Hold the Star: Samair in Argos: Book 2 (11 page)

              And good riddance to them all. 
Adroit
had been held back during the fighting, to protect first the dockyards and then the orbital.  By the time Turco had realized there was serious fighting going on between the various ships and had moved to intervene, it was mostly over.  After that, there was only the job of keeping an eye on the Republic forces until they left and that had been a long tedious job of weeks while the crews had made repairs. 

              Turco shook his head to clear it. 
None of that matters now.  We’re on the way to another system, a place I haven’t been in a decade, a place my ship has never been.  Even if this is going to be a milk run just to pick up some new recruits, it’s a bit of an adventure.  Who knows?  We might even run into a little mischief out there, something I can use to justify clearing
Adroit’s
guns.  I’d like that.  I think the crew would too and I know
Adroit
herself would.  She’s a warship, she deserves to fulfill her purpose.  And perhaps it’s time, past time, for Ulla-tran to start making a name for itself out in the Cluster.  Right now we’re known for the dockyards and such, but no one ever talks about Ulla-tran’s strength, its power.  Once we’re out in the Cluster and moving around, showing the flag, as it were, I think that will change.  Even with just two warships, we will show them that we are not ones to be messed around with
. 

              With that thought held close, Turco smiled. 
Yes, this is indeed going to be a very good trip.  I’m going to enjoy it very much.

Chapter 4

              Tamara lay on her bunk, gasping; the tendrils of the nightmare finally starting to slip away.  The Armsman had decided that because of her behavior, the lights in her cell were never to be extinguished.  That didn’t bother Tamara too much.  At least he wasn’t playing games with the illumination, making it brighter and darker at random intervals to prevent her from sleeping.  Strangely, after the lesson performed in the cargo bay, the guards had treated her with contempt (as per usual) but with a diffidence that bordered on neglect.  They only came to feed her once per day, no medics were allowed into her cell.  Time passed and the only way she could even tell that was by the internal clock that displayed on her HUD, when she could rouse herself out of her depression long enough to be bothered to check it. 

              Her dreams had changed.  No longer was she tormented by the wraith of Oliver Islington, not even so much as a glimpse or a whisper of his voice.  No, now she was seeing that cargo bay, that killing field.  She saw all of their faces, but especially those poor souls who had been her team.  Dead now, not because they deserved it, but because she had stood up to him and had dared to resist.  Of course, it was more than just throwing a rock at him during parade march.  Tamara had killed a good portion of his men, it was a wonder he hadn’t done the same to her.

              If not for the damned replicators and how useful she’d be to the pirates once they reached their destination, most likely Jax would have fed her to his men for their pleasure about now.  Or maybe he would have just put a bullet in her head and been done with her.

             
Maybe he should have
. 

              The faces came flying at her as she closed her eyes and she didn’t try to fight them.  The tears streamed down her cheeks, she leaned against the bulkhead of the cell and just let them come for her.

              “So what do now?” Vosteros demanded.  The steering company had grown in size since the last meeting.  Of course, momentous events had occurred and they’d had to lay low for a while to keep the pirates from watching them too closely.  More than a month had passed since the executions in the cargo bay and in that time the crew had begun acting like meek sheep, doing what they were told, not getting in the way of the pirate guards, not doing anything that might draw their ire.

              “The plan hasn’t changed,” Cookie put in.  “We can’t do anything for now, but once we’re out of hyper, we convince the Armsman to go to Seylonique.  It’s really our only hope, unless we trust that once we’re in Amethyst that whatever surprises we find there will be good ones.”

              Quesh, the newest member to the party, shook his head.  He was much stronger now, back up to light duty and only required a cane for some of the time when he would walk.  For now though, he was leaning against the bulkhead in Ka’Xarian’s quarters, which seemed to be the headquarters of this little rebellion.  “You can count on those surprises being bad ones.  Ones that we can’t possibly like or handle.”

              “Which means Amethyst is still out,” Vosteros replied.  “We’re still following the plan.”

              “Do we dare?” George Miller demanded softly.  He too had been released from sickbay.  It had been touch and go for a while, by Turan had worked his magic with crisp efficiency, as always.  He was up and about again, even was able to take his shifts on the bridge.  He was a bit skittish around the pirates now, not that anyone would blame him or be surprised by that.  “I mean, Jax has already proven he’s damned serious.  He killed twenty-six people!  Can we afford to have him pissed off enough to give us another ‘lesson’?”

