Fool's War (8 page)

“Glad to hear it.” Schyler straightened up. “Report to the Law then, Pilot. In her cabin.”

“Yes, Watch.” She touched her forehead, turned on her heel and marched smartly down the stairs.

The berthing deck was immediately below the bridge. The
Pasadena
had been built to keep the crew as far away from the engines as possible, just in case. The deck’s corridor was as bare and uninspiring as the bridge. Yerusha found herself wondering why Al Shei hadn’t invested in at least a pre-fab mural to brighten the place up a bit. The woman didn’t seem like one of the engineering aesthetic types who believe bare machinery was beautiful. Then again, she’d already heard rumors about some of the woman’s tight-fisted peccadillos, so maybe she shouldn’t be too surprised no cash had been laid out for corridor trimmings.

Yerusha kept walking around the curved hallway until she found the cabin labeled ZUBEDYE RESIT. The ENTER light shone green, so Yerusha just knocked once to signal that she was there and went inside.

The lawyer’s cabin was not so much living quarters as office. She had her bunk folded away. An active, permanent desk had been welded to the wall where most cabins had a fold-down set of boards. Resit sat at the desk, pouring over a set of films.

Yerusha wasn’t surprised to see her so deep into her work even though they were only five minutes out of free fall. As ship’s lawyer, she had to be a one-woman bureaucracy. She had to have a working knowledge of the local statutes wherever they were taking on or dropping off cargo. She had to make sure contracts, tax forms and manifests were all prepared and legal. The crew had to get reports on any behavior-related ordinances that would effect them, and cultural and legal advice had to be available to anyone who needed it. Al Shei and Schyler would have to know the circumstances under which they could seek work, and the contracts would have to be drawn up to cover cross-system traffic.

Much of the job could have theoretically been done from a station or groundside, but the expense of FTL communication prevented that. Unless you were a mega-corp or a monarch, it was easier and cheaper to bring your counsel with you.

A big input-output box sat on the corner of Resit’s desk. It had been unceremoniously piled with films filled with cramped Arabic writing. Guessing it was Resit’s AI law firm, Yerusha waved to the box in acknowledgement.

“Would you do me the courtesy of an introduction, Law?” she inquired, indicating the AI.

Resit’s mouth pressed into a long, straight line. Yerusha met her eye calmly. Resit obviously shared her cousin-employer’s prejudices.

“Incili. This is Jemina Yerusha.”

“How do you do, ‘Dama Yerusha?” answered the AI in a clear tenor voice with a slightly British accent.

“Pleased to meet you, Fellow.” Yerusha saluted the AI.

“Thank you, ‘Dama Yerusha.”

“All right, Incili, that’ll do.” Resit tapped her pen impatiently against the desk top.

“‘Dama.” The voice shut off.

“You called for me, Law?” Yerusha unfolded the stool from the wall and took her seat. Resit, Yerusha noticed, had changed from her usual skirt to a pair of baggy, opaque blue harem pants.

Skirts not being conducive to the maintenance of modesty in free fall. Yerusha forcibly suppressed a smile at the image of the lawyer with her hems billowing about her ears.

Resit sealed the films in front of her. “It’s part of my job, Yerusha, to try to stay apprised of any trouble the crew might have on the run.”

Yerusha held up her hand. “Is this going to be about the can blowing out at Port Oberon?”

“No,” answered Resit coolly, and Yerusha knew she’d made a tactical error. The lawyer had been all set for a confrontation, and she’d gotten one. “It’s about why the Freers’ exiled you.”

Yerusha had thought she was steeled for this, but the lawyer’s words still hit like a physical blow. She swallowed. “You know about that, and you still hired me.”

Resit shook her head. “I did not hire you. Al Shei did.” She rested her elbows on her knees. “My grasp of Freer law is pretty limited. As near as I can tell, so is anybody’s who doesn’t actually live on a station that has gone Free, or been set up Free.

“I do know you’ve been exiled from Free Home Titania and I know why. We’ve got a couple of station stops this run, so I need to know if you’re likely to get caught up in Freer political brawls, so I can budget for your bail, or your absence.”

