Saving Cayn 9

The TS William Placard approached Herlorwis twenty days later. Though the planet remained too faint for sensors, the star visibly grew in the displays. Bill hummed to himself, sending just enough volume through the sound inducers for Lannetay to be annoyed, but not enough for her to ask him to stop. The two had long practice in where exactly that line was drawn.

Carnifor sat beside Lannetay in the control cabin. “Haydn’s Clock Symphony?”

Lannetay and Bill replied in unison. “Yes.” Though Bill’s voice was pleasant, Lannetay put as much disgust as possible into that single word.

Bill’s humming stopped. “Herlorwis is calling, Lannetay.”

This time Carnifor spoke with Lannetay. “Play it.”

Lannetay glanced at Carnifor, and the two shared a tentative smirk.

“William Placard, Herlorwis colony.” Gerid Meit’s voice held a tinge of panic. “Do you have him?”

Carnifor chuckled quietly. “Guess we should have called ahead.”

Lannetay cleared her throat. “Herlorwis colony, William Placard. Is that you, Gerid? We do have Hyanto.”

“Yes, Lanny.” A holo of the colony’s trade minister appeared. “The governor has already sent a message to Wrantiban. They’ve dispatched a pair of frigates. Perhaps they’ll be recalled when his son is in hand.”

Lannetay grimaced. Leave it to a Wanti colonial governor to overreact. “Let’s hope so, Gerid. I have an idea.”

“What is it?”

Carnifor cut in before Lannetay could continue. “A mission of mercy. We’ve confirmed all they wanted was some food and seeds. We gave them most of our stock for their resequencers. We’d like to have that replaced when we land, by the way.”

“We can do that.” Gerid leaned forward as if eager to avoid the complications associated with Wanti military assets heading toward the Herlorwian system. “I won’t even inform the governor – we’ll just do it as thanks for returning the child. Was there anything else they wanted?”

Lannetay folded her hands in her lap and gave a quick silent prayer before taking over the explanation. “Food and seed covers it. We’re hoping some of the nearby colonies could ship some donations as well. Any chance Herlorwis could coordinate that effort?”

Gerid frowned. “I’m sure we could spare some food, but we’re not exactly rolling in crops either. As for contacting other colonies, I’d be happy to do that for you.”

Bill interrupted. “We’re down. Pad 33 again.”

Lannetay hadn’t felt the ship set down.

Gerid glanced to an off-display reading. “Now that you’re on the ground, Governor Borenic and his wife are on the way to meet you. They’re understandably anxious to retrieve their son.”

Lannetay paled. “Governor . . . Borenic?” The man had been a simple administrator before the war, and had done everything in his power to keep Lannetay from loading a cargo when she was last on Wrantiban. She’d barely escaped the system as hostilities broke out, and getting away to notify the Terran Space Navy had crippled her previous William Placard.

Gerid said, “He was appointed our governor about a year ago by someone high up in Kio Otmitter’s administration. Surphien gave birth to Hyanto about a month after they arrived.”

Upper echelon connections explained how a backwater governor could call in two frigates. “Unfortunately, I won’t be available to meet the governor.” Lannetay’s voice pitched higher. “Carny is what could be called my executive officer. He’ll handle the situation in my place.”

Gerid looked concerned. “Nothing too serious, I hope.”

Lannetay shook her head. “Something came up on our way here that needs to be addressed. Carny is perfectly capable of handling things.”

The governor is at the hatch, Bill sent.

“The governor is here, Gerid. Thanks for your help. We’ll contact you shortly.” Lannetay broke the connection. “Carny,” Lannetay started. When Carnifor scowled she restarted. “Carnifor, I’ll explain later. Please handle things with the governor.”

Carnifor nodded and left the control room. The hatch closed behind him, and Lannetay sighed. “Bill, show me what’s happening.” An image of the common room appeared in Lannetay’s mind.

Carnifor and L-T – who held Hyanto – met Borenic as the inner airlock hatch opened. Carnifor stepped forward and extended his hand to Borenic while L-T handed the child to Surphien. Hyanto squealed in joy then cooed as Surphien smothered him in kisses.

“Governor Borenic, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Carnifor’s tone was light.

