The captain’s lounge aboard Ashanti seated six. Located just down the central corridor from Astrogation Control, the lounge was a cramped room jammed against the curve of the Command Deck hull. One of the few perks of “officer’s territory,” it even had a small galley on the back wall. Not that ten years of ship’s time had left many choices except two: tea and ration.
Miguel Galluzzi—cup of said tea in hand—nodded to the rest as he entered, stepped around to the rear, and settled into the worn duraplast of his captain’s chair. On the one working holo, an image of Donovan spun against a background of stars.
In their long-accustomed seats, First Officer Turner sat at Galluzzi’s right, Benj Begay on his left. Second Officer Smart had the watch, so his chair remained empty. Michaela Hailwood hunched in the seat beside Begay’s. Finally, at the far end near the door, Derek Taglioni slumped in his usual place.
Galluzzi took their measure. Begay was descended from Native American stock. He was forty-five now, kept his hair in a bun tied tightly at the back of his head. His dark eyes were thoughtful as he fingered the line of his blocky chin.
Turner, who stood six-foot-five, was now in his fifties. A faint English accent still lurked in the man’s speech. Galluzzi couldn’t be sure, but Turner’s washed-out blue eyes seemed to grow paler by the year. Like all good spacers, he kept his head shaved.
Galluzzi’s gaze lingered on Michaela Hailwood, forty-seven. The lanky black-skinned woman had been born in Apogee Station. A curious origin for someone who would become chairperson of the Department of Oceanography at Tubingen University on Transluna. She headed the group of scientists dispatched aboard Ashanti to establish the first research station for the study of Capella III’s oceans.
Still slumped in his chair, Derek Taglioni had laced his fingers together. The man’s genetically engineered yellow-green eyes fixed on Galluzzi. Turns out that designers of fine haute couture on Transluna didn’t tailor their snazzy garments for longevity; Taglioni’s exotic clothing no longer looked natty and sharp. Derek, Dek for short, might have been in his mid-thirties, but given the medical benefits of being a Taglioni, who knew? Today his sandy-blond hair was combed over. The guy looked classic; his chiseled jaw even featured a dimple in the chin.
In the beginning—being a Taglioni—Dek had been a real self-inflated prig. Imperious. Demanding. But something about survival, about realizing that no amount of power or wealth made him any more valuable than a lowly hydroponics tech, Class III, had wrought remarkable changes in his personality and approach to life. The condescending arrogance had begun to break down during the transit. For years he’d even shaved his head like crew. But during those long months when it looked like they were all going to die? That’s when something fundamental had changed in Taglioni.
Amazing what kind of man can evolve when he’s knocked off his high horse and face-first into the shit.
Galluzzi stared down into his cup of tea. Not like the real thing, mind you, but a green liquid made from boiled spinach, algae, and leaves. Stuff that still grew in hydroponics, though the nutritional content was down considerably from the early days.
They all showed signs of malnutrition.
“What do you think?” Galluzzi asked. He was long past formalities with these people.
Benj, still fingering his chin, said, “Aguila’s not like any Corporate Supervisor I ever knew. When I saw the scars, it scared hell out of me. Like she was one of the Unreconciled. Sent a shiver right up my spine.”
Michaela placed her long-fingered hands flat on the table. “She didn’t bat an eye when we told her we sealed the transportees on Deck Three. Not a single protest. Nothing about what the contractual implications might be, or what it was going to cost The Corporation in litigation.”
“Tough lady,” Turner said thoughtfully. “Sounds like Cap III has fallen on hard times while we’ve been in transit. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m not sure how the crew is going to take this. We’ve sold them on the belief that when we reach Cap III, it’s going to be like a paradise.”
Benj chuckled. “Hey, just being out in fresh air, under an open sky, is paradise.”
“After what we’ve been through, you’d think the universe would cut us a break.” Galluzzi sipped his tea. Tried to remember what it was supposed to taste like. Nothing had much taste anymore.
Turner shot him a sidelong glance. “I think you just got your break, Miguel. Aguila didn’t immediately order you arrested for what we did. I thought she’d take that a whole lot harder.”
“Something’s not right,” Benj added. “We lost two thirds of the transportees, and what’s left are man-eating monsters. Drop that kind of bombshell on a Corporate Supervisor? You expect to let loose a shitstorm.”
“She almost took it as a foregone conclusion.” Galluzzi rubbed his face, thankful that his hand was no longer shaking. Damn, he’d been on the edge. Like the others, he’d expected to be relieved of command, pilloried, maybe even charged with mass murder.
He glanced at Taglioni. Had hoped that if Corporate was going to flush him down the shitter, that Dek would be his only chance. Betting on a Taglioni? It showed how desperate a man could be.
“Think it’s some kind of political gambit?” Begay wondered. “You know. The kind of intrigue the Board is into: layers within layers. Maybe we’re suddenly pawns in some complex game she’s playing. Like she’s going to use our failure to keep the transportees alive as a means to destroy some adversary.”
Was that it? Galluzzi’s stomach began to roil. He felt the first tremors in his hand. “I just wish it was all over.”
“Hey, Miguel,” Michaela told him, “you’re getting ahead of yourself. We all are. Think, people. There’s going to be an inquest. There has to be. You can’t just seal three hundred and sixty people into a confined space, let them mutilate and eat each other, and expect to walk away without some sort of questions.”
She glanced around the table. “We’ve known since the beginning that a day of reckoning is coming. In the meantime, we stick together. Let’s not forget that by doing what we did, we got the ship to Cap III. And we did it with most of the crew alive. The entire Maritime Unit is not only alive, but with the kids there’s a lot more of us than spaced from Solar System.”
“Steps had to be taken,” Benj agreed. “Remember what it was like? We all agreed that if we made it, we’d stand together. That what they did to one, they’d have to do to all of us.”
“Here, here,” Turner muttered, watery eyes fixed on infinity.
Benj turned to Taglioni. “Dek? Your word is going to carry the most weight.”
Taglioni’s lips bent into a thin smile. “You’re assuming my family’s still in power.”
“Aguila asked specifically if you were aboard,” Benj reminded.
“That has as many ominous interpretations as it does positive ones, Board politics being what it is.”
“Let’s wait and see,” Galluzzi told them. “If it comes down to it, and there has to be a sacrifice, it is my responsibility.”
“You’re not doing that holy martyr thing again, are you?” Michaela asked. “We didn’t like it the first time you pulled that shit.”
He smiled, sipped his tea, looked around at the familiar faces. He’d alternately shunned these people, loved or hated them, sought their company, and periodically despised them. Between them, they had no secrets. Well, maybe but for Taglioni. Not that he hadn’t done more than his share, pulled more than his weight, but he’d always kept himself apart. Maintained a distance.
“No martyrdom. It’s just that the end, at last, is in sight. Mostly, however, it’s because after what we’ve been through, if they need a sacrifice, I don’t give a damn. I’m just . . . tired.”
Taglioni was watching him with those piercing yellow-green eyes. Even after all these years, they still sent a shiver up Galluzzi’s spine.
There would be a price. There had to be.