Yerusha glanced at first one wall and then the other, just to make sure they weren’t closing in on her. It sure felt like it. She met Resit’s eyes again. “I’d like to know what you’ve been told.”

Resit reached out and tapped the I/O box. “Incili. Give me a replay on what we have from the Titania Hall of Records.”

The tenor voice flowed smoothly out of the box. “Fellow Jemina Yerusha is found guilty of dereliction of duty in public office. It is now a matter of public record that Fellow Jemina Yerusha has been sentenced for two years’ exile from the protection of Free Home Titania. For that time she may not seek or receive work, shelter or resources from any Freer. End sentence.”

There was a strange pounding noise coming from somewhere. Yerusha realized it washer heartbeat. She remembered the stale air in the court and the feel of sweat on her own palms.

“I’m sorry your first impression of me was unfavorable, Incili,” Yerusha said to the box.

“My first impression of you was simply factual, ‘Dama,” answered Incili. “I have not had cause to speculate on you yet.”

“I have, though,” Resit broke in, obviously insulted by the fact that Yerusha was more ready to talk to the AI than to her. Yerusha reined her temper in. It wouldn’t help if she pointed out the AI was more likely to hear anything she might have to say.

“I was derelict in my duty while serving in the Titania Free Guard. I was supposed to be standing a docking watch. I wasn’t. Because of me, a Fellow died.” She forced herself to keep her eyes fixed on Resit’s. “I was brought up and I was sentenced. If I keep a clean record while I’m out here, they’ll let me come home again.”

“Watch Commander Schyler contacted someone in the Free Home who suggested the charges were trumped up. Would you care to elaborate on that?”

Yerusha knew Resit saw the way she struggled to control her features. There was no missing it. The lawyer saw the memories even if she couldn’t read them. Resit didn’t know about Holden’s panicked cry coming down the intercom, about how she’d sprinted down the corridors, about how she’d been too late.

“No.”

Resit’s frown was heated from a slowly simmering anger. “I want you to tell me the worst we can expect if you come into contact with any other Freers.”

Yerusha looked at Incili’s gleaming silver skin and then at Resit. “I’m an Exile. I’ll be ignored. Treated like a ghost. That’s how I lost my arm.” She ran her hand over her right wrist. “I was trying to help with the can explosion, but no one would help me, so I couldn’t get myself out of the way fast enough when the last seam blew.”

Resit regarded her with a steady gaze that had probably made a lot of witnesses squirm. It almost worked on Yerusha.

“I hope,” Resit said without letting her gaze flicker for a second, “that your piloting records are more complete than your service record.”

Yerusha didn’t let herself flinch. “My pilot’s record is exactly as my agent gave it to you. I am the best you would have found in Port Oberon, on any day.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it.” Resit sat back and swiveled her chair so she faced her desk. Her voice had a brittle undertone. Yerusha wasn’t sure whether the lawyer believed what she said or not. “I’m obviously going to need to add Freer law to my repertoire though. Can you recommend a good source?”

Yerusha smiled. “The best storehouse of Freer law is Aneas Knock in Free Home Kemper. Be careful how you talk to him though,” Yerusha stood. “He’s an AI that doesn’t like being dismissed. ‘Bye Incili.” Without bothering to smirk, she left the lawyer’s cabin.

Back in the bare corridor, Yerusha rubbed her right wrist and tried not to curse out loud.

Of course she checked. After that little run-in with the Oberon greens, how could she not check?
Yerusha took a couple of deep breaths.
And you didn’t do yourself any favors in there. Watch your step, Jemina-Jewel. You’ve got no back-ups on this ship.

She glanced towards the ceiling. Technically, she should get right back to her station. But there shouldn’t be any problem with her slipping by the galley to grab a quick bulb of coffee. She needed something to bolster her up.

Not two hours into the shift and I’m already tired
, she thought as she climbed down the stairs. Below her feet, one of the engineer’s mates was hanging from the stair railing by his harness and resting his feet against a couple of support staples. He had a bunch of wiring in one hand and a probe in the other. At the sound of her footsteps, he cast a curious glance upward, flashed a brief smile and went straight back to his work.

