by J. S. Morin
Bellamy raised one bushy brow. “You mean to tell me Harmony Bay sent me a bargain-bin wizardess for an assistant?”
“No. I mean to tell you to watch your back. This one’s salary is one tenth of yours, and she appears well suited for a senior ship’s wizard position of her own. Mind that it isn’t the Bradbury. I’ve grown accustomed to your steady, stoic hand guiding our wizarding corp. Is that understood?”
“Indeed.”
There was never a sir or ma’am. Captain Dominguez suspected that he went to great lengths to avoid any term that would have entered him into the ranks of the traditional chain of command. “That course isn’t going to set itself, helmsman. Drop us to 6 units astral.”
# # #
Esper walked the corridors of the Bradbury with her hands tucked in her sleeves and her chin held high. She told herself that this was her ship, her domain, and she ought to know her way around it. Here or there, someone would stop and ask if she were lost, as if the idea of a wizard touring the ship like a planetside promenade was so strange that it had to be a mistake.
Of course, the longer her tour lasted, the more Esper came around to their way of thinking. Despite being clean and modern, the Bradbury wasn’t a pretty ship. Maybe someone who appreciated technology for its own sake might see it differently, but Esper couldn’t get beyond the stark sameness of it all. Every surface caught the light and shone like polished marble. But where marble had thin veins of other minerals throughout to give it character, the corridors of the Bradbury all looked uniform and bland. Soulless—that was the word for it.
A door placard indicating Xenozoology caught Esper’s eye. The word promised cute, tiny, alien creatures and scientists watching them through one-way windows, taking notes on datapads. Fawning over some fuzzy little critters from another world would do her spirits some good. She pressed the door control and stepped inside.
Esper froze. Along one wall were row upon row of transparent panels, each displaying a bizarre life form in suspended animation. Along another, a grid of cages, mostly unoccupied. The ones that weren’t contained frantic, noisy animals in a desperate struggle to break free. A pair of scientists huddled at a screen, watching in magnified view as an automated armature slowly tore a specimen to shreds as it lay on a table in the center of the lab.
One of the scientists turned. “Can I help you? We’re busy here.”
Esper backed away without a word. She reached out, touched the door controls, then wiped her hand on her dress. The whole way back to her assigned quarters, she didn’t take her hands out of her sleeves again.
# # #
Carl punched Esper’s martial arts training dummy as hard as he could. Even through the padding of his borrowed gloves, the impact was bone jarring. Sweat dripped from his hair, and he gave a shake in a vain attempt to keep it from dripping into his eyes.
Step 4 of the plan had been to infiltrate a crew rotation at the Candlestone system. But that stop along the Bradbury’s route had been postponed by two months. No reason had been given.
Step 4B was to tamper with a resupply stop at Hesperon IV. A pirate raid on the facility two days before the Bradbury’s arrival made the visit pointless.
“Why?” Punch. “Does the galaxy?” Punch. “Hate me?” Punch, punch, punch.
The training dummy stood impassive, not even having the decency to bruise under Carl’s continued barrage. He had pulled the stupid pegs out of it after jamming one into his shoulder early in the bout. Carl bruised just fine. Losing a fight with a training dummy was one in a long string of grievances he needed to work through.
“You should do this more often,” Amy mused from her seat on the grated stairs of the cargo hold. “You look good all lathered in sweat.”
Punch. “This isn’t.” Punch. “Funny.” Carl stepped back and tried to catch his breath. He leaned against the dummy with his head resting on his forearm. “I’ve got two people over on that ship now, and our two best chances to set up an ambush are gone. Basic tenets of undercover work: the longer you’re faking who you are, the higher the chances someone catches you in the lie.”
“Hey, they’re dealing with schmucks the galaxy doesn’t want. Are you surprised that a few of them can’t keep an appointment?”
“No.” Carl reared back and threw his body weight into another punch. “Because it’s just how the Milky Way likes to screw with me. Chip died. Mriy and Tanny left. Hatchet’s dead by my own hand. Juggler, Vixen, and Samurai all cut and ran. I’m not letting the galaxy take Esper and Yomin, too.”
