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Zack Decker stepped off the grungy street and into the chilly silence of the Merchant Spacer’s Guild, feeling as if he had crossed a portal between parallel universes. This close to the port itself, it was mainly warehouses, cheap, flea-infested hotels and the lowest grade of bars. But the Guildhall, now that was something else.
Decker had made his tearful farewells the night before, liberally dousing them with Tren’s best hooch, the stuff he kept for his classiest customers. Ellena had hung around his neck, crying that she’d miss her ‘Uncle Zack’ something terrible.
By leaving the Dragon’s Tooth, he felt as if he were leaving his family. But Zack was clear-headed enough to know the familial atmosphere couldn’t last, that his wanderlust would sour it. Not to mention the inescapable fact that he’d murdered a militia officer, something that could see him arrested as soon as the other plods pinned the job on him. And that would kill Tren’s thriving business.
On the other hand, Decker hadn’t seen nor heard a thing about Detective Leath since he’d stuffed his body into Ellena’s closet. That bothered him. After the first brush-off, he stopped asking Tren about it, but Zack couldn’t shake the suspicion that his old friend had more pull than anyone knew, and had arranged for the death to become a non-event. After a month and a half living with Kinnear, Decker knew there was more to his old comrade in arms than just a retired Marine sergeant who became a gin-slinger. Tren seemed to have contacts everywhere, from the cleanest cops to the dirtiest crime gangs. It ensured his inn, and its inn-mates were left alone.
Zack had left the tavern early that morning before anyone else woke. He didn’t want to go through the goodbyes again, preferring a clean break. Because Shokoten visited Aramis regularly, it wasn’t as if the farewell was forever, like the one his ex-wife gave him when she bugged out with his daughter. Or the one he received when they walked him down Musashi’s gangway and into the hands of the military police.
After the automatic doors of the Guildhall’s entrance had swished closed behind him, Decker stopped to get his bearings. The central area was two stories high and as big as a gravball playing field, and that meant big. Most likely, it had started life as a warehouse.
Skylights let in the morning sun, turning the austere hall into something warmer. Cream-colored panels covered poured plascrete walls while massive support pillars marked off separate work areas. The panels glowed softly under the bright, natural light, looking like brushed silk.
At first glance, the Guildhall was clean, uncluttered, and functional. It matched Zack’s idea of the people who took to the star lanes for profit.
To his left, a dozen simple but comfortable looking chairs were set out in small groups around tables laden with printouts of various publications. An industrial coffee urn presided over the waiting area, chugging along as it percolated the richly scented brew in a method centuries old. Three spacers in clean coveralls were sprawled out in the chairs, coffee mugs at hand, looking as if they were recovering from a night of overindulgence.
A long table, labeled ‘Employment,’ with several computer terminals on it sat across from the waiting area while glass-enclosed offices lined the wall. Two business-suited Guild employees behind a high counter shuffled paper, ignoring the waiting spacers.
Further down, Decker could see signs advertising cargo and freight, passenger transport, administration, spacers’ welfare and insurance, standards and at the end of the large atrium, a door that sported a sign proclaiming the Merchant’s Guild Club–Aramis.
Zack walked over to the waiting area. The three spacers looked at him, bleary-eyed, and then sank back into their hangdog misery, satisfied that the new arrival wasn’t some exotic apparition. Decker had dressed simply, like any spacer, military or civilian did when on shore leave: dark, military cut slacks, scuffed boots, white collarless shirt, and black leather jacket.
He dropped his duffel bag by a chair and helped himself to a cup of coffee. Taking a sip, he grinned with appreciation at the flavor. Instead of sitting, Zack wandered around the waiting area, admiring holo pics displayed on the smooth walls. They showed gleaming merchant vessels of many eras, including pre-spaceflight Earth sailing ships. The former noncom spent a long time studying the most beautiful one, an ancient ship by the name of Cutty Sark.
When he finally turned around, his eyes stopped dead in their tracks as he saw a female merchant officer walk through the doors. She wore a high-collared, black tunic of an exotic cut that emphasized her feminine curves and flared over her hips. It was cinched at the waist by a broad gray belt through which she had thrust a curved dagger half the length of Zack’s big forearm. The dagger’s hilt was an extraordinary work of filigree art that did not come from any human artisan.
Her trousers were of the same matte black as the tunic and hugged her form like a second skin. They were tucked into knee-high military-style boots with flat heels. She wore rank insignia, three stripes, on a leather strap dangling from her right shoulder.
