Mission Pack 3: Missions 9-12 (Black Ocean Mission Pack)

by J. S. Morin

  “Speaking of etiquette, how about offering the nearly-dead a beer? I think I’ve gotta pick and choose my sobriety, and this day sure as shit calls for getting plastered.”

  # # #

  Esper had been in Carl’s quarters before. It wasn’t the nicest place on the ship, neither in scent nor decor. But since it had become joint quarters for Carl and Amy, it had improved—at least marginally. As they entered, Amy disengaged from Esper’s supporting shoulder and sat down at the foot of the bed.

  “Do you mind closing the door?” Amy asked.

  Esper backed out with a gentle smile. “Of course. Get some rest.”

  “No!” Amy said, extending a hand. “I mean I need to talk.”

  “Oh,” Esper replied, slipping back inside and shutting the door. Watching for signs from Amy, Esper took a seat beside her on the bed. “What would you like to talk about?”

  “You’re… well-versed, right? I mean, beliefs and all that? You must have studied the Torah, right?”

  Esper shrugged. “Of course. What’s the matter?”

  “I just mean, I’m not a member of the One Church, and I don’t want things muddied up in mixed theology.”

  Putting an arm around Amy, Esper tried to reassure her with a warm smile. “How about you tell me what the problem is, and we’ll see where things go from there.”

  “I died.”

  “I heard. Nearly two minutes. You’re a lucky girl, still sitting here breathing.”

  “There was nothing.”

  A cold knot twisted in Esper’s stomach. “Amy, who knows what was going on in your brain right then. Maybe you just can’t remember. Maybe you’re not meant to remember if you come back.”

  “What if I just wasn’t good enough?”

  Esper hugged her. Amy broke down crying. “We all have our flaws and sins. I can’t believe that you don’t have a place in the world to come.”

  “But you don’t know the things I’ve done,” Amy protested between sobs. “I’ve done things, things good people shouldn’t do. I’m a killer. It was my job in the navy—to kill. Now I’m helping found a crime syndicate. I just wanted to find out what happened to the Odysseus. And I made my mother insane. I didn’t mean to. I swear! But she couldn’t take being around me anymore, and she was too good a mother to abandon me. It just… I just… broke her.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “But there was nothing waiting for me when I died.”

  “Remember that God is all-knowing. I think the simplest explanation is that He knew it wasn’t your time. He knew you were coming back to us. No fair getting a peek and coming back to tell everyone, right?”

  Amy managed a weak chuckle between sniffles at an admittedly weak joke. “It makes you think, though.”

  “It makes good people think. That’s why I’m not worried about you. You have a good soul.”

  Amy made no reply, simply allowing Esper to hold her and comfort her. Esper hated it coming to this, but a revelatory moment could change a life. She wouldn’t wish such an existential crisis on her worst enemies… but she wished a few more of her friends could see the peril of their lifestyle as clearly as Amy just had.

  # # #

  Carl knocked on the door of his own quarters. Two women inside were one more than he was willing to barge in on.

  Esper opened the door, but instead of letting him in, she stepped out and shut the door behind her. “She needs a little alone time.”

  “Fine. We need a little astral time. And by a little time, I mean as little time getting back to Ithaca as you can manage. Turn the astral purple or pink and yellow for all I care, just get us moving.”

  “What about the Hatchet Job?”

  “They’ll catch up when they can. I need to do damage control before half my syndicate tries to jump ship and work for Don Rucker. Or worse, he decides to take over the whole operation himself.”

  Esper sighed and used one of those condescending-but-amiable smiles on him. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Oh, don’t gimme that. I know you’ve got it in you. Spare me the phony humility.”

  “You know, half of humility is acting the part.”

  “Save it. I’m an expert on faking humility and acting the part. Just do your job—make that Mort’s job—and cut out transit time to the bare minimum. And yeah, I’m fully aware that I’m being an ass in front of the kids. I’ll make it up to them with ice cream when we get back to Ithaca.”

  Esper frumpled her brow. “That’s my ice cream.”

  “Well, you can have some too, when we get back. Hell, once we sell that goo in the cargo hold, you can live on ice cream if you want. But we’re going to need a syndicate to go back to, so let’s get this boat rowing.”

