Back From the Dead (20 page)

She looks at the bowl in surprise, then at Helton. Steam rises from the wide, shallow bowl, filled with a wonderful layout of rice and brilliantly colored meat and veggies and a trio of round balls, all covered with a thick sauce. It is elegantly presented and looks delicious. She leans forward and inhales carefully, eyes closed, and a smile grows on her face. She takes a bite, savors it. “Oh, this is excellent!”

“Kwon is good. He figured you’d like the lamb étouffée with matzo balls. We have that going for us.”

“That’s one thing. Just one.” She takes another bite. “Wow. He should open a restaurant.”

“Surely there is–”

Bipasha shakes her head, cutting him off. “Uncle Harbin said you needed help with your business, and I can see why.”

“I didn’t know I was running a business.”

“Exactly! You have lots of ideas–”

“Hey, my ideas are good!”

“The ideas are okay, but the numbers aren’t. Just running some estimates in my head, looking at what you have shown me so far, it won’t work.”

“What do you mean, won’t work?” Helton says defensively.

“Your passenger accommodations are fit only for troops or indigent refugees. Your cargo space is limited and you have no automated cargo handling. It doesn’t fit standard container sizes, and it’s not set up for bulk cargo. Your engines are old and inefficient, even if you can get them working. You are carting around more extra mass than any other ship with ten times the cubes. The numbers don’t work.”

“But there must be some way–”

“For cargo, you’d have to charge much more than the going tonnage rate just for fuel, and you’d need handlers. For passengers, they’d have to be pretty desperate to want to space on this beast–”

“HEY!”

“Even if the food is great. Can Kwon do this in deep space?”

“I don’t know. I assume so. Why, what difference does space make in cooking?”

“Of course it makes a difference! There isn’t fresh stuff from the corner market when you are two weeks out on the three week trip.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.”

“Is the galley set up for fresh only, prep-packs, T-rats, dry bulk scratch, or what?”

Helton frowns, thinks for a few moments. “I … don’t know, exactly.”

“Is your water system tankage, full recycle, hybrid, or shore supply only?”

“I, uh, well…” Helton stammers.

“How much fuel will this take for daily space operations, and what kinds?” Bipasha demands.

“Stenson said that he’d have a better handle on that once the main generators are online.”

“Laundry? Detergent or recoverable enzyme?”

“…”

“Carbon Recovery Unit? Full regenerative scrubbing, TDP and manufacture, or just a simple chem-scrubbing system?”

“…”

Harbin walks in with a mug of coffee and sits down. Bipasha glares at him, then turns back to Helton. “Good God! Not only do you not know what you need, you really don’t even know what you have. And how, exactly, do you expect to make money, with no idea of costs or services you can provide?” She stares at him. Helton responds with an apologetic expression and a shrug.

Harbin teases his niece: “You said you wanted excitement and decision-making.” Helton and Bipasha both glare at him.

“If all you are going to do is talk down my ship,” Helton says to Bipasha, “I’m not so sure I want to hire you.”

“If all you can see is light and roses,” she answers, “I’m going to prove you wrong.”

“Well,” Harbin says after a long and awkward pause, “I’m glad to see you two getting along so well. I think I’ll go check on something urgent while you hash out the details.” He walks out, leaving Helton and Bipasha to glare at each other.

Four Rules

“Can you teach me to shoot, Mr. Ski?”

Corporal Kaminski is sitting on the cargo deck cleaning his rifle, a dozen recruits around him doing the same. “Sure, Quinn. When you are a little bit older.”

“But I can pick up a gun now.”

“There’s more to shooting than just picking it up, you know.”

“I know. You have to aim, too.”

“That is important, but you have to know what not to do as well.”

“Like when you yell at them to not point it at you on accident?”

“Yes! Exactly like that.”

“Please?”

“Tell you what. If Allonia says okay and is willing to join us, I’ll see if I can find a good time for a little one-on-two training, and let you take a few shots if you prove you’re safe. How ’bout that?”

“SHINY!” Quinn jumps up, and runs off.