Zack at once knew this was Raisa Darhad, Shokoten’s first officer. Captain Strachan had told him he would have no difficulty recognizing her, and he was right.
Where the captain had looked like a marauder gone legit, she appeared more dangerous than any pirate Decker had ever met, for First Officer Darhad was not a human female. She was from a predatory species called the Arkanna.
As she walked towards Decker, a flush of heat ran through his body, a strange mixture of attraction, admiration, and instinctive fear. Darhad moved like a killer, an exotic, beautiful, and deadly assassin. The trained warrior in Zack screamed in warning.
Arkanna, a humanoid species resembling homo sapiens, came from an early spaceflight planet of the same name in the neutral Protectorate Zone. Uncommon in human space, they preferred the more violent, unpredictable Shrehari and their harsh Empire. This one’s presence in the Commonwealth hinted at a past life shrouded in mystery, and most likely, death.
Humanoid though she was the differences between the Arkanna and humans were more striking than the resemblances. Characteristic of her race, First Officer Darhad’s skin was albino white, almost translucent, with a fine tracery of veins barely visible just below the surface. In shocking contrast, her thick, shoulder-length hair, gathered into a ponytail at the back, was crimson.
Her eyes were her most striking feature. Where human eyes were white, hers were almond shaped and of a deep cerulean blue around bright red irises. They seemed to exude an archetypal power that sent a shiver down Zack’s spine. For a moment, he knew how his distant, ape-like ancestors felt when they met Earth’s equivalent of her distant, predatory ancestors.
When she came nearer, Zack realized she was as tall as he was, taller than most human women were, yet her body was slender. But she seemed no less of a formidable opponent.
“Mister Decker, I presume,” she said, stopping a meter in front of him. Her voice had a deep, rich modulation, sensuous, but with an alien undertone that disturbed Zack until he realized that it stirred his deeper animal feelings.
She examined Zack from head to toe after he’d nodded, speechless before this apparition. She didn’t seem overly disappointed by what she saw.
“I am First Officer Darhad of the Shokoten.” She held out her hand. Decker, struggling to recover his poise, looked her straight in the eyes and took her slender fingers in his, squeezing hard as he shook like Captain Strachan had done yesterday.
Suddenly, pinpricks of pain studded his hand below Darhad’s fingertips and he released the pressure. He glanced down as they let go and caught sight of shiny talons retracting into her pale digits. Her scent, musky and exciting, filled his nostrils.
“Pleased to meet you, First Officer,” he finally answered.
She considered him for a moment and then smiled, her bloodless, full lips drawing back to show sharp, pointy teeth, like those of a predatory carnivore. A she-wolf with the shape of a dancer.
“Come, Mister Decker. We have much paperwork to complete so we can turn you into a Guild-certified merchant spacer.”
She turned around and walked towards the counter. Zack picked up his duffel bag and followed her, unable to resist admiring her shape from behind. Though after seeing those talons and teeth, he wouldn’t even dream of making a move on her. He was sure the crew didn’t give First Officer Darhad any trouble.
The Guild bureaucrats behind the counter wisely chose not to ignore her, and the elder of the two, a woman in her mid-forties, smiled at them.
“What can I do for you, First Officer?”
She pointed over her shoulder with a long thumb. “This is Mister Decker. Mister Decker is a former Marine Corps command sergeant, who is signing on to Shokoten as gunnery and security officer. I would have you process him so he may obtain his Guild certification and work papers.”
“Certainly, First Officer. Mister Decker, do you have your discharge papers?”
Zack nodded and dug deep into his jacket’s inner pocket, producing a flat, gray data chip which he handed to the clerk. She pushed the chip into a slot on her computer terminal and read the lines appearing on the screen, raising her eyebrows at several notations. Finally, the clerk typed a few commands and smiled at Darhad and Decker.
“Won’t take but a minute.” And it didn’t.
“There,” she said handing back Zack’s discharge papers and a new data chip, blue in color. “These are your Guild papers, Mister Decker. Based on your military record, the Guild recognizes you as a qualified ship’s gunnery and security officer, as well as a level four weapons system tech and a level six general engineer. With a hundred practical hours on the bridge, Shokoten’s captain can also certify you as watch keeping officer.”
Darhad raised her upswept eyebrows in a good mimic of human surprise.
“You have watchkeeper training, Mister Decker?”
“Yes, sir. It’s been standard for Pathfinder officers and command noncoms on patrol frigates for the last two years to take the training in case of emergencies.”
“Fascinating,” she purred, a small, feral smile playing on her lips. She looked at the clerk. “Anything else?”