  # # #

  Mriy had been imprisoned before. Of all the Mobius crew, she suspected that she’d been on the wrong side of a locked door more times than anyone. She lacked Carl’s hypnotic tongue, Esper’s genuine innocence, Tanny’s tactical acumen, and Roddy’s curious penchant for never being around when authorities showed up to clear a mess they’d all helped make. Somehow, the thought of anyone capturing Mort alive seemed implausible. To top matters off, she was most often guilty of something. Human and azrin sensibilities often ran contrary to one another, and Mriy felt that being an outlaw ought to give her more cultural leeway than she actually received. Nevertheless, this was among the least menacing prisons she’d seen.

  The walls were the same yellowed stone as the rest of the marines’ city. The sweltering humidity of the jungle gave way to a dank coolness within the cell. They had but a single exit, and it was a doorway without a door. The only thing keeping Mriy and Kubu from escaping was the presence of two guards flanking that doorway, just out of view outside. Mriy could smell them clearly. She could hear their breathing and the scuff of their feet as they shifted over the course of a long watch. Neither spoke, even to one another, while they guarded. Originally the marines had proposed placing a single guard on the door, but Tanny had warned against that and insisted two be stationed. Her argument had been that Mriy had Kubu were too much for a single guard to handle should they try to escape. Mriy had to dig her claws into the palm of her hand to keep from boasting that even two were no match for them.

  The last thing Mriy needed was for the marines to find some number of door guards that could put up a true fight. Because if a more reasonable course of action didn’t present itself soon, she had every intention of breaking free and fleeing.

  It wasn’t that she and Kubu were in any discomfort. They had fur sleeping mats made from local animal skins—something shaggy that had been washed too many times in raw lye. Food had been provided in the form of giant melons that Kubu devoured in two bites and a handful of fist-sized rodents that the marines apparently considered good when cooked. Mriy had hers raw and wondered if cooking might do something for the bile taste of their meat. For amusement, they had been provided nothing. There were a trio of jungle rocks for sitting on and a wooden platform on short legs that could serve as a table, but there was nothing to do but lounge and wait. Mriy was capable of both. Kubu, possibly neither.

  The overgrown canid paced the room, panting despite the coolness. Kubu’s attempts to elicit more food only earned him a terse reprimand from the guards and assurances that neither of them would be allowed to starve. It was the only subject that roused their captors to conversation.

  At length, there was a shift change, and two new guards replaced the old ones. Two human women this time. One was larger than Tanny, dark skinned and clean shaven. The other was smaller, pale, with a long single braid that began at the top of her head. Though it was impossible to judge the effects of Devraa’s gift of power, Mriy still liked her odds against both. Strength and sturdiness Devraa provided, but Mriy had seen no evidence that the alien deity granted the half-deaf, scent-blind humans who worshiped him any competent senses. Still, it was daylight. If they were going to make an escape, Mriy would prefer they first receive the tradition
al human dusk-meal, then use the darkness and the night sounds of the jungle to help cover their escape.

  “I’m bored,” Kubu said. Mriy had lost track in her running count of how many times he’d said it. For a while, it was running a close second behind “I’m hungry” and just ahead of “when will Mommy be back?”

  “Think of this as training,” Mriy replied. “Patience is an excellent skill to master.” She wished that at some point in her life, she’d done a better job honing that particular skill herself. Mriy had become accustomed to life with entertainment available upon her whim, interspersed with drudgery and mortal fear. Life aboard a starship was rarely boring. Neither was hunting in the jungle where she could explore as she pleased, kill what she liked, and experience new scents with every change in the wind.

  “I don’t want to be good at patience. Patience is boring.”

  “Yes, patience and boredom are close friends. Occupy yourself with thinking.”

  Kubu growled softly and lay on his fur mat. Even curled up, he spilled over the edges on all sides. A short time later, he reported his progress. “I keep thinking I want to see Mommy and take her home.”

  “Think back to hunting the jungle,” Mriy suggested. “Remember the animals you ate and how you chased them.”

  Kubu snarled. “Now I’m hungry again!” He stood and padded over to the door. “Excuse me. Can I—?”

