Destiny Abounds (Starlight Saga Book 1) (15 page)

Branwen, despite being fully willing to chip in with the work effort, didn’t get to help for even a full hour’s span. Merlo came and went with a small, flat, six-wheeled transport, needing no real help loading the pallet and assuring them she could handle it just fine by herself.

As she continued tidying up afterward, Branwen eventually noticed Zimi eyeing her more and more reproachfully with her bright green eyes, until finally, she just came over and firmly took Branwen’s tools and cargo straps away from her. The girl shook her head, tossing her long ponytail of golden brown over her slender shoulder as she marched away, grumbling quietly to herself, “Seriously. Ain’t in no condition to be doin’ all this stuff…”

It brought a grin to Branwen’s face, and she decided she’d probably be better off if she took the hint. Leaving everything downstairs in Zimi’s hands, she went back to her quarters, passing and heartily greeting Mr. Leonard; he was on his way down to the cargo bay to take a closer stock of extra supplies and fuel, she supposed.

She retired to her quarters for a while, slowly scanning the Exonet for some potential trades to run before settling into reading some Altairan documentation of the Kepo’s history. She probably lost track of time for a bit, laying on her bed and reading, dozing a little and waiting for someone to message her on the com and let her know Merlo was back, or if they’d found a job.

So it wasn’t until a little while later when she suddenly noticed she was having trouble focusing on what she was reading. She promptly snapped to full alertness, dropping her favorite datapad onto the soft white expanse of her fluffy bed. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing at attention; she could feel that vague, electric tingle down her spine, as well as the ready vibe to the air that never failed to warn her when
something
was amiss.

As quietly and quickly as she could, she rolled off of the bed and onto her feet, smoothly scooping up her war sabre, which was never willingly out of easy arm’s reach. Pausing only to strap on her compact holster of alloy axes and to toss the light protection of her heavy Koltani coat on over everything, she went to the door and crouched, ready, listening intently for a few moments.

Soon enough, she was rewarded with the muffled sound of heavy, unfamiliar voices, cutting back and forth across another that she knew all too well.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Tainted

Mr. Leonard

Mr. Leonard used his collapsible multi-tool to pry a metal panel free from where it was deeply set into the cargo bay walls, revealing the thick power conduit pulsing softly behind it. It was really best if he just did the bulk of the maintenance himself, and left more mundane things like hull repair and refueling to the standard technicians every stardock offered.

Aside from not wanting to draw undue attention to the
Destiny’s
complicated inner workings, he honestly doubted that a standard-trained dockside tech could figure her advanced mechanics out. In a way, he hated to think of it like that; he didn’t want to sound arrogant, even to himself, and it’s not like he knew the skill level of any of those people personally. Still, though, he knew the chances were high that he was correct in his assumption.

As he worked, he hummed the precise notes of Fortehill’s
Ode to a Passing Nebula
, which was probably his favorite classical Altairan musical piece. He’d found that, despite the beautiful and complex undertones often employed in the Elysian classics, he tended to prefer the more orderly and predictable ebbs and swells of Altairan orchestral arrangements. Besides, the Altairans had been at composing much longer, which lended to the overall technical performance, in his mind. He kept the sound quiet, though; down to a level where he was sure only he could hear it. He didn’t want to disturb anyone else nearby, even if it was only Zimi still down here, and she was busy working.

He jumped suddenly as something gripped his shoulder, fumbling his hardlight multi-tool and almost dropping it down into the gap between the thick cargo bay walls and the first layer of outer hull plating. Thankfully, due to his quick reflexes, he managed to catch it before it fell very far and was lost forever somewhere in the depths of the
Destiny’s
plated casing.

“Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Leonard, I didn’ mean to startle ya.” Zimi’s soft voice came out of nowhere behind him, and he chided himself for getting so absorbed in his work as to not pay attention. He also blushed.

“Oh, um, Miss Zimi. It’s… it’s okay, of course. No problem at all.” Mr. Leonard turned slightly so he could smile up at her, and mentally stamped down his blushing. “I should have been paying more attention, but I suppose I was absorbed into this conduit.”