At least somebody doesn’t give a damn. Yerusha waited while the galley hatch cranked itself open. It’d be nice to be ignored for awhile.

Kitchen and cafeteria were only part of the galley deck’s function. It also held the exercise room, the sick bay and recreation room. It was also the permanent station for Chandra and Baldassare Sundar. The wife and husband were genuine starbirds. They lived their lives traveling, hiring on board ships and stations as long as it suited them before moving on again. There were groundhogs who called their kind ‘space gypsies,’ and held them only one cut above Freers on the contempt scale. Some commanders wouldn’t hire them for any money. But Al Shei didn’t just hire them. According to some gossip that Yerusha had overheard, the Sundars had the highest share of anyone on the ship, except for Al Shei and Schyler. Between the pair of them they were Management Union certified innutrition, physical therapy, and first-and-emergency aid, and both were rated level six cooks by the Cordon Bleu association. Chandra, Yerusha already knew, made a curry that could burn the tonsils out of the uninitiated.

Despite all that, in the galley, the Fool, Dobbs, was engaged in the ancient past time of baiting the cook.

Dobbs was collapsed across the service window. Three off-shift crew members were so busy watching the show, they had forgotten the food cooling in front of them.

“Water!” Dobbs squeaked. “Water.” She slid off the counter into a little twitching heap on the floor.

Yerusha shook her head and threaded her way between the tables to the coffee urn that had been built into the wall.

Chandra, a grey-haired, bark-brown woman, appeared at the window with an open-lidded bucket in her wrinkled hands. It sloshed. She held it over Dobbs’ head.

Dobbs took one look up and scuttled backwards like a frightened crab. “Help!” She dodged under the nearest table. “That’s a declaration of war, Cook! I’m telling everyone I saw you put blasting gel in that sauce!”

Chandra clapped her hand to her forehead and staggered backwards. “Oh! I am found out! I am undone! I am ruined!”

“I am upstaged,” remarked Dobbs as she crawled out from under the table.

“Now behave yourself, young woman,” Chandra reached meaningfully for a ladle. “There’s work to be done, and unless you want to do it…”

Dobbs slapped her own forehead and stumbled away in perfect imitation of Chandra’s gesture. A comm assistant, who’s name Yerusha had forgotten, chuckled appreciatively. Then, he caught sight of Yerusha. Yerusha nodded to him and sat down at the next table. He got up immediately and moved over to a table on the far side of the room.

Yerusha swallowed her anger with a long draft of very strong coffee. When she looked up, the Fool was sitting across from her, both feet on the table. The chair would have been tilted back if it hadn’t been bolted to the floor.

“I’d be careful with that stuff.” Dobbs pointed toward Yerusha’s coffee cup. “The curry’s not the only place Cook puts the blasting gel. I don’t want to see Al Shei’s face when she’s got to scrape her new pilot off the ceiling.” Dobbs raised an imaginary umbrella and squinted angrily out from under its rim. “That does it,” she said in a good imitation of Al Shei’s Dubai accent. “That is the last time I hire a cook who says she’s a demolitions expert!”

Despite herself, Yerusha chuckled. The comm assistant gave her a disgruntled glance. Dobbs waved cheerily and gestured expansively for the man to come over and join them. Instead, he got up and left.

“Good sign.” The Fool folded her arms. “He at least recognizes when he’s just contributing to a ridiculous situation.”

“You trying to tell me you’re on my side, Fool?” Yerusha took another drink of coffee, smaller this time. The stuff really was strong.

“I’m on all sides. Sometimes all at once,” she added. “Defying relativity is one of those things they teach you when you’re going for master’s rank.”

Yerusha lowered her cup and looked at the other woman speculatively. “I’ve never shipped out with a Fool before. A friend of mine took the Guild entrance exam once. He didn’t even make the first cut.”

“I would sooner jump head first down a black hole than go through the Fool’s Guild qualification process again,” Dobbs gave her a quick smile. “You can’t imagine, the custard pies, the pratfalls, the water balloons…yuch.” She shuddered.