Hammer and Crucible (Imperial Hammer Book 1) Page 3

  The AI nurse’s voice was pleasantly professional, caring, and horribly familiar.

  I made my eyes open and forced them to focus. The railings were up on both sides of the bed, of course. I was on my side, a hand under my cheek. The classic therapeutic recovery position.

  I didn’t bother trying to move. I knew I didn’t have the strength. It would take a while to come back.

  “Water,” I told the nurse, my voice croaky.

  The tube extended, touched my lips.

  “Just a sip or two,” the nurse said.

  A sip or two was all I could manage, anyway. I had to hold the water in my mouth, and let it soak the parched flesh, until my throat was moistened enough to swallow.

  Footsteps. Andrain bent to peer at my face. He was serene, still, although the humor had gone. “There you are.”

  “Wanna sit.”

  He considered. “If you can get yourself into a sitting position, go ahead.”

  I scowled. He and I both knew that wasn’t possible right now. I tried, anyway. Best I could do was turn onto my back.

  Andrain relented and lifted the head of the bed, so we were more or less at eye level with each other. Then he did something he’d never done before. He lowered the bar and sat on the edge of the bed.

  Shit…

  I braced myself.

  He nodded. I’d given myself away. “Yes, it’s bad.” He paused. “Yet it’s what you’ve been expecting all along, in a way.”

  “Facts, doc,” I croaked.

  “You’re dying, Danny.”

  I rolled my eyes. “New facts.”

  He shook his head. “With proper management of your aging, you might have lived for another thirty or fifty years. But…not now.”

  That was news. I stared at him. “How long?”

  “The scan I did this morning bothered me, so I spent some time digging into the data. I’ve got forty years of research data, after all.” His smile was barely there. “These seizures, Danny…they’re killing you.”

  Something is coming…

  I shivered violently. “That explains the bad dreams,” I whispered.

  He nodded. “Actually, you’re more right than you know. It’s not unusual for terminal patients to recognize when death is close by. Bad dreams, dark thoughts…it’s a preparation of a kind. There’s a great deal of documentation on it.”

  I repeated, with false patience, “How long?”

  He hesitated. “Possibly weeks. It’s determined by the seizures themselves. If you don’t have another seizure, no further disintegration will take place.”

  “But the next one could kill me.”

  He shook his head. “It’s very likely the next one will kill you.”

  I let that sink in. “And you still have no idea what is causing them?”

  “My best guess is your implants are malfunctioning,” he said. “As you refuse to let me examine them, or have them upgraded—”

  “The only way for a civilian like me to upgrade is to go through rejuvenation,” I said sharply. And the implants would not be military grade, either.

  “Yes.” His tone was flat.

  We both knew my opinion about that option.

  “As it isn’t your brain generating the seizures, but an outside agency, the standard epilepsy inoculation won’t work.” Andrain got to his feet. “The seizures are several weeks apart, yet the rate is increasing. Slowly, though. So…”

  “I have from several to a few weeks,” I finished. “Thanks, doc.”

  He smoothed out a wrinkle on the blanket by my foot. Nodded. Turned and left.

  I sat for a long while, letting thoughts chase each other around, not straining for coherence or logic. I was drained and I knew Andrain wouldn’t let me out of here for at least a day. It would take that long for me to get my shit together, anyway.

  After a while I slept.

  And after that, I did think.

  Finally.

  Talk about the last minute.

  By the time I got to the loading ramp, the passengers were boarding. I scanned down the ragged line, breathing way too hard for a short walk from the elevator bank. The frigate’s payload manager scanned wrists for serial numbers, checking against his cargo manifest.

  A secondary scan by his assistant confirmed crush status, before the passengers were allowed onboard. It spelled quick death to a freight hauler’s business if their customers were squashed to red jelly when they jumped through the gates.

  The double-check saved me. Juliyana was just stepping up with her wrist held out.

  I beckoned.