“That’s one way to get some one-on-one time with the cutest bed-warmer on board!” Darch says. “I’d let her handle my gun any time!”

“Put a sock in it, recruit.”

Darch doubles down. “Besides, girls don’t need to know how to fight like real men.”

“How would you know?” asks Horkle.

“You have a lot to learn about people,” Kaminski warns. “And you’d best watch what you say about her.”

“Even if you’re pulling rank for off-duty fun?”

“Unless you want a lot of pushups…”

“Okay, okay, shutting up already.”

Two silhouette targets stand three meters apart at the foot of the berm. Kaminski faces Allonia, casually dressed in comfy, layered, protective clothes; and Quinn, wearing Allonia’s homemade uniform, standing at his five-year-old version of parade rest, which isn't much worse than that of most of the recruits.

“Tell me the rules again.”

“Finger off the trigger–”

“-Until you are ready to shoot! Pew-pew!”

“Point it in a safe direction–”

“-Like at a bad guy! Pew-pew-pew!”

“Unloaded until you are ready to use it–”

Kaminski cuts off Quinn, politely but firmly, before he can interrupt again. “This is serious. Play it straight or you don’t get to shoot. Clear?”

“What if you don’t know you are going to need it all of a sudden, Mr. Ski?”

“Great question! For you, because you won’t be carrying for self-defense or going on patrol for a few more years yet, the answer is: your weapon will be loaded only on the range firing line when a Range Officer is present; that’ll be me for now. It’s a little more complicated for me, but I have the practice. So I usually carry mine with a magazine in, but no round in the chamber, at least around here; it’s a low-threat environment. So, tell me the rules, straight up, together, like on the drive over.”

Together, with Kaminski counting on his fingers, they chant:

• Keep your finger off the trigger until you are ready to shoot.
  
• Keep it pointed in a safe direction.
  
• Keep it unloaded until you are ready to shoot.
  
• Know your target and what is behind your target.
  

“Perfect. Now, you’ll need practice so you truly understand what those really mean, but that’s a good start. We don’t have a lot of time before the sun goes down, so just the basics. Do you want the 6.5mm rifle first, the carbine, or the 10mm pistol?”

Starting with the suppressed carbine, the two new shooters progress through the basics of safety, load-one-shoot-one, aiming, trigger squeeze, stance. Gradually, as their confidence grows under Kaminski’s skilled instruction, they move up in power, speed, and accuracy.

Allonia’s rapid increase in proficiency surprises Kaminski, as she demonstrates she’s a natural, quickly and easily falling into a good stance with minimal coaching, and with surprisingly good control and comfort even with full shotgun loads and the powerful handgun. They turn a lot of ammunition into spent brass.

Quinn likes the carbine the most, and gets an entire magazine on paper before the end of the afternoon. The silly grin on his face is the sort every parent hopes to see on a kid.

That night, on the wall of his cubbyhole in
Tajemnica
, Quinn mounts a target with five holes — widely spaced, but one is in the 10 ring. He sits back and looks at it proudly.

“Very good!” the Ship AI says in a friendly female voice. “With practice, you’ll be doing better than most of the recruits. Now, how about you tell me the story of the Battle of Marathon, so I know you have the story right?”

“Okay. A
really
long time ago, the Athenians and the Persians…”

Mail

Helton is hard at work in the cargo bay, leaning into a panel on a bulkhead, when Allonia walks up with a package in one hand and a strapped bundle of boxes in the other. “Mail call,” she says cheerfully.

Helton looks the package over before unsealing it, sees the Possenti Cross next to a brief return address: Monastery, Eridani IIA. Inside is a simple but elegant wooden box and a plain handwritten note, which reads: “Was informed you needed these more than I — Brother L.” On the box top is carved, in neat calligraphic lettering,
Lost Soul
.

Allonia looks on curiously as Helton slides back the box top. Inside, nestled into a form-fitted, cloth-lined space, are the three reddish crystals from Father Libra’s desk. “Huh,” says Helton.

“What are those?” Allonia asks.

“Crystals. Of some sort.”

She looks closely at the note. “What’s it mean?”

