Chapter Twenty-One
Davies
Because McMurtry and I have to pretend we don’t know what the hell the captain’s up to, I spend a lot of time over the next seventy-two hours either in my quarters or in McMurtry’s. I mostly go to his, because since he’s supposed to be trying to diagnose the problem, he wouldn’t stray far from Engineering.
It’s no secret that we had a fling together and are still friends. If my fellow crew want to assume I’m cheating on Olarte, then in this case, I’ll be happy to let them have the wrong impression about me.
Especially if it means keeping the two of us alive and safe.
I told the captain I wrote to Olarte to let them know my return might be delayed because of our “breakdown,” so they don’t worry. Which is nothing unusual, because most of the crew has done the same for family members expecting them.
In case those messages are being read, I write them as if I’m clueless to what’s really going on, reporting only the surface facts to them.
If nothing else, hopefully they can relay that information to the authorities.
Part of me hopes Olarte has reported what I told them, and that there is a secret plan in the works to rescue us.
Part of me knows it’s silly and unrealistic to hope that, and that we need to do everything in our power to keep me and McMurtry alive until we reach port and can escape the ship.
When McMurtry and I are alone together in his quarters, we talk about therealsituation using only our com units, typing and erasing messages after reading them. We only speak aloud if it’s about normal bullshit.
We can’t be sure now that they’re not monitoring us.
I can confidently say “they” because for an operation like this, there would have to be more than one crewman involved in the scheme, including at least one high-level tech in Engineering who’s familiar with the ether-jump drive system.
Then there’s also the matter of the unlisted passenger. Technically, I suppose they’re not a stowaway, since the captain obviously knows about their presence.
But they aren’t listed on the manifest, and that right there is problem number one.
If it wasn’t a secret, why the hell are they out in the life pod and not in one of the three spare bunks we have for extra passengers or crew?
Which, of course, brings me to problem number two—the illegal and unlisted cargo.
And problem number three, that the conspirators were willing to riskallof our lives on this stupid smuggling scheme. They had no way of knowing we’d jump-in at a safe point. Not to mention the risk to a very valuable freighter, with very valuable cargo on board.
The fact that McMurtry and I are still alive means I’m reasonably certain that the captain and his conspirators haven’t caught on yet that we know what’s happening. I’m not giving them any trouble, and McMurtry’s seemingly still looking for the system malfunction.
Other than that, there’s not much we can do to stop them. Not without great personal risk to ourselves.
Nowhere in my resume does it say “hero.” Just doesn’t. McMurtry agrees we’d be stupid to try to take them on, considering neither one of us even owns a weapon, much less knows how to fire one. There is a small armory on board, but to access it both the captain and XO would be notified if McMurtry or I plugged in our executive officer codes.
And I’m not even sure I remember how to fire a weapon, even though I had basic training in them way back in secondary. It’s a requirement as part of serving on a vessel, knowing how to do all the basic tasks, like firefighting and certain emergency repairs.
I haven’t received a reply yet from Olarte, even though I know it’s too early to expect one.
If I haven’t received one by the time our “tow” arrives in a couple of weeks, I’ll definitely suspect there’s fuckery afoot on that front as well. E-mail is usually delayed by days when we jump, but we’re in normal space right now, and have been for over seventy-two hours.
Then, two days after I sent the batch of messages to Olarte, I receive one from them. I temper my hopes when I see the send date and realize it was sent by them the day after my departure.
Meaning it’s not about the information I sent to them. They wouldn’t have received it yet.
It’s also emotionally a mixed bag, because before all this other crap dropped into my lap, I would’ve said it was the best news ever.
I love you, and I miss you. When you return, I wish to discuss our future relationship and where we go from here. I do not like being separated from you and desire a discussion about perhaps arranging a permanent long-term situation between us. Contract or not, I want to spend the rest of my life with you as mates.
My adorable, big green dude. I sigh as I read and re-read their words. Emotional and flowery, for them. I wonder how long it took them to compose it and can almost picture them sitting there and struggling over what to write, revising it countless times before settling on this.
I’ve never read anything more romantic in my life.
