Chapter Thirteen

Valo and Tursten managed to get Thompson loaded onto the stretcher and ready to go, and neither Tommy nor Aran woke up. Valo looked at Aran as he sat on the steps that led up into the Martelle. He had been startled at how young Aran had looked. Not too many years older than Tursten, really. He’d sounded older on the audio. Towards the end he’d sounded much older.

He had time to look him over while waiting for Tursten. About as tall as Tursten, who’d shot up this last year. Dark skinned, black-haired, brown eyed. Indian, maybe, or Philipino, thought Valo, but native American never entered his mind. Lithe and muscular, but looking a bit pinched in the face, maybe from short rations and high stress for a few days. Val thought it looked like Aran had shaved his head or buzzed his hair short before he left port, and let it grow since then. It had gotten maybe a couple inches long, and was ravenwing black, straight, and skewed everywhere. Valo had already noticed Aran’s habit of running his hand through his hair when nervous.

What had attracted Val’s attention most, however, was how exhausted Aran looked. How very exhausted, and how very… out of it. Val was reminded vaguely of a man he once knew that stuttered. The harder he tried, the worse it got. All of Aran was like that. He’d be talking to Val or Tursten, seeming alert and active, and then he would just… slip out of it. Fall into a blank stare for a second, or some kind of trance. Maybe a second, then he’d be back like nothing had happened. Aran’s voice was steady, but Val still thought of him as stuttering. His whole being stuttered. And now, without too much warning, he had just stopped. Stopped, and fallen asleep in less time than it took Val to climb into bed and adjust his pillow.

Thompson was ready to go. Tursten hovered the stretcher up. Val leaned over and patted Aran on the shoulder. ‘Hey. Aran. Come on, let’s go.”

He looked up blearily, and it took him a good twenty seconds or so to focus on Valo, and another few seconds for the message to sink in. “Oh. Right,” he muttered, and pulled himself up. He wobbled minutely, and then waved off Val’s hand, offered to steady him. “I’m fine. You got Tommy all ready to go? Wow, that was quick.”

“You slept through it,” said Val as they followed Tursten and Thompson.

“Did I? Didn’t mean to nod off, sorry about that.”

“It’s all right. Look, Aran, I’ll get Thompson squared away. You take it easy. What do you want? Dinner, bath, bed?”

“Damn, that sounds good,” breathed Aran. “I’ll take bath, food, bed, in that order, sure.”

“All right. Tursten can help get you around, get you all set up.”

Tursten nodded, intent on keeping Thompson going straight.

“What are you going to do about Cap? And the others?” asked Aran after a few steps.

“We’ll worry about them later,” said Valo. “We’ll make sure you two are all right first.”

They had just reached the door exiting the bay, and Aran turned to look back. It was his first real view of the exterior of the Martelle. He gasped, and then stood in stunned silence. He put a hand out to the wall to steady himself.

Half the ship was gone. Just gone. The mid ship was a tangle of twisted, ravaged metal, wires, debris. He couldn’t believe he had considered climbing down out of the middle of that. Even the foreship was damaged – damaged pretty widely, too, but not as deeply. That’s where all the sensors went, smashed. Aran couldn’t think of how the back half had been so utterly destroyed, while the front had been relatively spared, but still so damaged. “Oh my sweet God,” he whispered. “Oh my God.” How could anyone live through that? How did I live through that? he thought.

Why did I live through that?

There were maybe many answers to that, but the one that came to his mind first was, Captain Bennett. He made me get in the life pod, made me strap up by the regs when I wanted to slack them off. Aran had no doubt in his mind that if he had strapped himself to the bulkhead, like he had meant to when the emergency status alert went off, he would have been tossed across that bridge even more violently than Shaw had. But Cap had made him get in the pod. Cap had saved his life.

Aran’s gaze drifted to the pod, separated from the Martelle. Cap was still in there. Cap had saved him, and he hadn’t been able to do a damned thing for Cap. Not a god-damned thing.

Valo put a gentle hand on his shoulder, and turned him towards the door. “Come on. Let’s get you your bath and some dinner, and then you can get some sleep.” Aran let Valo push him along. He stuttered all the way to the crew’s quarters.

As Val took Thompson into the infirmary, Tursten showed Aran where he could wash up. “Sorry,” he said when Aran saw what choice he had in bathing. “We don’t have enough water with us to do real baths. Dad figured we wouldn’t be out for more than a few days. So we’ve just been doing sponge baths. Sorry. We can get you a real bath when we get back to Calla station.”