Borenic shook hands as Surphien continued muttering baby-talk to Hyanto. “Carny, I appreciate your help and that of your shipmates. Would it be correct to call you ‘Commander’ Carny?”

Carnifor smiled broadly. “You would be correct, Governor. I’m glad we could help keep this region of space quiet. I understand certain forces were on their way to deal with the problem.”

Borenic nodded, his face growing grim. “They were. I’m glad those measures were unneeded.” He looked around the common room, taking in the details. “I encountered a ship of this same name some time ago. Would this be the same ship?”

Carnifor kept a straight face. “I doubt it, Governor. The keel of this ship was placed less than eight months ago. I doubt you could have encountered it in that time. If you want, you could check registration numbers.”

Borenic shook his head, his frown deepening. “I don’t think that’s necessary. This ship seems much larger anyway. Odd coincidence, though.”

Carnifor grinned. “Actually, not so much. William Placard is the name of the French physicist who came up with the first faster than light starship engine. Must be hundreds – maybe thousands – of ships named for him.”

Borenic nodded slowly, but still scowled. “May I have a tour of the ship?”

Bill sent to Lannetay, He’s accessing me.

React like a Core. Don’t let him see anything he shouldn’t.

Bill scoffed. Like I’d let him discover anything he shouldn’t see.

“If you’d like.” Carnifor headed toward the control room.

Borenic followed, but Surphien asked for a chair and sat in the middle of the room, cuddling with the baby.

Suit up, Lannetay, Bill sent. A panel that should have been a structural bulkhead opened with a snick. Inside stood a suit of heavy combat armor. He’ll be here in seconds.

Lannetay stepped backwards into the alcove as the armor enclosed her. Good thing I’m not claustrophobic.Despite that her heartbeat rose. Her enemy was closer than she was comfortable with. The bulkhead swung closed.

The control cabin hatch slid open. Carnifor stepped aside and motioned the governor inside. “Here is the control room. Four seats are standard, with room enough to grow another two.”

“Not much room here. That would make it very cramped.” Borenic scanned the control console. “Where are the actual controls?”

“There aren’t any.” Carnifor’s gesture swept across the blank panel. “They can be produced, if someone wants to fly manually, but there’s hardly anyone who does that these days.”

“Fighter pilots do.” The governor crossed his arms and faced Carnifor. “Most of them, anyway.”

Carnifor nodded. “I’ll admit more of them use manual controls, but the process is simply too slow to allow for that. By the time things register, the pilot forms a strategy, tells his hands what to do, and the controls register the commands, he’ll probably be dead. It’s much faster to simply think the instructions.”

“Sounds like you have some experience.”

“I was commissioned in the Navy years ago. Now I’m part of the crew of this ship.” Carnifor paused for effect. “There are benefits.”

“Pay?”

“Freedom from blindly following orders.”

Borenic glowered. “Those giving orders usually have a reason for their commands, and it’s for the benefit of everyone. If people made their own decisions they might hurt themselves or others.”

Carnifor nodded. “I can see that. Care to see the rest of the ship?”

Everyone stepped out of the control room, and Lannetay’s hiding place opened right after the hatch sealed behind Carnifor. She stepped out of the hidden armor alcove and wiped her brow. That was close.

Bill gave a faux sigh. “Yes, it was.”

Lannetay watched in her head as Carnifor explained the varied uses of the common room, then took the governor into the corridor aft. Six pressure hatches led to staterooms, another pair accessed the engineering spaces, and an airlock went to the gigantic hemispherical cargo bay.

“Six staterooms, but only five crew?” Borenic frowned at the apparent disparity.

“A sixth crewman is off duty, perhaps sleeping.”

“What’s in the cargo bay now?”

Carnifor gestured to the hatch and gave a broad smile. “Care to look?”

Borenic’s gleaming eyes matched the sneer. “Absolutely.”

Carnifor tapped in a bypass code to open both hatches of the airlock. The party walked straight through to the bay.

The few blazers came to life, bathing the blackened space with a dim light. The pinpoints overhead and on the walls arcing to the ceiling gave barely enough illumination to prevent accidents. The brightness was simply too far away to provide effective lighting.

“There’s nothing here.” Borenic’s disappointment was obvious. “Why would a cargo ship arrive here with nothing in the hold?”

Lannetay, can I tell him? Carnifor sent.