“This isn’t personal.”
Flexing the fingers of a hand he might possibly have broken, Carl ripped open the FuzziGrip bindings and let the gloves drop to the floor. He dragged himself to the stairs and collapsed beside Amy. “It got personal a long time ago.”
Amy put an arm around him, hot and sweaty though he was. “I’m with you on this.” She pulled his head to her and kissed him on the forehead. “For once, you’re worried for all the right reasons.”
For once? Carl studied her face but saw no hint of sarcasm. That was when he realized that for the entire length of his tirade, with Amy watching the whole time, Carl hadn’t mentioned money.
With a wet, sticky slap on Carl’s shoulder, Amy stood and clanged up the stairs.
# # #
A shower helped Carl clear his thoughts. Amy had been right, of course. Mort might argue with the universe as if it were a person, but it was just a vast, unthinking expanse of space with a few stars and planets floating around inside. It didn’t know Carl. It didn’t care about Carl. It certainly didn’t hate him with enough vitriol to thwart his every plan. His initial planning had just lacked the insight necessary to anticipate the unreliability of the parties involved.
Hot water washed away not only sweat but guilt, anger, and frustration along with it. Carl lost track of time, just enjoying the clean feeling that couldn’t quite cleanse to the bottom of his soul.
Esper and Yomin were in danger. That was on him. The whole operation should have been over weeks ago, and he should have been riding back to Ithaca as a conquering hero. Even Chuck Ramsey couldn’t argue with a guy with a corporate custom starship under his command. But instead, he was still looking for the opportunity that Archie’s stolen itinerary had twice failed to provide.
“One shot,” he muttered. “Just need one clean shot at it.”
With eyes closed as the water cascaded over him, Carl fumbled for the controls. The flow ended, and Carl dripped as he found a towel to wrap around his waist. His shoulders ached from unaccustomed exertion. His knuckles were stiff and swollen. As nice as it was having Amy around to vent at, she could have done him a bigger favor by talking him out of trying to beat a faux wood dummy to a pulp.
Just as he was starting to feel better about the mission prospects, the shower door opened and Mordecai The Buzzkill was waiting for him.
“About time,” Mort snapped. “Beginning to think you’d turned amphibian or something.”
“Sorry,” Carl said as he stepped around the wizard. “Shower’s all yours.”
“Bah! I don’t need that tame waterfall right now. We’ve got bigger problems.”
They always had bigger problems than the shower. Even when the shower was on the fritz, it was usually superseded by any number of problems ranging from the legal to the technological. “I’m not in the mood right now. Spit it out.”
“Keesha sent a report. Just got it from the robot. I know the wizard in charge on the Bradbury.”
“That sounds like good news. Nothing wrong with intel, especially dirt on a Convocation lackey.” They’d been gluing together knowledge about the Harmony Bay ship like pieces of a ceramic pot couriered out by Yomin. They had an idea of the shape of things, but details always felt nice to see come together. A big chunk like the ship’s chief wizard sounded like a win.
“No… you’re not listening. I know this fellow. Bellamy Blackstone, two years ahead of me at Oxford. Captain of the varsity bowlin
g team before me. A few years after graduation, he put in for the appointment as Guardian of the Plundered Tomes, and they told him he was too young.”
“And Mordecai The Well-Connected got the job instead.”
Mort harrumphed. “I’ll admit that family ties played well into the decision, but the point remains. This is not one of the hapless patsies the Convocation wastes hunting down renegade wizards, and he’s orbits above those slack-fingered gadget fiddlers who fix Harmony Bay’s star-drives.”
“So, you’re saying this guy’s too much for you?” Carl asked, rubbing his eyes. Just when the galaxy had stopped reminding him every few minutes how bad an idea this hijacking was, it kicked him in his freshly washed ass. “I guess we change plans and come up with an extraction plan for Esper and Yomin.”
“Wait just a bloody minute. I never said I wasn’t up to the task. But it’s not good news. I was up for a bit of a lark punting chickens around that ship. Instead, I find out Harmony Bay is paying probably twenty thousand terras a month to hire Bellamy as minder of their chicken coop.”