“A few more formalities to put Warrant Officer Decker on the official Guild rolls.”
“Warrant officer?” Zack looked at the clerk in surprise.
“That’s what your qualifications give you.” Then, seeing the lack of understanding in Decker’s face, the clerk explained, all the while watched by an amused First Officer Darhad.
“In the merchant service, just like the Commonwealth Fleet, there are three levels of rank: officers, warrant officers, and ratings. Officers are concerned with sailing the ship and handling the cargo. Warrant officers are specialists whose work doesn’t involve sailing the ship but who have defined jobs, like pursers, doctors, or gunners like you. And the ratings, of course, have the same jobs as enlisted personnel on board a warship. Now if you’d actually qualified as watchkeeper, the Guild could have recognized you as a ship’s officer, provided a master was willing to hire you as such. But your naval gunnery ticket is enough for warrant rank.”
Decker grunted and nodded his thanks.
So now I’m a fucking warrant officer. Warrant Officer Zachary T. Decker of the MV Shokoten. Nice ring to it.
When the retinal scan, DNA sampling, and the multiple thumbprint signatures were over, the clerk shook Zack’s hand.
“Welcome to the Merchant Spacer’s Guild. May you have a long and profitable career.”
“Thank you.”
“Well then, Warrant Officer Decker,” the first officer purred, “let me guide you to our ship.”
First Officer Darhad had a long stride and a fast pace, and Zack had to hurry. People in the streets looked at her with frank curiosity, and Decker saw more than one stare at her receding derriere, which he had to admit was charming. But those talons, and those teeth...
*
The Merchant Vessel Shokoten had none of the sleek, deadly lines of a Fleet patrol frigate, but she had a certain sinister elegance, nonetheless. She appeared built for speed, the sort of speed traders wanted in the badlands, or smugglers anywhere.
Her dull gray hull was liberally streaked with black re-entry marks and pitted from too many high-speed runs through space hazards, but it was in good repair, as were her hyperdrive nacelles and gun turrets. She was big for a lander, almost as big as a Navy corvette, the smallest class of warship in the Commonwealth.
Thick lines snaked from ports along her lower hull towards a metallic servicing block at the edge of the pad, like the tentacles of a giant squid. The broad belly ramp was lowered, and gravlifts were ferrying a steady stream of containers from the customs hangar to the ship, under the watchful eye of an officer with two and a half stripes on his black tunic. If Zack had figured out the merchant rank system right, that was the second officer, a tall, dour looking black man with gray hair, a gray beard, and a gold earring hanging from his right lobe. Darhad gestured towards him.
“Second Officer Bowdoin, responsible for ship’s systems. He is your direct superior. He is also the chief cargo officer. You will meet him later when loading is completed.”
“Yes, sir.”
At that moment, a gust of wind pushed up the crimson hair on the side of her head, and Zack glimpsed a white, upswept, pointy ear that twitched at the colder air. It seemed appropriate for First Officer Darhad’s general appearance. Zack was now convinced her ancestors hadn’t been swinging from trees like his. They had hunted ancestors like his, no doubt with extraordinary skill and excessive cruelty.
*
The familiar smell of a space vessel filled Zack’s nostrils as they walked up the gangway and through the personnel port. Ozone, lubricants, coolants, metal and polymers, the aromas of home.
The ship’s passageways were as utilitarian as her exterior. Black, anti-skid rubber covered the decks; the bulkheads were bare metal, unrelieved by any hint of paint or the decorations he expected after twenty years aboard warships.
Each section was isolated from the next by heavy, armored hatches. No elegant sliding doors here. Right now, they were all open, their strong locking mechanisms withdrawn.
Sheathed conduits and wiring ran along the ceiling, color-coded for easy maintenance. Glowpanels hung at regular intervals, projecting a bright, uncompromising light into the smallest nooks and crannies. And there were many of those.
Decker unconsciously mapped the passageways in his mind as she led him deeper into the ship. They met crewmembers who greeted the Arkanna woman with obvious respect and gave Zack frankly curious looks, but who didn’t otherwise stop their busy work.
The crew was a mixed bunch, of all human races. Most of the men wore beards of some sort and long hair gathered in queues or braids. By contrast, many of the women had hair as short as Zack’s Marine cut.
They looked as hard and tough as any smuggler crew Decker had ever seen, with tattoos galore, earrings, nose studs, and other body ornaments. All carried knives tucked into belts or boot tops.
