Sleeping in the Stars (Marston Chronicles Book 1)

by D Patrick Wagner

  Keiko landed on her butt, head slumped to her chest. “Shit, shit, shit,” Krag exclaimed as he knelt, held her up with a hand on her shoulder and lifted her chin. Staring into her half-closed eyed, he pleaded, “Come on, girl. Wake up. Look at me.”

  Groggily, Keiko pushed Krag’s hand away. “I’m all right.” Angrily she stood, with a wobble. Krag reached out to steady her.

  “I said I was alright.” For the first time, Krag saw real anger.

  “I’m sorry. I tried to pull it. I didn’t mean to hit that hard.”

  Shaking her head to clear the cobwebs, “Don’t apologize. It was my fault. I got to cocky. I should know better.” The self-reproach was obvious.

  Looking critically at Keiko’s face, Krag continued, “I really am sorry. That’s going to swell.”He led her to one of the chairs and helped her to sit. “Just a minute.”

  Krag went to the freezer and pulled out an ice pack. Returning, he handed it to Keiko, where she pressed it against her eye.

  “You hit like a sledge hammer. That was pulled? Remind me not to piss you off,” she smiled.

  “I really didn’t mean to. Maybe we shouldn’t practice.”

  Still holding the ice pack to her eye, “Don’t be silly. It was a slip. I’ve had worse. Let’s go again tomorrow.”

  “Really? No. Not a good idea.” Krag went to the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of cold water.

  Accepting the proffered drink, Keiko stated, “Yes, it is. For the job we are going to do, we need to trust each other. So, we are going to train.”

  The steel in Keiko’s voice overrode Krag’s negations. “Ok. But, not tomorrow. We still have eight more days in hyper-space. Rest. We’ll go the next day.”

  “Next time, we’ll use weapons. I have a set of training knives.”

  “I’ll pad my tonfa, um batons.”

  “I know what tonfa are. Now, I have a pounding headache. I’m going to lie down.” With that declaration, Keiko stood, gingerly bent to pick up her rolled towel and left for her cabin.

  Krag stood at the sink, drank water and beat himself up for being such an ox. When his water was gone, he did a quick wipe down with his towel, tossed it in the laundry bin and headed for his own cabin to prepare for the day.

  Dinner that night started out awkwardly. Krag kept looking at the purple, swollen bruise that engulfed Keiko’s cheekbone, guilt swirling inside him like a maelstrom sucking down all his other emotions.

  Keiko waited patiently while her request meal was delivered. She waited while Krag retrieved his and sat down. Then she started.

  “For God’s sake, Krag. It’s a bruise. Nothing is broken. I don’t have a concussion. Let it go!”

  “I didn’t mean to hit you. I really am sorry.”

  “Paleeease!” Keiko drew the word out, bathing it in a sardonic tone. “If you keep this up, I am going to come over there and kick your ass.”She smiled.

  Krag rolled his eyes. “Eat,” he growled while gesturing with his fork.

  “Yes, oh Captain,” Keiko replied.

  They both turned back to their meals.

  With her head over her plate, Keiko began again. “You are very good, you know.”

  “I’m a bull in a china shop.”

  “Exactly. You know who you are. You know what you can do.”

  “I just grab and pound until I win.”

  “Yes, exactly. With your weight and strength, with your reach, you fight like a rock, standing up against crashing waves. For your size, your first step is very quick. Your reach is very quick.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I am best at. Not very stylish.”

  “For someone without style, I spent all afternoon just trying to survive. Without weapons, there was no way I could harm you, unless I got lucky with a killing or blinding blow. You protected your knees and elbows. I couldn’t attack your joints or get to your vulnerable spots. No, Krag, you are very good at what you do.”

  Krag immediately noticed that this beautiful, quick little woman used his first name. “Ok. Ok,” Krag threw his arms up. “I give up. But next time I wear gloves.”

  “Don’t you dare!” Keiko commanded. “I won’t get better if you pussyfoot around. No gloves.”

  Krag pretended to sulk. “Whatever you say, dear,” he joked.

