Of Treasons Born (14 page)

Chapter 14:

Party Time

“Did you hear?” Marko said as he strode into the lower deck bunk room.

Seated at a table, York, Zamekis, Sissy, and Durlling looked up from their card game. They'd all noticed the note of excitement in the older man's voice.

“Hear what?” Zamekis asked.

Marko paused in the middle of the room as if he were about to make a momentous announcement. “I just heard our new orders.”

For some reason, Marko wanted to stretch out the delivery of his message dramatically.

“Out with it,” Sissy said.

Marko grinned. “We're to head to Muirendan.”

“That's inner empire,” Zamekis said.

Even York understood there must be more to it than that.

Durlling prompted Marko. “And …”

Marko's grin broadened. “For an indefinite period of time, for repairs and major refitting.”

The three women jumped to their feet, whooped and shouted and slapped one another on the back. York asked, “What's going on?”

Sissy turned toward him, closed the distance between them, wrapped her arms around his neck, and gave him a kiss that curled his toes. When they came up for air, she said, “We've been rotated back.”

York heard the muted sounds of other spacers elsewhere on the deck whooping and cheering. Apparently, going for refitting was good news that spread quickly.

“What's that mean?”

Zamekis said, “When they use that wording, it means only one thing: We're being taken off combat status.”

Marko said, “And they sent us to a nice, plush inner-empire world.”

Durlling slapped York's back so hard he staggered. “We'll be there for at least a year or two, maybe more. Light duty, no combat. While
Dauntless
is in orbit around Muirendan getting refitted, she'll only need a skeleton crew.”

Sissy leaned close to York's ear and whispered, “Let's get an apartment off base. We'll only have to come up to the ship for a day or two out of every ten, just to log some time in the sims to keep our skills up. We'll have all the time in the world to just kick back and enjoy.”

“Everyone gets their turn,” Marko said. “That's the way it's always been, kid. We've been out here for close to five years. Now we get a couple off to relax and enjoy ourselves. It's fair payback.”

Nothing on
Dauntless
changed immediately; they were too close to the front lines to ignore the ever-present danger of a feddie hunter-killer lying in wait, ready to put a big transition torpedo into the ship's gut. But as they put more distance between them and that possibility, the entire crew grew almost festive. They still got up each watch and did their work, but after four days at two thousand lights they'd covered a little more than twenty light-years, and York noticed a decided difference in the collective mood of the crew.

Seated at a workbench in the lower deck supply room, York was assisting Marko and Straight at inventorying spare pod parts. They'd been at it for several hours: a necessary task, but tedious at best. They had about an hour left in the watch when he came up with a small discrepancy in the count of target designators.

York glanced over his shoulder, saw Marko standing at an open parts locker looking at a hand terminal. “Marko,” he said, standing. “I'm short one target designator.” He started toward the cabinet where the designators were stored. “I'll have to do a physical count.”

York had only gone two paces when Marko said, “Hold on a moment, kid.”

York halted and turned toward the older man. Marko shouted, “Straight, can you come in here?”

Straight appeared in the door to the supply room's inner office. “What do you need?”

“We came up short one designator. Kid's going to have to do a physical count.”

“Shit,” she said, glancing at the clock above the hatch. “That'll take a couple hours, and we've less than an hour left.” She looked at York, then at the clock again, considered it for a moment, then said to York, “Forget it, Ballin. We'll do the count next watch.”

York couldn't believe his ears. It was so out of character for Straight to show such flexibility. Under any other circumstance, she'd not care in the least that they'd have to work well beyond the end of their watch.

“Better yet,” Marko said. “It's just one designator. Let's just forget it, let the engineers handle it during refitting. They'll write it off on a discrepancy report, and we'll have a fully reconciled inventory when we have to go out again.”

York tensed, appalled that Marko would make such a suggestion. He waited for Straight to explode. But she shrugged and said, “That works for me.” She turned and disappeared through the door.

