Loyalties (HMCS Borealis Book 3) Page 14

  Ontelis pinched at the bridge of his nose, clearing his throat. "Chosen One, we did not anticipate that. That… gift of theatre. If your intent was to catch us off guard, you have succeeded."

  Elan put his hand on Heather's shoulder. It was tight, the cords in her neck taut like cables, which moved as she spoke. "My intent, Master Pentarch, was to give the people hope. They deserve it."

  Threnia's voice was a discordant clash. "What they deserve is to not become extinct. If the people push for action against the Horlan—"

  Fennin glanced up from his datapad. "They already are. It is now the only thing being discussed in the media."

  Threnia shot Fennin a glare, then continued. "If the people push for action against the Horlan, we will draw their fleet down on us before the Kahadya has departed."

  "Then we fight them," said Heather.

  Ivenna was staring past everyone, at some spot on the far wall. "The Horlana. The battle at the end of days. Glorious."

  Threnia glanced at Ivenna, frowning at the white-robed Pentarch before turning back to Heather. "It is not your decision to make, human. You have subverted the will of the council, and—"

  "No," said Ivenna. Her voice was a chord on a distant harp. "The Chosen One and the Elanasal speak the will of the Divines. Theirs is the word of God."

  Now Threnia was staring at Ivenna, shaking her head. She sighed, clearly at a loss for words.

  Fennin held up his datapad. "In the past hour, seven hundred people have cancelled their places on the Kahadya, and more are expected. We will assign replacements, but there is already growing public support for immediate action against the Horlan. We need to be on the right side of this. If the people think—"

  Threnia swung toward Fennin, one finger in the air. "This is not a contest of popularity, Fennin. This is not about sailing wherever the wind blows. We are not here to follow the people's current whim; we must do what the people need."

  Heather leaned forward in her chair, raising her voice. "What they need? Damn it, what they need is hope!"

  Threnia's blue eyes were locked on Heather, her face relaxing into an insincere smile. "Human, you would have us join with the lesser races — like your own — and provoke a battle with the Horlan. But you still fail to consider: what happens if we lose?"

  Balhammis spoke, his deep voice a gentle rumble. "Ah, Threnia. But what happens if we win?"

  CHAPTER 19

  Dillon was trying to read his datapad as he walked, but stopped when he bumped into the bulkhead. Brushing off the arm of his dress uniform, he took a quick look around to make sure no one had seen him. He tucked the datapad under his arm, and tapped at the med bay's door console. The door slid open, and he stepped inside.

  Singh was in her dress uniform as well, sitting sideways on a bed, her feet dangling over the side. She was talking to the Chief, who was sitting up in the other bed. The Chief's face was still puffy and red, lined with closed cuts; her swollen eyelids were uncovered.

  When Singh lifted her head and saw Dillon, she immediately jumped off the bed and stood facing him.

  The Chief cocked her head. "Captain? That you, sir?"

  Singh spoke at the same time. "Captain, sir. Thank you for that memorial service. It's good we did that sooner rather than later."

  "I appreciate that Singh, but you should thank the Tassali, not me."

  "Aye aye sir, I will."

  Dillon stepped past Singh, to the bed she had been sitting on. "Singh, I've read your reports. You've done a great job. Williams and Bowman are in station hospitals, and Townsend is back at work. So we've just got the one patient left. Is she causing you trouble?"

  "Just the usual, sir."

  "The usual? That bad, eh?" Dillon leaned against the empty bed. "Singh, could you give the Chief and I a few minutes?"

  "Aye aye, Captain. I need to go change, sir. Then I'll be in the mess if I'm needed."

  Dillon watched as the seaman excused herself and left the med bay. As the door shut behind her, he turned to face the Chief.

  Between swollen eyelids, the Chief's left eye moved in his direction. The iris was white, surrounded by a blood-red sclera.

  "I should've been at the memorial service, Dillon."

  "If Singh says you stay put, then that's what you do. Don't fight her, Chief; she's looking out for you."

  Chief Black sighed. "I know. I just… Pakinova and Ryan. You know?"

