Within an hour, they'd stripped the Cormorant of useful materials, coming away with quite a haul. At a glance of the inventory Kat and 78 had prepared, Brant thought they'd be able to boost their reactor by at least 30%, with weapons and plating enough to make the Kestrel a nasty little piece of work.
She wasn't quite as sure how to feel about the other cargo they'd picked up.
She sat in her private quarters, sipping from a steaming polysteel mug of stimulant, watching a live video feed of the medbay. Their new guest was pacing back and forth in there. Kat had found him in a light stasis, a common practice for lifeforms intended for slave trade, and on Brant's orders, he'd been brought aboard and placed in the medbay to ease back into consciousness. He was young, tall, and lanky, with a ruddy complexion and short, curly black hair. He'd grown scruffy in captivity but he seemed otherwise healthy, probably to keep up his sale value. Brant wondered what she'd think of his appearance if she'd seen any other human males in the last few weeks, but in present circumstances, he was very easy to look at.
Brant didn't like it.
It had taken about an hour before he'd gotten up and begun cautiously examining his surroundings. He found the doors were locked shut when he tried them, and once or twice he called out to ask where he was, and to ask whether or not he was a prisoner. And that, thought Brant, was a good question. She sighed and pressed a button on her chair, opening an audio link to 78.
"Head on in," Brant said. "Play it like we talked about."
On the screen, she saw the door to the medbay open, letting in a dim green glow. 78 walked in with Ahab. 78 carried a tray of food, and Ahab strode with his hands clasped confidently behind his back. The man stopped pacing, standing cautiously still as he eyed the two newcomers.
"Salutations, friend!" said Ahab with a slight bow. "My name is Ahabzara, and this is my associate, Commander HR-XPC-78. Allow me first to apologize for the abominable accommodations you've had to abide so far, but you understand that certain security protocols are of course…"
"Are you pirates?" the man interrupted. "Because we can skip the whole 'genteel Zoltan pirate' shtick. I've heard it before, and I'd appreciate if you just skip to whatever you're going to do to me."
"What is…shtick?" Ahab looked back at 78 in confusion. "What is shtick?"
"Particular routine or gimmick in terms of performance, as associated with…" 78 began.
"Where amI?" the man demanded.
Brant leaned closer to the screen, watching his face. "Tell him," she said. "He'll figure it out eventually."
"Aboard Federation vessel, Kestrel-1," 78 said. "You were recovered from captivity and apparent slavery aboard Cormorant-class vessel under rogue Federation captain HT-XKP-145, now terminated."
Brant stared at the screen, searching his face for any sign of a reaction to that news, anything that might tip her off to this new guy's actual allegiance. His eyes widened a little, but that was hardly telling. Was he relieved to be free? Surprised they'd overcome such a vicious pirate?
Or was he a Rebel, realizing he had a unique position to undermine the enemy?
"Am I a prisoner?" the man asked.
"No. Please, sit. Eat," 78 said, sitting down at a cramped table and setting the food tray down at the chair opposite him. Ahab walked up and sat beside 78. "Cannot give run of the ship yet, not without proper introduction." 78 gestured at the tray, his face screen pulsing a cool blue.
The man walked forward warily and sat. He stared at the tray a moment, which had a generous slopping of spicy stew and a hunk of bread. After only a bit of hesitation, he dug in and ate ravenously. If he was concerned about poison or drugs in the food, hunger concerned him more.
"This isn't bad," the man said in between bites. "You have humans on board? I don't imagine a synthetic and an ethereal would know much about decent human food."
78's face blinked orange, and he whirred in irritation. "Organics always think everything about organic experience is so special and unique," 78 scoffed. "Food not hard to understand. Keep materials in storage, download preparation routines from public database, follow instructions. Like everything else organic: predictable, simple."
The man glared at 78 with…annoyance? Brant stared closer, scrutinizing. "Poke him further," she whispered.
"Now, commander, there is no cause for rudeness. He is our guest, after all," Ahab chided gently. He turned back to the man and leaned in, smiling proudly. "Myself, I am quite fascinated by your digestive process. So much time and resources to produce a few centigrams of vegetable matter and protein and to prepare it to satisfy your fickle senses, and in hardly any time at all, your body will render the fruits of all this labor into mere excrement. Surely, it is a metaphor for us all."
The man stopped eating, looking quizzically up at the two of them. "So do you have any humans on board? No offense, but…"
"We were selected for this interview because we are considered the two most genial members of the crew," Ahab said. "We thought that, after being held captive by hostile aliens, it might be nice to see friendly faces. And we are rather friendly faces indeed, are we not?"
Ahab opened his toothless mouth into a broad, beaming rictus, his pupil-less eyes fixed on the stranger. 78's face screen strobed green and blue, and he beeped a few times. The man looked at these friendly faces with growing unease.