  She narrowed her eyes. She pulled her wrist away from the manager’s handheld and said something to him.

  He scowled and growled something back. Cargo freighters aren’t commercial cruisers. They make their money from freight haulage, so keeping the customer happy isn’t a factor for them.

  Juliyana came over to me. “He won’t hold the ship up, so make it fast.”

  “I’m dying.”

  “I know.”

  “I mean, sooner, not later. There’s a thing…and it doesn’t matter.” I started again. “Thing is, I thought I had years. Decades. Now I don’t.”

  Her eyes were still narrowed, although the impatience faded. “And that makes a difference.”

  “All the difference in the world.” I shifted on my feet. “I don’t want to step out with things not finished.”

  Juliyana waited. I used to do that to sub-officers. Stare ‘em into an untimely confession. It works too fucking well, alas.

  “After Drakas…before the Blackout…” I paused, for the date of the empire’s Blackout was neatly in the middle of my personal black hole. I only knew of the chaos and disasters the Blackout caused from reading other people’s accounts. “Back then, I should have gone out the proper way, you know? A meal, sex, then a bullet or a blade or a pill. Maybe a note. Only I didn’t.”

  “Too stubborn?” Her tone was dry.

  “I think I was holding out still. Waiting. Thing is, if I’d done it then, the world and I would have been square. Now, though…there’s this thing of yours.”

  The cargo manager put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. Hard. There were no more passengers lined up.

  Juliyana glanced at him and gave a gesture which might have meant “I’m coming” or “fuck you.”

  Either way, the manager didn’t like it. He waved, a flick of his fingers. Move it.

  Juliyana turned back to me. “You’re going to dig.”

  “I don’t know how far I’ll get,” I warned her. “My resources aren’t what they used to be. Shit, I’m not what I used to be.” And Andrain would have a lot to say about me taking off right now, too. Only, that was a different bridge.

  Behind us, the warning alarm sounded as the frigate lifted from the deck and floated toward the external lock. The gusts from the hover engines blew our hair back and ruffled our clothing.

  “Seems I’m coming with you,” Juliyana said. “You knew that. It’s why you’re here.”

  “You might thank me, at least.”

  “You just wasted my ticket on that hulk.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder, at the frigate as it eased out of the lock. “It’s non-returnable.”

  I smiled. “Oh, you’re going to burn a lot more than a ticket on this venture,” I assured her. “I’m broke. You’re a Ranger. You’re buying my fare out of here, too.”

  3

  The very top deck of the Judeste is a real observation deck. Glasseen steel windows—small ones—let you see outside the ship. No screens, no avatars or representations. As close to seeing with your naked eye the glory of deep space, short of stepping out there in a suit.

  The view isn’t unobstructed, though. The jump gate attached to the front end of the barge blocks most of it. Only, watching a ship emerge from the suddenly violet shimmer into normal space can take your breath away. When a ship was due, folk squeezed in the cramped space, craning to peer through the windows.

  It didn’t surprise me to find the family CEO, Farhan, there. There were no ships due for three days—I’d checked. The ship Juliyana and I waited for—the Aurora Queen—was four days out. The Queen, which did not live up to her name, was one of the Hakim Hext Cruiselines’ commercial crawlers. Hakim Hext was the only spaceline company serving outrigger barges, and it operated on a shoestring, jamming passengers into cramped shells which should have been upgraded a few decades ago.

  Nevertheless, Juliyana and I had tickets for its return. As Juliyana had booked them, complaining loudly about the scalper prices, it occurred to me that as a majority shareholder, I should probably inform the CEO I was leaving the barge. There would be proxies to sign before I left.

  Farhan grimaced when he saw me and turned his head back to the view. He had his share of the family genes—tall and rangy. His skin was a lot darker, though. “Líadan,” he acknowledged. “What can I do for you?”

  “This is a formality,” I said. “I’m letting you know I’m leaving the barge for a while.”

