things are uncertain and times are bad, a crew looks to its captain for guidance and reassurance. But you're not there. You're with me. They can't understand it, and they don't like it. Darian, do any of them even know we were almost married?'
'No,' he said, uncomfortable. 'I think you're making a bit much of this, though.'
'No, I'm not. I would have said something weeks ago, but I didn't want to tell you how to run your crew.'
'I've done alright so far,' he said. He was on the defensive, and it came out snappy.
'You have. But now you need to do better,' she said. 'Being a captain, it's more than just making good decisions and giving the right orders. It's about trust. You're like the head of a family. They need to trust you, and you need to trust them.'
'They do trust me!' Frey protested. 'Why do you think they've stuck with me?'
'It's a testament to their loyalty that they have,' she said. 'But it won't last forever. You're barely talking to your navigator. For what reason, I can't tell, but it's been going on for a month. The rest of your crew don't really understand why they're being dragged through town after town, because you haven't explained to them why it's important to you. And all of them are feeling the loss of Crake, but their captain doesn't appear to care.'
'I do care!'
'But they can't see that.'
Frey didn't like the way this conversation had turned. He knew she was trying to help him, but he still didn't like to be criticised. He bit back a sarcastic comment and tried not to look surly.
When she spoke again, her voice was gentle, cushioning the content. 'You let things fester,' she said. 'It's your way. You're not good at talking about the things that really matter, so you avoid it instead. You wait and hope that everything will turn out well.' She paused, gazing at the ground before her. 'Remember when you left me, Darian?'
'Of course I do,' he said, prickling.
'You were unhappy for so long, weren't you?' Her tone was sad, sympathetic. It confused him. He'd expected an attack.
'I just . . .' he began, but already the words were clogging up. Damn it, he could never say how he felt and make it sound right. 'It was like I was trapped,' he managed at last. 'I was nineteen.'
'You were angry with me for asking you to marry me. For getting pregnant,' she said it matter-of-factly.
'I wanted to be with you,' said Frey awkwardly. 'I just didn't want to marry you. That's a big thing, you know? I was just a boy. I had a thousand things to do with my life.'
'But you didn't say that. You didn't say any of it.'
Frey was silent. He remembered how it was, on the day of the wedding. How he'd left it till the last minute, and when there was no other way out, he ran.
'I've thought about that day a lot,' Trinica said, as they trudged down a slope between two clusters of houses. Back towards the tiny landing pad and the Ketty Jay. 'I wondered what things would have been like if you'd spoken up earlier. Or if you'd married me anyway, despite your reservations.' She bit her lip, closed her eyes, shook her head. 'I can't see it. Any way you cut it. Wouldn't have worked.'
'I was nineteen,' said Frey quietly. 'So were you.'
'Yes. I was, once.'
The landing pad came into view. The lamp-posts were on. A dozen craft, none bigger than the Ketty Jay, rested there. As they approached, they could hear the sound of short, sharp impacts. Jez was there, buried inside a fur-lined coat, chipping ice from the landing struts.
Trinica stopped. Frey stopped with her. 'What?' he asked.
'You should go and talk to her,' Trinica said.
'About what?'
'About whatever's going on between you. I'll walk a little more.'
Frey felt suddenly unwell. 'I don't know what to say,' he protested feebly.
Trinica was firm. 'Anything's better than nothing.'
Frey watched Jez working away in the yellow lamplight. Trinica was right, of course. She was always smarter than he was. She never let him get away with anything. She decimated his excuses. Saw right through him when he tried to weasel out of things. He remembered that about her. She pushed him, always. She wouldn't let him be weak.
You're like the head of a family, she'd said. And that was true. He'd told himself that they were all adults, that they could handle their own problems, but in his heart he'd known that he just didn't want to deal with them himself.
But a captain should lead by example. He couldn't ignore it any longer. He needed to clear the air.
You always let things fester. Well, not this time.
He took a steady breath and began to walk towards Jez. Trinica stayed where she was. After a few steps, he stopped and looked back at her.
'For what it's worth, I'm sorry,' he said. 'Sorry as all damnation for the way it turned out.'
Trinica gave him a forlorn smile. 'Me, too,' she said.
Jez heard the Cap'n coming, but she didn't turn to look. Only when it became clear that he wanted to talk to her did she stop hacking at the ice. But she still didn't meet his eyes. She was angry. She'd been angry for days now.
How easily they turned on her. How many times had she saved their lives? Who among them could claim to be half as useful as she was? She didn't gripe like Pinn or slob around like Malvery. She didn't fall apart like Harkins or desert them like Crake. She deserved her place more than anyone on board.
But none of that counted, because she was a Mane.
At first, she'd been ashamed. Ashamed of her condition, ashamed that they'd seen the bestial side of her that she'd hoped to hide for ever. Ashamed that she'd kept the secret from them. She'd skulked about the Ketty Jay, keeping herself to herself. Her only confidant was Silo. When she wasn't in her quarters or about her duties, she was in the engine room. They didn't speak often, but she was content just to be there, to help out where she could. Silo understood.
But shame only lasted so long, and then it began to sour. With even uneasy greeting in the corridor, every hour passed in silence in the cockpit with the captain, her bitterness grew. She was sick of being sorry. She found it pathetic that the crew were all pretending that nothing had happened, and yet they couldn't look her in the eye.
Nobody made any move, whether to make peace or to kick her off the Ketty Jay. She waited even day for the axe to fall, but eventually it became apparent that no one was holding it.
Now, as the Cap'n stood next to her, she wondered if the time had finally come.
'Jez?' he said. 'Can we talk?'
She shrugged with an insulting lack of respect. 'Whatever you want.'
'And you can cut out the attitude, Jez, or we're never going to get anywhere.'
He wasn't usually so assertive. It surprised her, but not enough to make her drop the hostility in her tone. 'Where exactly are you trying to get to, Cap'n?' she asked.
He glared at her for a moment, then snorted. 'Forget it,' he said. 'This isn't worth it. Bad idea.'
He turned and began to stalk away from her. But that brief exchange had fired her up. All the pressure in her had just been given a vent. The Cap'n wanted to talk? Well, she'd talk.
'Cap'n!' she snapped.
He stopped and turned around. 'You got something to say?'
'Yeah, Cap'n, I do,' she said. 'I want to tell you I'm rot-damned tired of the way I'm being treated on board this aircraft. I'm tired of being a ghost to all you men just because you're too chickenshit to deal with your feelings. There's a sight too many secrets on the Ketty Jay. A little more conversation and a little less ducking the bloody issue would do us all a lot of good.'
She threw the hammer and chisel on the ground and spat after it. Felt good. Felt good to go past the point of caring what the consequences were. She strode up to the Cap'n. She was shorter than him, but so what? It was time he heard how it was.