Darhad stopped in front of a cabin door, and it took all of Zack’s control not to bump into her. Somehow, he had the impression she had done it on purpose. She knocked on the hatch, and when it opened, she motioned Decker to precede her.
Just as Zack crossed the threshold, she announced in a loud voice, “Warrant Officer Decker reporting to sign on, Captain.”
Not knowing what else to do, Decker reported in proper Marine fashion. He stopped three paces in front of the imitation wood desk and came to attention, restraining a military salute just in time. Strachan had watched his actions with amusement, the former Marine in Decker showing through at every gesture.
He stood and held out his hand. “Welcome aboard Shokoten, Warrant Officer Decker. I hope you’ll have a pleasant and profitable career with us. At ease, man, at ease.”
When Zack relaxed, he saw Strachan pulling a bottle of Akvavit and two glasses from a drawer. Then, he picked up a datapad and handed it to Decker.
“Read the terms of your contract, if you’re satisfied, press your thumb on the reader. A hard copy of the contract will be given to you when I file it with the Guild. The terms are as I laid out last night.”
“You knew the Guild would rate me as a warrant officer, sir?”
“Of course. Our former gunner was a warrant officer.”
Decker nodded his understanding and kept on reading. The contract was comprehensive and set out his duties, responsibilities, privileges, and pay. He thumbed the reader and saw a tag appear at the end of the document, proof of his ‘signature.’ Strachan took back the pad and thumbed it as well. Then, he gave Zack one of the glasses and took the other.
“A toast to our new gunner.” Strachan swallowed his shot in one gulp.
Zack imitated him, sending a liquid fiercer than antimatter engine coolant down his throat. He repressed the urge to cough with great difficulty.
“Well then, Mister Decker, I’ll leave the first officer to see you settled in. I trust you’ve completed all your business ashore? Good. We’re lifting at first light, and there is much to do before then.” He nodded his dismissal.
Zack snapped to attention, executed a perfect about-face, and followed the Darhad out of the cabin.
“You will bunk here,” she waved her white hand across the threshold of a small cabin several doors down from the captain’s quarters.
Zack stepped in and looked around. It was small all right. A two level bunk almost covered one wall while two lockers covered the opposite wall. In a corner, a narrow open door led to a tiny washroom, complete with shower, toilet, and sink. Two desks, with computer terminals, sat face to face in the center of the cabin and completed the meager amenities.
One desk and the lower bunk, showed signs of use, but there were no decorations or other personal effects to soften the starkness of the spotlessly clean quarters.
“The only other warrant officer of the ship, Nihao Kiani, is your cabin mate. She is Shokoten’s purser.” Darhad stepped over to a locker and opened the door. It was empty save for a leather band with a single red and gold stripe on it. “This is yours. The rank strap belonged to our former gunner. Since it is ship issue, it now belongs to you. Please wear it when you report to the bridge at the start of the afternoon watch.”
“Yes, sir. What happened to the former gunner?”
“He died on a planet in the Shield Cluster, torn to shreds by the natives, apparently for a violation of a local taboo. I shall leave you now, Mister Decker, settle in.”
She disappeared down the passageway, leaving a very pensive Zack to stare through the open cabin door.
*
“Permission to enter the bridge,” Decker stood at attention on the threshold. He had replaced his scuffed work boots with his calf-high synth leather shipboard boots and wore his black Marine battledress, the closest he could come to the clothes officers wore aboard this ship. From what he’d seen, the ratings preferred coveralls or jumpsuits, though high, military style boots were the rule for all ranks.
It was five minutes before eight bells in the forenoon watch — Five minutes to twelve.
“Permission granted. You are?” the lanky young man with the one and a half stripes of a fourth officer asked, smiling as he rose to greet the new arrival.
“Zack Decker, sir. The new ship’s gunner and security officer.”
“I’m Fourth Officer Gareth. Welcome aboard.”
Gareth had a vigorous handshake. His brown eyes examined Decker with interest. Though younger than any of the other officers, he showed none of the innocence Zack expected from young and inexperienced Navy officers.
“The first officer said to report to the bridge for the start of the afternoon watch, sir.”
“Oh, aye,” Gareth nodded, “she told me to expect you. You’re acquaint yourself with ship’s systems and the gunnery station. Have you had lunch yet?”
“Yes, sir. Wardroom served up cold sandwiches.”
“Excellent. Though you shouldn’t rate the ship based on your first meal aboard. Food is always measly when we’re loading. It gets better once the ship is underway.”
