talking.”

  The man’s frown deepened. “Answer a few questions and if you give me information we don’t know, I’ll consider rewarding you with some food.”

  “I’m not sure you’re in a position to--” Eric’s head snapped back from a fist he didn’t see coming. Stars danced as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Or I could answer some questions. You said something about becoming a pirate?”

  “Yes, yes I did. When did you join the pirates?”

  “I didn’t join the pirates, not the way you probably mean it.” The interrogator gave Eric a deadpan stare. “Seriously.”

  The man tilted his head as if he were listening to something and motioned Eric to continue.

  Eric continued, “I don’t remember much detail, I was a kid. Something happened to my family. The pirates took me in.”

  The man leaned forward. “Tell me what you remember and if you’re not bullshitting me, I’ll fill in some blanks. I’m a nice guy like that.”

  “Well, where do you want me to start?”

  “Work your way back from now. How many ships have you been on?”

  “Well, just the one. The crew took me in, I remember that much.”

  “What was the ship’s name?”

  They’re already dead, no harm talking about them. “The Fortune.”

  “And her captain?”

  “Captain Fox.”

  “You say they took you in?”

  “Yeah, like I said, the details are pretty much gone. I was too young to really remember it. They told me that they’d found a ship dead in space, that I was one of a handful of survivors.”

  “Did they ever tell you anything about that ship? Its name? Did they mention how it came to be ‘dead in space’?”

  “The name didn’t seem too important to me at the time, sorry. As for how it got that way, they weren’t quite sure either.” Eric smirked. “I remember hearing the explanation when I was a kid and being really confused. They said something about small arms and being a kid, I thought they were talking about people with tiny arms, you know? Now? It was a mutiny or sabotage or something.”

  “They didn’t tell you?”

  “Well, I never really followed up on it.”

  “Why not? I would think something traumatic like that would be something you’d want to know more about. Closure.”

  “That’s not how I meant it. I did ask, but I was a kid, you know? It was a lot to wrap my head around and past a certain point, I just accepted that it happened and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. When I was older, I was told that when the Fortune showed up, we’d been adrift for days and had very little oxygen left.”

  “How exactly do you have multiple survivors and no one knows
what happened?”

  “If I remember right, two of the other survivors weren’t much older than me and had been stuffed in a hiding spot when the shooting started. Beyond that, I guess you’re right, it doesn’t make a lot of sense, but that’s what I know. Anyone else that could give you more information was on the Fortune when you guys destroyed her.”

  “Very well. Do you know what kinds of weapons were used in your supposed mutiny?”

  “I think I remember hearing they found both energy and projectile weapons.”

  “Hmm. And your parents? Do you remember them at all?”

  “Not really. I remember Dad being gone a lot. And always being serious. Mom,” Eric trailed off.

  “Yes?”

  “Well,” Eric frowned, uncomfortable, “It’s just that I don’t. I don’t remember their faces. I can’t remember their voices.”

  “And that bothers you?”

  “A bit, yeah. It should, shouldn’t it?”

  The interrogator’s features softened momentarily, “It would bother me, yes. You loved your parents then?”

  “I guess. I mean, it sounds bad to say it like that, but I’ve been on my own for over half my life now and I can’t really remember the half they were around for. I think if we’d had more time together, the answer would be yes.”

  “Well, since you’re cooperating I’ll be honest, Eric. Your parents were both officers in the Protectorate Navy. They had booked passage on a civilian transport that went missing. We never found the wreck. I would expect some investigator somewhere to be thankful for anything else you might be able to tell us about the Vyzov and its disappearance.”

  Eric rubbed his forehead. He’d expected everything Pascal had warned him about, but not this, not being thanked for shedding light on the past. Pascal’s echoing warnings kept echoing in his head, transforming that feeling into distrust. This was too convenient.

  “I don’t know much more than that.”

  “Did they ever tell you where they found the Vyzov?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t remember.” The interrogator frowned. “Hey, it was almost a decade ago.”

  “Well,” his interrogator began, “We’ve established where you’ve been since the Vyzov’s disappearance. If you can help me expand on the what and why, I’ll see about getting you some food from the galley, maybe even something to wear.”

  “Sounds like a decent idea to me.”

  “So, you’ve spent the last twelve years on the Fortune. What was it like? What did you do?”

  Eric made a show of scratching his chin, stalling for time to think. “Well, it was what it was? I mean, I grew up in it, so it’s what I came to expect. Captain Fox kept a tight ship.”

  “Tight ship? Clean or disciplined?”

  “Both, really, but he was a stickler for discipline. Insisted that the ship came first. Makes sense when you think about it. Take care of the ship, the ship takes care of you.”

  “Interesting. How strict was discipline on the Fortune?”

  “Depending on what you did, very.”

  “Say, if you got caught stealing from other crewmen?”

  “Ten lashes.”

  “Lashes? As in they whipped you?”

  Eric nodded.

  “Interesting. Were you punished more harshly if you stole from ship’s stores?”

  “Not directly,” Eric replied. Seeing the question coming, he continued, “There’s more to it than that. Basically, at the end of every voyage, we split the profits. Stealing from the ship’s stocks meant the voyage cost more, so less profits to go around. Folks looked at stealing from the ship like stealing from the whole crew. Officers tended to look the other way when someone got back at a thief. Stealing from the ship? You’d have to be an idiot.”

  “Did your captain not expel crewmembers?”

  “Oh, he did, but someone had to make it clear they weren’t a good fit. Addicts got the boot like that.”

