Chapter Five

 

 

 

I woke with a dull ache in the front of my skull and a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. My mouth was dry and tasted like several rats had died in it, and my right hand throbbed menacingly. I tried to block the memories before they washed over me. I might as well have tried to stop a wave.

One of the downfalls of my unerring sense of direction was that I always knew exactly where I was, even when ignorance might have been preferable. It helped, of course, that Orca was shouting at me.

“Get up, fleet scum. If you make me miss breakfast, I will drown you myself.”

I blinked at my surroundings, trying to get my eyes used to the sickly green light. Miranda’s vessel, it appeared, did not have the genetically modified bio-luminescent organisms in their light tubes that I had taken for granted on the fleet. These looked like they had been harvested from some murky region of the ocean where respectable boats knew better than to sail.

I took stock of my situation.

My wounded hand curled protectively against my chest and the other hung limply from the coarse hammock where Orca and Kraken had deposited me the evening before. The hammock, I remembered, hung in Orca’s private quarters. Miranda was afraid her crew would harass me if I bunked with the rest of them in the common hold. I wondered if that might have been preferable to sharing close quarters with her irascible first mate.

My tongue stuck dryly to the roof of my mouth as I sat up. The world spun into focus in time for me to see Orca standing over my open duffel, rummaging through the contents.

“Hey,” I protested. It came out in a rasp.

“Put these on. You stink worse than a bilge rat.” She tossed a clean pair of training clothes at me, then paused. I cringed as she scooped up the jellyfish. “What’s this?”

“Nothing,” I said.

Orca hefted it experimentally.

“Do I even want to know why you have this?”

“It’s not important.”

Orca raised the carving to eye level. “Looks like a jellyfish. Did your boyfriend make this for you when he was high?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I said in another rasp.

“Why does that not surprise me?” Orca asked herself. “There’s water in the corner for you. You wouldn’t last a minute in the showers.” She grinned. It was not a friendly expression.

I stepped gingerly out of the hammock, unused to the way it swung underneath me. The floor was cold and slightly uneven, as if it had been pieced together at different times by different builders, all of them falling down drunk. It was impossible to see clearly in the light, so I stopped trying and stumbled to the washbasin. A stained but presumably clean rag lay next to the large bucket of water. I scooped a handful up to drink and retched it back up.

“It’s seawater,” I said, my nose burning.

“Yeah, well, beggars can’t be choosers.”

Orca was still tossing the jellyfish from hand to hand. I splashed my face with the briny water and dampened the rag. I didn’t feel comfortable stripping with Orca watching, but I was acutely aware of the lingering smell of vomit on my skin. I shucked off my shirt and folded it neatly at my side, keeping my back to her. The cold water felt good, despite the slight burn of the salt. I scrubbed my chest, neck, arms, and stomach, but couldn’t bring myself to strip down to my underwear. My lower half would have to wait.

I shuffled awkwardly over to my clothes and pulled a clean shirt over my head, breathing in the familiar smell of the fleet laundry. It stung deeper than the salt, and I willed a presump-tuous tear back into its duct. If this was what Comita needed me to do, then however strange and painful it was, I was determined to do it.

“You eat well on the fleet, don’t you?”

There was an undercurrent of resentment to Orca’s taunt. I glanced down at my bare legs as I hopped into my pants. They were slender and well-muscled. Fleet life was not soft, but compared to Orca I was plump.

“You said something about breakfast,” I said, ignoring her comment.

“Not that you need it.” She dropped the jellyfish back into the bag.

I let out a small sigh of relief as it nestled back into my clothes.

“Do I get to walk on my own this time, or are you going to put that thing back over my head?” The more I talked, the thirstier I became.

Orca eyed me up and down.

“The hood was just a precaution. You only need to know your way around four parts of the ship. This room, unfortunately, the mess hall, the head, and navigation. Just don’t get lost.”

“I’m a navigator,” I said before I could stop myself. “I don’t get lost.”