  "Yeah. I know." He decided to change the subject before it dragged them down. "So, how'd you know it was me at the door just now?"

  The Chief attempted a small grin, one battered cheek tugging upward. "Mostly because Singh hopped to her feet so fast. All I saw was the bright white shape of the open doorway, with a dark blobby silhouette in it." She shrugged. "The blob did move a bit like you, though."

  "That's a good start. Will it improve?"

  "I don't know. Singh was pretty damn happy when I told her I could see light at all. I have a feeling this is about as good as it's going to get." Her lips turned to a frown. "So I guess you're here to tell me about my retirement, right?" Her eye was looking past his shoulder. "I don't blame you, Dillon. When Singh took off the bandage things, and this was all I could see—"

  "No, Chief. No retirement for you. You're not getting off that easy."

  The Chief's eyebrows came together. "What? Didn't you just come from seeing West?"

  "I did, yes."

  "What the hell did you tell her?"

  "I told her you could do your job."

  Black shook her head. "Damn it, Dillon, you know you're a horrible liar. West knows perfectly well that you're full of shit."

  "Yeah, I think she does."

  "I appreciate it Dillon, I really do. But this is important. If I can't see—"

  "Just keep getting better. You, me, Singh, everyone… we'll do what we can. We'll come up with something."

  Black turned her face away, as she wrung her hands in her lap. Her mouth opened and closed a few times before words came. "Thanks, Dillon."

  "Don't worry about it."

  Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. "It was really scary, you know. I didn't even know how long it was. Back when I was lying here, paralysed, not knowing if I'd see anything again. I was so fucking scared."

  "I'm sorry. It must've been terrifying."

  "I've never been so scared. But then Amba talked to me, told me everything would be fine. And I know damn well it was the Palani breath voodoo thing but, damn it Dillon, I believed it. And it helped."

  "Yeah, I was there. She has that effect on people."

  "I mean, I believed her. I just wanted her to keep talking, as if everything would be fine as long as she was nearby. And when she was singing… it felt like my mom was there, and I was three years old or something. Is that what it's like for you, Dillon? I mean, maybe I'm prying a bit here, but—"

  The med bay door opened, and Dillon looked up, thankful for the intrusion. "Ah," he said. "Chief, meet our new Engineer."

  Chief Black peered toward the doorway, leaning forward on the bed. "Captain, I can't… wait, that blob is kinda red. Sap? Is that you?"

  Saparun chuckled, his teeth bared in a wide smile as he approached the Chief's bed. "Chief Black. I am so very pleased to see you again."

  "Sap!" exclaimed the Chief. "You beautiful red bastard!" She reached her arms out toward Sap, grasping in the air until her fingers brushed his arm and she held on tight. "I'm glad to see you too." A smile creased her face, tugging at the white strips. "Who am I kidding? I'm glad to see anything. Even if you're just a goddamned blob, I'm glad you're here. If I could find your face, I'd kiss you. How are you?"

  "Thank you, Chief Black. You know, the opportunities for playing pranks on you have increased dramatically. It would almost be too easy."

  The Chief laughed. "Do your worst, Sap. Don't you dare go easy on me." She gave Sap's arm a squeeze. "So tell me, how are you? How's Cho?"

  "He has business on the station, Chief Black. Lieutenant Cho
attempted to report to Borealis without a uniform, and the Captain sent him to the station's quartermaster to get one."

  Dillon shrugged. "I have to draw the line somewhere. War or not, we can't have officers in street clothes. It's unseemly." He patted Sap on the back. "I'm going to let you two catch up. We need to get ourselves ready to go, and that means paperwork," said Dillon, waving his datapad.

  Sap nodded. "I understand, Captain. Always paperwork."

  "Yeah… well, I need to write a couple letters home. Then we'll be taking on supplies. When Borealis is ready to go, I'm giving the crew a day or two of on-ship liberty while we wait for the other ships to get ready."

  "That is generous," said Sap, smiling. "I trust the engine room is still in the same place?"

  Dillon shook his head. "No, we moved it two decks up and renamed it the 'Saparun Vish Memorial Engine Room'."

