When she wandered into the main room of their suite to use the station’s comm system, Viktor dug out his tablet to check the news. He thought about calling the company for an update, but it was still the night shift over there, so Sequoia would not be up, snooping around and getting the
real
news. Such as he could. Lieutenant Thomlin would have had some of his intel-gathering programs running through the night. While the ship was undergoing repairs, Viktor would have to spend some time searching for a new intelligence officer, preferably one who had been through all of the Fleet training courses and then grown disillusioned with the system or perhaps been kicked out. Alas, mercenaries rarely got to pick from the best and brightest. He could not be bitter though. He had better men than most.
“Hi, Mom,” Ankari said brightly, before lowering her voice to a more private level, one which, through accident or design, Viktor could not eavesdrop on. At least not from his spot in the bed.
He should give Ankari her privacy, but curiosity made him lower his tablet and try to hear her words. She spoke often of her family, and, when last he had heard, had been in the middle of a weeks-long chess game with a brother, but she had not called them live, at least not in his presence. What prompted her to do so now? The quarantine? Maybe she was even more worried than Viktor had guessed.
He rolled out of bed, grimacing as pain lit up his body like a target on a firing range. That young pup in the gym had left him with more bruises and sore muscles than he’d had in a long time. Maybe it was good that Ankari was in the other room. As he picked up his clothes, he managed to keep his groans and grunts of distress internal, though he could not help but think of Borage’s teasing from the day before. What, indeed, would he do when he grew too old to best all of the young contenders who challenged him?
A problem for another day.
Viktor padded over to a chair and mirror to dress. They happened to be by the door, which happened to let him hear the conversation. He reasoned that if Ankari truly wanted privacy, she would have shut the door.
He snorted at himself, acknowledging that he sounded like Thomlin, who had always claimed that a career in intelligence had inculcated his snooping tendencies. He did not, however, snort so loudly that Ankari might hear. Instead, he dressed very quietly. And slowly.
“...sending some money, all right?” Ankari was saying. “Enough for you to get a place in a good neighborhood. You could even move off Novus Earth for one of the quieter and less restless planets.”
“We appreciate the gesture, ’Kari, especially since I haven’t been the biggest supporter of some of your entrepreneurial enterprises, but I don’t understand why you can’t come home for a visit. Or even to settle, now that you’ve got your business operational. Maybe the whole family could get a place together. Perhaps something with multiple stories so we’re not stepping all over each other.” Ankari’s mother sounded wistful.
Viktor was tempted to peek around the corner, so he might glimpse the woman. Ankari had shared pictures of her family, but nothing more. She actually seemed to enjoy talking about them, but more than once, he had sensed that she refrained from doing so, knowing he had no family of his own to talk about anymore. At least not close family. He had a nephew finishing college on one of the inner-core planets, but his parents, his grandparents, his brother, and uncles and aunts... Everyone had been on Grenavine when the planet had been destroyed. A decade had taken the edge off the pain, but he did feel the loneliness at times, especially since, as captain of his company, he felt he had to distance himself from most of the crew. Only with those who were also Grenavinian survivors and who had been there the longest did he sometimes let his guard down. But even then, he remained the commander and they the subordinates. Only Ankari was outside of his chain of command, someone he couldn’t have ordered around if he wanted to. Not that he wanted to. He sighed. Letting her leave would be hard, but if it was what her family wanted, maybe she would choose to go on her own one day.
Now, why did he find that thought so depressing?
He swallowed and put on his shirt, reminding himself that he was dressing and spying, not wallowing in the bowels of his mind. He had missed Ankari’s response, but her mother was talking again, and he leaned his ear toward the door.
“I worry about you out there,” the woman said. “I don’t understand why you’ve set up that lab on a spaceship. A
mercenary
spaceship at that.” Her tone grew dry. “Yes, your brother did some research. I don’t appreciate that you implied that you were still sailing around out there of your own volition.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I thought you would worry if you knew.”