  Keiko like his last word, but she didn’t show it. “He’s coming around,” she thought. “Next time, it’s weapons. It’s going to be very different,” she feigned a scowl.

  “We’ll see,” he matched her scowl with raised eyebrows, a nodding head and a smirk.

  The two of them just crossed a barrier. Krag and Keiko had just taken the first steps from captain and passenger towards allies.

  The next day was a day of work, beginning with stretches, strength training and forms. The mood was different. Krag and Keiko began to talk, Krag haltingly, Keiko animatingly. Then they separated, each returning to their work. Keiko still spent most of her time in her cabin, pouring over her personal data comp. Krag worked hard at staying busy, going over his ship, finding things to fix, things to replace.

  The next morning, Krag showed up early to the training area. He was busy placing foam caps on his tonfas when Keiko entered. Her bruised eye had developed into a purple ring hidden under her eyebrows and highlighting her cheek bone.

  Finishing, Krag closed the distance with Keiko and critically inspected his handy work on her eye. “Looks better. The swelling is gone.” The concern still in his voice.

  “I heal fast,” Keiko responded, shrugging off his comment. “Let’s work out in the storage bay. There’s more room there,” Keiko stated.

  “Fine with me. I’ll get drinks.”

  After grabbing bottles of chilled water, a towel and his tonfas, Krag led Keiko to the cargo bay. Keiko followed, her rolled towel in hand. Reaching the bay, they both set down their burdens quietly began stretching and warming up. Then on to forms.

  Krag went through his forms that involved his tonfas. His form started with the weapons being held by their side handles, lying flat against his forearms with six inches extending beyond his fist, each end padded with a red, foam cap, each face padded with the same material. As he moved and kicked in multiple directions, Krag would alternately use the tonfas as blocking tools, punch while they laid on his forearms or would slightly release his grip to let them spin out, the long end swinging in an arc for a lateral strike. Reaching the desired impact point, he would tighten his grip and freeze the rotation, then pivot them back to their defensive positions against his forearms.

  Keiko pulled two training knives from her towel. They were exactly like her real ones, except they had rounded edges and the three points were replaced with round balls, covered in a spongy coating. Her knife form was more complex than any of her previous ones. It entailed covering more space, more jumps and more pivots. There were moves where she would reverse the grip on one knife, laying the flat of the blade against her arm and using it as a defense much like Krag used the tonfas.

  Keiko finished first. Standing loosely and sweating heavily, she fought to get her labored breathing under control. Holding her hands up, she repeatedly opened and closed her fists, insuring that the brass-knuckle handles kept her knives locked to her hands.

  Krag was nervous. He didn’t want to repeat his clumsiness, especially with weapons. He needn’t have worried.

  Keiko formally stood, facing Krag and crossed her blades between her breasts. Krag faced her, dropped his arms to lay his tonfas against his legs and also stood at attention. Both slowly bowed, keeping eyes open and up.

  Krag assumed his fighting pose, left arm across his body, at a forty-five degree up-angle, tonfa laying across his forearm. Right arm pointed towards Keiko, ready for a thrust.

  Keiko didn’t wait. The moment Krag slid his left leg forward, she charged. After two strides, she dove, like a swimmer doing a flat dive into a pool, targeting Krag’s ankle. Before Krag could step back, Keiko slid across the final distance, grabbed his leg with he
r right hand and tapped the dull blade in her left hand on his Achilles tendon. Using Krag’s leg as a fulcrum, she slid clock-wise around him, reaching his back. Bouncing up, she tapped his left kidney with her left balled tip and slid the dull right blade down the side of his throat.

  Taking two steps back, she raised her eyebrows, smiled and said, “That’s three.”

  By then Krag had rotated to face her, chagrinned at his defeat. “Two and a half. The tendon move wasn’t a killing blow,” he smiled back.