Have to tell him something, might as well be the truth, she replied.

“We’re . . . not actually empty,” Carnifor said.

Borenic turned a complete circle and shrugged. “Then you’re doing a great job of hiding whatever you are carrying. Is it perhaps below, in the engineering area?”

“No, we have . . .” Carnifor paused

“Yes?” the governor prompted.

Visibly deflating, Carnifor said, “Terraforming kits.”

Borenic’s eyes widened. “Those are . . . expensive. I wouldn’t have thought you’d have access. Where did you get them?”

The display in Lannetay’s head showed Carnifor’s uncomfortable expression. “We have a source. Never mind who it is. But if you’re willing to trade, we have a Five-K kit.”

“That would expand our colony quite a bit.”

“In time. The air will take the longest.”

“But in a month the wall will be built. Six months and the gravity generators will come online.”

In the cargo bay Carnifor shook his head. “Those numbers are best-case scenarios. Figure on fiftypercent longer than the specs indicate. The legal portion of the description covers contingencies, but it’s roughly half-again as long.”

“If you can give me one of those kits I’ll upgrade your previous deal with Gerid Meit to a thousand tons of finished product – not just raw lumber.”

Bill scoffed, saying to Lannetay, “He just admitted he knew about Meit’s deal with us. He’s a liar.”

Lannetay’s laugh echoed in the control room. “Like we didn’t know that.”

“He’s still trying to get into my system, by the way. I’ve hit him with an authorization fault. He keeps trying, though.”

Borenic’s conversation with Carnifor continued. “If you plot out nanite canister placement and plant them, I’ll throw in an introduction to the new Minister of Trade on Wrantiban.”

“Bingo!” Lannetay fought to keep her voice down. “Exactly what we wanted.”

When Carnifor hesitated Borenic issued his threat. “I could simply turn you in for smuggling.”

Carnifor stood straighter and put fists to his hips. “They’d take all our kits.”

“And your ship.”

“You’d be left without your own kit.”

Borenic’s voice grew slippery. “Exactly. So why not give me one of your kits, take my letter of introduction and the cargo, and we’ll both be ahead.”

Carnifor feigned reluctance. “I guess.”

Borenic verbalized another intimidation, though less overt. “It’s illegal to trade in the Confederation without proper permissions.”

“Very well. Call it a deal.” Carnifor and Borenic shook.

Borenic’s expression remained neutral as he said, “If that colony you call Cayn does something like that again, I’ll see to it they’re replaced by a smoldering hole.”

Carnifor managed to not react to the governor’s statement.

Borenic rubbed his hands together. “Shall we move to more comfortable surroundings to work out the details?”

Lannetay watched, trapped in the control room, for the two hours it took to finish all the minutia of contracts. The most important thing she learned was that her friend, Sarrikut Ekvin, was no longer a part of the Confederation hierarchy.

Bill tried to console Lannetay. “Maybe he has another job, a civilian job.”

“Maybe.” Lannetay remained unconvinced. “Most of the time when someone at that level of Wanti government is replaced it’s because they’re a corpse.”

She sincerely hoped not.

***

Lannetay adjusted the angle of the painting awarded to the crew of the William Placard. The residents of Cayn voted to bestow their best piece of art to the Heroes of Cayn after they’d promised to bring food and seed, even if they had to buy it themselves. Nobody else on the ship had expressed interest in the artwork, so Lannetay put it on the aft bulkhead of the control room next to the pressure hatch.

The five-sided asymmetric frame held a smeared rendition of a lone daisy on a grassy hillside. A series of rolling hills covered in trees faded into the distance, each layer in less focus than the one before it. A man in a yellow raincoat stood far off, barely seen in a downpour of smudged gray-and-ash approaching from the left. The dirty-blue remnants of day vanished on the right margin.

Perhaps changing it was the wrong idea. She moved the painting back, shook her head, and tried another angle. Maybe tomorrow she’d find the right look.

An hour later, Carnifor entered the the control room and scoffed at the painting before sitting. “Have we started yet?”

“Moving into position for the first canister,” Bill announced.

Nanites from the containment vessel would eventually create a circular atmospheric retaining wall five kilometers in diameter. More deployed nanites would create gravity generators deep in the planet’s crust. Others would build solar powered force field generators on top of the wall to create a dome.