“Good. Nobody on this ship likes fleeters. You get lost, you’re not my responsibility.”

She turned and made for the door. It had a crude bar across it for security and I noticed a shadow above the doorway.

“You like it?” Orca asked, noticing my stare.

“What is it?”

“All your fancy tech, and you can’t identify a sea wolf? It’s the skull of an orca.”

I strained my eyes to see in the light, forgetting my thirst for a moment. A whale skull. A real whale skull. I wanted to ask Orca where she’d gotten it, but the smirk on her face shut me up.

I decided she had to be around my age as I trailed after her and down the hallway. She walked with the arrogance of someone who knew how to beat the shit out of others, but her skin was still fresh beneath the scars and tattoos.

The hallway was a mockery of fleet order. Curtains of shells, bones, and ragged cloth hung across doorways, and I glanced into several large rooms full of hammocks that looked like a crude version of the common bunk where I had spent my nights in fleet prep school. Merc crew members were up and moving, shouting at one another and emitting a distinct odor that made me doubt the efficacy of the showers.

Like Orca’s room, the floor was composed of patchwork plastic. Here and there, grates spanned several feet of flooring, and I caught a glimpse of the lower levels and the tops of hurrying heads. The walls of the hallway writhed with pipes, which snaked haphazardly around doorways and hatches, casting sinuous shadows in the eerie glow of the dubious bio-light tubes.

The hallway ended with a catwalk and a flight of open stairs. I swayed as we passed the landing, noting the long drop into the poorly lit darkness that extended below. Above, bright sunlight flared in the distance, forcing its way into the bowels of the ship. I shuddered as I realized I must have passed this way the night before with my face covered. The walk was narrow and the railings looked like they would give way if a cat brushed against them.

There were cats, too. More cats than I had ever seen on a fleet ship. We only kept a symbolic few, as the mice and rat populations were carefully restricted to the elite ranks of rodents who had survived a rigorous campaign of baiting, trapping, poisoning, and predation. A black and white tom stared at me from the shadows, and a ginger twined her narrow body between the railing’s supports, unfazed by the drop beneath her.

Orca mounted the stairs lightly. Her feet moved surely up the flights while I struggled to keep up on my sore ankle. I kept my left hand on the rail, as my right ached, and tried to make sense of the ship’s organization as we climbed. It was impossible, which unnerved me more than the dark looks my new crew shot me.

“Rumor’s true, Orca?” someone asked.

“Fleet’s finest,” Orca said with a shrug. Measuring eyes weighed me, and I wished I were taller, stronger, and significantly more intimidating.

I kept my eyes on Orca’s back and followed her up.

The mess hall was more organized than I’d anticipated. The lighting was better, for one thing, and the tables were laid out with familiar structure. The round captain’s table was on the far side of the room and long tables with benches filled the rest of the space. Orca made her way to the captain’s table and gave me a sidelong look.

“Don’t get used to it,” she said as she pointed at a chair. “One wrong move, and you’ll be sitting with them.” I followed her pointing finger to the nearest table, where a group of sailors stared at me with open dislike.

So far, this was turning out to be more like the fleet than I’d expected. I forced myself to meet their eyes before I turned away. Fleet Prep had taught me many things, among them that showing weakness was a sure way to get beat up in a dark corner.

The tray Orca handed me was battered and old, but clean, and I stood beside her in line for the kitchen window. A bowl of some sort of grain mash plopped onto my tray when my turn came, along with a tall glass of lemon water. My stomach dropped. Lemon water was a scurvy ration, which we reserved for long missions. It didn’t bode well for the cuisine.

Orca saw my face and laughed.

“Used to better?”

“It’s fine,” I said, wondering if I could manage to hold my tray and down the water at the same time.

The mash was tasteless. I missed the rice pudding I had toyed with only yesterday, and wondered what Harper was doing. I concentrated on that thought as I spooned the stuff into my mouth. At least the mash was warm.