  Krag reflected back to the first time he had seen Keiko and had thought about how quickly she moved. Now he knew how quickly she could move. He knew he would need all the speed he could find. He knew that he had no chance of going with full force. So Krag didn’t assume a fighting pose. He put one foot a soft touch forward and equalized a tall, narrow stance. He brought his tonfas up, using them to track Keiko’s position. The mock fight was on.

  Keiko became an angry falcon flying, swooping, pecking. She constantly targeted crippling and death points on Krag’s body. Krag, a wounded bear, beat off the attacks, periodically stopped her flight and scored his own takedowns and killing blows.

  The two became lost in their competition. Time lost importance. As they fought, they learned about each other. Each earned respect from the other. Alternately Keiko or Krag would swear profane curses, stomp at a lost point, or just growl at the momentary failure. Then it was back to the fight.

  Finally, completely exhausted, by tacit agreement, the two of them grabbed their towels, waters and dropped to the floor. Breathing heavily and sweating profusely, Keiko and Krag grinned at each other, held their bottles up in a toast.

  “Otsukaresama deshita,” Krag said.

  Keiko was surprised. “And you are right. I am exhausted.” Raising her bottle, she continued, “Otsukaresama deshita.”

  Both drank deeply.

  “You know Japanese?” Keiko asked in between panting breaths.

  After a long inhale/exhale, “Just a little. I had a pilot in my squadron that was Japanese. You pick things up when you are around someone a long time. That was his toast when we would be heading back from leave.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “He died.”

  They both went quiet for a moment.

  “So, you were what? A squadron captain?”

  “Major, actually. I commanded a squadron of star fighters.”

  Keiko stayed quiet, waiting for more. This was the first time that Krag had talked about his past and she didn’t want to break the mood. She pulled up a leg of her gi and inspected a bruise on her shin. Then she pulled up a sleeve and looked at its twin on her forearm.

  Krag watched this beautiful, small Asian fighter inspect her trophies. Being a man, he refused to inspect his own.

  Changing the subject, Krag said, “You know, except for that first sneaky move, we tied.”

  “No, no, no,” Keiko responded, shaking her head and pointing a finger. “You missed me on that take down.”

  “No I didn’t. I aimed for the deck beside your head. I got you.”

  “Not even close. You lost, big guy. Get used to it.” Keiko finished with a good natured conclusion.

  “Never, half pint,” Krag responded with a grin of his own, while sucking in a large chest of air. “I’m whupped. I think today is a down day. We’ve got six days before Bridgelen. Today I’m crashing.”

  “Me too. It’s a shower and a book for me. See you at lunch?”

  “Lunch, then.” Looking at his now-empty water bottle, he commented, “I’ll bring more water next time.”

  They both rose slowly, loose limbed and worn out.

  Amicably the two walked to their quarters, comfortable in their silence, becoming tighter as teammates, growing closer as friends.

  The next six days flowed into the type of time spent between two people comfortable with themselves and each other. Krag’s day began with a complete systems check and ship walk. Keiko began accompanying him, quietly watching, silently learning. Krag would explain what he was doing, pointing to various gauges and computer graphs to measure Griffin’s performance. Keiko would take everything in, learning about the ship, learning about its captain. Krag saw an intelligent, courteous woman who jumped into everything with quiet exuberance. Towards the end of the six days of travel, Krag saw that Keiko’s questions and observations became exponentially more intelligent and insightful than when she had begun following him.

  After the ship’s status check the two would return to their cabins, prepare for training and meet in the cargo bay. The workouts weren’t as aggressive and competitive as the first two. They were more introspective and cross learning, each offering pointers and opinions on various moves, footwork and technique.

  The afternoons were spent individually, each person working his or her own agenda and tasks. By mutual agreement, they met in the galley, at the proscribed time each evening. Their dinners, their meals became flavored with growing friendship and quiet conversations.

  On the ninth day of hyper-space, Griffin exited the Bridgelen gate and dropped into normal space. The ubiquitous border patrol waited, beaming the message to hove to and prepare for inspection. Again, two inspectors came aboard, rifled through Duke, searched the ship and found nothing. They saw the captain’s cabin, with all of the military paraphernalia. They searched the executive suite, while Keiko watched with disapproving haughtiness. Again, they saw the three massive fusion reactors and demanded paperwork. The lead inspector linked in to headquarters about the odd drives. The response from headquarters stated that Griffin had been previously approved. Krag was allowed to continue on with the journey with only the minimal hassle and invasion.

