Salvation (5 page)

After I returned to work, l
ife went back to normal. I briefly wondered what the captain had done without me, because it always seemed as though there were piles of translation documents to do.

True to his word, the week after I got back on my feet the captain told me we would go shopping at the next port.

I was nervous about stepping off the ship, but even more nervous about going shopping with the captain. With all of the good food I'd been eating, it was getting harder for me to hide my curves as it was. I bound myself with two bindings just to be on the safe side.

The captain, Jeremiah
, and I all climbed in to a jeep-like four-wheel transport. This was the first time I had seen it, and it reminded me of how large the cargo bay actually was. I wondered briefly what other things might be hidden there.

The captain drove us a short way to a street lined with small wooden buildings. It reminded me of the movies I'd seen about the Wild West. The street wasn't terribly busy,
and there weren't any more motorized transports besides ours.

T
he captain drove slowly to avoid hitting people, who walked in the street as if unafraid that any vehicles would be coming through. I noticed that their clothing was more modern than the Wild West clothing I had seen in the movies, especially for the women. Many wore pants or knee length skirts, and not a single one was carrying a parasol.

Finally, the captain stopped in front of a building where the sign read
: Silver Linings - Clothes for Birth, Death, and Everything In-Between.

"All right, Simmons," the captain said
, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "This is the best damn tailor on this side of the galaxy. He will take care of everything you need."

The tailor
beamed and then eyed my small frame as he led us to the back of the store. I gawked because it looked as though we had stepped into a different world.

The fabrics at the front of the store had all been simple cottons, wools, and linens like the townspeople were wearing. But the fabrics here were
some of the finest I had ever seen. Two walls were covered floor to ceiling with brightly colored and lacy fabrics that I knew were for women's dresses, although I had never owned anything so fine. I felt a brief pang in my chest as I looked at them.

The captain and Jeremiah both laughed as they watched me gawking at the women's clothing, and even the corner's of the tailor's mouth turned up.

"If you want to cut a swell with the ladies, lad, we're going to need to make you some better clothes than that getup you've got on." The tailor pointed to a round step in the center of the room. "All right, Simmons, is it? Strip."

"What?" I gasped.

"Take off your clothes, boy," he said impatiently. "I need to get you measured up."

"You-you can't do that through my clothes?"

The captain's brows furrowed. "There's no need for modesty here, Simmons. No one can see you but us."

"I have a skin condition. I don't want to take off my clothes in front of anyone."

"Good grief, Simmons, do you have to be a pain in the ass about everything?" The captain sounded thoroughly exasperated. "All right, I'm through with this. I'm going to get a beer with Jeremiah right next door." He looked at me pointedly. "Don't go anywhere, we'll be back for you." He looked at the tailor and said, "Just do what you can and keep an eye on him."

He turned swiftly
, and Jeremiah winked at me before following him.

The tailor nodded
, grabbing his measuring tape and pencil. I could tell he also wanted to get rid of me as soon as possible.

When they were gone, the tailor turned to me, all business. My panic must have shown on my face, because he stopped and put his hands on his hips. "I'm not going to chase you around the shop, girl," he said sternly. "I expect you to hold still and we'll get this over with."

I gasped, but stood still, not sure whether to run or not. Where would I go?

He gave me an irritated glance as he measured from my arm to my wrist. "What? I've been a tailor for 35 years. You think I don't know
the body of a girl when I see one? Although I'll admit, I didn't pay much attention until you refused to strip." He continued his measurements, writing them on a small pad of paper.

I stood still and let him turn me this way and that. Finally, I asked in a small voice, "You won't tell him, will you?"

He huffed and looked at me over his glasses. "No." He held up a hand when I opened my mouth. "I'm not doing it for you. Captain Morse is a good man, one of my best customers, and I've known him for years. I'm not going to get in the middle of something like this." He put down his pencil and narrowed his eyes. "But I will tell you this. That man is sharp as one of my sewing tacks, and if he hasn't figured you out already, I'm sure he will. And I wouldn't like to be you when he does."

A small shiver went through me, and I nodded.

The process was relatively swift after that. The tailor took my measurements and helped me pick out some casual and dress fabrics. He promised that he would have several sets of trousers and shirts in the fabrics I had chosen finished before the next evening when we left port.

