As it turned out, it was going to be a looong night.
The skimmers had 'salvaged the ship', a strange floater of some kind keeping the battered cruiser aloft. It was tied to the Condor, and dragged along behind us. The whole situation took a while – during which the Captain set myself and Abigail to watch the bridge, despite me having no idea what all entailed the 'trouble' I was looking out for – but eventually some of the crew and cargo from the smaller ship was aboard the Condor. The proper navigation and communications personnel returned to their shift, and the Captain sent Abigail and myself to the galley to help the First Mate with 'booking', which was suitably crammed with captured crew.
The galley doors were both locked, and the only way in and out was via the kitchen. When Abigail and I arrived, Rhea and another engineer – a tallish, bald fellow who was thick in the arms, torso and neck – were guarding the swinging doors that led to the galley proper. Cookie was not in the kitchen – something that unsettled me – but Tim was busying himself making sandwiches.
The engineers saluted us. Tim spared a quick salute, but kept working. The First Mate turned to us with a sniff of disdain.
"Finally sent you two down here, did he? About time." She was looking out of the serving window through which we took care of breakfast, and I stood at her right side. Abigail took her left.
"How many do we need, Mistress?" Abigail asked quietly.
"Technically, we don't," she answered impatiently. "But for full force, only three. Assuming we haven't lost anyone." The two of them peered at the crew with discerning eyes. I looked at them as well, but I had no idea what I was looking for.
To be fair, most of them looked tired, and scared. The fact that they'd been 'ushered' into a single room, where most of the doors were locked, and the others were guarded by buff looking, armed persons likely wasn't very reassuring. Most were huddled in frightened groups, sitting at their tables and waiting for what was doomed to come to them. But there were a few who were shouting back.
"Let us out of here!"
"You can't keep us here!"
"What do you want?"
"I want whoever's in charge!"
In the back, I spotted a boy my age. He had blood on his temple – not much, but some – and was hunched over the table, his head resting in his crossed arms. His green eyes watched the rambling ones, but he stayed in his own space.
Behind us, Roger – cargo – slipped in.
He quickly put up a salute. "The ship is secured, Mistress," he reported. "Pilot says she'll need some repairs, but she ought to fly. Cargo is secured."
"Very well, Roger," the First Mate replied dryly. "Dismissed."
He saluted again, and slipped out.
The First Mate sighed as she leaned against a table. She looked back at Tim, whose work had shifted into the sounds of rattling packages. "You about done?"
"Yes, Mistress," he said, tossing the wrappings of the cheeses aside, a mountain of sandwiches before them. "Ready for serving."
She rolled her eyes and nodded toward the window. He obediently retrieved the tray of sandwiches, and approached the window reluctantly.
The rabble-rousers in the galley went quiet as Rhea and the other engineer entered the room, their weapons aimed toward the crowd. Tim reluctantly pushed the large tray into the window.
"Alright, line up – one by one," Rhea ordered. "Don't start any trouble, or everyone's going hungry. You hear me?"
The trouble-makers held their tongue. The crew got up and moved into lines, and each took their sandwich. A lot of them took it back to their seats and nibbled, but a few just clutched the food out of obligation. A pair of the shouters kept their place and didn't take the offering.
Before long, the tray was empty, holding only crumbs. I wasn't sure who'd taken more than their one sandwich, but no one said anything about it. Tim timidly took the tray back, and Rhea and the other engineer backed into the kitchen once more.
"Abigail," the First Mate ordered. "Go check on Alice. I need to know what our status is with the crew."
"Aye, Mistress," she answered, and bowed low before scuttling out the left door. I shuffled my face as I looked in on the crew of people. Wondering exactly how well 'captives' described them. What of their ship? Their cargo? What did the... First Mate and Captain plan on doing with them?
I stepped closer to the First Mate. "Er... Mistress?"
"Yes, Doyle?" Her drawl was impatient, and her eyes were tired. I dare say red.
"What... exactly is going on? Mistress," I added, looking over at Rhea.
The First Mate sighed. "This is the Captain's business," she told me. But her eye also glanced to the engineers. "We do what he tells us to."
