Her Brother's Keeper - eARC (6 page)

“This is personal for me. I don’t require a bonus for saving my brother,” Catherine stated.

Mordecai continued, looking at something off-screen. “If Mr. Blackwood is dead, we lose the twenty percent bonus but are still paid the rest of our contract price. That’s unusual for a rescue mission, as is the amount they’re paying us. Cap’n, it’s none of my business, but I think it’d be more cost-effective for your father to just have another son.”

Coming from anyone but her eccentric purser, that statement may have been insulting, but Mordecai was a wizard with money and tended to do a cost-benefit analysis on everything, almost compulsively. Catherine smiled lopsidedly. He was good enough at his job that she accommodated his severe social anxiety issues. “Aye, but we Avalonians are a clannish lot,” she said, laying on her accent. “It would’na do for a man in me father’s position to simply abandon his eldest son and heir.”

“Understood, Cap’n,” Mordecai replied, though Catherine very much doubted that he did. He had been raised and educated remotely, by machines. He was brilliant, but had difficulty relating to people. He rarely came out of his workstation. “I’m not complaining, merely pointing out the obvious.” Such things were rarely obvious to anyone but Mordecai. “This endeavor is costing your father tens of millions of credits.”

“Indeed,” the captain said with a slight nod, “and in this case we owe it to the client to make every effort to accomplish the task. As I said, this is personal for me, a matter of blood and honor. That said, I wouldn’t ask you all to go along with this if I thought it was going to get you killed. The mission will be risky, but it won’t be the craziest thing we’ve ever done. The payment for this one should be enough for us to get the reactor refurbished and the propulsion system overhauled, for starters.”

Indira’s eyes lit up, though she maintained her reserve. “We’ll finally be able to get the reactor upgrades I’ve been asking for?”

Catherine nodded with a slight smile.

“Very good, then,” she said simply, actually smiling.

Well,
Catherine thought.
That seems to have won them over.
She knew her crew harbored unvoiced concerns that Catherine’s family was manipulating her into taking on a fool’s errand that could get them killed or leave them financially ruined. (Unvoiced by all but Wolfram; he had asked Catherine bluntly when she returned from her meeting with her father, like a good exec should.) Finding out just how lucrative this job could be seemed to have assuaged their concerns.
But still,
Catherine wondered.
Mordecai isn’t wrong. It
would
be easier for Father to have another son. He’d have to marry again, and his new bride would likely be younger than me, but such things are hardly unheard of.

Something about it bothered her. He had practically thrown the money at her, barely concerning himself with the details of her expenses and fees. This, coming from Augustus Blackwood, the notorious, penny-pinching tightwad who was even more obsessive-compulsive about managing his money than Mordecai was. (There was an unflattering rumor that her father kept a large bin of hard currency somewhere, simply so he could swim in it. That one wasn’t true, so far as Catherine knew.) Catherine couldn’t put her finger on it, but something felt off about the whole thing. Her father had told her that Cecil had been on some kind of treasure hunt, but that he wasn’t sure on the specifics. He said that he’d warned Cecil that he was going to get himself killed. Why risk so much to go get him when there was a goodly chance he was already dead? Why go through all the trouble to track Catherine down? It would’ve been faster and likely less expensive to hire a different privateer, after all.

Cecil, what are you doing out there?
Collecting her thoughts, Catherine returned her attention to her assembled officers. “There is another, unfortunately pressing reason to take the shorter of the two routes. It offers more places to resupply, rearm, and recruit.”

The crewmembers looked at each other. Wolfram was silent. He already knew the plan.

“Recruit
who
, Captain?” Kel Morrow asked.

Cargomaster Kimball, a diminutive man with curly hair and a goatee, was the ship’s fourth officer. “We have fifteen open berths right now,” he said, “but we’ll need to take on additional supplies if we’re going to have more bodies on board.” The
Andromeda
had something of an unusual interior layout for a ship in her class. She was designed around a small crew and, in the gravest extreme, could successfully be piloted for a time by a single crewmember. She carried a complement of sixteen at present, and that was enough for Catherine’s purposes. She had berthing for a up to thirty personnel plus the captain, which was large for a patrol ship. This design quirk allowed Catherine to carry extra passengers without the risks inherent in putting them into cold sleep.

“I’m aware, Mr. Kimball,” she said calmingly. “I have thought this through, you know. You all must understand: my brother is being held for ransom. We don’t have a lot of details, but the people holding him are not necessarily reasonable, nor inclined toward diplomacy. We may have to rescue him by force of arms. I have complete faith in my crew and I would take the
Andromeda
into battle anywhere, but most of you are career spacers, not trained commandos. We’re going to need a few subject matter experts, as it were.”