  “No!” one of the guards snapped. “Food will be delivered when the time comes and no sooner.”

  “When will—?”

  “Be silent!”

  Finally taking the hint, Kubu slumped down on his mat with a sigh that stank of melons and the uniquely canine odor that always carried on his breath.

  Hours passed, and the guards changed again.

  This time, it was a brawny male with skin the color of an equatorial azrin’s fur. He was paired with Tanny.

  Mriy shot Kubu a warning glare when she noticed his tail wagging. The child-like brute could barely contain his excitement, and excitement was the last thing they needed just then.

  The two pairs of guards exchanged status updates and small pleasantries. Mriy gathered that the two departing guards were Fay and Yari. The newcomer with Tanny was called Ayjay. A small, feral part of her wanted to ambush them as they stood all together. Quick. Brutal. Eliminate three enemies before they knew what was happening. Tanny would either come willingly or be taken unconscious. With hours before the next change of guards, they would be long gone and traveling faster than the marines could hope to pursue.

  “I hear you two have been grousing about the food,” Tanny called inside, not showing herself in the doorway. “I hear they’re bringing up your dinner in about half an hour. So just hang in there, don’t cause any trouble, and Devraa will make a decision on you once he’s done with whatever business had him too busy this morning.”

  “Mommy, can Kubu come out and say hello?”

  “Sorry. Orders are orders. Just stay put and everything will be OK.”

  “Can… Mommy come inside and Kubu can say hello?”

  “No, Kubu.”

  Kubu whined softly. “Can Kubu have a hug? Just a little one?”

  “No,” Tanny snapped. “This is like the zoo. You’re in a box again, and you get fed when we give you food. But just like then, everything’s going to be OK.”

  “But Mommy!”

  Mriy hissed. Kubu put his ears back and hung his head.

  The reference to the Gologlex Menagerie, the zoo for sentients where they’d found Kubu, was a clue. Yes, Kubu had been caged. But he had been rescued by Tanny and taken away from that horrible place. Unless Mriy was mistaken, that was a hint that their release would be coming soon.

  But dinner arrived before any rescue materialized. It was more of the same for Kubu. The large melons were probably the bulkiest food the marines could easily secure. For Mriy, it was the leg of a large, insectile creature. “This is cooked!” she protested.

  “The raw meat’s poisonous,” Ayjay replied tersely. “Some sort of bacteria grows in it. Boiled, it’s safe for humans. You don’t get to order off the menu here. You don’t want it, some hunter who earned that meal would be happy to eat it.”

  Mriy had to think of her escape. Stopping to hunt would slow them down, and running long distances on an empty stomach was begging to pass out from lack of blood sugars. “Thank you.” She puzzled over the insect leg, finally settling on squeezing the tip until it cracked and forced the gummy meat out the open shoulder socket. It was bland and briny—oversalted in the boiling, she suspected—but it was edible.

  With dinner digesting in their stomachs, it was back to waiting. Dusk deepened into night. The bright opening of the doorway faded to match the blackness of the walls except where the doorframe itself caught the planetlight.

  Tanny’s boot scraped the stone. She peered into the cell.

  “Man your post, soldier,” Ayjay said, but there was only mild reproach in his voice.

  “Too quiet in there,” Tanny said. “You sure they’re still inside?”

  “Huh? Where would they go?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s so damn dark I can’t make out Kubu.”

  Ayjay leaned around and looked inside as well. He aimed a finger into the darkness. “He’s right—” His next word was cut off in a fit of choking as the edge of Tanny’s hand slammed into his throat. Ayjay fell to the floor, dropping his spear with a clatter as he gasped for breath. Tanny hit him again, and he fell silent.

  “Come on you two. Let’s get you out of here.”

  Kubu didn’t need to be told twice. He bounded out and bowled into Tanny. She was forced to either hug him or be thrown to the ground. “Mommy, mommy, mommy! I missed you!”

  Mriy retrieved Ayjay’s spear and swiveled her head, sweeping the area for signs of alarm. “What’s your plan?”

  “I’ll take you as far as the river a few klicks from the South gate. Then I’ve got to get back before the shift change.”

