Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-Two
One thing that Connor never got used to was the way stars never went out. It was something obvious and simple: They were big fusion reactors with near-limitless fuel. No one came in at night and turned them down. That was the illusion created by a planet spinning: sunrise, sunset. So it really messed with his mind when he was out on the hull of the Lucky Sevens, with nothing hiding the stars.
How could it be so large and him so small, sucking in stale, recycled oxygen, fighting back the dread chill of nausea in the face of the infinite?
That sense of hopelessness, the feeling of insignificance—it was crushing.
Drew must have caught the faraway look in his eyes, because she banged a hammer on the replacement plate they were securing over the hull breech.
The vibration ran up his arm, drawing him back to the work. “Sorry.”
She smiled nervously. “You okay?”
“Just caught up in how big the universe is.” He exhaled shakily.
“Limitless and beautiful, uncaring and bitter cold; pinpricks of diamond bright, abyss of eternal night.” She bit her lip.
“What was that?”
“Poetry. I wrote a lot when I was stuck down in Winter.”
“Did it help?”
“I made it, right?”
“You did.” He patted the plate with his gloved hand. “We about done?”
“That last contact point over by you. I can get it.”
Connor waved for the welding unit. “Supervise me.”
It was only a few minutes more work, then they tested compartment pressure.
Lem was on the radio with them. “All indications are green.”
Connor led the way back to the airlock. When Drew was inside with him, and the pressure cycled, he took his helmet off. “Good job out there.”
She wrestled hers off and brushed her stringy hair back, blushing. “Thanks.”
“I appreciate your poem, by the way.”
“Y-you liked it?”
“I think so. I think I understand it, at least. That feeling of immensity and beauty without an associated intelligence—I get that.”
Drew’s cheeks reddened, and when the inner airlock door opened hurried out, brushing past Rudy and Kalpana, who looked like they were in the middle of a tactics session with Aubriella. Normally, the cargo bay would’ve been ideal for that, but with it actually well-stocked, they were forced to stick to the center walkspace.
The three of them wore VR helmets that would match the field conditions of a full augmented reality overlay.
The ladies took their helmets off and shook their sweat-damp hair out.
Rudy yanked his helmet off and looked around, less angry than confused. When he realized the clomp of boots was going up the ramp leading out of the cargo bay, he turned back to Connor. “Everything go to plan?”
Connor unzipped his environment suit. “We’ve got a fully functional infirmary again. That’s not an invitation for anyone to get hurt, okay?”
“Full functionality’s a good thing.”
“It is. Um, sorry about the interruption.”
Kalpana shrugged. “We’re done.” She shoved her helmet into Aubriella’s gut. “Rookie stows the gear.”
“Oh.” Aubriella smiled sheepishly. “I’ll get it.”
Rudy set his own helmet against the top of the young mercenary’s own helmet and waited until she clearly had it balanced. “A good cleaning and disinfection—all right?”
“I’ll get them done right, Sergeant Walton.”
Connor waited until the young woman—she still came across as a girl to him—was headed up the ramp and out of sight, then cleared his throat. “Rudy?”
The scarred veteran twisted around. “Something up?”
“Well, I was hoping I could ask a favor of you.”
“Any time.”
“You probably know as much about this mission as anyone on—”
Rudy held up a hand. “All I know is all I need to know.”
“I don’t think that’s true of any of us, unfortunately.”
“Not even the captain?”
“There’s what she knows about Mosiah through a shared history, and then there’s what she knows about this mission. I don’t think she knows anything more than we do.”
“I don’t mean offense, Lieutenant, but are you thinking objectively?”
“Because of our relationship?”
“A man can lose all objectivity when things happen like they have for you two.”
“Nothing’s happening right now.”
The sergeant harrumphed. “Martienne was saying over breakfast she saw the captain coming out of your cabin this morning not wearing much.”
“Yeah. I didn’t have the best night of sleep, but nothing happened.”
“Because of that pretty gal back on Mara?”
“Toshiko. I had no idea she wanted anything to do with me, but we’re back together.”
“That might be good for team morale.”
Connor clenched his jaw. There were times Rudy’s bluntness became…annoying. “That favor I was asking about—I was hoping you’d back my play on something.”