              “No we can’t,” Vosteros said.  “But we can’t just sit around either, waiting to die.  Or waiting for whatever it is they are going to do to us once they rejoin with their fellows.”

              “So how are we going to convince Jax to change our course?  To leave behind whatever it is in Amethyst?” Taja asked.  “After what’s happened, I certainly doubt he’s just going to take our word for it.”

              “Isn’t a record of the Captain’s business transaction in the computer?” the zheen asked.  “Didn’t he record the contract, or at least the conversations he had with Administrator Galina?”

              Taja nodded slowly, a smile creeping over her lips.  “Yes, he did.  I have access since I was there for most of them.  I think that might help our case.  But that also implies that Jax cares about getting the money from the transaction.  What if he doesn’t?”

              “Then we’re dead,” Quesh told her bluntly.  “We’ll have no real other options we can plan for if we don’t have that.  Unless we want to try to go head to head with all the pirate guards aboard ship.”

              No one seemed thrilled with that idea.  Even playing games with the systems on the ship: gravity, life support, hull integrity, might allow the crew to take care of the remainder of the pirates, but could they do so in a way that no more of the crew would suffer for it?  If even one pirate died, even in the midst of a complete accident, it was very likely that Jax would take retribution on the crew.  Again.  No excuses would save them this time.  No, this was an all or nothing proposition now and Seylonique provided the best opportunity to strike.

              “All right then,” Taja said, standing.  “We have to start planning.  I have to access that information so that when we do finally go to Jax, we’ll have all the data on Seylonique and the deal that we can.”

              After weeks of inactivity, Vincent Eamonn woke up that morning feeling groggy and hung over.  That wasn’t a surprise, really, what with the bottle of whiskey lying empty on his table.  After that horrible day in the cargo bay, watching crew being slaughtered right before him, it was all just too much.  He couldn’t face them, couldn’t bear to see their faces.  Jax had thought it amusing to have one of the vid displays in Eamonn’s quarters set up to constantly show the video his techie bug had made, put on a loop.  No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the display to switch off.  Finally, after two hours and several horrific repetitions, he reached in and yanked out the power cable, finally disabling the cursed thing.

              But the images wouldn’t leave.  They were burned into his brain and he kept seeing them.  Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.  Breaking into his liquor cabinet, he attacked the bottles inside.  The time between that horrible day and now was a blur.  The bottles strewn about the cabin gave answer to what his activities had been during that time. 

              He groaned, sitting up on his bunk.  His head throbbed, but not nearly as much as it had on previous days.  He kicked the sheet off of him and climbed slowly out of bed, making his way into the lavatory.  Stumbling to the sink, he turned on the water and splashed some on his face.  Cupping his hands, he let the water fill and then sipped some.  It didn’t ease his headache, but it did help to clear his mind, strangely enough.  He straightened and stretched, hearing his joints pop and crack. 

              Vincent yawned and then clutched his forehead as his headache pulsed painfully.  Moving to the counter, he grabbed the bottle of pain pills.  Shaking two out, he gulped them down.  Steadfastly ignoring the mirror and his disheveled appearance, he headed back into the main room of his cabin and flopped down on one of the chairs by the small table.  He saw the bottle there, but didn’t touch it.  His stomach informed him that no more alcohol would be tolerated at this time.  Not that there was any in this bottle, but his stomach seemed to be aware that there was more to be found.  His brain and kidneys were in completely agreement; no more booze.

              He wasn’t about to argue.  He stared at the bulkhead for a long few moments, trying to find that blank space, that place where the nightmare wouldn’t find him again.  It wasn’t working.  Already, only a few minutes after waking he could feel the edges of his dream coming back, nibbling away at the blanket of security he’d erected in his mind.  Or rather, the blankness that the drinking had helped him find.  But he couldn’t sustain it.  The memories, the visions were just too horrible.  

              The door chime sounded and he groaned.  He didn’t need to see anyone right now.  In fact, the thought of having to interact with people was making him ill.  But the door chime sounded again.  And again.  And again and again.  Whoever it was wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t leave him in peace.  Which meant it really could only be one person.