“Better than nothing,” said Aran. He eyed Tursten and tried to remember Valo’s approximate size. “Do you have any clothes I can borrow? Either of you? I’m inclined to burn what I’m wearing now.”

“Um… yeah. I’ll get some clothes and you can see what fits, I guess.” Aran was as tall as Tursten but not nearly as skinny, and he was several inches taller than Valo. He might be able to mix and match something. Tursten left, and Aran stripped and washed up the best he could. He couldn’t really wash his hair, and his scalp itched. He scrounged around until he found a toothbrush and a comb that didn’t look like they belonged to anyone. When he was finished, he felt a little better, but still longed to be immersed in a hot bath. When I do get a bath, I’m staying in there for two days, he thought. Tursten came back and threw some clothes in at him, and he managed to find a shirt that was big enough, and pants that were okay at the waist but a few inches short. He sighed as he looked at his feet sticking out. Looked silly. Oh well, it was good to have clean clothes. He left his boots off, letting them air out, and walked around in the socks Tursten had given him. It felt good. Everything felt good. Even taking a leak standing up, without having to use that damned zero G urinal felt good.

He wandered out of the bathroom when done and started to look for Tursten. The tug was fairly good sized, much larger than the Martelle, and a little roomier in the quarters area. It looked comfortable and clean, and Aran could believe that a family took care of it, and treated it like part of their extended home.

Tursten came and fetched Aran, who couldn’t find the infirmary. When he walked in, Thompson was seated on the edge of a bed, and Valo was helping him get a shirt on. His left hand and arm still weren’t moving well. But he looked up and grinned when Aran walked in. “Aran! There you are; I figured you’d be passed out asleep by now.”

“Soon, I hope. After we eat, I think.”

Thompson grimaced. “Bleah. I’m going to pass on eating right now, my stomach is still doing flips.’ He smoothed the shirt out, looking down at himself. “I must’ve lost ten pounds in the last few days. Still not ready to eat, though.” He looked back up at Aran. “Hey… Aran, I was kind of an asshole back on the Martelle. Sorry. I feel… I don’t know, off balance or something. Super touchy. Fucked in the head or something, you know?”

Aran shrugged. “What else is new?” He smiled. “It’s okay, Tommy. We’ve been through a rough spot. It’ll be okay now.” He wasn’t sure about that, but he said it anyway – not only to reassure Tommy, but maybe to reassure himself a little bit.

“Bullshit,” said Tommy cheerfully. “There’s nothing okay about this, and you know it.” He grabbed his left wrist with his right hand, and pulled his arm up. His hand dangled limply, and he shook it a little. “This isn’t okay.” Aran didn’t know what to say. “And I’m a leftie. Figures I’d lose my good hand. And…” he gestured at Aran, at himself. “…this is it. We’re all that’s left. That’s not o-fucking-kay either.”

Aran looked down, scowling. Damn Tommy. He’d started to feel a little better, now that he was in the tug, and now Tommy was making him feel like crying again, because he was right. Nothing was okay. “Yeah, I know,” he said quietly. “I’m starving. I’m going to go get something to eat, Tommy. I’ll talk to you… tomorrow, or whatever. After I sleep for about three days.”

“Sure, Aran. Eat up. I’ll be asleep before you are.” He winked and laid back on his bed.

‘We’ll let you rest, then,” said Valo. “Let us know if you need anything. We’ve reset your voice pip to this ship’s communications.

Tursten and Valo took Aran to get something to eat. The mess on the tug was cozy, a small table where a couple people could sit to eat, a small kitchen area right next to it. “We don’t have much here, but it’s fresh cooked at least, not packaged rations,” said Valo as he rummaged around in the kitchen stores.

“Sounds great,” said Aran. He was no connousieur, but he was getting sick of the emergency rations he’d been stuck with on the Martelle. “Anything sounds great after those rations.”

“Do you eat meat, Aran?” asked Valo over his shoulder.

“Sure.”

“Good.”

“Good? Why good?”

“Makes worrying about your protein less of a hassle. That’s all. Easier to keep your diet adequate.” Valo took several things, boxes, jars, cans, out of the stores and began to set them on the small counter space. “We’re in contact with most of the other families that run lighthouse stations, through a echoplato router, and there’s one family whose kid decided last month she didn’t want to eat meat anymore. They’re doing some fancy juggling with their supplies to make sure she gets an adequate diet now.”