Viktor frowned as he lifted his foot to the chair to fasten his boot. He had assumed Ankari had filled her family in on the details, though he supposed he could see why she might have hesitated. It didn’t surprise him that her mother worried for her safety with her on his ship—hadn’t
he
been contemplating the same issue?
“I
am
worried. We just saw the news. That ship was involved in the Nimbus debacle.”
“We weren’t there for that, Mom. We’ve been on Midway 5 for the last couple of weeks.”
“Midway 5?” her mother asked sharply. “The station that’s in quarantine now?”
Viktor grimaced. It shouldn’t surprise him that the news had made it to the inner core. Everything made the rounds more quickly on this side of the system.
“Yes, but we’re staying out of trouble. I’m sure it will end up being nothing. But in case, uhm. In case it does turn into something, that’s why I want to make sure you and the others will be all right. I’ve put together a will and—”
“
Ankari
.”
A long moment passed with neither woman speaking. Even from the other room, even without seeing their faces, Viktor sensed the tension between them.
“Yes?” Ankari asked warily.
“I commend your thoughtfulness, but we—
I
am not ready to lose you. You’re twenty-seven years old. That’s not—” Her words grew tight around the lump that must be sticking in her throat. “Whatever possessed you to run around out there in the first place, ’Kari? A couple of times, you’ve mentioned or I’ve read between the lines—you haven’t been giving me nearly enough details, dear—that there’s a man. I can only assume someone on this mercenary ship. Why else would you agree to have a medical clinic in such a place?”
“I made a deal with the captain that we would do our work aboard, because the mercenaries helped us deal with a problem in exchange for a percentage of the company, and they’re still acting as security for us.”
Viktor hung his head. As part of their agreement, he had stipulated that Ankari’s team set up their lab on his ship. At the time, he’d had altruistic motivations—he had worried that if that Felgard wanted to kidnap them for their work, then others might attempt blackmail or worse. But they could afford their own security now, if they needed it. Security on a safe, inner-core planet. He should have already rescinded that part of their bargain.
“They’re partial owners,” Ankari continued. “I mentioned that. And I told you about the finance lord who was trying to strong-arm us too. They protected us. We owe—”
“It to yourselves and those who could benefit from your services to stay safe. Living on a military ship, one that frequently goes into war, is
not
safe. You wouldn’t be out at that station, either, if not for them. You would be somewhere safe, where quarantines aren’t needed, damn it.” The last few words came out in an emotional slur.
“Mom, it’ll work out. These precautions are just in the very remote event that things don’t work out. And because I want you to have a better life, regardless. Quarantines may not be frequent on Novus Earth, but our neighborhood isn’t any less dangerous than a mercenary ship. You can’t really deny that.”
“Oh, Ankari.” Her mother’s voice came out muffled, as if she was wiping her face—wiping away tears. “I just thought you were in a better place now, that you’d earned the right to be. Please tell me you’re not making these choices because of a man. It’s not worth dying to be with some... mercenary.”
Some mercenary. When Viktor had been in the Fleet, a mother might have approved of him—even if Crimson Ops had a reputation for doing the dirty work for GalCon, few people spoke badly of them. Fear might be part of the reason, but for the most part, they were respected. That was true of Fleet officers and soldiers as a general rule. But mercenaries? What parents bragged about their daughter’s engagement to a mercenary? Not that he had been thinking of asking Ankari to marry him. But the idea that her mother might give her a hard time about their relationship... It had not occurred to him before. Maybe because it had been so long since he’d had a mother of his own who worried about him.
“Some people
are
worth dying for, Mom,” Ankari whispered after the silence had stretched for several moments.
Viktor had expected her to deny that she was having anything to do with any mercenaries—he would not have begrudged her that—so this proclamation caught him off guard. The heartfelt utterance stirred gratitude in his heart and made him appreciate her all the more, but it also made him doubly certain that he could not keep her at his side. He didn’t
want
her to die for him, or to die or be harmed at all.
“Not somebody who kills for money, ’Kari. That’s not... Look, I’ve never tried to butt in on your relationships, but this one doesn’t make sense. It’s not healthy. You’re smart and successful. You don’t need to settle.”