"Now. Inform about yourself," 78 said.
The man stared back at them for a second, then sighed and shrugged. "Name's Karl. Karl Vossler. I…worked the engines on a trader. The Mackerel…no, no, it was the…" He paused, looking concerned. "The Dolphin. I think. I'm sorry, everything's very fuzzy."
"Amnesia common side effect of extended time in stasis. Temporary," 78 said.
"And a fracking convenient excuse," Brant muttered to herself. "Enough. 8, report to my quarters."
"Apologies. Needed elsewhere. Glad we produced acceptable facsimile of human nourishment, Karl Vossler." 78 took the food tray, which Vossler had still been working on, and walked to the medbay door. "Sending in next most genial crew member to continue introductions." The door opened, and 78 walked.
Katarek walked in, carrying a large bottle of bright orange hot sauce. Karl started a little, but he kept himself composed as the mantis strode in
"Ah – it is awake. Excellent," Kat said as she scuttled up to the table. "Hello, soft meat thing. I am Katarek, of the mantis race, and this is a bottle of Admiral Scorcho sauce. It tastes very good with soft meat things."
"Tut, tut, Katarek. You mean 'to.' It tastes very good to soft meat things, and that is not a polite term either."
"Ah – silly me. Prepositions are such slippery things." Kat slid the hot sauce over to Karl. "A gift. Quite delectable."
Karl didn't take his eyes off Katarek.
"Now, Karl, we have some simple questions developed to gauge your personality," Kat continued. "How would you describe your flavor profile, Karl-thing? Gamey, rich, sweet – what are we getting here?"
The door to Brant's quarters chimed, and she lowered the volume on the video screen. "Come in," she called.
78 entered, stopping just inside at attention.
Brant waved at the seat next to her. Her quarters were sparse, little more than a bed, some storage units, and a table with chairs by a wall-mounted vidscreen. She kept the place tidy, not that she had much stuff with which to make it untidy. 78 took the offered seat, and the two looked at each silently. She wasn't sure if there was really tension between them, or if it was just her imagination.
"So what's your read of him?" she asked, ignoring the feeling.
"Uncertain. Does not seem easily perturbed, but that attitude consistent with sailors in general, not military or rebellion. No strong sentiments against nonhuman lifeforms noticeable. Seemed eager to speak with a human, but that not itself unusual."
"No, it's not," Brant said, looking back up at the screen. "My first impulse when I saw Kat's feed of him chained up in their brig was to unchain him, bring him back to my quarters, and screw till I passed out." She shook her head. "Sorry. A human term, referring to the act of sexual…"
"Familiar with concept and slang terminology. Give some credit, captain," 78 said. "Dare I ask second impulse?"
"Same as the first, only leaving the chains on. It was…scary, the way those impulses just came. I've never been like that. It's like I'm in starvation mode for human contact, and my body's telling me I've got to connect with this guy since it's been so long since I've even seen any others." She sighed. "It passed, but still. I'm too eager to trust him, and he might be a live grenade. I shouldn't be the one screening him."
"Understandable. Though should note, in likely case this is simply unfortunate sailor, this likely somewhat traumatic experience."
"Considering the Cormorant was a Rebel ship originally, the odds that he's a Rebel aren't that long. In the likely case that he's an unfortunate Rebel, we have to know."
"Agreed. Not questioning," 78 said. "If he is Rebel, though, what do we do?"
Brant looked at Karl. "What would you do, commander?"
"Know what Andrews would do, at least: put him in brig, try to coax information out of him, use winning personality to turn him to Federation cause, set him loose in escape pod for Rebel fleet to pick up if unsuccessful," 78 said. "Ethical and straightforward with room for great gains."
"And that's what you would do, too?"
78 crackled in disappointment. "I would take useful materials off him and throw him out airlock. Low risk. Some satisfaction."
"Jesus, 8…"
"You would do different?"
Brant looked at 8. Why did he seem so relaxed with this conversation? After what she'd pulled earlier with the pirates, she'd been expecting disapproval at best, mutiny at worst.
"I don't know. Having a Rebel on board under any kind of guard would be an unacceptable risk. It's just…that's not how he taught us, 8."
"No?" 78 asked. "Damion Andrews, true exemplar of Federation values, yes. Outstanding officer, patient and wise teacher. Fought bravely, and with honor, and with spirit. Then died." 78's screen blinked with static, and his voice warbled slightly. "In death, he taught final lesson. Bravery, honor, spirit – useful. Necessary. But these times chew up, swallow the brave, honorable, spirited. Ruthless pragmatism is primary morality in times like these. Only just realizing that, myself. You, I think, already have learned."
Brant could not disagree with a single word of this. Hearing it so plainly spoken still nearly brought her tears of shame and disgust.