              Hauling himself to his feet, the Vincent Eamonn padded over to the closet and pulled out a shipsuit, the chime banging away like a hammer against his skull.  Like a multitude of hammers, really, since the person out there kept hitting the button repeatedly.  He pulled on the trousers and then the jacket over his sweat-soaked t-shirt, zipping up the jacket.  He slid his feet into boots and zipped them on as well, the chime never ceasing its hammering.  Going to the hatch, hey keyed the release and pulled it open.  Standing outside, just as he’d expected, was Taja, her hand on the panel beside the door. 

              “Oh, good, you haven’t killed yourself,” she said in greeting.  It was clear she wasn’t terribly happy to see him.  She dropped her hand from the panel.

              “Finally,” he replied.  He leaned a hand on the doorjamb.  “What do you want, Taja?”

              “Stars,” she muttered in disgust.  “Did you bathe in whiskey?”

              “What… do you
want
, Taja?” he said more firmly.

              The tiny woman glared at him, but hesitated, her face showing uncertainty.

              Now it was he that was glaring at her.  “Really?  You came down here and did this,” he gestured to her hand and to the door panel, “And now you have nothing to say?”  He growled and grabbed the hatch, starting to swing it shut. 

              She put her hand forward, stopping the hatch from closing.  “I need something from you.”

              He eyed her, one eyebrow raised.  “You need something form me?”

              “Yes,” she said, her voice soft.  “I do.”

              “Well, clearly you’re not here to rekindle any fires,” Eamonn replied, not looking at her.  “So I’m only going to ask one last time.  What do you want?”

              She looked up and her mouth twisted with anger.  “I need access to your computer.  And I don’t want to talk about it out here in the corridor.”

              He grimaced.  “Fine,” he said, stepping back.  “Come in then, love.”  His voice fairly dripped with scorn, but he didn’t prevent her from entering.

              Taja brushed past him and wrinkled her nose at the smell from inside the cabin.  She didn’t comment, however, on the mess, the empty liquor bottles, or anything else.  She walked over to his table and sat down at the console.  He closed the hatch and walked over to where she was sitting, looking over her shoulder.

              She looked up at him expectantly.  “Well?”

              He glared back.  “Well, what?”

              “Can you log on, please so I can get what I came for and leave this shithole you call quarters?”

              He grunted.  “There was a time not too long ago when you didn’t mind these quarters.  In fact, you spent a fair amount of time in here.”

              “Look, can you just log on?” she demanded.  “I don’t want to make this difficult.”

              This time he laughed derisively.  “Oh, I think it’s far too late for that.  It was too late when you started pressing my door chime,” he accused.

              Taja had the good grace to look embarrassed.  “Yeah, I’m sorry about that.”

              “I doubt it.”

              She slapped her palms down on the table.  “Can you just log on, please!”

              “Not until you tell me what it is you’re looking for,” he countered.  “And why it is you need access to my personal files when everything you could need is on the mainframe.”

              She twisted in the seat to look at him properly.  “Because I need your personal files concerning Seylonique.”

              “Seylonique?” he demanded.  That was not what he had expected.  “Get the hell out of my quarters!  You came in here looking for dirt on a business deal?”

              “Yes, I did,” she shot back.  “I need that information.”

              “Why would you possibly need that information, Taja?  I know you’re the cargo specialist on this ship, but the likelihood that we’re ever going to be trading in cargoes again is nil.  This is a pirate ship.  We’ll never be a free trader again.”

              “That’s why I need that information,” she pressed.  “I’m working on a way to get us out from under the pirates and back to where we were before.”  She grimaced.  “Based on the way you smell and the state of this place, I’m guessing you aren’t interested.”

              “Interest me, then,” he told her.  “What the hell is so damned interesting about Seylonique?”

              So she told him.

              A short while later, Vincent Eamonn stepped out of the shower, scrubbed and clean for the first time in days.  His head still hurt a bit, but was nowhere near as bad as earlier.  He swallowed another pill from the bottle on the counter and pulled on a fresh shipsuit.  Sliding on his boots, he checked himself again in the mirror and was, strangely, was pleased with what he saw.  He still had bags under his eyes, but the eyes themselves looked more lively, with more vitality than since this ride through hyperspace had started and certainly since that horrific day.