by Eric Thomson
“Are they -” Strachan asked.
“No, sir. But they'll soon be,” the gunner replied, eyes still glued to his console. “Helm come to one-seventy-three mark ninety-seven and accelerate to maximum.
“One-seventy-three mark ninety-seven, maximum, aye.”
Shokoten swerved again and pointed her blunt bows directly at the expanding ball of fire. As they neared, it dissipated, showing the outlines of the reivers. Their shields crackled with intense green energy discharges as they fought to repel the last radiation surges of the powerful detonation.
“Helm, prepare to change course to mark one-zero. The moment we're on the new course, pivot her lengthwise one-eighty degrees.
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Firing now,” Zack sang out as he launched another salvo at extremely close range. “Helm execute!”
Again, the reivers slid off the view screen just as they were enveloped by the plasma. When the ship was on her new course, Zack slumped back in his chair and glanced over at Darhad, sweat trickling down his forehead. He willed his heart to slow its hammering beat as the adrenaline induced high receded.
“Shields have failed on the near reiver. She has exploded.” A view of the blast filled the screen as Darhad fed the computer-generated visual to the scanners. She swore loudly in Arkanna, the word sounding like a cross between a low growl and a bark. “The second ship's shields have collapsed. She is helpless.” Her head turned towards Decker, eyes glittering.
“Unless the captain has any objections,” she said, “I suggest we call an end to this exercise. Two kills and one target wide open to our guns is an overwhelming victory.”
“I agree,” Strachan replied, after clearing his throat several times. “End simulation and secure from battle stations. Congratulations, Mister Decker. That was one hell of a display.”
Zack grinned at Strachan and Darhad in turn. If only they knew how much of a sham the victory truly was. He could never do this against real reivers, considering that it was the first time he had actually taken control of a ship's movements. There wasn't a Navy captain out there who'd have let him do it. This had been one very expensive game, nothing more, the stuff spacers played in a starship's rec room.
“I would venture to say your reputation on this ship is now secure, Mister Decker,” Strachan said. “I have every confidence that your performance against a real enemy will only be better if such a thing is possible.”
Zack gave him an “aw shucks” grin and shrugged. “Only doing my job, captain.”
*
Strachan was right, however. The simulation had cemented his reputation among Shokoten's crew for good. Over the next few days, he noticed a new respect in the eyes of ratings and officers alike, except Sonoda and her close familiars.
Only Nihao Kiani seemed unaffected by the change in Zack's status from outsider to member of Shokoten family, but the gunner hardly noticed. For the first time in a long time, he genuinely felt at home. And in the euphoria, he dismissed the little mysteries that had been plaguing his imagination and the smuggling that had been troubling his conscience.
Ten
Zack stepped off Shokoten and grimaced. Autumn had settled over Aramis' northern hemisphere, and Heaven's Gate seemed crushed beneath brooding, gray clouds. Though sunset was still hours away, the lights of the spaceport and the city glittered like tiny beacons of hope, trying in vain to dispel the sense of hopelessness and despair smothering the colony.
He turned up the collar of his spacer's jacket and pulled his brimmed officer's cap down hard, to prevent it from being snatched away by the icy wind's strong fingers. The thin stripes of his warrant rank gleamed on his shoulders as they soaked up the water pouring incessantly from the sky.
Zack shivered as an arctic gust of wind sliced through the insulated coat and chilled his body.
The crew had a few hours of liberty before the ship lifted, and then only because of the long trip ahead. Strachan had wisely given his people time to buy a few things that would make the trip more comfortable, even if their lift-off would be more hectic as a result. The outbound cargo was already on board. Aramis stevedores were an efficient if surly bunch. With this weather, who could blame them?
Raisa couldn't go ashore with Zack this time. She still had to clear the ship through interminable layers of bureaucracy. Not that it mattered. The only thing Decker wanted to do was pay Tren Kinnear a short visit, to let him know he was doing okay, and then visit a few shops to stock up on hooch, cigars, and a few other little luxuries. His next time alone with Darhad would be weeks and hundreds of light years away. Tough, but that was a spacer's lot.