The captain’s table filled up during the course of the meal. Kraken joined us, seating himself on my other side. I eyed his tattoos. They were even more lifelike in the brighter light. I thought about asking him what his position was, until a tentacle rippled over his bicep.

We were sailing southwest, away from the fleet, and the sunshine I’d noticed in the stairwell meant we’d outdistanced the storm during the night. The memory of the waves made my stomach clench.

More crew sat at the table. They greeted Orca and Kraken and ignored me. None of them wore a uniform or any signifier of rank, but each moved with the self-assurance of authority. One man carried a whip at his belt. The coiled lashes had a pinkish tint that I told myself couldn’t possibly be blood.

I finished my food quickly, afraid to ask for more, and sipped at the last of the water in my glass. Orca was talking with a tall, dark haired woman about people I didn’t know, and Kraken sat in stoic silence. I didn’t think he was much of a morning person. I gently probed my bandaged hand beneath the table. It stung and throbbed, but I felt significantly better with food and water in my system.

“Captain on deck,” someone called out from the far end of the mess hall.

The grain mash made a bid for freedom in my belly. My back was to the door and I didn’t dare turn to stare as Miranda entered the mess hall, but I could hear.

The initial respectful hush was replaced with the kind of banter Comita didn’t stand for. I couldn’t make out her words through the strange buzzing in my ears. She laughed at something someone said, and the sound sent a chill down my spine. I squeezed my bandaged hand to clear my head.

She passed very close by my chair. The wind from her passage left a hint of fragrance— salt, sweat, and a floral scent I couldn’t identify. It reminded me of the gardens on Polaris in full bloom. Orca straightened beside me, and even Kraken looked up from his bowl.

Miranda stood at her chair for a moment, glancing around the table. Her scars were more apparent in the light, but they didn’t detract from the striking beauty of her face.

Beauty? I asked myself. The last thing I needed was to start thinking about Miranda as anything other than a mercenary captain.

I wished there was more water in my glass.

“Looks like fair weather today,” Miranda said, spooning up an unappetizing mouthful of the same slop the rest of us were eating.

My eyes were torn between the drippy, grayish-brown mash and the fullness of her lips. The contrast was disorienting.

“Annie must have had a rough time coming in last night,” a tall man with long dreadlocks said.

“Annie? Nah. She knows what she’s doing,” said Kraken.

“Any sailor would have struggled out in that soup.”

“Not Annie.” Kraken’s voice brooked no arguments, but the man persisted.

“It was risky, bringing a boat in like that.”

I felt Kraken stiffen next to me. The rest of the table glanced at Miranda. She took another bite of mash, apparently unconcerned.

“Just because you couldn’t handle it doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t,” Orca said with a smile. Something about the set of her jaw reminded me of the skull hanging above her door.

“Has nothing to do with what I can and can’t handle. It’s risky, taking a boat in like that for something so . . .”

He trailed off and looked at me. I willed myself not to flush. I was used to this, I reminded myself, and met his dark eyes.

“If you have something to say, Andre, spit it out.”

Kraken’s voice sank another octave, which I would not have thought possible. I could have sailed across the tension at the table. Miranda pushed her tray away slowly, and ran a hand over her tightly braided hair where it lay heavily against her hemp shirt. Andre glanced at his captain. A vein in his forehead pulsed.

“It just seems like a big risk for one girl.”

Around the table, the subtle shift in postures suggested a few others shared his opinion.

“You think I risked a vessel on a girl?” Miranda said. Her voice was low and calm. Andre’s forehead vein jumped again. “If you wish to call a vote, I can see you have some support.” Miranda looked slowly around the table. Her eyes passed over me without stopping.

“We just want to know,” he began, but at the sudden withdrawal of interest he amended his speech. “I just want to know, as your Chief Mechanic, that the risk to one of my boats was worth it.”

“One of your boats?”

“Our boats, Captain. Yours to command, mine to keep afloat.”

Miranda smiled at his words. Like Orca, her smile had teeth.

