“No,” concluded, “We’ll report encountering a derelict when we get to Angeles. They can investigate if they care to. But we’re going to put parsecs between us as quickly as possible!”
Dee opened her mouth to reply, and then the red faded from her face as she forced herself to calmness. “It’s wrong and I still don’t like it,” she replied, “but it’s your ship. How’s your conscience holding up, Captain?” She stormed across the lounge and slammed the door to her stateroom. Since ship bulkheads and doors are made of lightweight alloy, the slam was not particularly impressive.
Cale winced as her parting shot hit home. He stared at the viewscreen, seeing other scenes than the star field. “Not too well, Dee,” he murmured. “Not too well at all.”
Dee remained in her stateroom until they emerged in the Angeles system, refusing to come out for meals or anything else. Tess reported that she responded to conversational attempts with silence or monosyllables for most of the weeklong period. But as their emergence neared, Tess reported that Dee was questioning her about Cale, his background, and how he had ‘dealt with pirates before’. She warned Cale that her questions would be harder to deflect this time.
Cale spent the entire week in misery. He had spent a fortune and countless hours of planning and acting to escape his past. To Emo Arror, there was no problem; just tell Dee whatever she wanted to hear, any story that seemed suitable. But Emo Arror was dead. Cale had killed him off ruthlessly and with malice aforethought. No, it was Cale Rankin and through him, John Smith experiencing the agony; John because of his highly developed moral and ethical sense and his conscience, and Cale for those same reasons but with the added factor that he was afraid he was falling for Dee.
Nothing he could say would make her understand about the Terror. In fact, he didn’t understand it himself. The years since Mina’s death seemed shrouded in a dark haze; as though he had been a dispassionate observer, watching through a dark curtain as Emo Arror was born in fury and became a monster and John Smith faded until he disappeared.
How could he explain to Dee what he didn’t understand himself? How could she understand the overwhelming hatred that had driven his hunger for revenge?
Okay, try a different angle. How would attorney John Smith conduct a defense for defendants John Smith, Emo Arror and even the comparatively innocent Cale Rankin?
Well, attorney John Smith would talk about defendant John Smith’s spotless reputation, his moral and virtuous behavior. Then he might talk about Smith’s discovery of corruption high in the government of Peltir IV, and the injustice of his arrest, his secret trial, and the sentence to slavery in the mines and certain death.
‘Ah’, the prosecution would say. ‘But the defendant had escaped from the mines. They were no longer a threat. No, this virtuous man voluntarily gave up his virtue. Nothing gave him the right to pursue a career of theft, kidnapping, and murder. He created Emo Arror from his own hate and vengeance.’
‘But wait!’ Smith would say. ‘Do not forget the loss of his beloved while pursuing an honest career. The defendant made two sincere attempts to pursue honest gain. The second attempt cost him his beautiful Mina! There must be understanding…’
Cale pulled himself out of his reverie. No, there would not be understanding. Other men had broken the chains of slavery without resorting to piracy. The ever-faithful Yan Carbow
back on Jackson, who offered John Smith half of what his own labors had earned, was exhibit A.
Moreover, other men had lost loves without becoming murderers. True, John Smith and Emo Arror had personally killed only three men, all in fair combat. But every life ended or ruined by The Terror’s pirate thugs could be laid at the feet of John Smith. The blood on his hands was no less real than that on the hands of a Bob Smiley.
Again, Cale forced his thoughts away from his musings. He dropped his head into his hands, and discovered tears coursing down both cheeks. Tears of guilt? Tears of shame? Or perhaps tears of despair, the hopelessness of making Dee understand, the realization that he might never escape Emo Arror? Before he could decide, he drifted into fitful sleep.
On the morning of the last day before their emergence, Cale summoned all his courage and asked Tess to invite Dee into the lounge for a conference.
She came, wearing a plain shipsuit. This one had not been tailored, and was several sizes too large. She wore no makeup, and her hair was in a tight bun.
“You wish to see me, Captain?” she asked coldly. Her face could have been carved from granite.
“Yes, Mistress Raum,” he replied in an equally cold and formal tone. “We need to have a serious discussion before we emerge in Angeles’s system. Please sit down.”
“If you’re planning to try to talk me out of screaming my head off about that ship,” she replied, still standing, “You can forget it. If you don’t report that fight to the authorities as soon as possible, I certainly will.” She stared at him grimly.
He grimaced. “You’re being ridiculous. We know nothing about Angeles but what is in the stellar index. Namely, that it is class C, with active star travel and trade, ship maintenance and repair facilities available, and that it is one of those hereditary monarchies you fear so much.
“What we don’t know is whether it is a tightly controlled police state that will lock us up just for having an armed ship or maybe a wide-open, lawless place with gang bosses and a powerless figurehead for a king. All I’m asking is that we feel things out a bit before we start bragging about what great and powerful warriors we are.”
“I’m not talking about boasting,” Dee replied heatedly. “I’m talking about possibly saving lives. Now, that may not mean much to you,” she continued acidly, “But it certainly means something to civilized people!”
His temper started to flare. “Enough that you’re willing to risk spending months or years in a cell being ‘interrogated’?” He asked. “All I’m trying to do is keep us alive and free, and perhaps even keep Cheetah in our possession. We’d be fools to jump into an unknown situation and start yelling about pirates!”
She put her hands on her hips and smiled grimly. “So first I’m a braggart and now I’m a fool,” she said, acid dripping from every syllable. “I don’t know what you’re concealing or what you’re running from, but I don’t care. It is obvious you aren’t the honest trader I thought you were. I think you’re a pirate yourself, and I think you tricked me into helping you get rid of some competition.” Her glare was deadly. “And I hate you for making me a murderer. No, Captain, I will not lie for you and I will not keep silent. Are you going to kill me, too?”
Cale’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “No, Mistress,” he replied dully. “You’re in no danger from me. I hope Angeles is as civilized as you seem to think.” He straightened and returned her glare. “And I sincerely hope that you never find out just how un civilized the universe can be!”
This time he was the one to stamp out. Just before he tried to slam his door, he caught a look of surprise and doubt on her face.
Their emergence into the Angeles system was unremarkable. A large space station picketed the jump point. Cale would have liked to point out the impressive arsenal of weapons it displayed, but Dee was still refusing to leave her stateroom. Tess assured him that she was not ill, but was simply refusing to associate with him. Tess reported that Dee was monitoring comms.
“Welcome to the Angeles system. Please cancel all motion relative to this station, and stand by for Customs,” an obviously recorded voice began. It had barely finished before his screen cleared to reveal a man in a plain shipsuit.
“Angeles Customs,” he began. “Please state your mission. If this is simply a recal stop, and you do not plan to approach the fourth planet, you may proceed without customs clearance.” The man’s attitude was attentive and businesslike.