Luisa Kamajeck cursed the twenty years of riding out grav-fluxes on unforgiving cargo-hold deckplates as she bent her aching knees to peer into the cupboard in the officer's mess. No fancy new joints for Ishukone's cargo-jockeys, she thought sourly.Not worth the expense. Not a 'hazardous job'. No matter that a snapped safety cable at full thrust can take off an arm as easy as any plasma charge.
It was an old complaint, worn thin and familiar with repetition, one that she'd kept on the inside of her teeth for forty years and would for forty more if the spirits give me that long.
It seemed unlikely. Still, there was a time I gave up on seeing twenty-five. Days on the Sapphire Star towards the end that I didn't think I'd see the next morning, let alone the next birthday. Luisa found the bottle she was looking for, hooked it out along with a glass to go with it, and straightened, barely suppressing a groan. Never can tell, Lulu, what's around the corner. Never can tell.
Spirits know I never saw this job coming.
The mess door opened, the lack of a knock telling Luisa, if not who it was, then at least that it was one of the other three people with business here, this time of night.
"'lo," Michael Mitcheson said, letting the door hiss shut behind him.
Luisa grunted an acknowledgement and poured herself exactly one finger of vodka. Invelen's gift, podder largess, better than I've ever had or will again.
Mitch grinned. "I see you missed me, then."
"Yeah, but one of these days my aim will get better," Luisa told him, recapping the bottle as Mitch pulled a chair out from the table. "Hope you came back ready to work, Chief. Didn't put your back out or anything."
"Well, I had the best medical care," Mitch said, straight-faced.
Luisa snorted. "Is that what you decadent Gallentes call a double-enten-whatsit?"
He let the smile show then. "Possibly."
"Well, cut it out," Luisa told him. "Don't think you'll be getting any extra leeway around here because you're a married man, Michael Mitcheson."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Mitch assured her. "Although, thanks for the new quarters."
"Don't thank me," Luisa said. "Pilot's idea."
Mitch rocked back on his chair, balancing it on two legs. "Pilot's idea, your work orders, right?"
"Maybe," Luisa admitted. She glanced at him, sipped the fine Pator vodka. "So you happy with how your little plan worked out?"
" My plan?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Wasn't Nerila's, was it? Doesn't take eyes like Fisk's to see the only way you'd get a ring on her finger is with a gun to her head. Metaphorically speaking." Luisa sipped her vodka again. "What are you going to do? If your wife finds out she's not the only one on this boat who knows how to deal from the bottom of the deck?"
Mitch shrugged. "Tell her the truth." He let the chair settle square on all four legs again and grinned at Luisa. "That it was your idea."
She gave him her best and blankest noncommittal stare, the one that usually saw her walk away with the pot in any game that doesn't have Fisk and Nerila in it. "Can't have senior officers flouting regs, can I?" Luisa heard more of an edge to her voice than she'd meant as the words came out and couldn't think of a way to soften it, waited to see if Mitch'd take offence.
No. He kept grinning. "Oh, so that was why, was it?"
It was an old complaint, worn thin and familiar with repetition, one that she'd kept on the inside of her teeth for forty years and would for forty more if the spirits give me that long.
It seemed unlikely. Still, there was a time I gave up on seeing twenty-five. Days on the Sapphire Star towards the end that I didn't think I'd see the next morning, let alone the next birthday. Luisa found the bottle she was looking for, hooked it out along with a glass to go with it, and straightened, barely suppressing a groan. Never can tell, Lulu, what's around the corner. Never can tell.
Spirits know I never saw this job coming.
The mess door opened, the lack of a knock telling Luisa, if not who it was, then at least that it was one of the other three people with business here, this time of night.
"'lo," Michael Mitcheson said, letting the door hiss shut behind him.
Luisa grunted an acknowledgement and poured herself exactly one finger of vodka. Invelen's gift, podder largess, better than I've ever had or will again.
Mitch grinned. "I see you missed me, then."
"Yeah, but one of these days my aim will get better," Luisa told him, recapping the bottle as Mitch pulled a chair out from the table. "Hope you came back ready to work, Chief. Didn't put your back out or anything."
"Well, I had the best medical care," Mitch said, straight-faced.
Luisa snorted. "Is that what you decadent Gallentes call a double-enten-whatsit?"
He let the smile show then. "Possibly."
"Well, cut it out," Luisa told him. "Don't think you'll be getting any extra leeway around here because you're a married man, Michael Mitcheson."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Mitch assured her. "Although, thanks for the new quarters."
"Don't thank me," Luisa said. "Pilot's idea."
Mitch rocked back on his chair, balancing it on two legs. "Pilot's idea, your work orders, right?"
"Maybe," Luisa admitted. She glanced at him, sipped the fine Pator vodka. "So you happy with how your little plan worked out?"
" My plan?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Wasn't Nerila's, was it? Doesn't take eyes like Fisk's to see the only way you'd get a ring on her finger is with a gun to her head. Metaphorically speaking." Luisa sipped her vodka again. "What are you going to do? If your wife finds out she's not the only one on this boat who knows how to deal from the bottom of the deck?"