“Geez. Twenty large a month? Maybe we should rent you out instead of this crime business.”
“And that was in 2530s terras. Who knows what they charge these days. But keep that head nailed to your shoulders. We’re not out of this yet. Might be a bit of exercise, but if I can bash in an alien god’s cartilage skull, maybe I can crack that granite cranium of Bellamy’s, too. Serve the old blighter right… cost us the 2528 title when he let some Princeton fop straighten out the curve on his ball.”
Carl pursed his lips. On occasion, it made tactical sense to hitch a ride on Mort’s fanciful tangents. But ever since he’d had occasion to crawl around in the wizard’s imagination, he found himself less than inclined to venture into that twisted reality outside of necessity.
Putting a damp hand on Mort’s shoulder, Carl offered a reassuring nod. “I’m sure you’ll do great. Just be ready. One of these days soon, we’re going to find our opening.”
# # #
Bellamy had put up with quite enough for one day. If he couldn’t convince Captain Dominguez to transfer the Theresa woman off his ship, then he’d run her out himself. He stalked the corridors of the Bradbury with a forward lean. No one was fool enough to impede him. Ship minions and science minions alike scattered before him. Some paid him deference while others simply found cover from the brewing storm.
And, of course, the new wizardess would be quartered just down the corridor from Bellamy’s own accommodations. These dratted science weasels were scared that someone would dream of fire and gravity, setting their precious ship to ruin in the night. Anything the scientists deemed essential was as far from the wizards’ accommodations as possible, which lumped Bellamy in with the star-drive mechanics and his temporary assistant.
Eschewing the door chime, Bellamy hammered on the door with his fist. Stepping back, he lifted his chin, letting his bristling beard jut forth. The best scowl he could manage was already fixed in place across his visage, but he clamped down and held it fast, lest the vinegar drain from his veins as he waited.
The door opened, and a woman appeared in the entrance. Bellamy blinked. Theresa looked nothing like the flatpic he’d seen of her. Her complexion was completely off, and the shape of her nose, her mouth, and her hairline were all quite distinctly mismatched. “Yes?” the woman asked. She wore nothing but a sheer nightgown, a fact that, once observed, Bellamy put from his mind instantly.
“So, you’re my new assistant, eh?” Bellamy asked, squinting one eye at her.
The woman snickered. “No…”
A second woman, this one matching the image of Theresa Bell, slunk in from the bedroom beyond. Theresa wore a white bathrobe tied at the waist. Her feet were bare, and her disheveled, wet hair glistened. In her hand, she had a glass from the cafeteria, half filled with a pale liquid that gave off a whiff of the ship’s store of pinot blanc as she drew near. “You must be Wizard Bellamy,” Theresa said, shifting the glass to her other hand and offering the first to shake. Her grip was surprisingly firm, her fingers cold and damp. She struck a languid posture and sipped her wine.
“I am.” He brushed aside thoughts of this slip of a young thing replacing him as ship’s wizard. “I understand there has been some mistake. You were not among the list of candidates for this position. If you would be so kind as to inform the Convocation of this error, I will speak to Captain Dominguez about booking suitable passage back to Sol.”
Theresa’s brow knit just a fraction. “Oh? I recall hearing something about how the nominated candidates were nothing but old school chums of yours, and that the next time someone puts in for a silver spoon assignment for a grifting dullard, they were getting recalled to Earth to teach primary school. But I might have misheard.”
Bellamy’s blood ran cold. Who was auditing corporate contractors so closely these days? Nonetheless, he couldn’t allow this upstart to bully him. “See here, young lady. I’m chief wizard on this ship. I could—”
“No doubt. No doubt,” Theresa said, turning away and waving a dismissive hand. “Turn me into a newt, boil my blood… they really do isolate you out here, don’t they? I’d hoped for some stimulating company, but I’ve had to… find my own. Let’s be frank, Wizard Bellamy. I’ve got six months before I can put in for a better assignment. My master assures me that I’ll be in prime position for assignment to an Earth Navy battleship once this little tour of duty ends. You think about how to write me a good enough recommendation to get me that job, and I’ll find any number of ways to make your life easier on this ship.”