A magnetic launcher fired a meter-long projectile into the barren, stony surface beneath the ship. “First one down, nine to go.” Bill lifted the ship a few meters, then moved toward the next position.

“After we finish here,” Lannetay said, “we can take Herlorwian food and seeds to Cayn. Five other colonies have pledged some form of assistance.”

Carnifor glanced over his shoulder at the painting again. “If they don’t follow through, Borenic will ‘Make them suffer,’ according to that contract.”

Leaning back, Lannetay turned to Carnifor, who sat in the right seat. “You told him I was sleeping?”

The commander smirked. “I couldn’t very well tell him you were hiding in a secret compartment.”

She had to admit – to herself only – the man had a point. “At least we now have credentials. We can go places without sneaking around.”

Carnifor shook his head. “Did we really not get any payment from Cayn? After all they put us through?”

“Oh, we got something.” Lannetay smirked.

“I mean besides that hideous painting.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder

Lannetay smiled. “Marc and Olthan were rewarded quite handsomely.” She recalled the sheer joy on her son’s face when they learned the colony had adopted the name he and Olthan had chosen. The soldier almost danced.

“That means nothing. And that travesty you took is worse than nothing.”

Lannetay looked askance at Carnifor. “What’s wrong with that painting?”

“Did you hear me say hideous? Travesty?” Carnifor’s note of incredulity dripped from the control console and pooled on the deck.

Lannetay gave a holier-than-thou huff. “It’s not hideous. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

Carnifor sneered. “Only a mother would call that art. I don’t know why you bothered taking it.”

Lannetay did a fair imitation of Olthan as she said, “They’s cute.”

If you're wondering more about these characters, their origins are detailed in Ebony Sea: Origins. If you appreciate this story, please share on social media, and consider supporting the author's ability to continue writing by purchasing the Origins story and leaving a review at the link above.

Next week: Of Nanites and Spies, as Ebony Sea: 1 continues.

The Brotherhood #9

By Mark W. Meier

Part 9

Act II

Prophet of Death

Chapter Two

The next morning you noticed the gray, nondescript sedan parked on the street across from your building. Inside that car were the two men, no longer in police uniforms, who had been with Marshal Woods the previous day.

Even though you weren’t surprised, the police surveillance angered you. You’d done nothing to justify them watching you.

You went back to spewing your drivel about Mercury in retrograde, Leo ascendant, and Rigel in opposition. Anyone with a third-grade education could perform an internet search and blather aimlessly about a person.

A man who wrote was asking about a woman he wanted to marry, and a moment later you found him on social media. Then you simply extrapolated his persona based on pictures. Scrolling backwards you found birthday wishes which provided enough information to run a natal chart.

While you were researching I asked a pair of imps for background on his girlfriend. Only one returned, but with very interesting information. Your waiting mind took my suggestion.

Dear Mystified:

You are a natural athlete and tend toward impulsiveness. You want your special aspects noticed without you drawing attention to them.

Love is not something you are good at. You are too easy-going and follow another’s lead too readily. You utilize deceit far too much when with a potential partner.

Another danger in relationships is clinging to an image of what you want to see, allowing your partner to take advantage of you.

Though you are considered lucky in the love department, rejection brings out a nasty streak. Beware of who you target with your ire.

You published that around noon. Ten hours later Mystified was dead – killed by his girlfriend in self defense. She claimed he’d attacked her when she turned down his marriage proposal. Mystified hadn’t known the subject of his romantic intentions was a martial arts expert.

Beautiful. It had taken me only a moment to make her laughingly reject him. She didn’t even know why Mystified, after a three-year relationship, suddenly seemed so ludicrous. Perhaps it had something to do with the out-of-style corduroy suit coat nobody could recall him wearing before.

The next day the number of subscribers to your website doubled. So did the price of ads on your blog. Since the death happened a thousand miles away, you weren’t even a suspect for local law enforcement.

But Marshal Woods would notice.

Similar things happened over the next six months. Every couple of weeks you’d post an answer with a hint of a warning, and within a day or two the person seeking answers would die. Some of the more bizarre included a pilot walking into a spinning propeller, a cardiologist dying of a heart attack during a radio interview, and a game warden who went missing in Kentucky.