Dodging puddles on the grimy tarmac, Decker headed for the terminal building, shoulders hunched against the cold, hands shoved deep in his pockets, and eyes narrowed against the stinging spray of rain.
A small trader lifted from runway twelve, the usual ear-shattering roar of thrusters muffled by the thick, wet air. Zack turned to watch the ship lift on a rapidly dissipating pillar of steam. The traders roaming humanity's outer reaches belonged to a small tribe, and he'd seen the sleek freighter several times before.
By the time Zack entered the terminal, shaking the rain droplets from his cap and jacket, the small ship had been swallowed by the dense clouds.
The waiting room was grimy, like all things at the working end of a spaceport. But it was warm, dry, and more importantly, had a public box that didn't charge for calls to taxi services. He waited alone in the cavernous room, eyes staring at the street through dirty windows. No one else was dumb enough to wander outside in this weather, and most of the crew had already gone ashore. Apart from Shokoten, there was no other freighter on the ground now that the small trader had boosted out.
A battered taxi, shiny under a slick coat of freezing rain, careened to a stop and Zack hurried out, shoulders hunched, and climbed aboard.
“Where to, Mac?” The driver, a genuine human driver, asked as he leaned over the back of his seat to glance at Zack.
“To the Dragon's Tooth. Know it?”
The driver pushed his flat cap away from his forehead and cackled, a sound more like an aborted cough than an actual expression of amusement.
“Shit, Mac. Ain't worth being a taxi man 'round here if you don't know the best spots in Spacetown.”
He grinned, showing a row of crooked teeth, and then turned his prizefighter's mug toward the front, gunning the taxi's four turbofans. With a stomach-turning lurch, the hovercar sped off into the gloom, its driver humming a tuneless air punctuated by soft snorts.
Human taxi drivers weren't very common, except on low-tech colonies. Zack would have thought Aramis had come far enough, at least in the larger towns. Not that he minded having a breathing, sentient being at the controls, but an AI would probably have been safer.
With a whine of overstressed fans, the taxi screeched to a stop in front of a door that spilled an inviting square of warm light on the cold, gray sidewalk. Above, lit in garish colors, the caricature of a leering, Shrehari reptile invited patrons to enter.
“Here you are, Mac. That'll be three creds fifty.” The driver turned around in his seat and grinned at Zack again, his small eyes nearly vanishing inside the deep folds of a face that had seen one fist too many.
Zack handed over four one cred chips.
“Keep the change, buddy. Thanks for the ride.” He didn't know whether the price of the trip was high, low, or just right, but right now, he didn't care either way.
“Thanks, Mac. If you need a ride back, just call the dispatcher and ask for Larry. I'll be there in a flash, as long as I don't have another fare.”
“I’ll do that.” Decker nodded and stepped out of the cab. The door slid shut behind him, and Larry sped away with his habitual recklessness. Zack shook his head and walked into the welcoming warmth of Tren Kinnear's inn.
The noise and heat, along with the smell of beer and food washed over him like a wave as he crossed the threshold. This close to suppertime, the inn
was filling with locals in search of a square meal and a pint of ale.
Zack took off his brimmed cap and unfastened his pea jacket as he made his way to the bar. He received a few uninterested glances but attracted no other attention. Merchant officers were a common sight in Kinnear's establishment, and simple warrant officers merited little notice, even those who stood almost two meters tall, with seamed, hard faces and shoulders to match.
“Good evening, Mister,” a young barmaid chirped, smiling in welcome. Short, with curly blond hair and a pert nose, she looked like someone's younger sister. She hadn't been around the last time Zack had seen the place. “What'll it be?”
“A pint of your best bitter and tell the owner of this place that his old buddy Zack's in town.” Decker sat on a high stool, dropped his coat over its neighbor, and set his cap on the bar.
The girl looked at him for a few seconds, surprised at the request, then shrugged and expertly drew a large glass of amber liquid from the antique beer-pull. After carefully placing it in front of Zack, she turned around and stuck her head through the door connecting the bar to the kitchen.