Kel looked at the holotank again, and slowly nodded. “I see. You mean to hire some mercenaries. New Austin, probably?” He tapped the controls and the route map zoomed into the Lone Star System, focusing on its sole habitable planet, New Austin.

“Makes sense, Skipper,” came a deep voice from the group. It was Mazer Broadbent, the
Andromeda
’s security officer. He was an experienced veteran of the Concordiat Defense Force Military Police Corps. He was a quiet man with a dark complexion, black hair buzzed short, and a cybernetic right eye which reflected the soft glow of the holotank. “A lot of Concordiat veterans use their discharge bonuses to emigrate to New Austin. The Colonial government actively encourages and promotes it. It’s a good place to find the kind of people you’re looking for.”

“It’s also the
last
place you’re likely to find the kind of people you’re looking for, Captain,” Kel said. “New Austin is on the Concordiat frontier. They have no colonies beyond that, not out that way.”

“Exactly,” Catherine agreed. “This is the primary reason I wish to take the shorter route, even if it means risking transit through the Orlov’s Star system. It’s our best bet to recruit a team to accomplish our mission, and a good place to resupply and rearm. We’re not licensed to operate as privateers in the Arthurian system. We couldn’t purchase ordnance there. We will arm up on New Austin, recruit the ground team, and give the crew a little leave dirtside. It’ll be the last real break they get before the long trip to Zanzibar, and it’s going to add a couple of weeks to our journey. We’ll be making up for lost time after that, so there’ll be no time for delays.”

“At least New Austin will be warm,” Indira said. “I mean no offense, Captain, but your homeworld is cold. At least the part of it I saw was.”

Catherine smiled. “Indeed. That’s all I have for you. If there’s nothing else, I’ll be in my rack. Wolfram, the ship is yours. Dismissed.”

Chapter 4

New Austin

Lone Star System

Winchester Ranch, Laredo Territory

Southern Hemisphere

Chief Warrant Officer Marcus Winchester couldn’t hear anything over the ringing of his ears. He was confused, his brain in a fog. His helmet visor was cracked and covered with dirt, its internal heads-up display flickering and garbled. He was on his back, on the ground. There was gunfire all around, and the sound of men shouting. Bringing his hands up, Marcus struggled to yank the faceplate from his helmet, but something was wrong with his hands. He could barely feel anything from his left hand, and he had lost all dexterity. He couldn’t find the quick-release button. He tried to call for help, but the wind had been knocked out of him. Marcus couldn’t speak.

Hands pressed against his chest, though he could barely feel them through his armored vest. Someone was talking to him, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying through the fog in his brain. Moments later piercing white light blinded him as his helmet was pulled off his head.

“Chief!” the young Espatier said. “Hold on, we got you. Medic!”

Squinting against the piercing, bluish daylight of an alien sky, Marcus turned his head. He saw her then, the young girl he’d been talking to when the device detonated. She was face down in the mud, her lavender scarf stained with blood. She wasn’t moving. Marcus reached out for her, extending his left arm, only to realize how badly mangled his hand was. Bone protruded from a gory wound, and two of his fingers were hanging on only by strings of tissue. There was no blood, just his fingers dangling from sinew like fruit on a tree limb.

Sitting up abruptly, Marcus reflexively checked his left hand. His heart raced and he was sweating heavily.
Where am I?
After a moment, he realized he was in his bedroom. It was dark. He carefully rubbed his left hand with his right. He could just barely feel the scar from the reconstructive surgery where his hand had been repaired. His fingers were all attached. Of course they were. His fingers were still there because he wasn’t on war-torn Mildenhall anymore, and hadn’t been for years.

Taking a deep breath, hoping his heart rate would slow, Marcus rubbed his face with his hands. In his career with the Concordiat Espatier Corps, he’d seen a great deal, but nothing haunted him like Mildenhall. He’d killed men, lost friends in battle, even uncovered a mass grave of massacred civilians once, but the dead girl with the lavender scarf would never let go of him.

Although the pounding of his heart slowly receded, Marcus knew he wouldn’t be getting back to sleep. Next to him, Ellie was snoring peacefully, her hair splayed out over her pillow. At least he hadn’t woken her up this time. It worried her terribly when he had that dream. Marcus shook his head. There was nothing for it—might as well get up. He quietly slipped out of bed and dressed without turning on the light.

A while later, Marcus was focused on nothing but the slowly lightening horizon in front of him. Lone Star would appear over the western mountains in an hour or so. In the meantime, the twin crescent moons hanging in the sky provided plenty of illumination for him as he jogged down the lonely highway at a steady pace. He was five kilometers from the ranch and wasn’t even breathing hard; the physiological treatments and enhancements he’d received in the military helped him stay fit with minimal effort, even after all these years. Marcus wasn’t out running because he needed to. Running just helped him clear his head. He focused on the horizon and tried to shake the memories that haunted him.