“Compass Rose,” she said, catching me off guard.

Her eyes harpooned mine, and my breath caught in my throat. I didn’t want to swim in these waters. I was pretty sure there were sharks.

“Captain,” I said. The word burned in my mouth like the brand on my hand.

“Which direction are we sailing?”

“South southwest.”

“What direction is the major current?”

“Northeast.”

“What are our coordinates?”

I glanced around the table, my mind running through the calculations and barely seeing the faces of Miranda’s crew.

“Between 23.6, -40.7 and 24.2, -40.9,” I said after a moment.

“Annie.” Miranda raised her voice loud enough that the mess hall quieted.

Annie appeared a few moments later. I recognized her from the night before. Her black hair was graying and her dark skin had seen plenty of weather, but there was nothing fragile about her wiry frame.

“What are our coordinates?” Miranda asked her.

“23.7, -40.7,” Annie said.

I was startled at my own accuracy. Even for me that was a good guess. The storm could have knocked us much further off course than I’d allowed for.

“Compass Rose, what would you say the wind direction was?”

“West, between 15 and 20 knots,” I said, feeling for the slight pull that indicated a misalignment with the current.

“How far are we from your fleet?”

“That depends on their trajectory, the storm, and whether or not they changed course, but they can’t be more than 50 miles in any direction, and only 45 due east if they have to fight wind and current.” The answers spilled out of me.

“And that,” Miranda said to the table, “is why I risked one of Andre’s boats in a hurricane. Thank you, Rose. Annie.”

Annie frowned slightly at me as she left. It was the friendliest look I’d received so far.

The familiar feeling of suspicious eyes raked over me from elsewhere around the table. Orca was staring at me with a mixture of surprise and distrust. Andre’s vein pulsed in double-time. Kraken glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, which was unsettling in itself, considering the larger eye tattooed around it.

Miranda, I realized with a leap of my pulse, looked more than pleased. A satisfied smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she observed the reaction my words had stirred.

“She’s got eyes like a Sea Wolf,” someone said under their breath. Miranda spoke before I could identify the whisperer.

“Orca, Compass Rose, with me,” she said, standing. “The rest of you get back to work. Unless anyone else has any more questions?” Silence met her words, and her eyes simmered with controlled anger as she looked squarely into all of their faces. I was glad her eyes avoided mine.

“Come on, fleet scum,” Orca said, rising to follow her captain. Kraken stood as well, a giant shadow looming on my right.

 

•   •   •

 

I could feel the eyes of the entire mess hall on me as we walked out. I kept my own eyes straight ahead, glued to Miranda’s back. It was certainly distracting enough. Her shoulders were broad and muscular, and she walked with a confidence that made Orca’s swagger look like a posturing kitten. I was already thirsty again by the time the doors swung shut behind us.

Orca glanced at me with a frown, then at Miranda.

“Do you want me to hood her, Captain?”

“No. I don’t think a hood can confuse our new compass.”

Kraken laughed behind me. The sound was so low that for a moment I thought it was the ship’s machinery. Orca flushed and glared at me.

I kept my mouth shut.

We followed the same corridor Orca had taken me through that morning. I braced myself for the catwalks and the stairs and tried not to let my limp show.

We climbed right into the sun. I blinked as the light grew brighter and brighter and kept one hand on the rail for guidance. The top of the stairs branched into six possible directions, each leading to a door. The roof was composed of a liquid level, judging by the watery brilliance, and I guessed that it was a part of their passive desalination system. Even with the liquid barrier, the heat from the concentrated sunlight made beads of sweat break out on my forehead.

The door Miranda chose opened into another bright room. I tripped in surprise as my eyes traveled upward. A tower jutted out of the roof, encased in thick, clear plastic. The bow side of the tower narrowed to a point, allowing it to cut through water and wind, and a ladder was mounted on the stern side opposite.