“Mara, merchant officer named Zack wants to see the boss.”
Tren's wife shouted back something unintelligible. Seconds later, her large body thrust aside the door. She stared at Zack with raised eyebrows.
“My, my. 'Tis Mister Zachary Decker, as I live and breathe. And looking mighty fine too, in that merchant officer's uniform. I'll go pull the old bugger from of his cave. He'll be glad to see you.” Then she vanished again.
Zack sipped his drink as he turned around to survey the inn. No other uniforms in the place, but plenty of men and women who looked like their day jobs didn't involve eight hours behind a desk. No obvious villains or cops either though Decker doubted that his unfortunate encounter with the corrupt Spacetown detective still sat on someone's to do list.
“Hey, Decker, you old fart! You’re looking good, my boy, looking good.”
He turned around at the sound of the familiar voice and grinned broadly as he put down his beer. Grasping the proffered, meaty hand in his own, he shook it enthusiastically.
“Tren, you slimy purveyor of diseased goods, still short-changing the clientele, I see.”
“No other way to make a profit, buddy. So how have you been?” Before Zack could answer, Kinnear walked around the bar and grabbed his upper arm. “C'mon, let's sit down comfortable-like. Sissi!”
“Yeah, boss?”
“Serve Zack another of what he's having, get me a pint of dark and both of us a plate of whatever the old girl's cooking back there.”
They sat in a corner booth and grinned at each other.
“I'm glad to see you well, Zack. How's your job on Shokoten working out?”
“Better than I expected. It isn't the Corps, but it has its moments. I owe you for getting me the berth. I've done more traveling in the last while than ever before. You wouldn't believe the places I’ve been and the stuff I’ve seen.” He stopped as Sissi brought them food and drink, and then went on to tell his old friend about his travels, omitting any mention of Darhad or contraband.
“An active life,” Kinnear said, popping a bread crust soaked with gravy into his mouth. “Not that I'm envious, mind you,” he continued, chewing between words, “I have all I need here, but you're doing fun stuff too. I'm happy you found yourself a place. You were none too nice a sight when you first crawled in here. Now look at you: warrant officer in a merchant ship, gunner no less.” He pointed at the badge on Decker's right breast.
“Nice they let you wear the old pin. Brings back memories, don't it? Back in the good old days when we were jumping out of perfectly good shuttles flying in low orbit. I miss them sometimes. A man knew what he was fighting for and who he could trust.”
Decker didn't know why, but Tren's brief trip down memory lane, just after noticing the mystery pin, gave him mixed feelings. His face lost its smile, and he stared down at his plate, toying with his utensils.
“Yeah. Good old days they were, Tren.” His voice sounded false even to him. Suddenly, he felt a burning need to return to the ship, get away from Kinnear and back to the life he'd made for himself aboard Shokoten. “So how's the inn doing?”
“Fine. Just hauling in the creds, we are.” If Kinnear had noticed Decker's sudden change of mood, he gave no sign. “Nothing much has changed.”
“Whatever happened to the girl I brought in?”
Now it was Kinnear's turn to drop the smile and glance away.
“Hell, Zack. Was nothing we could do. Little fool decided she was safe to take a walk one night, a couple of months ago. Didn't much look like the whore you brought to us that night. She was off drugs, booze and sex, working regular hours in the place every day. Mara pretty much decided Ellena was the kid she never had.”
To his surprise, Zack could see tears forming in the corners of Tren's eyes.
“Anyways, one night she wants to go to the movies, see the latest flick. We said she'd better not because there's no guarantee she won't be recognized. But she had cabin fever, I guess. Short of tying her up, there was nothing we could do. We couldn't leave the place so she went alone. I asked one of my buddies to keep an eye on her, and he did. Up to a point. At the flicks, she went into the little girl's room and never came out. When my buddy became nervous, he asked one of the lady attendants to check. Not a fucking trace of Ellena. They found her two days later, lying in a ditch outside town. She'd been stripped, tortured and raped before being killed.” Now Tren was crying openly.