“Why would it be a problem?” asked Aran. “There’s lots of people that don’t eat meat.”

Valo pulled a knotted bread roll out of a sack and placed it on the table in front of Aran. “Go ahead, we ate already.” Aran grabbed it and took a bite. It was sweet, and dense. His eyes closed in bliss and he ate it in three bites. Valo grinned as he watched him and put another three in front of him. “Well, it’s a problem because our supplies are strictly controlled. We only get one shipment a year, and we have to make it last. If someone changes their diet halfway through the year…” he shrugged. “Makes it hard to keep things on schedule. I’m not saying we’re on tight rations all year, but we do have to watch it, make sure nothing gets too low.”

Aran stopped eating and looked up at Valo, then down at the pile of rolls. “Shit,” he whispered. “Shit, we had all your supplies.”

Valo shrugged again. “So we’ll have to watch it for a little while. I’m sure we can get another supply ship out here. We’ll be fine. They’ll want to come pick you and Thompson up, I’m sure, and we can get our supplies then.”

Aran wondered. It was expensive, getting a ship out this far.

“Don’t worry about it. Eat up, Aran.” Val clapped him lightly on the back and turned to put some water on to boil. Aran watched him as he munched on the rolls, fascinated. He hadn’t seen anyone cook the old fashioned way for years, unless he counted him and his friends cooking freshly caught fish over a campfire. And that’s really old fashioned, he thought.

Tursten poured a drink for him, pale tan, clear. Aran drank without even wondering what it was. It was cold tea, strong, with a faint vanilla taste. He drank the whole cup. Tursten refilled it, smiling. “So you’re in contact with other people? Way out here?”

“Oh sure,” said Tursten. “With the echoplato we can talk to anyone, as long as we route it through. It gets a little expensive if you want to keep in contact with a lot of people, but we’ve got contact groups set up, and as a group that makes it a little cheaper. We’ve got a lighthouse station group, and our extended family group, and of course we got our school groups. It works pretty well. We can talk, or write, or send pictures, or video, whatever.”

“Have you contacted FSSI yet?” Aran pronounced the name of his company ‘ fussy’, and it took Tursten a second to understand what he meant.

“Yes. Elise is keeping them updated. They want to hear from you as soon as you’re able. We’ll give them a call when we get back to Calla, or you can now if you like.”

Aran shook his head. “No, I don’t like. I’m not looking forward to that. I’m not ready for that.” He knew how it would be: questions, questions, questions. Relentless questions. How, why, who, blah blah blah. He didn’t think he could handle that yet.

When he was in the fleet, there had been an accident, and the ship immediately in front of Aran’s had a catastrophic collision. Everyone on board had died. Aran had been on sensors, and had ‘seen’ the whole thing, and during the investigation they mercilessly grilled him, on every little detail he could remember. He’d had nothing at all to do with the collision, all he’d done was witness it, but the investigators were so aggressive in their search for causes it had almost felt like they blamed him somehow, or would if they could. They desperately wanted something to blame, and finally ended up blaming the captain of the destroyed ship. Human error. The dead captain couldn’t argue with them about it, and his crew couldn’t argue with them, and that was that.

Aran had a strong feeling that he’d get grilled much more intensely this time around. Would they try to blame someone? Captain Bennett, maybe, or Wu? At least he was still around to argue that Cap and Wu weren’t to blame. Or were they? Aran still had only a very fuzzy memory of the crash. He decided that if asked, he would recall that Wu and Cap were in no way to blame. Not their fault. Accidents happen.

Valo put a bowl of food in front of him. It smelled delicious. He grabbed the spoon Val set next to hm and poked at the food. Looked like potatoes, some pale meat, white sauce with green and red and brown spices in it. “That was quick,” said Aran, and took a tentative bite. It was too hot, but it tasted great. Rich, with a distict herb flavor Aran didn’t recognize, but liked very much. “Very good!” he said, and blew on it, trying to get it to cool down. “What is it?”

“Cardamom rabbit with potatoes. Elise’s recipe.”

Aran took another bite and chewed it carefully, washed it down with a drink of the tea. Still too hot, but it was tasty, and he was achingly hungry. The faint vanilla taste of the tea went well with the food.

Valo watched him closely, waiting for his reaction.

“Good rabbit,” said Aran. “Doesn’t taste like any rabbit I’ve ever had.” Of course, any rabbit he’d ever had was wild. He’d done a lot of hunting when he was a kid, and there had been months where his hunting had been the only barrier to hunger in his family. A wild rabbit tasted a lot different than this fat healthy home raised rabbit.