The warden’s body wasn’t discovered until hunting season two months later. That is what brought Marshal Woods back to your apartment. He arrived the day after the warden’s widow was informed of her husband’s death.

“Mr. Reymond.” He sat in one of the slightly better chairs you’d purchased at a garage sale the previous weekend. “Do you know an Amanda Deeks?” At least this time Woods hadn’t brought any uniformed officers with him. They were waiting in their sedan across the street.

Though your furnishings had improved a bit, you still lived in the same crummy apartment. “I don’t really know anyone, Agent Woods.” You leaned back in the other pine Ivar.

“Marshal. My title isn’t ‘agent.’ Call me Marshal Woods.”

“Okay, Marshal. I don’t really have friends because people don’t respect what I do.”

Woods nodded with a hint of a smirk. “I understand, but I didn’t ask if you were friends with Deeks. Do you know her?”

“I’ve never heard of her.”

The television popped. Though you had a new – new to you – flat screen unit, this one emitted the same annoying “pop” as your old black and white.

Woods raised a questioning eyebrow at the apparatus. “Is that a new TV?”

“Yes. I’m doing a bit better now.”

The marshal looked back at you. “How much do you make now?”

“Enough.” You knew exactly how much, but then Woods probably did, too. Your income had doubled, but if it doubled again you still could only move from this roach-infested efficiency to a roach infested one-bedroom.

Woods looked at you with inquisitive skepticism.

“If you have an accusation, just say it.”

Woods nodded. “Okay. Did you make predictions about deaths, then murder people to drive your subscription numbers up? You’re called the Prophet of Death almost everywhere now, and your posts are getting a lot more attention since Flummoxed in Fairmont died.” He flipped open his notebook. “You told a Kentucky game warden, ‘Don’t let your coworkers badger you to death.’ He was later killed by a pack of badgers that aren’t native to the state. Doesn’t that seem like too much of a coincidence?”

He handed you a newspaper clipping of the story, which you skimmed. The first two paragraphs told you all you needed to know.

“Badgers?” You crumpled the page and threw it at him. “You can’t be serious.”

The ball of newsprint bounced off Woods’ patterned tie.

You stood and paced the three steps across your apartment’s worn green carpeting, then back again. “Nobody would even consider doing that, much less think it would work. I’m not making enough money to risk prison.”

The marshal stepped into your personal space and nearly jabbed you with his red Montblanc fountain pen. “It might be worth the gamble if Iowa doesn’t have the death penalty.”

“You’re insane,” you shot back. “It wouldn’t work, even if the concept occurred to me – which it didn’t. Where would I get the badgers, how would I know where to place them, and what are the chances someone could be killed by them?”

Woods replaced his pen and tucked his ever present notebook into the pocket of his Brioni suit jacket. “We’ll see. Don’t leave the city.” He spun on his heel, pulled open the door, and marched into the hallway. He’d left the hollow core door open.

“I can’t afford to leave!” Your shout echoed off the walls, and you added, “And I have nowhere else to go!”

You gave an inarticulate scream and slammed the door, then bashed your fist into the door hard enough to leave an indentation in the veneer. Your heart raced as you struggled to calm yourself.

My plans were on schedule, and nobody had a hint I was involved. Perfect.

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Saving Cayn 8

Welling leaned back, his weariness evident in every movement. “We have no food. Our farming dome blew out a couple of months after our first crop. We think it was a micrometeorite. We have food synthesizers, but there’s always some loss every time material passes through.”

Carnifor growled, “We already figured out that much. Tell us something we don’t know.”

Lannetay cut off Carnifor before his rant gained momentum. “First off, why’d you take Hyanto? If you knew we were coming, why’d you let us in? You could have stopped us from getting this far. You could also have taken our weapons.”

Welling nibbled on a fingernail. Lannetay wondered how much of the man’s calm was real, and how much affected.

“We took the boy – Hyanto, I guess – to get attention. You see, we’d contacted the four nearest colonies, and none will help us out. Typical of Wanti policies. But with the Herlorwian governor’s son taken, maybe he will do something about our problem.”

Goofball shifted further to one side, giving himself a better angle if someone attacked. “A Wanti governor helping a non-affiliated colony? More likely shoot you.”