“Dunno. Just one more mystery of the monks, I guess. Must think I’m a lost soul.”

“Kind of late to the party, but they’re welcome to join.”

“Now there’s a picture.”

“Inviting monks to a party? Not normally my first choice, but if they can dance to the tune being played, I doubt God would frown too hard.”

Allonia walks into the galley and into an argument.

“We can’t make the posole, Seraphina, because we don’t have the red chilies–”

“But we do have the jalapeños, Kwon, so if we–”

“Meal Salvation delivery!” Allonia calls. “Smells good!” She hands her bundle of packages to Kwon.

“Ah, my spices at last! Thank you! Now we can– UGH!” He nearly drops them. They are much heavier than they look. He glances at Allonia briefly in surprise. “Now we can make the posole properly! Hard to believe I only sent Helton out to get them a month ago.”

“Ah, thanks dear,” his wife says. “Would you be so kind as to get John for me? We have to finish these sandwiches, and that nice Mr. Kaminski said he was busy and couldn’t help get the washer working again.”

“It’s
Corporal
Kaminski, Sar,” says Allonia. “Sure, I’d be happy to find John. I’ll be back later if you need a hand. A few more things to deliver.”

Sitting alone in her cabin, Allonia holds a piece of dark blue fabric up to the light. “So, how shall we do this?” She takes up a piece of dark red, black, and gold brocade cloth and turns it this way and that, pondering.

Family

Dinner in the Officers’ Mess. Helton, Lag, Harbin, and Allonia are chatting, having just sat down at the table. Sar comes in with her own tray and sits next to Helton. Allonia, without being asked, passes Sar the jalapeños.

Lag
: The limits on the zone got extended past New Ranchi. Lots of people moving around down there.

Sar
: I heard some of the ladies in town saying that they are having a hard time contacting relatives in Korba. Something about jamming?

Helton
(shaking his head)
: I’d think a bigger worry is hacking. Losing touch with a cousin is less of a problem than crashing air traffic, or losing electronic medical support at a hospital.

Harbin
: Maybe a crashed flier makes the news, but a large number of refugees poses problems for everyone: government, military, even civilians in the path of the refugee movement.

Ship AI
(brisk male military voice)
: Your statements are not exclusive. Deliberate large civilian population displacement is potentially very serious.

Lag looks up sharply at a screen. No ship avatar of any sort is present. He cocks his head slightly.

Lag
: … Indeed.
Tajemnica
, whom were you responding to?

Ship AI
: Confirming statements, based on current news and available information.

Helton
(shrugging off the AI’s flakiness)
: Not being able to call Aunt Nellie isn’t likely to kill anyone, but it is worth watching. Noncombatants wandering the war zone would complicate things for you.

Ship AI
: In the third Chi-Stan war, coordinated propaganda and communications disruptions and personalized misinformation messages were used to herd masses of civilians into cities and areas along rivers, and limit lines of movement. When thirteen dams were broken in coordination and near simultaneously with conventional and kinetic strikes, the floods killed more than 125 million directly. The ensuing infrastructure and communications disruption, paranoia, famine, looting, disease, winter weather, and general disorder created a billion refugees and killed an estimated 750 million in the following three months.

A long silence. Lag, the military historian of the group, breaks it.

Lag
: Where did you get that information? That is not what most history books say.

Ship AI
(flat and unusually mechanical tone)
: That is what the accurate sources say.

Helton
: Isn’t there a dam and reservoir near Korba?

The Ship AI does not reply. The room is silent but for the clink of silverware and the sound of chewing. Quinn comes in with his own tray, a complete place setting with a brightly colored selection of food. He sets the tray on the table next to Allonia, climbs into the seat, sits down on his heels, and starts eating like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Helton
: You’ve been spending an awful lot of time around here lately, Quinn. Doesn’t your mom wonder where you are?

Quinn shrugs.

Allonia
: Does she know you are here?

Quinn shrugs again.

Lag
: Do you know where your mom is?

Quinn shakes his head very slightly.

Allonia
: … How long has it been since you saw her?

Quinn shrugs and shakes his head.