“We raise them. The kids do, mostly. A lot of familes go for chickens; we prefer rabbit. Less mess.”

“Grow your own potatoes?”

“Yes. All our fresh food, we grow ourselves.”

The food had cooled enough, and Aran stopped talking to shovel it in. Slow down, he told himself, but he was no longer in control; his stomach was. Aran ate another bowl and two more rolls before he started to slow down. Finally he sat back with an immensely satisfied sigh. “Thanks, I needed that. I think that was the best meal I’ve ever had in my life,” he said, and he meant it. Food had never tasted so good.

“Our pleasure, Aran. Elise will be glad to hear you like that dish. It’s one of our favorites too. Well, Aran, we’ve got you cleaned up and fed, let’s find a quiet place for you to get some sleep.”

“Sounds unbelievably great. But we should get Captain Bennett and the others out of the Martelle. What are we going to do with them?”

‘Don’t worry about that, Aran. We’ll take care of it. We’ve got some areas in the ship that aren’t open to space, but they’re not heated either. We can get them in there for now. When we talk to FSSI we can see what they want to do. They’ll contact their families and find out. But we’ll take care of them now, Aran, and you can get some rest and not worry about it.”

Aran swallowed uneasily, not willing to let go of his responsibility to the crew of the Martelle. He felt a familiar wave of grief when Valo mentioned the dead men’s families. The men would be missed, desperately missed. Bennett had kids. The youngest was probably Tursten’s age. His ex-wife had them. Aran couldn’t remember where they lived. France, he thought. Maybe Switzerland, he couldn’t remember. Wu had a big family, so many sisters and brothers and aunts and nephews that Aran had never had a chance keeping track of them all. Wu sent money to them, almost half his paycheck. He’d laughed when Aran found out. ‘What am I going to do with all that money? No wife, no kids, no home. Don’t gamble like some, don’t spend money on much of anything but books and music. My family needs it more than I do.” Shaw had family; he had a brother that had four kids that Shaw adored. Thompson had two ex-wives that he had mentioned only once, with bitterness in his voice, but he also had three sisters, a crowd of nieces and nephews, and his parents were both still alive. They’d better get word to them that he’d lived.

Aran thought that of the crew, he was maybe the only person who didn’t have any family that would miss him. His mother was past caring; years of being drunk and drugged had melted her brain, it seemed, and she was waiting out her days in a nursing home. Maybe part of it was how many times her husbands and boyfriends had given her concussions, too. His father had been out of most of his life, after splitting with his mom when he was three. He was living in Canada somewhere. Middle-of-nowhere, Western Ontario. One brother, and he’d been killed in the fleet, in a stupid accident, a stupid, useless death. One sister, and she’d taken care of it all by herself. Extended family was a joke. No one would miss him. Maybe his buddies would care. He’d have to see if he could contact them from Calla Station.

Valo patted his shoulder, his face worried. Aran had blanked out for several seconds, and after he had been doing pretty well for a while. “Come on, Aran. We’ve got a place you can get some sleep. As much as you want. Leave everything else to us.”

Aran snapped out of it and looked up, nodded. “All right. Come get me if you need me, though.”

Valo led Aran to the sleeping quarters, and Tursten started cleaning up, with no words between them. Aran noticed, and was struck by what a seamless team they made, father and son. When out of earshot, and after double checking to make sure his voice pip was off, Aran commented, “ Tursten seems very mature, for sixteen.”

Valo laughed out loud. “That he is. You should have seen him last year. Or, rather, be glad you didn’t meet him last year. We had two impossible years with that boy. Thank God he got over it.” Valo nearly spoke his worries out loud, then kept his mouth shut. No need to burden Aran with his worries for Tursten. Tursten had made his turn-around after the Martelle had visited the year before, and Valo suspected Captain Bennett was the reason, or at least gave him a good kick in the pants to get him started. Tursten had been anxious to see Captain Bennett for months. Now he’d see him, all right. He’d see him when they took care of his body, later. Valo sighed. He hoped this wouldn’t cause Tursten to change his attitude, again.

“What’s wrong?” asked Aran, looking at Valo curiously.

“Oh, nothing.” Then he thought better of it. No reason not to talk to this young man. He’d be around for a while, and he seemed like a reasonably decent sort. “Or, I’m a little worried about Tursten. He was very fond of your Captain Bennett. Really looked up to him.”