  “No! Mommy has to come, or Kubu is staying.”

  Tanny took Kubu’s face in both her hands. “You need a good life, Kubu. You’re not a wild animal, as much fun as it is to play around like you are. Hunting is a sometimes game, not an all-the-time thing. You need an education, a job someday. You need to prove you’re sentient and get your ARGO resident status. You need to find more of your own kind, start a family, have little Kubus of your own. You can’t do any of that here with me. I can’t let you stay.”

  “But, Mommy…” There was no follow-up. Kubu didn’t have the sort of logical arguments to counter her. All he could do was object on principle.

  “Kubu, Mriy is going to take you home. I want you to promise me you’ll stop coming after me. It’s not safe, and this is no life for you.”

  Kubu shook his head, breaking Tanny’s loose grip.

  “Kubu… promise me.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head harder.

  “Kubu, either I’m your mommy and you do what I say, or I’m not your mommy and you have no reason to be here. Now promise.”

  Hanging his head, Kubu used the softest voice Mriy had ever heard from him. “I promise.”

  Mriy extended a claw at Ayjay. “What about this one? How will you explain your attack on him?”

  Tanny flashed Mriy an apologetic smile. “I need a little help from you. I can hit my head and knock myself out when I get back. But I need you to make it look like you were the one who killed him.”

  Leaning down, Mriy took hold of the human by the neck. There was a pulse there. Tanny had only rendered him unconscious. Barring a miracle of luck, he would remember the encounter with Tanny upon awakening. With a quick slash, Mriy opened the man’s throat. Her artificial claws were so sharp she barely felt any resistance from the tender flesh. She made sure Tanny’s attention was elsewhere when she cleaned the blood that stained them.

  “Now let’s move,” Tanny said. “We’re on the clock. Guard change is in about two and a half hours.�
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  # # #

  After picking his way across a field of broken stones made by his own handiwork, Mort stumbled into a hidden paradise. The alien metropolis was vibrant with gardens and topiary, in perfect repair—barring a lone pillar and all that lay beneath its fall—and teeming with inhabitants. It was a far cry from the sardine cans of Earth or the tube cities of Phabian, but compared to the ghost cities of Ithaca, it was heavily populated. Any attempts at throwing a dart toward an estimated census was thwarted by all the running around and screaming they did when Mort approached. Even if they were the sorts to greet visitors with tea and cookies, Mort supposed that throwing down a civic monument that probably predated their recorded history and letting their captive atmosphere leak into the desolate wasteland outside probably disqualified him for a warm welcome.

  The inhabitants themselves were fascinating. There was nothing Earth-like about them. Their faces looked like the T intersection of a pair of peeled, gray bananas with wide-set eyes and a tiny mouth. Those mouths certainly produce quite a volume when terrified. The creatures’ bodies were obscured beneath wrapped cloth reminiscent of a toga, but the arms that protruded were twig-thin, ending in four-fingered hands with bulbous knuckles. Idiosyncrasies aside, they were bipedal and cephalized, which made them familiar enough to empathize with—were Mort in the mood to empathize.

  Mort’s present issue was twofold. First, he had no idea where Devraa might be among the vast, grid-like network of streets and buildings. Second, and more urgently, he was hungry. Without an established protocol for deicide, Mort hadn’t thought so far as to pack a bag lunch. Big-picture concerns had dominated his planning. How could he get to a moon that the atom-brained scientists couldn’t see with their look-o-scopes or sniff with their science-sniffers? Who was he even looking for, and once he found him, how was Mort going to kill him? And along the way, issues like “who the hell put a bloody city-in-a-bottle on this moon?” popped up, demanding yet more attention. Silly concerns like packing a ham sandwich or three just hadn’t bubbled to the surface to be skimmed and collected.

  It seemed brash, even by Mort’s standards, to try to find a local restaurant. Judging by the local flora, this place had been outfitted with castoffs from Ithaca, which meant that the food was probably human-safe. But the odds of finding someone willing to feed an invader (and not poison him) were vanishingly small. Amid his wanderings and ponderings, Mort found a fruit shop whose proprietor was nowhere to be found. Picking out some melons he recognized as palatable, he munched as he searched.