  By the time Griffin and its complement of two reached the gate to Corrinar, Keiko decided that she would try out the cryonic sleep tank for the next fourteen days. Standing in the executive suite, the two stared at the oversized bed, with its zip-up gravity bag, stylish comforters and matching pillows. Krag wore his standard work overalls. Keiko prepared for her sleep in a one-piece soft green leotard, her head, hands and feet bare. Krag knelt down, keyed in an access code on the sideboard and the two of them stepped back as the tank slid out from under the bed. After it cleared, the transparent cover hinged open.

  Leaning over the control dials, Krag tapped in the preparation commands. “I’m setting the timer to open automatically in thirteen days. That will give you a day to prepare for our entry into Corrinar.”

  Holding out his hand, Krag waited until Keiko took it. Then he helped her step into the tank and lie down, face up, legs straight and her arms at her sides, palms down.

  Kneeling back down and looking into Keiko’s eyes, Krag began, “When I close the lid, a gas will sedate you. Don’t worry. You can’t buy a better tank than this. It’s fully monitored, with emergency recovery protocols that will bring you back if there are any issues with you or the ship.”

  “Got it. I’ve done this before,” Keiko replied, a little nervously.

  “Besides, I’ll be awake. I’ll keep you safe.”

  Keiko liked that. It made her feel more at ease.

  “Next, your core temperature will be flash-dropped to seventy-seven degrees, kelvin. And, Voila. The next thought you have will be thirteen days from now.”

  With a large inhale, Keiko commanded, “As I said, I’ve done this before. Let’s do it.”

  Krag pressed the icon on the control screen to close the lid. Then, while placing his hand on the plasticine cover over her heart, he tapped the sedation icon. The gas, odorless and clear, flowed into and filled the sealed coffin-like tank. In just a few seconds Keiko simply closed her eyes and dropped into a slow breathing pattern. He then tapped the cryonic icon. Jets almost instantaneously filled the tank with a gaseous compound so cold that it was almost solid.

  Krag stayed squatting longer than normal as he studied the monitor readouts and convinced himself that Keiko remained safe and secure. Then he rose and headed back to the flight center. />
  Krag actually felt a little relieved. Having spent over twenty-three years in spacecraft, he had lived a mostly a solitary life. For the last three years, whenever he was transporting passengers, they would stay mostly to themselves. Krag would captain the ship. The passengers would stay mostly in their executive suites. Dinners were formal affairs with courteous talk. But Keiko was different. His reaction to Keiko was different. She invaded his personal space, his emotional plane. He relished it, but it was new, different, intrusive. And now, with her in cryonics, he could return to his introspective life style. Hence the small sense or relief. For thirteen days he spent his time training. He spent his time maintaining and monitoring Griffin. And he spent his time thinking about Keiko, how the two of them related. The country farm boy, turned almost middle-aged space pilot, was a neophyte in relations. He was slightly confused.

  In the middle of the thirteenth day Krag went for his daily check on Keiko. He found her already up with the tank retracted into its storage box. She sat on the bed, briskly rubbing her arms and rotating her neck.

  “A hot shower will help. Then a good meal,” Krag offered.

  “My thoughts, exactly,” Keiko replied as she rose to standing, with a slight stagger. After recovering her balance, she hobbled towards the hygiene cubical.

  “This must be what it’s like to be old,” Keiko commented.

  “Na. This is what it’s like when I kick your ass in our next training session, Half-pint.” Krag grinned as he watched her reach her goal.

  “Dream on, Big Guy,” Keiko grinned back as she closed the door.

  Leaving, Krag closed the suite’s door and headed to the galley. He spent the next thirty minute cleaning it, waiting for Keiko. When she arrived, Keiko went straight to a chair, sat down and sighed.