  Sap's eyebrow ridge twitched. "Indeed, Captain? You wish to be pranked as well?"

  Dillon raised his hands in mock surrender as he headed for the door. "Hey, you're the one who asked the silly question."

  * * *

  As the med bay door closed behind the Captain, Sap leaned in closer to the Chief's face.

  "I can make out the edges of you," said the Chief. "What're you looking at, Sap? What do you see? How do I look?"

  "I will admit, Chief Black, you've looked better."

  "Thanks. I've missed you too."

  Saparun continued to study the Chief's face. "Will Master Seaman Singh be back soon? I have some questions for her."

  CHAPTER 20

  The new uniform didn't fit right. It was too wide across the shoulders, and bunched up under his arms as he moved. Eric rolled his shoulders inside his jacket, feeling it shift again. He sighed. It would have to do. Just like everything else, it would have to be good enough for now.

  Even the station was making do with 'good enough'. He'd been on Borden Station enough times that he could usually find his way around with ease, but now it was different; he'd had to back track several times, after finding that what had once been a corridor was now a dead end.

  Three sailors saluted him as they passed. He returned the salute, wondering if they were as lost as him. What had once been broad passageways and wide open terminal halls were now warrens; a labyrinth of temporary walls. Small spaces had been carved out of the starport's open areas, walled off into offices, barracks, storage, and refugee accommodation.

  Eric thought back to where he'd started, only a couple weeks ago: the cavernous, empty starport, littered with abandoned possessions, the walls creating strange echoes of the silence. Borden Station had become the opposite. The passageways were barely wide enough for two people to pass, and he had to step sideways around crates that had been left on the floor. It felt claustrophobic, with the blank grey walls closing in on him. Even a ship in space never felt so crowded. He tightened his grip on the datapad in his left hand.

  Overhead, high on the walls, temporary signs – some hand-lettered – pointed the way to specific destinations: numbered rooms full of bunks, acronym-laden offices, and codified storage spaces. On some signs, previous markings had been crossed out, and new arrows and labels had been added. Eric returned the salute of a passing sailor as he scanned the list of signs. Third from the bottom, he found it: Docking Ring Three, ahead and to the right.

  Around the corner, the corridor was filled with a line of sailors, standing single file, waiting for something. The walls seemed closer here; Eric licked his upper lip before he spoke. "Make a hole, please."

  The sailors at the back of the line squeezed themselves tighter to the wall. They offered cramped salutes as Eric threaded his way past them. A rippled murmur went up the line, and the sailors moved aside as he passed. The line of sailors ended outside a door, and Eric glanced at the sign as he passed. It took him a moment to remember the acronym, and when it came to him he stopped walking. Turning to look back at the line of waiting sailors, he saw some of them watching him. Estate Planning. They were all lined up to get their wills updated. Were some of them thinking the same thing he was? Were the odds about to work against them? Maybe they lay awake at night, like he sometimes did, wondering what came next. And if, when all was said and done, there'd be anyone left to inherit anything anyway.

  The entrance to the docking ring was partly blocked by a row of shelving, filled with identical plastic crates. Beyond, the docking ring's terminal area was full of people. Hundreds of refugees sat on long benches. Countless eyes turned toward Eric as he entered; weary faces watched as he walked by.

  He'd never been in a room full of people that was so quiet. The rows of seats stretched into the distance on both sides, curling around the ring until blocked from view by the curve of the wall. People sitting, some standing, not making any noise. Eric could hear a few whispered conversations, and the occasional self-conscious cough, but most of the people sat in silence, hands in their laps, their faces blank. Each of them had a label on a lanyard around their neck, printed with a list of data. Eric could make out the names of planets: systems further into human space, where refugees were still being accepted. Many of the labels listed the bearer's destination as Earth.

  Eric walked past them, his boots loud on the deck. He could feel the gazes of people watching him, but couldn't bring himself to make eye contact. He'd never seen anything like this; he didn't know what to say. He had no answers to give to the questions they must have. He had no real way to calm their fears, either; not when he shared many of them.