“I get it.” Olthan snapped his fingers. “On my family’s farm a pile of bugs would take power cells. We’d find the cell, feed the bugs, and everyone’s happy.”

“Why would you feed the bugs?” Carnifor wondered aloud.

Olthan shrugged. “They’s cute.”

Lannetay turned back to Welling. “What you did wasn’t cute.”

“No, but you’re here because you care. We didn’t rip Hyanto out of your arms because we had no plans of keeping him. We simply need food to tide us over until we get our dome fixed and the next crop harvested.”

Carnifor planted his hands on his hips. “You have two thousand colonists. We couldn’t feed fifty, much less all of them.”

“You have stores of material for your resequencer.” Welling speared Carnifor with his gaze. “That would help for the short run. You have a cargo ship, according to the wake you left in the solar wind. You could bring more biological material and synthesizer supplies to extend our ability to feed ourselves. You could bring us seeds or young plants that will help us recover faster.”

Lannetay smouldered. “Why would we do that for a colony that kidnaps helpless infants?”

“Because we’re letting you go.” Welling waved to the suite’s door. “With the baby. Nobody will hinder you in any way.”

Carnifor and Lannetay exchanged a skeptical look. “Why would you do that?”

“You listened. That’s all we wanted. Wrantiban is too far away to help us, even if they were willing to do so. Neighboring colonies didn’t even answer our requests. If you show up in a colony’s sky they might listen to you.”

Lannetay headed to the door, with Carnifor following her lead. Goofball and Olthan came along, but backwards, to keep watch on Welling. The man stayed seated.

Bill, has anyone tried anything funny since we left?

No, Lannetay. Even Goofball has been unnaturally serious.

I meant like trying to board the ship or shoot it down, Lannetay snapped.

Nothing. I’m orbiting the colony five klicks out, per condition Tan. They’re not even scanning me, much less targeting the ship.

The four shipmates exited the suite. Six colonists came to attention, rifles at a reasonable approximation of “order arms.” Carnifor sniffed his derision while Olthan kept watch with his hand on the butt of his sidearm.

The crew from William Placard hustled to a drop shaft and stepped in. Moments later they emerged on ground floor. The newly-conscious clerk – and his holographic animals – glared at the group as they made their way out of the building. The domes and passages back to their infiltration point remained nearly deserted. The only people they saw were standing watch at every single airlock along the way.

“Ready to leave?” Lannetay clutched the child closely as they closed the inner hatch of their entry point.

Everyone nodded and switched on their support belts in turn. Hyanto would be covered by Lannetay’s equipment. Goofball pressed a control, and pressure in the lock dropped. When the indicator on the outer hatch glowed green, the fighter pilot activated the mechanism.

“Okay, let’s double-time it.” Carnifor nearly bolted onto the flinty surface of the planet.

Bill, we’re clear, Lannetay sent.

Pickup in thirty seconds, Bill replied.

A faint, high-pitched shriek made its way past the weak force field holding in the crew’s breathable air. Olthan unerringly glanced in the direction of the William Placard.The others followed his gaze to watch the hemispherical cargo ship descend.

The landing was anything but smooth. The jar of the cargo vessel hitting the surface translated through the ground and into the feet of the four. Nice job, Lannetay quipped. Only about six or seven more of those and we’ll have to replace the ship – again.

As long as I’m with you. A ship’s Core could never duplicate Bill’s sarcasm.

“Break any of the landing struts, Bill?” Carnifor asked.

“Just the one I was going to use on you, Carny.”

Carnifor scowled. “Can’t you get your ship to respect me, Lannetay?”

The ship’s boarding ramp lowered as Lannetay approached. “I can barely get him to listen to me.How could I convince him to respect you?”

“I just gotta be me,” Bill said. “Get aboard so we can put this dust pile behind us.”

Olthan knocked grit off his boots and came up the ramp backwards, hand still on his sidearm. “We’re aboard. Close up and lift off.”

The ramp lifted. Air pressure built and their support belt’s force fields contracted. After a brief itching sensation on their skin, the fields switched off.

“Did Olthan say that without his accent?” Carnifor asked Lannetay.

“I didn’t notice. Did he?”

Bill sent to Lannetay, He does that now and again. When he’s stressed he switches to “Marine” mode. Probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“Bill? Get us out of here,” Carnifor ordered.