To Zack Decker’s military mind, the arrangement made perfect sense: put the greatest effort towards the primary mission, loading the cargo. After twenty years in the Marines, he’d had a lot worse anyway.
He had eaten alone in the small wardroom, as the officer’s mess on a ship was called, and had enjoyed the cold meal. The next one probably wouldn’t be as enjoyable, when he ate with the others. After two decades as an enlisted trooper, it would take a long time getting used to being an officer.
“I thought the food was good, sir.”
Gareth raised his thin eyebrows.
“Why Mister Decker, either you have a dead palate, or you haven’t been fed in a while.”
Zack smiled, eyes twinkling.
“How about I get to work, sir, before I say something I might regret?”
“Yes, why don’t you, gunner.” He waved at the gunnery console. “It’s all yours.”
“Thank you, sir.” Zack slipped into the seat and ran a loving hand over the smooth console. It was good to be back aboard a starship wearing a uniform, even if it was with a merchant sailor’s rank and on a freighter. Warrant Officer Decker. Wouldn’t Captain Sarratt have a fucking bird if he found out Decker had gone up in the world instead of down to a penal battalion, as he wanted him to?
The hours flew by as he eagerly learned his new duties.
*
When the door opened, Zack jumped off his bunk and held out his hand, smiling.
“Hi, I’m Zack Decker, the new ship’s gunner. I guess I’m your new roomie, too.”
In deference to modesty, and because he didn’t know what sort of culture his shipmates came from, Decker had kept on his shorts and t-shirt, instead of stripping down to sleep, as he usually did.
He’d had a long day going through the ship with the second officer during most of the two dogwatches and the evening watch, inspecting each gun turret, the defensive arrays, the arms locker, and the surveillance gear.
Shokoten was surprisingly well equipped for a freighter. But, as he had reminded himself, Tren had said she often sailed through the badlands, where anything less meant suicide.
Mister Bowdoin had grilled him long and hard about his technical and tactical knowledge, often demanding hands-on demonstrations of his weapons’ use and repair skills. They had stopped in the wardroom only long enough to wolf down a bowl of stew, long after the other officers had eaten. Zack hadn’t had a rough day like that in a long time, but it felt good to be useful again.
When they parted, Bowdoin had muttered something about Zack ‘doing okay’ and told him to be on the bridge for lift-off, at six bells in the morning watch.
*
The woman who walked into the cabin didn’t seem surprised at his presence though Zack knew she hadn’t been on board all day. She eyed him warily, and her handshake was perfunctory.
“Nihao Kiani, the ship’s purser. Welcome aboard.”
Now why, Zack wondered, did that welcome not sound like one? Then a thought struck him. Maybe she and his predecessor had been more than just bunkies. Living close like this, a man and a woman were bound to think of getting even closer.
Decker climbed back into his bunk and watched her putter around the cabin in silence. Warrant Officer Kiani was a surprisingly tall and strongly built woman for a Han native, unlike most Zack had met. Her thick black hair fell straight to her shoulders, framing a broad, high-cheek boned face dominated by intense brown eyes.
When she undressed for bed, Zack got an even greater appreciation for her strong, muscular thighs and arms. As she turned the lights out, unconcerned about her nudity in front of a stranger, Zack glimpsed a tantalizingly flat stomach and small breasts.
It had been a long time for Decker, and that night, trying to ignore the very attractive woman in the bunk below, he promised himself a visit to a reputable house the moment he had a chance. It would be a hard haul, what with more than one highly attractive women on board. But he would no more make an advance on Nihao Kiani than on First Officer Darhad. Both of them looked like they could make him very much regret any unwanted attentions.
When he woke the next morning, Kiani had already left the cabin.
He didn’t see his roommate again until late that night when Shokoten was in hyperspace. And then he saw only her sleeping face above the covers. Not that she seemed to be deliberately avoiding contact with Decker, but that’s how it seemed. If she kept this up, eating at different times and ignoring him in the cabin, it would be a tough way to live.
Yet Nihao Kiani, like much aboard Shokoten, would stay a mystery for Decker as the ship sped towards its next destination.
*
He was busy, of course. The lengthy absence of a qualified gunner showed in the general state of her ordnance and small arms lockers. The crew treated him with the deference due to his rank and, Zack had to admit, due to his size and strength, but always with a strong undercurrent of suspicion. They didn’t accept him at face value, and that was normal. But their distant looks and frequent outright distrust made him uncomfortable. Only Strachan and Darhad were anywhere close to making Zack feel at home, and then only in the line of duty. Zack Decker was an outsider, and the crew made sure he knew it.