“I’m your man, Lieutenant.”
An hour later, they found Mosiah in the galley, pouring himself a glass of whisky. The compartment was empty and smelled freshly cleaned. Their steps were loud, the only real sound other than the clank of glass on glass. He looked up when they entered, and his eyes tracked Connor until the two men were seated at the opposite side of the table.
The old man raised his glass to them. “Salutations, gentlemen.” He tossed back the drink, then smacked his lips together. “Not bad.”
Connor pointed to the bottle. “Is that part of your cargo?”
“Hm? Oh. No. I found this sitting out. Someone abandoned it, I gather. It’s a shame to let spirits go to waste, even modest ones like this.”
“That might not be legal.”
“A cheap whisky like this? The only crime about it is the low quality.”
Rudy leaned back in his chair. “You really worry much about legality?”
Mosiah’s bushy, white eyebrows arched, and he turned to the sergeant. “I can’t say that I recall us knowing each other well enough to have such a discussion. Sergeant Walton, right?”
“Rudy’s fine.”
“Good. I’ve never been one for titles. Rudy, you insinuate that I operate as a criminal.”
“Haven’t you?”
“Operate. I used the present tense, not the past. My history isn’t relevant now.”
“History’s always relevant.”
Mosiah flashed a toothy, wolfish smile. “Is that really an Obsidian Trooper speaking those words? Would you like me to show my own knowledge of history, Sergeant? Perhaps I should open with an observation about the criminality and depravity of firing on unarmed civilians. Yost Station. Galdran Colony Post 4. The Hu Corporation protest. Ring any bells? Hm?”
Connor sensed the tension coming off of Rudy and grabbed his elbow to calm him, then smiled at Mosiah. “I didn’t realize you’re a student of history.”
The old man shrugged. “It’s history I lived. The difference is, I don’t judge.”
“Rudy and I didn’t mean to judge you. We wanted to know what we’re getting into—that’s all.”
“Not beating some mayor into a bloody pulp. Except for the genitals.”
How could the old man know about that? Connor held a hand up. “This—”
“Mr. Rattakul, you’re concerned that you’re currently involved in an illegal endeavor. That’s noble and respectable. It’s also terribly misplaced. At the price I’m paying and the opportunity I represent, you shouldn’t be asking such questions of me.”
“That’s fair. Like I said, this isn’t judgment.”
“Of course it is.” Mosiah poured another drink. “But it’s also assessment. The two alpha males working to assure the safety of their tribe. I actually respect that.”
Rudy relaxed, so Connor let go. “Then help us.”
At first, the old man did nothing but stare at his glass. Then a tremor ran through his face and shoulders. “I know some very terrible people. I’ve been terrible myself at times. Years ago, my business partners were crooks. That’s a nice way of putting it. They wanted something unique for their collections, and I went along with the idea.”
It was what Connor had suspected and what Selen had hinted at. Was it true, though? There was nothing about Mosiah that gave off any sign of falseness or manipulation.
After taking a drink, Mosiah hunched forward. “I was…irresponsible then. Now I’m smarter. And I’m regretful. I also happen to be the only one of that old partnership still alive.”
That was real—the pain and doubt…the fear. Connor set his elbows on the table. “You feel responsible for their deaths.”
“Not like pulling a trigger or anything, no. But guilt is too much. These things in your hold rightly belong where they came from.”
Rudy glanced away. “Old age can make a man soft.”
Mosiah chuckled. “Same as whisky and spending too much time with your nose stuck in books. But in my case, I want to see that the right thing is done before I die. Let’s call it redemption. And your merry band of mercenaries are my guardians. That’s quite the honor.”
Connor pushed back from the table. “That’s all we were looking for. Thanks.”
Mosiah raised the glass to them and finished the drink off.
In the passageway, Rudy glanced over his shoulder. “You buy that?”
Connor took a few steps to let the question roll around in his head. There was no ignoring the old man’s unexpected knowledge of Rudy’s past and the job offer on Mara. Still… “Redemption’s an honorable notion. I think everyone has a chance to atone for wrongs.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No. I don’t believe him. But it's a job. And that’s what we need to survive right now.”