She laughed lightly in response; he found it was a rather pleasant sound. “Well, you’d better not go and get absorbed into it, ‘cause we kinda like havin’ you around.” She beamed brightly down at him for a moment with her young, pretty face, before acquiring a mild red coloration to the cheeks also. Mr. Leonard found himself starting to blush again in response, and turned back to the open energy conduit before the cycle could continue reciprocating.

“I… I’ll be sure not to do that.” He felt as if that were a rather lame reply, but couldn’t think of anything better. Interpersonal relations were so hard sometimes.

“Well, hey,” She said, straightening and stretching easily. “I’m gonna go out, and look around for some passengers, or maybe track down some cargo that needs deliverin’ or some such. Maybe I can get us something to run again ‘fore the Captain comes back down, huh?”

“That certainly sounds good, Miss Zimi. Good luck!” He sighed internally, but didn’t let it show through. Everything he said sounded lame, even to himself. Or perhaps, especially to himself. He sighed again. Zimi was already walking away, waving a casual goodbye, and Mr. Leonard waved briefly in reply and watched her go. He reflected suddenly on the fact that he found her rather pretty; the simple white sleeveless tunic dress over dark worker’s leggings flattered her, he felt. But mostly, he liked that she was always so happy, so friendly, so kind.

He wished that he knew better how to talk to her, though. Or Merlo, for that matter; he felt really uncertain if she liked him. He tried his best to be helpful, and knowledgeable, but didn’t know… well, much of anything about how to make friends. Not with adults, anyways. He’d been raised around many younger children, and spending most of his time with them unfortunately seemed to leave him lacking in conversational intricacies, or so he had come to believe.

Really, it was just such a bother trying to get an outside perspective on oneself. Maybe he was doing fine, and just couldn’t see it. Or maybe he was trying too hard. There were many possibilities, and he felt woefully inadequate at times attempting to sort through them. Machines, on the other hand; machines were easy. He put the finishing touches on the conduit maintenance in his current area, then moved three meters down and began to detach another access section, intending to check the next conduit coupling.

With machines, you always knew what to expect. They followed rules, followed logic; if something went wrong, and you didn’t know why, there was still a reasonable answer that one could derive. You could always figure it out, given time.

It was people that were hard. People scared him. He wondered sometimes if other people felt the opposite way. Branwen, perhaps, though he would hesitate to pin the label of “fear” on the Captain. Still, he envied her, in a way; she seemed to always know what to expect of people. Then again, she was hopeless with technology. Mr. Leonard moved down to the third section of conduit, and idly hoped that there were people good at both, and wondered what they had to give up to gain that dual understanding. Maybe it was simply his confidence that was lacking. He figured that was also a solid possibility.

Mr. Leonard was once again fairly absorbed in repairs when Zimi returned, having pinpointed what his calculations had expected: the beginning of a conduit fracture in one of the sections I-5 through I-9. Not so absorbed this time that he didn’t notice, though, as her flip-flop shoes slapped onto the extended tongue of the
Destiny
. And not so absorbed that he didn’t also notice the thump of boots with her, probably of three or four people.
Just a moment more… There!
He finished re-sealing the conduit, and, with what he hoped was an impressive flourish, turned toward Zimi’s entry.

“Hey! You’re back!” He said as he rose, trying to sound more confident, a feeling that died even as he looked up and focused outward on Zimi and the others. “I see you found… passengers…” There were four of them, and well, they didn’t look like the kind of passengers he felt the Captain would want on the
Destiny
. Four males, all in shape, if perhaps a bit lean in a couple of places, one rather burly. All of them tall enough to feel like they towered over Zimi, and easily big enough to be intimidating toward him when combined with their obviously aggressive posture. They wore pants and boots, dark colors with plain shirts or tank tops. They had short hair and dark expressions. One had a fancier jacket and a patterned buzz cut, the jacket seeming incongruous with the rest of his dress.