"8, I want you to tell me plainly what you think of how I handled the pirates."
"Bold. Distract enemy with surprising offer, convince him into thinking you possess almost heroic degree of mercy and forgiveness, that you will consider him comrade, then send in brutal border in close proximity when he least suspects it," 78 said, not quite admiring but respectful. "Though, could also interpret situation to say you reinstated rogue captain into Federation, and so your actions constitute murder of fellow officer."
"I think that's how Toh sees it."
"The ensign is entitled to his opinion. Allow me to express mine: Andrews is dead. Federation has faltered. Friends, mentors, leaders, hivemates, ideals – all have failed me." 78 reached over gently and laid his claw on her forearm, squeezing slightly. He looked at her with unusual intensity. "All except for you, Charlotte. You, all I have left. Loyalty to you: unconditional. And do not misunderstand. Do not misinterpret as hyperbole. Unconditional. Will follow you, whichever path you walk, however dark. My opinion of how you handled Captain 145 is that you were devious and brutal. Had another acted so, would have found actions morally appalling. That you acted so instead indicates transition to new moral parameters."
Brant put her hand on his claw and squeezed back. "That's…terrifying, 8. You can't act like that. If I step over the line…"
"If stepping over the line necessary to save Federation in last desperate hour, irresponsible to let personal conscience obstruct action. Will not stand in your way. Will not let you carry moral burden alone, either." 78 whirred. "Apologies. Should not have interrupted."
Brant laughed out loud. "You'll walk hand in hand with me to damnation, but you still feel bad for interrupting?"
"Still such a thing as manners," 78 insisted.
Smiling, Brant nodded. "Yeah. And I guess it's time I meet our guest."
A few minutes later, the medbay door slid open, and Brant and 78 strode in. Only Ahab noticed immediately. Kat and Karl were in spirited conversation.
"I'm sorry – I just didn't like it," Karl said, his arms crossed.
"Didn't like it! 'Deathsong of Chaka-Harakat' was the definitive gladiator drama! The genre wouldn't exist without it!" Kat cried back.
"I get that! But so many vids built on the concept so much that 'Deathsong' is just basic now. I'm glad it exists. I just don't like watching it."
Kat shoved her face within inches of Karl's and screeched. Karl's eyes went wide and he shrank back slightly, but he didn't soil himself or tumble out of his chair; Kat would regard it as a respectable response to the challenge. Brant certainly did.
"Is that any way to treat our guest, Katarek?" Brant asked.
"Captain!" Ahab said, standing and bowing as he noticed her.
Kat and Karl looked up. The man met Brant's eye for the first time, and his expression brightened. Brant hoped hers didn't do the same.
"Captain, this one is promising. He shows reasonably good taste in media, albeit with some very serious lapses. 'Deathsong' is too flat basic, he says – pah!" Kat hissed.
"Thank you for that assessment, Katarek. You two are dismissed."
Kat tapped her head in respect, Ahab bowed again, and the two left the medbay. Brant and 78 approached the table and sat. Brant took a calming breath, lightly clasped her hands in front of her, and held Karl's gaze.
"I'm Captain Charlotte Brant of the Federation."
The man held out his hand. "Karl Vossler, ma'am. Pleased to make your…"
Brant ignored his hand and kept going, keeping her tone flat. "I know. We've been monitoring your reactions to other crew, who were under instruction to act abrasive or unusual. Specifically, we were looking for signs of extreme pro-human or anti-xeno sentiment. Do I need to clarify why?"
"Uh…no, ma'am. I know the troubles you folks are having with the Rebels. I…well, did I pass?" He looked very nervous suddenly, but again, Brant couldn't glean anything from that reaction. Of course he was nervous. She'd just suggested he could be an enemy.
"Yes. I apologize for all this pantomime, and I'm going to be straightforward with you now. If you are a Rebel, now's the time to come clean. We couldn't detect any strong antipathy for the other races, and we figure even a hardcore revolutionary would be inclined to show some gratitude to the folks who saved him from slavers. Whatever your past allegiance, you would be welcome to join the crew until we reach a suitable port to drop you off. Mr. 78 here moonlights in the engine room, but we have need of a dedicated engineer. So: are you a Rebel, Karl?"
"Really? That would be great! It'd be my pleasure to…"
"Answer question," 78 said.
Karl swallowed a little. "I'm no Rebel, ma'am. I've just had some bad luck."
She stared him down. Her gut was telling her this guy was on the up-and-up, but her gut was trained by millions of years of evolution to seek community and build relationships among others like her. This could jeopardize the whole mission. But, so could flying without a full crew
She put out her hand. Karl looked cautiously, then took her hand and shook firmly.
Brant smiled. "Welcome aboard the Kestrel, Mr. Vossler."