  He was relived to see the numbered airlock he sought, and stepped inside. As the outer door closed behind him, he exhaled. Even if just for a moment, there was no one watching him. Solitude was increasingly hard to come by, even if it was just a few seconds in a cycling airlock. Squaring his shoulders once again, Eric pressed a button on the console next to the inner airlock door.

  Somewhere behind the door he heard the muffled sound of someone yelling. With a grinding metallic clatter the door opened, revealing the inside of the Nova Cat.

  Jerry was standing in front of the door, his mouth full. He was holding half a sandwich in his hand. When he saw Eric his face brightened, and he mumbled something around his food, gulping it down.

  "Permission to come aboard?" asked Eric.

  Jerry swallowed, beckoning with his sandwich-bearing hand. "Hey buddy, come on in! None of that salute-the-stern bullshit." He turned to yell over his shoulder. "Maya! Eric's here!"

  "What?" came Maya's voice. She appeared around the corner. Seeing Eric's uniform, she gave a low whistle. "Well, Eric, or should I say 'Lieutenant Cho'. You're looking dapper. Come in!"

  As Eric stepped through the hatch, Jerry was waving his sandwich in the direction of the galley. "So, you want something to eat? We found some bread. Maybe a coffee?"

  "No thanks," said Eric. "I'm actually here on business."

  Jerry stopped chewing, and glanced sideways at Maya. She was looking at Eric. "What do you mean, Eric?"

  Eric realised how it must look. They had every right to be immediately suspicious. "I should've spoken to you earlier, but everything's been hectic since we got here."

  "What are you doing, buddy?" asked Jerry. "Are you here to screw things up?" He motioned toward the datapad in Eric's hand.

  Eric held up the datapad. He glanced at it for a moment, even though he knew perfectly well what it said. He held it out toward Maya, who made no move to accept it. "I talked to my Captain," said Eric. "The Nova Cat has been made part of the Volunteer Naval Auxiliary."

  Maya's brow was lined in confusion. "Eric, what's going on? Are you taking my ship?"

  "No no no," blurted Eric. "Nova Cat is in the Auxiliary for the duration of the war. You'll get jobs from the Admiralty. Normally you'd get a naval liaison aboard, but there aren't any. You're still the master of the ship, and you still own it. And—"

  "Wait, I'm in the war now?" said Maya. Her eyes went from Eric to Jerry and back. "Seriously, Eric, we've been drafted? What the h
ell are you—"

  Eric held up the datapad. "—And," he continued, "all debts against you and the ship are wiped clean."

  Maya took a step forward, her mouth agape, reaching for the datapad in Eric's outstretched hand. "Seriously? All debts are gone, and it's still my ship?"

  "Still your ship," said Eric. "Debt free. And you'll be getting plenty of work from the Navy."

  Maya was holding the datapad in both hands, her lips moving as she read through the text on the screen. She looked at Eric through the corners of her eyes. "So Eric, that… stuff we found…"

  Eric had figured one of them would ask about that. He'd already decided what he'd say. "What stuff?"

  Jerry chuckled. "I knew we could count on you, buddy. Knew it right from the moment we met."

  Maya laughed at Jerry. "You're full of shit, Jerry." She turned to Eric. "Can you stay for a few minutes? I've been saving a bottle of bourbon, for the day I finally paid off that damn debt."

  "Well…" began Eric.

  "Come on," said Jerry. "Just have a toast with us. To Nova Cat and Borealis, two of Her Majesty's finest ships."

  * * *

  It was later in the day, and Cho had returned to Borealis. He was in the hangar bay, looking at a giant shipping container that ran the length of the hangar bay. Cho touched his fingertips against the grey metal side of the box, leaning back to read the serial number on the side. He checked the number against what was listed on his datapad.

  This container, and the second one like it, took up most of the space inside the port side hangar bay. Borealis had to give up one of her two shuttles in order to take the containers on board.

  Apart from the serial numbers, there were few other markings. Some of the standard passive-aggressive messages about how the container shouldn't be dropped, or tipped, or set on fire. But nothing that hinted at the contents. Even the crew hadn't been told what they were, and wouldn't be told until the ship was underway and crew communications could be quarantined.