Mitch shrugged. "Tell her the truth." He let the chair settle square on all four legs again and grinned at Luisa. "That it was your idea."
She gave him her best and blankest noncommittal stare, the one that usually saw her walk away with the pot in any game that doesn't have Fisk and Nerila in it. "Can't have senior officers flouting regs, can I?" Luisa heard more of an edge to her voice than she'd meant as the words came out and couldn't think of a way to soften it, waited to see if Mitch'd take offence.
No. He kept grinning. "Oh, so that was why, was it?"
"Well, and I'm a soppy romantic at heart, of course," Luisa said, dry as vacuum. "Like the rest of us from the State. Let nothing come in the way of true love, all that stuff? Very Caldari, you know."
"Oh, sure." Mitch reached out to open the cold storage without getting out of his chair. "Fortune, we're not short of left-overs, are we?" He tugged out a plate of pastries and set it on the table. "But, you know, I wondered. Why that way. At the party. You could have just reported us, would've worked out the same."
"Yeah, I could've." Luisa selected a pastry and peeled off a flake of crisp sugared dough.
"So why? Why the scene?"
"Knew she wouldn't let it go," Luisa said. "That girl ... she is a romantic. Wasn't going to see the mean old XO sacking two crew for falling in love, was she?"
He studied her. "Pilot calling you on something in front of the whole crew, wouldn't have thought ..."
Luisa looked at him levelly. "It's her boat, Mitch. Not mine."
"Well, I knew that."
Luisa shrugged. "Now she does." She contemplated the pastry and peeled another flake.
"Not going to be here forever, Mitch. There'll be day Pilot's got to say no to her XO and mean it and there'll be more at stake than, excuse me for saying, the over-heated nether regions of couple of Gallente fools." She shrugged again. "Better she practice when it doesn't matter than fail when it does. I've seen that, I know where it goes." Goes real bad. Real fast.
She shivered at the memory, looked up to meet Mitch's gaze and could tell she hadn't entirely managed to hide it. Don't ask,her stare said, best XO tool she had, that stare, flat and cold and promising a short,cold walk to anyone who crossed her. Don't ask. Don't presume I'm going to indulge you further than our interests run in common. Don't push your luck.
Don't think for a second we're friends.
For one long moment she thought Mitch was going to ignore the warning, and then the door opened and he closed his mouth on whatever he had been going to say.
"Hope you brought folding money this time," Nerila said, pulling a deck of cards from her pocket as she slid into a chair.
"You feeling lucky, then, I guess?" Luisa asked.
"One way of putting it," Nerila said. She cut the cards one-handed and began to shuffle as Fisk followed her in. "Gonna share that, Luisa? Or you getting stingy or something in your old age?"
"Or something," Luisa said, sliding the bottle down as Fisk fetched two more glasses and took his seat.
"Yeah," Mitch said, watching Nerila's hands as she fanned the cards and gathered them up again. " Or something is right."
"Oh, sure." Mitch reached out to open the cold storage without getting out of his chair. "Fortune, we're not short of left-overs, are we?" He tugged out a plate of pastries and set it on the table. "But, you know, I wondered. Why that way. At the party. You could have just reported us, would've worked out the same."
"Yeah, I could've." Luisa selected a pastry and peeled off a flake of crisp sugared dough.
"So why? Why the scene?"
"Knew she wouldn't let it go," Luisa said. "That girl ... she is a romantic. Wasn't going to see the mean old XO sacking two crew for falling in love, was she?"
He studied her. "Pilot calling you on something in front of the whole crew, wouldn't have thought ..."
Luisa looked at him levelly. "It's her boat, Mitch. Not mine."
"Well, I knew that."
Luisa shrugged. "Now she does." She contemplated the pastry and peeled another flake.
"Not going to be here forever, Mitch. There'll be day Pilot's got to say no to her XO and mean it and there'll be more at stake than, excuse me for saying, the over-heated nether regions of couple of Gallente fools." She shrugged again. "Better she practice when it doesn't matter than fail when it does. I've seen that, I know where it goes." Goes real bad. Real fast.
She shivered at the memory, looked up to meet Mitch's gaze and could tell she hadn't entirely managed to hide it. Don't ask,her stare said, best XO tool she had, that stare, flat and cold and promising a short,cold walk to anyone who crossed her. Don't ask. Don't presume I'm going to indulge you further than our interests run in common. Don't push your luck.
Don't think for a second we're friends.
For one long moment she thought Mitch was going to ignore the warning, and then the door opened and he closed his mouth on whatever he had been going to say.
"Hope you brought folding money this time," Nerila said, pulling a deck of cards from her pocket as she slid into a chair.
"You feeling lucky, then, I guess?" Luisa asked.
"One way of putting it," Nerila said. She cut the cards one-handed and began to shuffle as Fisk followed her in. "Gonna share that, Luisa? Or you getting stingy or something in your old age?"
"Or something," Luisa said, sliding the bottle down as Fisk fetched two more glasses and took his seat.
"Yeah," Mitch said, watching Nerila's hands as she fanned the cards and gathered them up again. " Or something is right."
No comments:
Post a Comment