York noticed a lot of little things like that, and the deeper into the empire they traveled, the more frequently such small lapses in discipline occurred. Five nights later, the petty officer in charge of another gunner crew found two of his team quite drunk on contraband 'trate, a horrible breach of discipline while on ship. But instead of turning them over to Zhako to be tossed in the brig, they spent one watch scrubbing decks.

York had long ago learned to adjust to the situation and not fight the inevitable. In any case, he'd never been so happy. He had friends, and his crewmates respected him for his skills as a gunner. He was one of the best, and somehow he'd found a future in this strange world he'd been dropped into. He had a simple set of rules to live by, regular food, and a comfortable place to sleep. And above all, there was Sissy; the two of them had such plans for the coming year.

After eighteen days under full drive, and a little more than a hundred light-years,
Dauntless
down-transited outside Muirendan's nearspace.

As the sound of Muirendan Prime's docking gantries coupling to
Dauntless
echoed through the ship's hull, York examined his small bundle of meager possessions. Unlike the other spacers, he didn't have any souvenirs or sentimental keepsakes; he'd come aboard with nothing but the clothes on his back and the manacles on his hands and legs. Now all he had was a couple of uniforms, a small personal reader he'd purchased from ship's stores, and a few toiletries. He considered carefully what to take for his year on Muirendan, and decided to take it all. He didn't make any attempt to fold the uniforms as he tossed them into a small duffel.

“Ballin.”

He recognized Straight's voice, turned, and found her standing in the hatch to the bunk room. She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “Report to the captain's office.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Did I do something wrong?”

She shook her head. “Not that I know of.”

York stopped by the marine barracks. “Here,” he said, handing Sissy his duffel.

She eyed him warily. “Where are you going?”

“I'm supposed to report to the captain's office.”

“You do something wrong?”

York shrugged. “Straight doesn't think so. I'll meet you down here as soon as I'm done. Hang on to my duffel.”

York climbed up the ship's ladders deck after deck. There were grav lifts, but those were reserved for personnel on important business. The hatch to the captain's office was open, but York stood outside and knocked politely.

“Enter.”

As York stepped through the hatch, he saw the captain seated behind a small desk, while Thorow stood over her looking at a hand terminal. York went through the ritual of marching squarely up to the captain's desk, stopping a pace away from it, saluting, and saying, “Spacer Ballin reporting as ordered, ma'am.”

Jarwith looked at him carefully while Thorow continued to look at the screen of the small reader, frowning and shaking his head slightly from side to side, as if something he saw there seemed out of place, or incorrect.

Jarwith returned the salute and said, “At ease, Spacer.”

York spread his feet and clasped his hands behind his back. He'd never been in the captain's office before, though that didn't intimidate him half as much as Thorow's disturbed look. The executive officer said, “This isn't right.”

Jarwith stared at York as she said, “No, it isn't. But I told you the rather unusual circumstances under which he came to us.”

“Ya,” Thorow said. “With a suit giving orders to civilian and military authorities alike. But this”—he wagged the small terminal at her—“doesn't fit anything.”

For the first time, Thorow looked at York. There was no anger in the man's look. “You've been a good spacer, Ballin, even though you had a rough start.”

York decided that the mystery of the moment allowed him to break discipline just a little. “I don't understand, sir.”

Jarwith leaned forward and put her hands flat on the desk in front of her. “We've received new orders for you. You're being transferred to the destroyer
Relentless
. You're to report there immediately. They're headed outbound to the front lines tomorrow.”

York had to replay her words carefully in his mind to understand their meaning, and a lump formed in the pit of his stomach. “Immediately?”

“God dammit,” Thorow said, “it's just not right.”

Jarwith ignored him and said to York, “This is very unusual—just not done. Not when someone's paid their dues out there.”

York's thoughts raced as he tried to come up with some rational explanation. “Maybe it's because I was with you for less than three years. Maybe they figure I haven't earned it yet.”