“Trust me, Mom. I’m not settling. Viktor is...” She hesitated. Then a click sounded, and the door slid shut.
Viktor blinked. He hadn’t heard her move—there must have been a command on the computer console for the door. He snorted. Apparently, she had decided that the conversation deserved privacy, after all. So long as she was about to extol his virtues, that was fine with him. But he walked back to the bed and sat on the edge, dwelling again on her mother’s objections and the fact that he agreed with them. He would have to talk with Ankari. Soon.
He was in the same spot when the door opened and she padded back into the bedroom. He offered her an arm, though he could not bring up the topic on his mind. Not yet. He wasn’t ready. She let him guide her onto his lap, looping her arms around his shoulders.
“You seem glum,” Ankari whispered. She touched his cheek, then pushed her fingers through his short hair.
Yes, the thought of losing her made him glum. Oh, it wasn’t as if they had to separate permanently—perhaps he could visit whatever station or planet she ended up moving her business to. But how frequent could such visits be, so long as he captained a ship that had to take assignments all over the outer core of the system in order to keep paying the men and to stay afloat? He couldn’t imagine retirement, not yet, perhaps not ever. He had always assumed the job would kill him one day, and he had accepted that, hoping only for a noble end. But something had happened, and he found that less easy to accept now. He wasn’t sure what he wanted anymore. He just knew he would miss Ankari. The more time they spent together, the more time he wanted to spend together.
“What happened out there?” she asked. “After you sent us away? I’ve seen the news, but...”
Oh, she thought his glumness was a result of the mission? Well, that
had
been bothering him, even if it was not the source of his current malaise. He debated whether to share the details or to keep them to himself, as was his wont. But hadn’t he been wanting a confidante? At the least, he would like her to keep stroking his hair.
“Our employers happened,” Viktor said. “I thought we were signing on to defend homesteaders, protecting them from an army of opportunists trying to steal their resources, groundwater and a forest of prime timber. We researched them, and everything pointed to that.” He didn’t add that they had been druids, and that he trusted druids, because that had been the religion of his people, because so many that he had known had been honest, good men and women. “But what wasn’t in the public records anywhere was that their groundwater had gone toxic and the trees were dying, that the people couldn’t even grow crops on the land anymore. It wasn’t their fault, or anything they had done, just a reversion of millennia-old terraforming. In any event, they couldn’t continue to survive there. They
wanted
to leave. But they needed insurance money. They needed GalCon to believe they had been victims and to fund their relocation costs and to grant them a place to relocate
to
. There aren’t many unclaimed plots of land suitable for thousands of people anymore. So... someone decided to start a war, hiring thugs to attack their people, to devastate their homeland—they planned to blame the toxins on the war, side effects of biological weapons. To make everything appear legitimate, they hired a mercenary company to defend them.” Viktor’s mouth twisted. “We thought we were doing a good deed, taking an assignment that was, for once, worth taking. You were there for that.”
Ankari nodded.
“We stayed longer than we should have. I made that choice because they led me to believe...” He gazed at the wall beyond Ankari’s shoulder. “I
wanted
to believe that we were helping hardworking people defend their homes and that we were all that stood between them and death, devastation. We didn’t know that those very people had sold us out. In the end, they used us to buy their escapes, leaving the world as if it was nothing, willing to sacrifice us so they could flee barren land they had intended to flee from the beginning. Oh, the average person didn’t know that the invading army had been hired and paid for by their own people, but I believe they all knew about the insurance grab, about wanting the pity of the system so people would help them resettle. And those news crews never figured out the truth. They showed us as cowards, leaving when there was still fighting left to do, but we didn’t leave until we had already lost men and until we knew we had been betrayed. The reporters don’t mention that GalCon didn’t bother sending any Fleet ships out to help with the battle. They’re only telling the story that they were paid to tell.” He plucked at the rucked up blanket on the bed. “I don’t know why I act like I’m surprised. There’s more corruption in the system than there is good. I guess I’m most pissed because I fell for it. And that I lost men because of it.”