Starbound (15 page)

“That's not how it happened,” I said.

“As if it ever is.” As triumphant music played in the background I switched off the player and kissed her, more forcefully this time.

“Time for bed, madam. And this time I intend to keep you up for a bit,” I said.

“Umm,” she said as we kissed. “Promises, promises.”

Back to Candle

T
he next day
was full of gift giv
ing, most of which P
erkins had already t
aken care of for me,
a formal mass at th
e National Cathedral
, and a traditional
Reunion Day dinner i
n the formal dining
room with more milit
ary and political di
gnitaries. I drank t
oo much and was only
allowed a meager bi
t of time with Dobri
na, to our mutual co
nsternation.

By Boxing Day our departure to High Station Candle was a welcome relief. We used our time once again aboard
Cordoba
for some precious privacy, and we were granted all we wanted. The ship was empty of passengers this time except for us.

We arrived at Candle the next morning fully refreshed and ready to begin our next adventure. Once in our suite we found a waiting message from our transport liaison, who went unnamed.

The instructions were cryptic, only to meet him for lunch on the Cloud Deck of High Station Candle at noon. We still had a few hours so we killed time going over the inquest briefings. It was innocuous stuff, and I had a hard time believing anything would come of it. At
the appropriate time we headed up a few decks and took our places at a table that had been reserved for us. Our liaison was yet to arrive.

I got restless and ordered mimosas for Dobrina and me at her insistence, then surveyed the Cloud Deck from the bar as I waited to be served. Every High Station had a Cloud Deck, a place where they could charge exorbitant prices for ordinary things such as dinner and drinks. They called it the “Cloud Deck” because it invariably offered the best view of the prime planet that you orbited, a view of the clouds, so to speak. Unfortunately Candle only offered a view of the yellow and orange sulfur-scarred rock that the station had been carved out of. Not a cloud within several million miles of the place.

Our liaison came through the door at 1205. I heard him behind me first, rather than saw him.

“Jesus, lad, drinking already? It's barely noon.”

I turned around, mimosas in both hands, to see the scarred face of Lucius Zander, my former Lightship commander, a man I had rescued from a raging fire inside a damaged shuttle just a few months back. A man who was barely alive the last time I saw him.

“I would like to think you'd at least be respectful enough to acknowledge a superior officer with a salute, lad.” The voice was weaker and his speaking pace was more deliberate than I remembered, but there was no doubting the owner of the gravelly rasp. I set the drinks back down on the bar and saluted automatically.

“Captain? Captain Zander, sir?”

“For Gods' sake lad, relax! I'm not Marley's ghost come to warn you on Christmas Eve. Finish your business.” I stood frozen looking at him. What I saw shocked me.

He had no hair under his captain's beret. His exposed skin was crinkled orange and mottled brown, deep lines cut through almost every inch of his face, neck, and hands. He held a titanium cane in his left hand as a balance for his good foot, his right. The left obviously
was a hindrance, but not too much. When I looked into his face it was hairless, his right eye a dark brown as if it too had been burnt, and a huge scar ran down his forehead at an angle over his left eye, which was covered by a patch.

“What's the matter, boy? Never seen a man that's glad to be alive?” Then he stuck out his free hand to me and I shook it.

“It's good to see you, sir, but I never expected to see you so . . . soon,” I said.

“It's all right to admit the truth, boy, you never expected to see me at all. Well, to tell you the truth I wasn't sure I'd ever make it this far myself. Eighteen surgeries, over a thousand micrografts, and two months in a lung regenerator for five hours a day will make a man want something, anything, he can grasp onto for a better future.”

“I don't understand,” I said. Just seeing him was a shock and I wasn't tracking our conversation well. He shook his head and jabbed a bony finger at me.

“I didn't do all that rehab just to go sit in a chair on some beach,” he said. “I've got a ship! And I'm here as your taxi ride to Carinthia.”

Zander strolled over and sat down with us, giving Dobrina a kiss on the cheek that she did her best not to cringe away from, and ordered a beer. Though his appearance was shocking, he was still every bit the crusty navy captain we had known on
Imp
ulse
.

“What an ugly place,” said Zander, looking around the restaurant and out the view windows. Then he took a long draught of his beer. He was in the middle of explaining to me about his decision to leave rehab six months early.

“I can grow a new leg anytime, or get another hundred grafts of newskin,” he said. “I'll look right and pink then, lad, enough to capture all the ladies' hearts. But it will take two years to grow back hair and
fill in the scar for the eye replacement, and I haven't got time to do with that business now.”

I took another sip of my mimosa. “So you put in for active duty and they accepted you?” I asked.

“Hells no, boy!” he said. “They wouldn't give me another command, son. Not the way I was broken,” he said. “I'm a privateer now. I cashed in every chit I had in the Union Navy to get a Functional Discharge, and they finally gave me one. I work for a trader from Pendax named Admar Harrington. He's rich as the devil, and as ambitious, too.”

“There wasn't anything in the Carinthian Navy for you?” asked Dobrina. “I was told our commissions would return to the home navy in the event we left Union employ.” Zander looked pensive at this. He eyed Dobrina and then me.

“I had my reasons for not rejoining the Carinthian Navy, missy. They may just be the suspicions of an old man, or they may be more,” he said. Dobrina looked concerned at this, as was I, so I pressed him.