  “So what about murder, rape?”

  “Murderers earned summary execution. Rape was punished similarly.”

  “Interesting.”

  “You keep saying ‘interesting.’ Why is it so interesting?”

  “By Protectorate standards it sounds like the Fortune was run in an almost civilized fashion. Most pirate vessels we’ve recovered tend towards more barbaric methods of control. You are aware of that, yes?”

  Eric shrugged. “Not really. It’s not that I never left the ship; I just didn’t have much to do with other pirate crews.”

  “Speaking of leaving the ship, do you know where any the Fortune’s ports of call were?”

  Shit.

  “Not a clue. I wasn’t a navigator.”

  “Not even a name?”

  Eric shrugged. “Once you’ve seen one airless rock, you’ve seen them all. After a while, they all start looking the same.”

  “So the Fortune never traded at populated worlds or stations? You expect me to believe that?”

  Eric shrugged.

  “Eric, you’re not helping yourself. Obstructing an investigation is a crime in the Protectorate, you know that, right?”

  “No, I didn’t know that, but you’re still not going to like my answer.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because we rarely visited anywhere other than home.”

  “Where’s home?”

  “Not a navigator, no idea.”

  The interrogator’s eye twitched and the man sighed. “Okay, what color star does home orbit?”

  “Yellow.”

  “Is home a planet?”

  “No.”

  “Moon, then?”

  “Nope.”

  “What exactly is home?”

  Eric paused. “An old mining station in an asteroid belt.”

  “Does home have a name?”

  “Port Solace.”

  “How many people in Port Solace?”

  “I don’t think they ever did a census.”

  “Guess.”

  “A few hundred?”

  “How many other ships ported there?”

  “At least a dozen, maybe two.”

  “Same size as the Fortune?”

  Eric snorted. “Nah, we were near the bottom of the pile for size.”

  “How many of them were warships?”

  “Most?”

  The interrogator glared at him. “We know multiple pirate groups take advantage of the Neutrality Accord, can you say for certain the Fortune has never visited any system protected by the accord?”

  “I can’t really say. Never heard of the Accords and I’m not a navigator.”

  “Ableton, Anchorage, Avalon, Baffin’s Forge, Black Harbor, Caldera, Caledon, Cold Harbor, Corregidor, Dante, Erwin’s Fall, Grant, Jefferson, Jenkin’s Station, Hope, Orleans, Pershing, Seraphim Prime, Teriador, Washington, and Whistler’s Solace. Any of those mean anything to you?”

  “One of my crewmates grew up on Orleans.”

  “Go on.”

  “Orleans is a Confederation planet. Same with Avalon and Pershing. Corregidor too, if I remember right.”

  “Jenkin’s Station?”

  “Name sounds vaguely familiar.”

  “It should.”

  “Why?”

  The interrogator sat the tablet on the table and tilted it toward Eric. The display rotated as a black window opened. Seconds passed before white lettering appeared in the top left corner: Jenkin’s Station. Eric assumed the white blur below the label hid details they didn’t want him to know. The text vanished and the brilliant blues and greens of a planet seen from orbit filled the screen. The video panned up, showing an orbital station with dozens of ships either docked or otherwise in transit. It paused as the interrogator tapped the screen and skipped ahead. As the camera panned across one of the station’s piers the interrogator paused the video and spread two fingers on the screen to zoom.

  “Jenkin’s Station is protected by the Accords. Which ship is in berth four on pier six?” The man asked.

&nb
sp; Eric squinted and broke out in a cold sweat.

  “Which ship?” the interrogator persisted.

  Eric swallowed and answered, “That’s the Fortune.”

  “Yes. Yes it is. When they took you aboard, who took care of you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “When they rescued you from the wreck of the Vyzov, who took care of you?”

  “Oh. Shit, sorry, change of subject threw me for a loop. One of the communications techs volunteered to take care of me.”

  “Their name?”

  “Shannon. Shannon Eety.”

  “And this Mrs. Eety, she was a decent parent?”

  “Miss Eety. I suppose you could say she was. I was a handful, considering what had happened. She couldn’t have children of her own. Pretty sure that was why she volunteered.”

  The interrogator nodded. “Have you ever heard of a system or planet referred to as Haven?”

  Eric snorted, “Haven? It’s a myth.”

  “That’s not what your companion said.”

  Eric shrugged. “I dunno what Terry told you, but it’s bullshit.”

  “He seemed pretty convinced.”`

  “Terry’s fond of convincing himself of a lot of things that aren’t true. Haven is a myth, a child’s tale. Think about it for a minute, if there was a truly free system independent of all this shit, who would want to leave? Why come back to this?” Eric chuckled. “If you’re chasing Haven, I’ve got a starship to sell you.”

  “Fair enough. Let’s forget about Haven. How about you tell me more of what you did for Captain Fox on the Fortune.”

  “I mopped. I pushed a broom. I helped out with whatever needed done, really. Move this over there, go get that thing over there. I stood around, minding my own business.”

  “That seems implausible. Every additional body onboard is more mass. Mass costs money, so why would Captain Fox keep unskilled labor around?”

  Good point. The best lie has just enough truth in it to be convincing.

  “Well for one, there’s never a shortage of bullshit work to do and people who think they’re too important to do it.” That comment brought a hint of a wry grin from the interrogator. “Two, I have a knack for figuring things out. I’m pretty sure they had plans for me once I was educated enough.”