  He glanced at me again, genuinely startled. “You?” He rolled his eyes. “Of course you’re leaving.” He laughed. It was a soft sound, devoid of humor.

  I waited, puzzled.

  He finally pulled himself together. With a jerk, he yanked his jacket back into place. “It’s not due to be released yet. How did you get hold of it? Or shouldn’t I ask?”

  “About what?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “The annual report…” he said slowly. “You don’t have it?”

  “It’s bad news, then?” I surmised. I barely managed to say “then”, instead of “again”. I tried to think back to when the last report came out, only it wasn’t a highlight in my memory. The timing seemed about right, was the best I could guess.

  He turned back to the view. That was why he was here. He was brooding. “We haven’t found a viable planet in over a hundred years.”

  “The ore belts are lucrative,” I pointed out. The mining of ores was the bread and butter of the family. There were always more satellites and asteroids to suck the guts out of. Opening new planets, establishing gates, and selling the rights for them was cream. Very rich, very lucrative cream, but still just cream. No one gambled upon finding viable planets as their sole source of income. The Carranoak family certainly did not.

  “Ore pays,” he agreed. “Just not enough—not in the long term, not for us. The hits we’ve taken lately…finding a planet would solve all of it.” He stirred. “What do you care, anyway? You’ve never shown up for a single board meeting.”

  “I’ve grown aware of money and costs, lately.” I recalled Juliyana’s bellyaching.

  He turned to face me properly, his expression alert. “If you’re not leaving because of the report, then why are you leaving? Is this something to do with Juliyana?”

  Of course he’d heard about her arrival. Whenever a family member set foot upon the Judeste, he would be informed.

  “Indirectly. She’s coming with me. I don’t know how long I’ll be away.”

  “Just long enough to avoid the fallout.” His tone was withering. “Typical.”

  “I’m not following.”

  He turned back to the view again. “You brought all the bad luck with you. Now the cumulative effects are catching up with the family, you’re leaving again.”

  “Bad luck is a myth.”

  “Is it? A disgraced Ranger with a criminal son settles upon the barge, with voting rights on the Board.” He held up a finger. “Our insurance rates have risen steadily every year since you arrived. The insurance companies are now holding out for indemnity clauses and say they won’t renew without them.”

  I winced. “Expensive?”

  “Unbelievably.” He held up another finger. “In the last ten years, three of our major mining rights contracts have come up for renewal, and I’ve had to negotiate hard just to keep them. Asking for better terms was out of the question. In two cases, I had to lower the royalties, slash docking fees, give away storage and more. The mining companies are wary—to them, rising insurance must mean higher risk.”

  He held up another finger. “The restraints on cash flow means I can’t service longer term liquid arrangements. Interest on short term is horrendous. So, the cost of commodities, including food and air and water have gone up three hundred percent.”

  He dropped his hand. “People are leaving the barge, finding work and accommodation elsewhere. Exit interviews show a trend—they’re heading to other barges, where the conditions are cheaper and up to date. We haven’t renewed the dormitories in twenty years. Fewer people mean less cash flow.” He shrugged. “And around it goes.” He turned back to the window. “You asked,” he added, his tone bitter.

  “It’s not all on me.” I wasn’t surprised when my voice came out hoarse.

  “Noam carries a lot of it,” he said bleakly.

  I only remembered then that he and Noam used to be friends. “You have a bad seed on board. So what? Every barge, every ship…hell, half my basic recruits were criminals on redemption passes.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, that’s how it’s supposed to work. Screw up, fix it and work your ass off for twenty years to make amends.” His glance was sideways. “Not a single contract negotiation, the insurance renewals, not one adjudicator breathed your name. Not one. But our universal credit rating is down fifteen thousand points. Tell me again your reputation doesn’t impact this family.”

  I recalled Juliyana’s note. What if your breakdown was their way of getting you out of there, where you were digging too deep?

  What if my reputation wasn’t all on me? What if they had arranged that, too?