“What do you mean, ‘suspicions of an old man'?” I asked. He waved me off.

“Forget I said anything.”

“I'm afraid I can't do that,” I said. “You see, I'm not just a navy commander anymore, I'm also a diplomat on his first mission and a royal duke of the Cochrane House of Quantar, so you'll just have to tell me, because in the real world I outrank you.” Zander gave me his best pirate growl before drawing deeply from his beer again. Dobrina took another drink of her mimosa but stayed silent.

Zander sighed. “Just rumors, my boy. Nothing to be concerned about.”

“You're evading the question,” I said. “Spill it. Need I remind you I saved your life at Levant?”

“No need to remind me of my debts,” he bristled.

“Captain, it would be helpful to know what we're getting into,” chimed in Dobrina. Zander sighed as if resigned to his fate.

“Very well. Rumors mostly, about Carinthia. Rumors of commanders being replaced at the highest levels. Rumors that
some
in the Carinthian Navy are not all that happy with resources being allocated to the Union. I usually give it no thought, but every loyal Carinthian ship captain I know and trust is now taking his ships in-system through High Station Three. Not Two, and certainly not One,” he said. Three was the most distant of the Carinthian High Stations, in orbit around a colorful gas giant two light-hours from primary Carinthian jump space.

“Why just Three and not One and Two?” asked Dobrina. Zander turned his direct attention on her.

“That's where the command replacements are supposedly being made, One and Two. One is in direct orbit over New Vienna. Two is stationed at the edge of the Habitable Zone. That leaves Three as the only remaining outpost for Loyalist commanders. And those Loyalists are staying well clear of One and Two and even Carinthia herself. And High Station Three is no longer being resupplied by Carinthia. They're relying on supplies from Quantar, Levant, and Earth. My new boss on Pendax is anxious to help as well,” he said.

“You keep mentioning Loyalists. Loyal to whom, or to what?” I asked.

“Loyal to the Grand Duke Henrik, son, and to the Union,” said Zander.

I sat back in my chair, suddenly sobered by the conversation.

“Lucius, we know that
Impulse
was infiltrated from within, by Tralfane, the Historian. He could not have acted alone. There had to be help—”

“From inside the navy, the Carinthian Navy. I know,” Zander said. I watched concern play across his mottled face. I weighed my next question heavily before asking it.

“Could this be a sign of revolt within the Carinthian military? Revolt against the Union?” I asked. Dobrina's head snapped around at this.

“It could be. It could be a lot of things. It could be nothing,” with this Zander tried to smile a reassuring smile, but it didn't work on either Dobrina or me.

“Why didn't Wesley give us this intelligence before we left Quantar?” I asked.

“He's doing that right now, lad, through me,” replied Zander.

“You work for Wesley too?” asked Dobrina.

“In some way, we all do, Commander,” he said. Then he sat back and tried to appear relaxed. “In any case, the mission is on. Anything you two can discover about the situation on Carinthia will be well appreciated by the higher-ups, I'm sure.”

“So now we're spies,” I said. Zander shrugged.

“I'm sure the grand admiral wouldn't call it that.” Once again I found myself resenting Wesley's using me for his own purposes. This time though, he had included Dobrina, and that rubbed me the wrong way.

“Oh cheer up, you two. It won't be so bad. You'll get to go to state dinners and then probably spend one afternoon answering innocuous questions asked by a bunch of naval flunkies. Things could be worse,” he said.

“When do we leave?” I asked.

“We're taking on stores for Three right now. We'll be ready for shove-off at 1700 tonight. Dinner in my cabin an hour later, if you please.”

“But, Captain—” started Dobrina. He cut her off.

“It's a full day to traverse from the Carinthia jump point to High Station Three at safe cruising speed. Plenty of time to talk then, lass,” he said, then leaned forward. “But for now, let me tell you about my ship!”

“Please do, sir,” I said, humoring him. He smiled again.

“I've got a brand spanking new Wasp, the
Benfold
.”

“Wasp?” asked Dobrina. Zander shrugged.

“It's just what we call them. They're really line frigates, designed for running military and commercial cargo for the navy.”

I sat forward again at this. I was intrigued. “What's her drive?” I asked.

“Two FTL spools and a Hoagland,” said Zander. “But she packs enough firepower to turn this rock to ashes and she's faster from point-to-point in normal space than anything in the Unified Navy!”

“Crew?” asked Dobrina.

“Thirty-two,” he said. “Three commissioned officers from Pendax, half a dozen private security and a staff sergeant. The rest commercial spacers. We run pork and beef from Pendax to Candle, plus a good lot of your Quantar scotch and shiraz out to Levant and back home. We pick up absinthe and schnapps for the Carinthians in the Union Navy and spread them out among the Union High Stations. We carry military cargo, too. The odd missile battery, anything that will fit in our hold, which is a lot. And if we see anything amiss while we're out in the Great Dark, we have full reign to stop and investigate for the navy.”

“Sounds like a nice life,” I said. He shrugged again, and raised his beer stein.

“It beats fighting off all the widowed
haus
fraus
,” he said. Then we clinked our glasses. Dobrina's eyes betrayed her concern to me as we drank.

I smiled politely, and wondered what we were heading
into.