I eyed the ladder where it descended into the middle of the room with an unpleasant suspicion. The rest of the room was devoted to shelves and small tables with charts and maps, but Miranda walked straight up to the ladder and began to climb. I tore my eyes away from the muscles in her arms and followed, vowing not to glance up.

That turned out to be easy.

The clear wall commanded my full attention. Beyond it hung empty air and the choppy sea, still frothing from yesterday’s storm. The effect was dizzying, but at least there was no wind buffeting me or spray slicking the rungs. The top of Orca’s head rushed my feet and I climbed faster. The tower had to be at least twenty feet tall. I couldn’t see the top past Miranda, and looking up was far too distracting. I hadn’t realized how form-fitting her loose trousers were.

The top took me by surprise. Miranda offered me a hand up, and I reached out unthinkingly with my right. The pressure of her grip on the bandage made me wince.

Orca swung herself up without assistance, and Kraken emerged like something out of a watery nightmare. I thought instantly of the jellyfish trapped in the light tube.

We were in a small room, no more than fifteen feet wide at the stern and fifteen feet long where it narrowed into a point at the prow. The walls were clear, but the ceiling had a smoky tint to it that kept the room from cooking.

“Captain,” said a voice from the prow. A man swiveled around in a chair. I did a double take, and glanced from the ladder back to his legs. They ended at the knee.

“I’ve got arms, girlie,” he said, noticing my stare. He flexed his biceps at me. They were as thick as my thighs, if not thicker.

“Crow’s Eye, this is Compass Rose, our new navigator.”

“Huh,” he said, his dark mustache twitching. Gray streaked his beard. “Guess we got something in common. It’s a curse, getting named for your job. Means you can never get away from it.” He grinned, revealing crooked teeth. “But I bet you know that, don’t you?”

“Yes sir,” I said.

“Sir!” His laughter broke into a fit of coughing. “I could get used to that. The mercury settled nicely in you. She’ll do just fine,” he said, nodding at Miranda.

Orca crossed her arms over her chest, clearly irritated at Crow’s Eye’s reception.

“Not much gets past Crow’s Eye, above or below water,” Miranda said to me.

“That’s very impressive.”

I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth. I saw Orca shake her head out of the corner of my eye. Crow’s Eye’s laugh was less kindly this time.

“Impressive? That’s a high compliment, coming from a fleeter. Tell me, little navigator, what else do you think of our ship?” There was a warning glint in his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to offend,” I said, feeling my face burn.

“We don’t have fancy toys here like you’re used to. No lush stations to run home to. This ship, here, is our home and harbor. If you ask me, I’d say that’s a bit more impressive than anything you can do with your computers and your hydraulics and your antibiotics.”

He emphasized the last word harshly, and my eyes flicked again to his legs, wondering.

“Keep your hand clean, fleeter, or you’ll lose it before you get to use it.”

With that, he swiveled back around to stare at the open ocean. I could have fried a fish on my cheeks.

“You’ll work up here and below,” Miranda said. Her blue eyes masked her emotions.

I nodded.

“Keep a weather eye out,” she told Crow’s Eye as she descended the ladder. Orca followed, but I hung back for a moment, staring at the back of Crow’s Eye’s head.

“Spit it out, fleeter,” he said without turning around.

“I said it’s impressive because I know.”

Kraken waited by the ladder and Crow’s Eye swung slowly toward me, one bushy eyebrow raised. I took a deep breath and gambled.

“Most sailors need the instruments. There aren’t many who can do what we do.”

“Huh,” he said, leaning forward. “Come a little closer.”

I took a step towards him, hoping he wasn’t about to spit in my face. He stared into my eyes for a few long seconds.

“You ever heard of the Sea Wolves?” he asked. Kraken grew very still behind me.

“Orca has a skull in her quarters. She said it belonged to a sea wolf, but we call them orca on the Polarian Fleet.”

“I see,” he said. His tone suggested that whatever it was he saw, I did not. “Don’t keep the captain waiting. She’s not a patient woman.”

I bolted down the ladder as fast as my sore ankle and sliced hand could manage.