Jarwith shook her head, her brows furrowed not with anger, but with obvious pain. “No, Mr. Ballin, that's not it. This is very unusual. You've earned better. If it's any consolation, I'm promoting you to spacer first class. And you'll be welcome on
Relentless
. They're quite happy to get a top-notch gunner with a good record.”

Thorow added, “We've cleaned up your record, no references to your past, nor to the mistakes you made here at the beginning. It's the least we can do.”

During the entire climb back down to the marine barracks, York hoped that if he moved slowly enough, Thorow and Jarwith would have time to learn there'd been some mistake, a glitch in Fleet's computers. But that miracle never came.

When he stepped into the marine barracks, he spotted Sissy seated at a terminal with her back to him. She heard him approach, glanced over her shoulder for only an instant, then turned back to the screen. “I've found a little beach cabin. We're going to share it with Chunks and a couple of gunners.”

She turned around to look him in the face, saying, “It's expensive but we …” When she saw the look on his face, her words slowly trailed off. “… can just … afford … it. What's wrong?”

“I've been transferred to
Relentless
.”

She frowned and her nose wrinkled. “How much time do we have?”

“None. I'm to report there immediately.”

“No,” she shouted, standing. “There's no fucking way. You got it wrong.”

York couldn't find any anger, just sadness. “I got it straight from Jarwith and Thorow.”

Sissy's eyes flashed with anger. She turned and marched across the deck, shouting, “Sarge, somebody fucked up big-time.”

When Cochran heard the news, she was as perplexed as Jarwith and Thorow. She got Shernov involved, and they made a call to the captain. But after much discussion, they reluctantly agreed there was nothing they could do about it.

“No,” Sissy said, tears brimming in her eyes. “It's not right. It can't be.”

Cochran shook her head. “But it is what it is, Sis.”

Sissy stomped her foot and shouted again. “No.” She threw her arms around York. “I won't let you go.”

As she held on to him, York felt her tears soaking into the shoulder of his tunic. He wanted to cry himself, but his soul felt just plain numb. Cochran and Shernov had to peel Sissy off him, and as Sissy collapsed in Cochran's arms, Shernov said, “Sorry, kid.”

York's orders stated that he was to report to
Relentless
without delay, a military phrase that meant
now
.

“I'll transfer to
Relentless
with you,” Sissy said.

York glanced at Shernov, who shook his head silently, telling York that would never happen.

York kissed Sissy on the cheek and tasted the salt of her tears, mixed with a bit of girlish perfume, and the scent he would always remember as uniquely her. He grabbed his duffel and left her there still sobbing. He climbed up several decks to the main personnel hatch, went through the ritual of requesting permission to leave the ship then saluting the flag of the Lunan Empire.

He stepped out onto a busy concourse that ran the length of the docks on Muirendan Prime. He paused for a moment and stood there as people walked past him, feeling empty and alone. An odd thought occurred to him.
What if he turned around, got Sissy, and the two of them deserted?
He looked up and down the docks and wondered where they would go, realized the MPs would scoop them up in rather short order.

On his way to his new ship, he passed a shop that advertised marine gear. On a whim, he stepped through the door and walked inside. A fellow standing behind a counter smiled and said, “What can I do for you, kid?”

The shop offered all sorts of equipment, only some of it weaponry. “I'm looking for a type of sidearm that uses chemical explosives to fire a bullet.”

The fellow's eyes narrowed, and as York tried to describe the bluish-metal gun Cath had let him try out on the firing range, his eyes narrowed further.

“What do you want with a gun like that?”

York didn't really have an answer to that, so he said, “A marine friend, a good friend, recommended I carry one as a backup piece in case my energy weapon fails.”

The fellow stared at York for several seconds, then nodded and went into the back of the store. When he returned, he laid several bluish-metal weapons on the counter in front of York. York chose a small one that looked like that Cath had used. It had a short barrel and a revolving cylinder that held the bullets. He bought it and a box of shells, paid for it with the money he would have used to pay for the cabin on the beach with Sissy.