Five klicks out was a good turnaround point. Jogging through a U-turn on the faded ceramicrete highway, Marcus found himself reflecting on his military career. He missed the Espatier Corps sometimes, despite the inanity the Green Machine was capable of. The Special Operations Groups were different anyway. His friends and comrades from the 22nd SOG were some of the finest people that Marcus had ever known.

A lot of them were dead. The Concordiat Defense Force hadn’t had to fight much in the way of large, conventional wars in the last century, not since the defeat of the Maggots and the end of the Second Interstellar War. There had been fleet actions here and skirmishes there, but nothing like the conflagration that had left millions and millions dead. There were wars, though—bloody, often protracted conflicts, insurgencies, and uprisings. Dirty little wars that didn’t let the Concordiat bring the full weight of its space forces to bear, wars that were fought by the man on the ground. Much like the ancient, barbaric conflicts of pre-Space Age Earth, these wars were largely fought by soldiers with muddy boots, grim faces, and weapons in their hands.

Marcus often quietly wondered if it was worth it. A lot of brave young Concordiat citizens died in those campaigns, and some of them didn’t accomplish much in the end. It was policy, though, handed down from the distant, aloof political leadership back on Earth. One of the articles of the Interstellar Concord was that the Concordiat would be there to defend not only its members, but to whatever extent possible, the entirety of the human race from oppression, tyranny, and war. Wherever human hearts yearned for freedom, the philosophers waxed, the Concordiat would answer their call.

It sounded good in theory. In reality, it meant getting involved in—often choosing sides in—ugly conflicts across inhabited space. Sometimes a new group of settlers would land on a colony world and conflict would arise with those that were already there. Sometimes two colonies on the same world would go to war with each other. Other times, like on Mildenhall, a fanatical group of infected, mutated militants would commit whatever atrocity, engage in whatever violence they deemed necessary to achieve their goals. In most cases, political leadership didn’t let the Fleet simply blast the hostiles from orbit. They wanted to limit collateral damage, or minimize civilian casualties, or even win hearts and minds (Marcus winced at the recollection of how many times he’d heard
that
irritating platitude). Without fail, these stipulations meant boots on the ground. They meant that the Espatier Corps was going in, either
en masse
or as special operations units. These conflicts were always unique, but they all shared one thing in common: they afforded the least capable of enemies the opportunity to kill Concordiat personnel.

After Mildenhall, Marcus knew he was done with the military. He’d missed Annie’s first steps while on one deployment, and had very nearly died while on another. Enough was enough. After that, he had decided to focus on his family. He left the Espatiers and used his discharge bonus to get his family a homestead on New Austin. Aside from the occasional violent criminal that needed shooting, his life had been very peaceful since settling on the frontier. He was home every night, Annie could ride her horse to her heart’s content, and Eleanor was free to pursue her passion for rocks.

There was only the issue of paying for it all. Interstellar travel wasn’t prohibitively expensive, but it wasn’t cheap, either. Neither was purchasing a homestead and having a home built on it. Nonetheless, between his thoroughly mediocre colonial marshal’s pay and Ellie’s mining profits, they were on track to pay off their loans on time and still have some money to send Annie to a good school, provided nothing unforeseen happened. Marcus worried still. If his military career had taught him anything, it was that unforeseen shit liked to happen at the worst possible time.

His brooding was interrupted by an electronic chirp from his earpiece. Who would be calling so early? Without his eyepiece on he couldn’t see the caller identifier. “Marshal Winchester,” he said professionally, slowing to a walk.

“Dad!” It was Annie. “Where are you?” She sounded upset.

“I went for a run, honey,” Marcus said, suddenly worried. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s Mom. I think she’s sick.”

“Sick how?”

“Sick like she’s in the washroom throwing up. I can hear her.”

“Well, go see if she needs help. She might just have a bug. I’ll come straight home.”

“Okay, Dad. I just wanted to tell you.”

“Annie, what in the hell are you doing up at this hour?”

Marcus’ daughter laughed nervously. “I, uh, haven’t been to bed yet, Dad. Liam and Sandra were running a space combat sim, so I joined their session.”

Marcus chuckled to himself. Eleanor worried when Annie would get so absorbed in her machines, but at least in a multiplayer game she was interacting with her friends. Winchester Ranch was a long way from the nearest real town. Annie was home-schooled through a distance learning program. The few friends she had were scattered all over the Terraformed Zone. “Okay, honey. Just unplug for a while and see if your mom needs anything. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Okay, Dad. Love you, bye.” Annie disconnected before Marcus could say anything else. Concerned for his wife, he headed for home at a brisk pace.