Bellamy needed to regroup. This hadn’t gone at all the way he’d planned it. This greenhorn had nerve like iron instead of jelly. Those eyes were a hundred years old. She wouldn’t be bullied short of reducing the Bradbury to a floating hulk in space. “I think we have an understanding.”
The second woman slipped behind Theresa and ran a hand inside the fold of her bathrobe. “Now if you’ll excuse me… I had other plans for this evening.”
Bellamy felt his face warm as he stumbled back out of the door. As soon as it was closed, he looked up and down the corridor to assure himself that no one had seen him flustered. It was only a short walk to his own quarters, and he needed time to himself to think.
# # #
Esper slapped away Yomin’s hand as soon as the door closed. “Quit that. We discussed boundaries.”
“It was a little one-sided.”
“You can pick your own boundaries. I’ve got mine,” Esper said, tugging the cord of her bathrobe tight.
“Hey, you owe me for this cover story,” Yomin said, following her into the bedroom. “That guy was looking to burn someone at the stake when he got here.”
Esper threw back the last of her wine in a single gulp. Whoever provisioned this starship had no taste whatsoever. There were vintages from farming moons that tasted better and cost next to nothing. She paused a moment to let the tinge of dizziness settle in. “Bellamy Blackstone is Mort’s problem. I just need to keep him from running me off the ship until Carl launches the hijacking. Speaking of… any word on that?”
“Archie’s latest report was they’re still looking for an opportunity. We blew chances at Candlestone and Hesperon IV, and they’re scrambling for a backup plan.” Yomin found the half-empty bottle by the bedside and poured herself a glass. “If I’d known they were going to take this long, I’d have found some friends on board, maybe taken up a hobby on the side.”
With a sigh, Esper set down her glass and took a drink straight from the bottle. “You just keep monitoring the comms. Carl will come up with something. Then it’ll be up to us to make it work.” Setting the empty bottle on the nightstand, Esper shrugged out of her bathrobe and climbed under the covers.
“Computer: lights off,” Yomin called out, and the room went dark. She giggled. “My quarters don’t have voice controls. It’s so nice being in civilization.” The bed sank, and the mattress jostled.
“
Imagine a line down the middle where the pillows meet,” Esper said with a glare that she hoped would transcend the darkness.
Before she could continue, an arm wrapped around her. “I’m imagining it. Which side should we be on? Or should we straddle it?”
Esper’s first reaction was annoyance. But she’d had a long, stressful day and just couldn’t muster the will to continue chastising Yomin for her playfulness. The belly full of wine relaxed her, made her drowsy. The warmth of Yomin’s skin, the perfume in her hair, and the gentle cooing noises she made lulled Esper to complacency. It was dark, and no one was watching. No one cared. Not even Esper, as she drifted off to slumber, limbs entwined.
# # #
Carl clapped his hands sharply, bringing the meeting to attention. Everyone still aboard the Mobius was there. For Rai Kub’s comfort, Carl had decided to hold the meeting in the cargo bay, and the clap echoed from all the open, empty spaces where there was no cargo.
“OK, everyone,” he said, raising his voice over his own echo. “We’ve been slinking around the Disputed Zone for too long now, hoping that the Bradbury would stumble into one of our traps.”
Roddy raised a hand but didn’t wait for acknowledgment. “Technically, we haven’t set any traps.”
Carl patted the air with his hands. “Which is a good thing. We don’t want to set things in motion until we’re ready to follow through. Right now, we’re just exercising patience.”
“I’m as patient as the next three fellows,” Mort said. “But Esper and Yomin are baking cookies with the devil over on that ship. Every day that passes is one more chance for someone to taste a chocolate chip out of place.”
“Which is why we’re done waiting,” Carl said, grinning at how easily he’d swung the conversation around to his intended course. “It’s time to make some of our own luck.”
Roddy snorted. “If we could make that shit, we’d have done it a long time ago.”
“No, I mean we’re done predicting and waiting for events to fall into place.”