Upon their return
, I knew something was up because Jeremiah had a broad smile on his face and the captain was also grinning. He clapped on large hand on my shoulder and said, "We've got a surprise for you, Simmons."

I followed their long strides
back to the jeep and, while hurrying to keep up, my mind was running through all the things that the surprise could be. I was half-elated and half-petrified.

The captain drove the jeep slowly out of the small town, but then sped up as we reached the outskirts. We followed a small dirt path that was more like a trail than a road up and over a couple of hills.

As we reached the top of the second set of hills, I looked down and saw bunch of men with rifles, firing across the valley at standing targets of varying distances. Jeremiah was looking back at me, and when he saw my eyes light up, he laughed.

We parked behind the other shooters, and the captain looked over the top of the jeep into the trunk space. I leaned over the seat and watched as he pressed his thumbprint to the lock on a huge steel case. When it opened, I could see all kinds of guns of various shap
es and sizes. He took out two handguns of different sizes, handing one to me and one to Jeremiah. Once he closed the case, he pressed his thumb into the lid, and to my surprise it opened, revealing a cache of knives. This time he stepped back and let Jeremiah pick several before picking out two of his own and putting them in his holster.

The captain closed the lid and turned to me with a grin. "Well, Simmons, you ready to learn how to shoot?"

"Yes, sir," I climbed out of the jeep eagerly.

They both laughed hearty guffaws at my excitement, but I could tell that they were happy, too.
There was nothing like little gunfire to brighten one’s day.

I went around to the other side of the jeep and saw that the captain was holding an extra holster in his hand. He knelt down to fit it to my waist, but it was still too big.

"Damn. You have got to be the smallest kid I have ever seen." He turned to Jeremiah. "Were we ever that small?" he asked.

"No, sir," Jeremiah
said with a grin. "I don't reckon we were."

The captain walked around to the back of the jeep and pulled out a long, slender, round tool. He easily worked the tool through the leather, creating another hole for the buckle.

"Come here, midget," he said gruffly, holding out the holster. It buckled easily around my waist in the same loose fit as his own.

We walked over to the shooting range, and o
nce again the captain proved to be a patient teacher. He gave me the smallest handgun, showing me how to hold it firmly and line up the sight on the target. It was hard to ignore the way his body felt as he bent over and wrapped his arms around me on both sides to place my hands properly on the gun.

I missed the first few times
due to nerves and the fact that I could feel the captain's gaze burning through me. But as I got used to the noise around us and the feel of the gun, I started hitting the closer targets every time.

I liked the feeling of the gun.
Its smooth wooden handle felt as though it had been made for my hand. I went through two rounds of six bullets, learning how to reload before the second round.

The captain and Jeremiah had
been practicing some shooting of their own, but they came over when I ran out of bullets. The captain traded my handgun for Jeremiah's.

"But, sir, isn't this one too big for me?" I asked, liking the feel of the smaller gun.

Jeremiah guffawed and the captain replied patiently. "Maybe at first, but you need to learn how to use it. That little gun isn't going do anything to big guys like us except make us angry. A really big guy will keep running toward you even if you empty all your barrels at him."

My eyes widened and he patted the
large gun. "That's why we have these bigger guns and the knives. When we get done today, you'll know how to draw as well as some basic knife defense if you are in a place where you can't shoot."

He began teaching me how to draw the large gun from the holster. It felt awkward and clumsy, and holding it out in front of me was beginning to be a task as my arms were starting to feel tired.

"There's no real secret to it. You just have to keep doing it until it becomes second nature." The captain drew his own gun and fired before I could blink.

I spent the
next few rounds drawing and shooting repeatedly, learning to use the bigger gun. I briefly looked over at the captain, who was throwing a couple of knives into a scarecrow while Jeremiah looked on. It was almost hypnotizing, watching his powerful arm swing down and release the knives. I had to force myself to look away so I wouldn't be caught staring.

When I ran out of bullets, I walked over to them.

"Good job, Simmons." The captain clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Let Jeremiah here teach you how to use a knife."

He strode off and Jeremiah walked over to the scarecrow, pulling out several knives. He set most of them down on a boulder and motioned me over.