  “Maybe I’ll have good news for you when I get back,” I told Farhan.

  “The good news is that you’re leaving.”

  There was nothing I could say in response, so I did what he wanted. I left.

  We were dropped into our shells as soon as we boarded the Queen. The carpet was worn smooth between the shells. The soft lining of the fuselage was dented. The shells looked newer—just.

  I sank into the liquid beneath the impermeable surface and wriggled as instructed so it settled around my back, ass, head and legs, reflecting that military shells were far easier to use. Juliyana clearly agreed with me, for her jaw was set as she fought to arrange the gel around her properly.

  The gel came right up to the level of my shoulder. As I held my breath, expecting to be submerged, it settled.

  So did my heart.

  “We’re right there at the gate, already,” Juliyana fumed. “None of this is necessary.” Her voice was muffled, for the shells rose twenty centimeters above the gel itself, while they were open. The pilot, if he deemed it necessary, could snap the shells completely closed, containing us inside if he was forced to high-gee maneuvers.

  That had never happened in my lifetime, though.

  “They’re just being cautious,” I ventured from my own shell. There were two dozen other passengers in the cramped cabin, and the crewman moved along the lanes, checking to ensure we were all settled properly, before heading for his own shell. He paused by my shell, gave me a startled look, then double and triple checked I was properly inserted into the shell.

  I stared right back.

  He gave me a stiff smile and moved on. I heard him flirting with Juliyana, who shut him down fast.

  I watched the screen attached to the ceiling of the cabin, while Farhan’s withering observations about insurance came back to me. I coupled it with the crewman’s extra precautions over me. “Cautious for insurance reasons,” I added.

  Juliyana’s snort was a fair comment.

  The Aurora Queen lifted gently from the deck of the Judeste, then moved ahead slowly.

  Gentle and slow were a commercial crawler’s raison d’être.

  I dialed with my finger, switching the screen above me to an external view. It had been a long time since I had seen the Umb Judeste from a far perspective, although five kilometers out wasn’t that far at all. It was enough to see the entire ship at one glance, though.

  Only a commercial craft drifted out so far, before coming around in a slow, gentle curve to line up with the gate at the end of the ship, then pick up speed—still at a pace which put us at just over one gee.

  As we approached the gate, the view cut to an advertisement spouting the joys of shopping with Cygnus Commercial. All transactions bonded and warranteed! Hakim Hext Cruiselines was mostly owned by Cygnus Intergenera. I sighed and switched off the screen.

  I had also forgotten that commercial flights killed brain cells with boredom.

  The transition through the gate was seamless. Our first stop was Melenia Station, the biggest commercial hub on this side of the empire. At just over one hundred and fifty parsecs away, it was only a hop, skip and a jump from the Judeste’s current position, which meant time in the hole was correspondingly longer. Hours longer.

  And none of us could move around the cabin in that time—a luxury I had forgotten about.

  I think I slept. I’d been short on sleep lately. No dreams. I couldn’t sink deep enough to dream, which was a good thing. Thrashing about would scare the other passengers.

  The screen switched on when we emerged from the other end of the hole, showing an orange-red globe in crescent view. Also sparkling in the red sunlight was Melenia Station, a sprawling, former donut-shaped construction in geo-synchronous orbit around Melenia IV, below.

  The sun glinted off a dozen other craft, all heading to or from the gate which laid behind us.

  It took another six hours to reach the station itself at crawling speed—which was what gave commercial craft their name.

  By then, I was seething. As we were checked off-board and handed our sacks, I said to Juliyana, “Change of plans.”

  She raised her brow as we walked through the shield doors into the station proper, and into the stream of humanity moving along the concourse. I got startled looks. I ignored them, but I tried to pick up my pace, aware of the people behind us making irritated noises.

  “See if you can change our tickets to head to Zillah’s World.”

  She pursed her lips. “It’s way over by the Rim.”