“The fucking bastards waited for her after all,” he continued. “Yeah, it was the pals of the guy you killed. Wanted revenge. I heard the message loud and clear. Won't be hurting no one now though. I have other friends who don't like seeing young gals be murdered. Those crooked cops are now pushing up daisies, and the local head cop's launched an internal investigation that's shining light into the shittiest corners of the Spacetown precinct. Don't worry, they won't stumble on your name. Took care of that when you first ran to me.”
“Shit!” Decker felt like someone had hit him with a battle cruiser's main guns. The sharp edge of depression had nicked him earlier. Now, he felt his spirits hit rock bottom. The only thing he could think of was getting away from this place and the memories that kept intruding into his new life.
“You said it, buddy.” Tren wiped his tears away with a meaty paw and drained his beer. “So, you here for long?”
“Nope. We lift tonight on a long haul towards the core. Just came by to say hi. Still have to buy personal supplies for the trip. Be about time I leave now.”
“Don't you worry about personal supplies, Mister Warrant Officer Decker,” Kinnear replied, a smile returning to his face. “I'll fix a package before you leave this place. Have another brew, and I'll see what we have. You still like single malt? Cigars?”
“Yeah on both counts.” Now Decker felt uneasy as if he were taking advantage of a friend with whom he hadn't been entirely straight. Or to be more precise, a friend with whom he had shared a belief in values he had forgotten lately, values he had, admittedly, trampled on by helping Strachan carry out his business.
Sissi brought him more ale while Kinnear foraged around his back room for what he'd called his 'care package.' About ten minutes later, the older man came back with a tightly bound bundle.
“Here you go, Zack.” He placed the plastic-wrapped box on the table. “Three bottles of my finest Caledonian single malt, a box of Romeo y Julieta cigars, a few cans of fancy meats, caviar and preserved fruit, and a bottle of my very own homemade digestive liqueur,” Kinnear grinned with pleasure.
He slapped Decker on the shoulder. “When you're back on Aramis, you can tell me how you like it. And tell me about this long haul of yours. Not too many folks head that far out.”
Zack drained his beer and stood. “Thanks, Tren. Thanks for the brew, the supper, and the package.” He held out his hand. “I'm glad to know there's a place I can always come back to and
find a friend.”
“Anytime, buddy, anytime. I'm always happy to see you. Have a safe trip and watch out for those alien babes. You don't wanna leave little Zacks on all the planets in the fucking galaxy on top of every stinking colony in the Commonwealth, do you?”
“Don't worry about that, Tren.” Decker managed a small smile, but just because his mind flashed a picture of his very own alien babe. He let go of Tren's hand and put on his pea jacket.
“Any chance of calling a taxi?”
“Don't you worry about that neither. Just follow the guy standing by the door there. He'll take you back to the port. A friend of mine headed the same way.”
Decker glanced over at the tall, bearded man by the door and nodded. Larry, the taxi driver, wouldn't be driving Zack back, and for that, the ex-Marine was thankful.
“'Bye, Tren.”
“Take care, you young bugger.” Tren gave Decker a bear hug. When the older man released him, Zack put on his brimmed cap, grinned briefly, and followed the bearded man out of the Dragon's Tooth.
Kinnear watched his friend leave and shook his head. He'd noticed Decker's rapid change of mood, the doubts written large on his open face, the hesitations and evasions in his account of his time on Shokoten, and especially his reaction to Tren noticing the Master Gunner badge. But he couldn’t afford to dwell on Zack’s situation, lest he developed doubts of his own. He returned to his place behind the bar just in time to greet an old customer.
“And how are you tonight, Jenny? Business still good?”
*
Zack hurried across the wet tarmac and up the gangway, rain trickling down his collar. The outer airlock opened at his touch, and the bosun’s mate of the watch grinned as the gunner shook himself dry.
“Wet one, sir?”
“That it is, Veelan. Dirty fucking weather.”
“We’ll soon be off this mud ball, though, aren’t we?”