* * *

Hot and sweating, Marcus quickly strode through the front door of his home. Annie was sitting in the dimly lit kitchen, absentmindedly eating cereal as she focused on whatever was displayed on her headset. She was so absorbed in it she didn’t notice her father until Marcus tapped her on the shoulder.

“Oh shit!” she said, dropping her spoon in a splash of milk. She pulled off the headset. “Dad! You scared the hell out of me.”

Marcus laughed and shook his head. “I thought you were going to help your mom?”

“I did!” she protested. “All she wanted was water. She said she just has an upset stomach.”

“I see,” Marcus said. “I’ll go talk to her.”

“Dad…I think she’s upset about something. I don’t know what, but she looked really worried.”

“Okay. Thank you, honey. Maybe get some sleep, hey?”

“I have to feed Sparkles first. She gets grouchy and kicks her stall door if I don’t bring her breakfast at the crack of dawn.”

“Sure. Where’s your mom?”

“She’s in your room.”

Kissing his daughter on the top of the head, Marcus made his way to his bedroom. He gently knocked on the door before opening it. The lights were on, but dimmed. His wife was sitting on the bed, nursing a cup of water. Annie had been right; she really
did
look upset.

“Ellie?” Marcus asked softly. “What’s wrong, baby? Annie said you were sick.”

Eleanor Winchester sniffled and quickly wiped her eyes with a tissue. She was a proud woman who didn’t like to be seen crying. She took a deep breath, and looked Marcus in the eyes. “I’m pregnant.”

It took a moment for her words to register with her husband. “You’re what?” he asked.

“Marcus, I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.”

Marcus couldn’t suppress the wide grin that appeared on his face. He crossed the room in a hurry, sat on the bed, and hugged his wife tightly. “Baby, that’s great! Have you told Annie yet? Holy hell, I thought the doctor said you couldn’t have any more kids!”

“He said I probably couldn’t get pregnant again,” Ellie corrected. “There was always a chance. I just gave up.”

Both Marcus and Eleanor had wanted another child. Living so far removed from civilization, they worried about Annie growing up hardly ever seeing other kids in person. Marcus wouldn’t admit it, but he’d really been hoping for a son. He never dared mention it for fear of hurting his wife’s feelings. After all, it wasn’t her fault.

“Why are you crying, baby?” he asked, holding his wife. “This is a good thing, right?”

Ellie nodded shakily. “I’m happy…I just…I just…Marcus, now I’m going to need to take it easy. I can’t go out on weeks-long prospecting expeditions in the Outback. I can’t be around the chemicals, confined spaces, the noise from blasting and machinery.” She was right. Frontier mining with a small crew was no job for a pregnant woman. It was hard, occasionally dangerous work, even with modern equipment. Ellie was a conscientious enough woman that she’d be unwilling to risk anything happening. They’d tried to have a second child once, years before, and it had resulted in a miscarriage. Ellie had been devastated, and had fallen into depression for weeks. That’s when the doctor had explained to her that she likely wouldn’t be able to get pregnant again. Even with the miracles of Space Age medicine, some things were just out of human hands.

Marcus could see the concern on his wife’s face. She was afraid it was happen again. He couldn’t bear the thought of going through that kind of heartache again. He held her tightly and tried to sound comforting. “It’s going to be okay, baby. We’ll get you regular checkups, and you can stay home. I’ll pick up more assignments if I have to.”

“But what about our loans? Marcus, we can’t afford to lose the money I take in.”

“Relax, okay? We’re not going to lose all of it. We’ll just have to forget about Jerome Mountain until later. We have savings.”

“That’s for Annie’s education!” Ellie protested, “and our retirement. I don’t want to be out there digging up rocks when I’m old and gray.”

Marcus smiled at her. “Number one, that’s bullshit. What else are you going to do, sit on the porch and knit? You’d go crazy staying at home, even if you were a hundred years old. You’ll be out there in the desert until the day you croak. Number two, don’t stress over it. I know how you get about money, but there’s nothing for it right now. Let’s just be thankful we have the savings to be able to get by with the cut in income. Even if we’re just scraping by, it’s only temporary, and we’ll get through it. We got through everything else. This is no different. Okay?”

Ellie nodded, giving Marcus a faint smile. He leaned over, kissed her passionately, and put his hand on her belly.

“We’re having a baby!” he said, grinning like a fool. He grabbed his handheld and sent Annie a message, telling her to come into their room.

A few moments later, their daughter appeared in their doorway looking confused. “Am I in trouble? What’s going on? Mom, why were you crying?”

Ellie smiled at her daughter. “I’m pregnant. We’re having a baby.”

Annie’s eyes lit up, her hands moved to her mouth, and she all but squealed, jumping up and down. She ran across the room, sat next to her mom, and hugged her tightly, almost in tears.