“We’re already two klicks in the air.” Bill’s voice clearly held humor. “If you can call it ‘air.’ I wouldn’t want to breathe it.”

“You’ll never have to.” Lannetay glanced around to make sure everyone was okay. She handed the baby to L-T then sprinted toward the control room.

Caught off-guard by Lannetay’s sudden movement, Carnifor paused for a second before following.

The hatch opened as Lannetay approached. She dove for her seat as Carnifor arrived.

“Why bother running here?” Carnifor asked. “You can control the ship from anywhere, and if the Core malfunctions –”

“Artificial Intelligence,” Bill interrupted.

“– you couldn’t control it here either.”

“Habit,” Lannetay replied. “And training.” She brought up a holo of the star system, followed by another which showed the nearest ten stars. Pulsing red dots indicated where colonies were located, and status information for each scrolled along side them.

“Not much difference between habit and training,” Carnifor said. “Where are we going?”

“Bill, set course for Herlorwis. Push the engines just a bit.” Bill added a yellow line connecting Cayn and Herlorwis.

“Aye, sir,” Bill said. “Will do, Captain Lannetay.”

Then the baby woke up and informed everybody within half of a light year he was unhappy.

L-T’s yell, “Lannetay,” was barely heard over the child’s shrieking.

Lannetay scowled. “Bill, push her more than just a bit.” She stood and exited the control room to see if L-T needed help with the baby. The hatch closed behind her. She grimaced as the child’s tantrum reached a new level. Maybe Carnifor’s idea of staying in the control cabin was smarter.

As she entered the main room Olthan shrugged to himself and broke into a jog along the perimeter track. Goofball plopped himself into a chair before it was fully formed to accept him. Marc called up a game of three-dimensional chess already in progress. He sat, waiting for L-T to join him.

Hyanto continued to scream, but L-T sat and bounced the strident baby to calm him. The infant’s flailing arms flew through the insubstantial hologram.

“Lannetay, could you take him?” L-T’s expression bordered on panic.

“No, you’re doing fine.”

L-T scowled and shifted Hyanto to his left shoulder. He made a move while the infant’s frustration reached a new crescendo.

He just made a dumb move, Bill. I think L-T is going to lose this one.

He is distracted.

Lannetay grimaced at the baby’s objections. Can you mute that noise?

Funny – Carny asked me the same thing.

You know he hates being called that.

Yes, Bill sent. That’s why I do it. ThoughI know spying isn’t something you like, Lannetay, I think you should be aware of this conversation I’m having with Carnifor.

Lannetay sighed. Give me a seat, Bill, and I’ll listen in.

Bill grew a recliner right in the middle of Olthan’s track. The Marine swerved around it and continued on. Bill relayed what he and Carnifor were discussing.

That shrieking kid is going to make this a long sixteen days. Carnifor observed.

Ten days.

You cut our trip back to only a week? How?Carnifor didn’t sound like he believed Bill.

Your Admiral Choergatan gave Lannetay a good ship with lots of . . . enhancements. I’m not sure I should say more.

You’d better, Bill, or I’ll tell Lannetay you let this one slip.

Lannetay interrupted the overheard dialog. Why are you having me hear a private conversation between you two, Bill?

He needs to know, Bill sent. But you need to know that he knows. Let me play you the rest.

Lannetay wasn’t too wild about eavesdropping, but trusted Bill’s judgement on this. Proceed.

The “overheard” conversation continued with Bill saying, What do you suppose a fighter pilot is going to do aboard a cargo ship? Why would Admiral Choergatan put a foot soldier aboard? Is there a reason a street kid from Atlanta – who became a Navy officer – is part of this crew?

Carnifor didn’t respond for at least a half-minute.

Admirals don’t do anything without a reason, Carny. Mostly they have two reasons, if not more.

Bill told Lannetay, That’s pretty much it.

Lannetay pondered while another silence stretched, then she stood and went back to the control room. After dropping the sound dampening field she said, “We’re turning around, Carnifor. Bill, take us back to Cayn.”

If you're wondering more about these characters, their origins are detailed in Ebony Sea: Origins. If you appreciate this story, please share on social media, and consider supporting the author's ability to continue writing by purchasing the Origins story and leaving a review at the link above.