thought occurred to him and his face lightened with relief. “The embassy! Someone had informed the-” He stopped abruptly, blinking as an overlay appeared in his field of vision.
«Security Warning! Kosho, Susan, Chu-sa in command of IMN BC-268, does not hold ring-zero clearance!»
Susan looked at him expectantly. Xochitl felt suddenly, terribly alone.
I can’t tell her. She’s not cleared to know such things. How “There is another explanation,” he said coldly, rising and going to the door. “Which is a privy matter. Expedite your repairs, Chu-sa. We will need to be underway as soon as possible. As soon as it is safe to move, begin looking for a way out of this… place. And send all current telemetry to the secondary bridge for my review.”
Susan watched him leave with a frown. Now what did he almost say? What “embassy” was involved with this?
Down in Medical, Hummingbird’s impassive face showed the faint ghost of a smile. In his other Eye, the z- suited alien had removed his helmet and was stuffing a long-snouted face with fried dumplings, a veritable buffet table of freshly delivered food laid out before him. Beside the table, a trolley cart had been provided, filled with gleaming glass bottles of liquor.
Now our feet are on the proper road.
THE WILFUL
Hadeishi stepped onto the bridge-such as it was-of the little freighter, with a light heart. The search pattern laid down by De Molay had let them recover no less than five evacuation capsules from a variety of Imperial ships. In each case the capsule had been maneuvered into one of the cargo bays with the Wilful ’s z-g loading cranes and clamped down. Gunner’s mate Tadohao and Nitto-hei Cajeme had grown quite proficient in the art of undogging the capsule hatches and sorting out the dazed, wounded, and confused men inside. Nearly every Sho-i and Thai-i they’d rescued had protested the command structure, complained vehemently, threatened mutiny, and finally settled down after a thorough reading of Mitsuharu’s papers.
Hadeishi found it quite interesting-more so with each conversation-that none of the Fleet officers seemed to find it strange or unusual to be rescued by a tramp freighter commanded by a reserve Chu-sa in the uttermost wilderness. But then, he remembered, this was a Smoking Mirror operation, which means every man and woman of them came expecting the strange, the untoward and the downright peculiar to happen.
Mitsuharu stepped to the captain’s chair, seeing that De Molay was dozing at her station, still wrapped in a variety of blankets and now wearing a hand-knit shepherd’s cap. He was about to sit when he noticed the shockchair had been reduced to nothing but the bare frame, without even the cracked leather seat he’d grown used to.
“What have you done to my chair?” He gave the old woman a questioning look.
“Hm? Oh, the cushions?” De Molay yawned elaborately, stretching both skinny old arms. “All of your lost children needed something for their heads; these floors are quite cold if you’ve not even a blanket.”
“Yes… that is true.” He fingered the hexacarbon framing and eyed the recessed bolts in the seat.
The old woman scratched at the half-healed wound on her cheek. “So-how is our new crew adjusting to their reduced circumstances?”
“Some of the wounded won’t last, but their spirits are good.” Hadeishi sat, his good mood evaporating. “We’ll lose nearly ten, I think, if we can’t find better medical facilities for them.”
De Molay nodded, watching him closely. “My apologies, but I cannot offer anything better…”
“That you-that we-are here has already given them a priceless gift.” Hadeishi’s eyes narrowed, thinking of the hidden compartments he knew existed downdeck. “Now, Sencho, is that really true? This is a ship of many surprises! I’ve not gone through every centimeter of the holds-have you a whole medbay down there? Along with this”-he indicated the hull with a wave of his hand-“very interesting shipskin and heat exchanger?”
In response, she frowned, jutting her chin forward. “So far the rescue campaign is going well, you would say?”
Hadeishi started to nod, his expression brightening. “Very well! We need to kit up some more bunks, as you’ve said, and take a close inventory of our supplies, but-”
“ Chu-sa,” De Molay said sharply. “How many men and women have we taken aboard?”
“Sixty,” he said after a moment of mentally reviewing the rosters from each capsule.
“We are at one hundred twenty-five percent of environmental capacity, Chu-sa. The scrubbers are showing amber across the board, the sewage recycler is backed up, and we’re out of hot water. In fact, we’re going to be out of water period very soon because there is waste and leakage in these Knorr -class freighters and we’re pushing the system too hard! But that,” she concluded, her voice rising angrily, “won’t be an issue much longer because we are almost out of food.”
Hadeishi sat back, scratching at his beard, which had begun to twist into an ungainly white-streaked tangle. Reluctantly, he walked mentally through the ship, comparing the numbers of compartments to the number of men aboard. These capsules are coming in with some emergency rations aboard, but this freighter didn’t come prepared for a search and rescue mission. We’re just over carrying capacity.
“You’re right,” he said at last, brow furrowed in thought. “We still have capsules on the plot, but nowhere to bunk the survivors for more than a few hours. Where to put them…”
“Success will defeat you if we do not find a way.” De Molay settled back into her blankets. “Or you will have to be satisfied with the souls you’ve already saved, and let the rest go.”
“No.” He shook his head vehemently. “I won’t abandon them.”
“Then what will you do?” The old woman’s exasperation was clear. “There is no room at the inn.”
Hadeishi nodded slowly, his face clearing. “Your point is taken. Plainly, we need another ship.”
“Another ship?” Tocoztic-who had come in while they were talking and sat down quietly at his station- exclaimed. “But-”
“Then get one.” De Molay replied tartly, glaring at Mitsuharu. “I am content to watch from here while you do the heavy lifting, but I would appreciate just one tiny favor, Chu-sa. I would like my ship back in operable condition!”
“Of course.”
Musashi swung the axe in a light, looping arc-striking the end of the log square center-gravity and the full power of his shoulders splitting the wood from end to end with a sharp crack! He reached down, tossed the two sections aside into a large and growing pile, and then reached for another log.
“Pardon me, sir,” came a polite but authoritative voice. Musashi looked over his shoulder, tattered kimono stretching over his muscular arm. An elderly, balding man was standing at the edge of the inn’s wood lot-no, not just a man, someone who had once been a samurai officer. That much was instantly apparent to Musashi from his horseman’s stance, his calm and level gaze. Such men were rare in Japan under Mongol rule-well, rare that they walked the streets and were not in chains, or laboring in some work gang in shackles.
“I understand that you are ronin-and needful of employment?” The stranger tilted his head slightly, indicating the woodpile.
“I need to eat, like all men,” Musashi replied, straightening up. “What’s the job?”
“Tax collectors are going to level their village.” The samurai gestured politely to two farmers cringing behind him, their faces drawn with hunger, their bodies thin with starvation. “As the harvest has been short this year.”
“You’re going to stand in the Noyan’s way? You are a man of great bravery.”
“Not the Noyan.” The elderly samurai essayed a grin. “A local gang-no more than bandits, forty or fifty of them-the governor has parted out the collections, being too indolent to do this himself.”
Musashi felt a spark of interest flare in his breast, so he settled his shoulders, picked up the bokuto and bowed politely. “Now this I need to see,” he said. “How many of us are there?”
“Five others,” Kambei said. “Did I mention all the farmers can pay is our meals?”