'These honouraries are in place for a reason. It is a sign of respect, and a way to keep people in line.' The Captain had called it 'a mere formality'. But I suppose... in a situation like this it made sense. I simply nodded. "Yes, Mistress." So it was a game. A way to combat mutiny.
Fair enough.
Abigail returned then, saluting us.
"Mistress. Your report." She held out a paper, and the First Mate took it, scanning the list of names, most of which had check marks, or notes beside them.
"Damn," she muttered. She looked out to the crew. "We're going to need more than three."
Abigail looked like she wanted to say something, but held her tongue. The First Mate handed me the form.
"Doyle, hold on to this for me."
"Aye, Mistress." I took it, and held it. But I couldn't help look.
It was a list of names. I assume they were in order of rank, because the first name on the list was 'Montgomery'. Each had a letter beside them, the column labeled 'O', likely for their 'office': 'E' for engineering, 'S' for science, 'C' for cargo, and so on. On the right side of the page was a column labeled 'status'. Most of them had mere check marks, but those with notes drew my attention. 'Montgomery' had the note 'com'. Melody, a navigator was 'dec'. I gulped, as I recognised a shortening of the fancy word for 'dead'. Julie, engineering – 'dec'. Janice and (my throat went dry) Joey, 'X's – those were 'extras' – both 'dec.'
I gave a shuddering breath. Marilyn, science, had a check by her name. Rufus was not so lucky.
Also... Jasper, SM, 'dec.'
I blinked. The Second Mate? What, he'd gone out into battle? I didn't really believe that... But, that's what it said. Jasper, SM, dec. Clear as day. I frowned at it, not sure what to make of it, but looked at the other comment 'com.'
Montgomery, Lulu (T? Only think I could figure was 'talk' – communications?), Edmond (science), Joel (cargo) and Margaret (the last 'extra') were labeled 'com.' I wasn't sure what it meant...
But then, there was 'Scott (N)' with 'SB'. And a check mark.
I frowned. Did... check mark mean on the ship? Maybe 'SB' was... sick bay? That kinda made sense. Lisa, communications, was also labeled check, 'SB'. Maybe... 'com.' meant they were on the other ship?
At the very end of the list were six numbers – two lines, three columns, but they weren't labeled. The top line read '6, 2, 12'. The second, '4, 5, 7'. I had an idea. I looked up and counted... a dozen people in the galley.
And I didn't say a word.
The First Mate beside me sighed. "Sixteen is too many..." She was glaring out at the party before her, and her eyes were judging each person. Suddenly a light clipped on in her head. And she cursed.
"Oh, I'm gonna kill him..." she growled under her breath. I think I saw Abigail smile.
"Michael," she said to the engineer. I glanced at the list. But neither he nor Rhea were listed. Hell, neither was Abigail. Or myself. Or the First Mate or Captain... But I looked up to see the First Mate stepping into the galley. I scuttled along behind her.
The mask was instantaneous. I immediately recognised the witch that had interrogated me my first night here. She was so different from the First Mate who'd been stealing the Captain's sand cakes that afternoon... almost like an evil twin. I... I was disturbed, and kept my silence.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen." And she made a show of looking to the clock on the wall. "Sorry. Morning." Her smile was dark and slight – she must be taking lessons from the Captain.
And I gagged a little as the thought flickered across my mind of what else she was taking from the Captain.
But the First Mate stepped forward, her dark hair swaying with her motions, the sapphire leather clutching her arms, and the ship suit dancing around her. "Pardon for the interruption, but we're taking your ship." She set a fist on one glorious hip. "Who here has work experience?"
One of the rabble rousers moved forward to cause trouble, but both guns focused on him.
"Yes?" the First Mate asked, as if his threatening movement was akin to raising a hand.
The man didn't answer, but looked back to his comrades. They didn't even have to shake their heads to tell him that was a bad idea. He retreated into the crowd.
The First Mate smiled at them, a shark before minnows.
Behind her, I fought back a sigh. It was going to be a looong night.