"Learning how to use a knife is serious business. They are dangerous, even more dangerous than guns because they can be used more quickly and without warning." His hands had been behind his back but suddenly he had me pressed against the boulder, a knife to my forehead between my eyes. I was so shocked at the unexpected attack that I just looked at him, blinking.

He relaxed and unpinned me. "That is how knives work. Before you know they even have one, you're at the sharp edge of it. But it works the other way, too. You can use that element of surprise
in your favor."

"
Knives are handier in a close fight, such as your bathroom incident. But you don't want to let your enemy get his hands on your knife, or he's going to use it against you. Only throw it if you know you can take him out, or if you have several more you can throw to keep him from getting to you." He half turned and casually tossed a couple of knives over his shoulder into a scarecrow. One landed in the head and the other dead in its heart.

He turned back to me and laughed when he saw my mouth gaping open. The man had some serious knife-
wielding skills.

"Everyone has their soft spots. Morse likes his guns, and I like my knives. Of course, I've been practicing for as long as I can remember."

I was eager to learn, but he cautioned me over and over until my excitement started to wane.

"Hold the knife by the tip of the blade and raise it over your head, bringing it down in a straight line before you let it go." He demonstrated and the knife flew perfectly into the body of the scarecrow.

"Isn't it dangerous to hold the blade?" I asked, grabbing one of the knives gingerly.

"Not if you know what you're doing. You're not holding the sharp edges...
Don't hold it like that or you'll drop it." He closed his fingers around mine and made me press my fingers tightly to the smooth sides of the blade.

"Now raise your hand and throw just like I do." He demonstrated again and then did a pretend throw with me. I was surprised when the blade flew into one of the scarecrow's legs.

"Good, keep your wrist straight, aim just a little higher, and you'll be there."

He had me practice with both hands and I threw the
different knives over and over. It wasn't as fun as I'd thought it would be. He forced me to extend my arms through the swing a little farther than my normal reach and my shoulders started getting sore.

"Good
," he said finally, looking at my face. "I don't want to see fear or excitement in your eyes when you are holding these weapons. They are not fun—or toys. I want to see steel behind your eyes and determination in your movements. The only way to win a fight is to keep your head clear and keep your emotions out of it."

This was a different side of Jeremiah that I had never seen.
I was used to his ready smile and laughter, but when he was holding the knives, he suddenly had a presence that made me realize I was standing before a skilled fighter.

I nodded and walked over to the next target, a scarecrow that was paced farther back.
I forced my arms to keep throwing, forgetting about the burn in my arms and shoulders and focusing on the target. I allowed my arm to become one with the knife, and learned the feel of a good throw.

Finally, I felt his hand clap my shoulder.
"That's enough for today." He walked over and gathered up the knives from the scarecrow.

"
Sir, aren't you going to teach me how to fight?"

"
I just did. The only way
you
can fight with a knife is the way that I just showed you."

"But...what about those guys in the bathroom? Couldn't I have just stabbed them or something?"

"No," Jeremiah said patiently. "You couldn't have. Look, I'm not going to teach you how to stab with a knife, or take the knife from an opponent.” He handed me a knife and encouraged me to hold it out in front of me. Then, quick as lightning, he grabbed my arm, and the knife was at my throat before I could blink.

"
First of all, you're too small to be effective at either by brute force. Second, if your opponent is that close, he's too close and you're already dead. Don't show him your knife at that point or you'll just make his day." He smiled grimly and let me go.

I couldn't argue with
his logic after the demonstration, so I followed him dejectedly back to the jeep where the captain was waiting. I realized that I had been so caught up in practicing with the knives that I had forgotten he was there. But he had a rifle lying next to him and I realized he must have done his own shooting practice.

I started to take off the holster, but he stopped me with a hand on my arm.

"It's yours now, Simmons."

"Really?" I knew I sounded like a
n enthusiastic kid, but I was unable to contain it.

"Really
." He grinned. Then he took two knives from Jeremiah and put them in the pouch on the other side of the holster. "You've got a good arm there, kid."

On the trip back, the captain and Jeremiah talked in the front seats but I just sat back with a grin on my face. I'd learned how to shoot, throw,
and gotten some weapons of my very own; but most important, I'd gotten to spend more time with the captain.