He stopped really concerning himself with the details, however, when he noticed Zimi’s face. Defiant, but scared, twisted with a touch of pain. He could follow that trace of strain over and down to where the man with the jacket held her arm, in an angle that he could only assume was agonizing.

“I…” He trailed off, then winced at what felt like a obtrusively loud clang as he accidentally dropped his multi-tool, and it bounced off the metal floor and skittered off under a stack of empty pallets, as if seeking the shelter he wished he could find for himself. He wanted to call out to the men, to tell them to stop, or to leave, or to let Zimi go; he even opened his mouth again to speak, but nothing came out.

“Mister Leonard, run!” Zimi suddenly yelled out, or tried to; the man holding her clamped a hand over her mouth before she uttered half of his name. He noticed her open her mouth again, perhaps to bite down on the intruding hand, before he turned to follow her instructions, and run.

He didn’t want to, of course. He wanted to help. But he also knew he wasn’t brave, and couldn’t do anything to help if he stayed. Besides, he was afraid, and didn’t want to be hurt, or for Zimi to get hurt, and that fear told him to run. But he only made it a couple of steps before he heard the thump of something hitting the cargo bay floor, and he knew what it was without turning. A loud, oddly accented man’s voice stole any further momentum he had towards heading for the stairs.

“Hey! You run off, she dies.”

He slowed, turning toward the intrusive sound, and saw what he expected to see; Zimi, on the floor at the supposed leader’s feet, holding her side as if hurting. The man in question began to squat next to her, pulling out a long, curved knife of a greenish-tinged alloy and holding it in a practiced reverse grip. He saw the promise in the man’s cold, dark eyes and rooted himself obediently to the spot.

Scanning frantically, at least he didn’t see any blood on Zimi, at least not yet. He was trembling ever so slightly by the time two of the intruders ran up to flank him, cutting off any possibility of running for the relative safety of the upper deck of the
Destiny
.

“Don’t you listen to ’em, Mr. Leonard! You run if you can!” Zimi seemed out of breath, as she didn’t call out as loudly as she had before.

“Girl, you got next to no sense of self-preservation.” Leader-in-a-coat said, holding the knife all too close to her face for Mr. Leonard’s comfort.

“Wait! No, um, I…” Mr. Leonard burst out, as the man made all-too-ominous motions with the jagged metal knife. “I— Wh-what do you want?” Interrupting got the desired result, as the man turned his attention from Zimi, focusing instead toward Mr. Leonard. However, it worked perhaps too well, as the large figure abruptly rose and stalked quickly over to him instead.

Mr. Leonard cowered slightly more in on himself, even as he felt the shame rise up inside; he knew he was a coward, he didn’t need this man to reinforce it so thoroughly for him. He noticed, past the shadow of a man blotting out most of his vision, the fourth intruder bent and grabbed Zimi’s arm—too tightly—to keep her in place.

“The stuff. Where do you keep it?” The man’s rough voice grated on Mr. Leonard’s nerves, already raw from the strain of the situation.

“Wha-what stuff?” Mr. Leonard was honestly confused. Was there something on the ship he didn’t know about? There shouldn’t be.

“The money stuff, little boy!” The man growled down at him, and he felt almost as if he were weak in the legs. He didn’t get the chance to test that though; the rogue grabbed him by the front of his nice silver vest and raised him to the tips of his toes without seeming to exert himself. “A ship this nice gotta have money stuff. What you got that’s worth somethin’?” He couldn’t help noticing that the man’s breath smelled awful, and he really could use a good shave. He also observed that this was an awful time to be fixating on those kinds of details.

“Don’t you tell these ruffians nothin,’ Mr. Leonard!” Zimi called out. She seemed to have regained some of her breath, but she lost it again in an instant as the man looming over her reared back and kicked her viciously in the side, driving his boot in painfully deep and causing her to gasp hoarsely in pain. Mr. Leonard felt himself freeze up. He couldn’t stand seeing violence; he had never been able to handle it. Violence was Bad.