“Understandable. He was a very good captain. A good man.”

“Just worried about how he’ll handle it. It’s not like we’ve had to ever deal with death here, other than rabbits. And now all this. All the kids liked the captain, and they all liked Wu. They had hoped Amundson would come back this year, but I guess he didn’t.” Valo shot Aran a questioning look.

“Amundson? He stopped doing long runs, I think. Cap mentioned him once or twice. I think he was doing short runs out by Nessia, along the mining streak they had along there.”

“Ah. That’s a shame. Mordren liked him. That’s our second oldest.”

They arrived at quarters, and Valo gestured him into a small room. Private quarters. Aran was impressed, and a little intimidated. He hadn’t slept in private quarters since… since before fleet, come to think of it. The bed was already out with sheets, blankets, pillows, but it looked like it folded up against the wall when not used. There was a small table to the side, by the door, and a window. Not really a window, a fake window, a digital display. It looked real enough to reach out and feel, though. His window looked out over a grass-topped cliff, where the green gave way to white rocks and a blue sea, blue skies with high streaks of clouds. The window was programmed to give sounds too, and he heard the faint cry of gulls, and the steady rush of waves.

‘Wow,” he said, looking ot the window, resisting the urge to open it and breathe in salty ocean air. “Nice.”

“You can change that, if you like. Tursten set it there.”

“No, that’s fine. More than fine.”

“You can turn it off, or change it to night.” Valo showed him how, and Aran had him leave it dark with night. “Let me get you something else to wear. Something more comfortable.”

Aran nearly told him to forget it, he’d just shuck his pants and climb in bed, but he kept his mouth shut, not knowing how prudish Valo and his family were. “Okay, thanks,” he said, and stood looking out the window.

Valo returned after a quick minute. “Here you go. Another shirt, nice and roomy, and some of Tursten’s pants that might fit.” He held out some black pants made of a soft, thin material. Tai chi pants, thought Aran. “They’re a lot looser than the ones he wears most of the time. He’s still skinny as a stick, even with as much as he eats.”

Aran thanked Valo, and Valo left him alone, promising again to fetch him if he needed him on the Martelle. Aran could tell he didn’t mean it, or at least that it would take something big to get Valo to where he thought Aran would be needed. He traded his pants and was pleased with how well the new ones fit. A looser waist that could be tied, and they were long enough for him, and the material was soft and comfortable. He might just wear these all the time. He fiddled with the window again, trying to see what he could do with the settings; it was a little dark. He looked for moon settings, found them, and changed them. In the window, a full moon slid out from behind high clouds.

Rabbit, he thought, automatically, and he smiled, remembering a happier time, with friends, with a real full moon, with the rabbit spinning in it. He slid into bed, snuggled under the sheets, and laid his head on the pillow, which was soft and cool. The faint sound of gulls came through the window. Moonlight shone silver into the room. Aran slept.


Chapter Fourteen

Valo checked on Thompson again before he and Tursten left the tug. He was sound asleep, though his sleep didn’t look easy.

Valo and Tursten gathered the things they needed. Calla Station was well stocked with some things, things that had been left over from when it was a military outpost. They had plenty of body bags to choose from. Boxes and boxes. Tursten looked a little sick, looking at them all. They took four. “Just in case we screw one up,” said Valo.

“You going to be okay, son?” asked Valo as they walked to the cargo bay. Tursten carried the bags; Valo carried their other tools.

“I’m fine, Dad,” said Tursten, sounding exasperated. Valo smiled. “You can stop asking, already.”

“All right, all right. Just checking. We’ll get the captain out first, then we’ll see what we can do with the others. You sure you’re up for this, Tursten? You don’t have to do this.”

“Dad… No, how could I know if I’m up for this, when has anything remotely like this ever happened here? I guess we’ll see. And I do have to do this; you can’t do this by yourself, and those two are in no shape to do anything except sleep.”

“Okay. Just checking. It won’t be fun. Aran said the men in the other pod were pretty ripe.”

They had a hard time getting into the life pod that had been launched across the cargo bay. It had been damaged. The door was tilted up, and hard to reach, and when they did get up to it, with the help of the steps they’d used for the Martelle, it didn’t want to open. They had to finally force it, inch by inch, and it ground with a hideous noise the whole time. A pungent odor wafted out. It already smelled like death in there, along with all the other nasty smells the Martelle had accumulated.

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