Fortuna, p.14
Fortuna, page 14
part #1 of Nova Vita Protocol Series
“Of course,” I say, once I muster up words. I glance at the crates tied down on the other side of the bay. Maybe Leonis gave her an offer she couldn’t refuse, something big enough to delay picking up Corvus. Surely the Gaian president wouldn’t have any business in a war zone. “Are we still headed for…?”
“Straight to Titan,” Momma confirms. “The Gaians repaired our engine. We’re all set.”
My shoulders slump. So much for another chance to prove myself before Corvus’s return… and so much for this job being anything close to legitimate business. I’m burning with questions, but I’m already pressing my luck with Momma by delaying the launch this much. So after a moment I take a deep breath, nod, and jog upstairs through the messy middle deck.
The cockpit still smells like spilled whiskey, and glass crunches beneath my boots as I make my way to my chair, but it’s comforting to sink into my usual seat. Here, at least, I feel equipped to handle whatever problems come my way. My hands go through the motions, prepping for launch, while my mind settles into a blank state. It feels good not to think, at least for a little while, and better to see my screens come to life and the lights turn red. I strap myself in, wrap my hands around the wheel, and start her up.
As Fortuna launches and we leave Gaia far behind, I allow myself to pretend for a few golden minutes that we’re not headed toward worse trouble on Titan.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Our People
Corvus
The storm screams around us as we make the long trek back to the outpost.
The cold is constant and ruthless on this planet, but the current storm is harsh even by Titan standards. The wind rips at my heavy clothing as I lean into it, one hand raised to cover my eyes. I can barely see the others through the snow whipped into a haze of white in all directions. We travel for hours, guided by Magda’s compass, and make little progress. But we have to keep going. Seeking shelter so close to enemy territory is suicide. If the storm trapped us, we would have nothing to do but wait to be found and slaughtered.
Finally, we’re safely on our own ground. But everyone is growing weak and tired, lagging farther and farther behind. My ribs are in agony, this alien power source feels heavier with each step, and the weather shows no sign of letting up. We’ll never make it to the outpost in these conditions. So I signal Magda closer and shout at her to take us to the closest shelter possible. I hate doing this, especially with something so valuable on our hands, but we have no choice.
After another hour’s travel, when my legs feel ready to give out beneath me, Magda leads us to a small border town called Kisk. Built into a series of caves on the side of a cliff, the town is barely visible through the storm. I head for the first door I see and rap my knuckles against the stone in three heavy knocks.
After a silence long enough that I start to wonder if I’ll have to break it down, the door swings open a couple of inches. A sliver of a man’s face and the barrel of a blaster poke through. Behind me, I hear several clicks as my team draws their own weapons, but I hold up a hand to halt them. I carefully lower the hand to my heart, tap it with two fingers, and then pull up my sleeve to show the man the brand on my wrist. The cold air bites at my flesh, and I cover it again once I’m certain he’s seen.
“I’m Sergeant Corvus Kaiser, under General Kel Altair,” I say, shouting to be heard above the howling wind, though it sends fresh stabs of pain through my chest. “We need shelter through the storm.”
The wind is louder than ever as I wait for his reply. The man squints at me, his expression hard to read. These are our people, and our people have a legal obligation to provide shelter and supplies when necessary—but that doesn’t mean everyone is eager to do so. We may have to force our way in. But finally, the man nods and swings the door open. I’m grateful to step into the warmth.
Warmth is relative on Titan, of course, and the house is still cold enough for my breath to be visible, but at least we’re out of the biting winds. I stomp my boots on the welcome mat to shake off the snow before continuing in, with a glance over my shoulder to ensure my team is performing the same courtesy. Magda, one booted foot already extended over the mat, rolls her eyes at my look and steps back to scrape off the ice.
“Thank you for the hospitality.” I let my goggles fall around my neck and slip off my mask. The house is small, made almost comically so once my team steps inside and shuts the door behind them. Beyond the living room, I catch a glimpse of a tiny kitchen and another doorway that might lead to a bedroom. It’s a modest living space, clearly not meant to accommodate such numbers. But if this man doesn’t want to allow us past the threshold of the living room, I won’t push him.
“Of course.” The home’s owner stands on the edge of the room, his blaster now in the back of his pants, his head lowered and two fingers respectfully pressed to his heart until each of us returns the gesture. “Happy to provide. My name is Kaalid Hort.”
The others strip off their outer layers and make themselves as comfortable as possible on the man’s sparse furniture. Sverre sprawls out across the ratty couch with a groan. Magda and Daniil fight over the remaining armchair until he stubbornly plops down and she just as stubbornly decides to sit on his lap. I roll my eyes at them and turn to our host. Hort is broad-shouldered and stocky, his tan skin worn and leathery but marked with few scars. I search for a war-brand on his wrist, but find it smooth and blank.
“Did you serve?” I ask, made wary by the lack of a brand.
“No,” the man says, and gestures down at himself. “Bad leg. My wife did, though. Lost her life in the Battle of Vuuten. Now it’s just me.”
It’s odd for a Titan to live alone; usually, a lone man would integrate into another family in the village. But perhaps Kisk is too small for that to be possible.
“She made her planet proud.” It’s what you’re supposed to say, but the words never fail to sound hollow and cold to my ears. I’ve never heard of that battle, or of Vuuten, which must have fallen before I came here. Just one more in the endless stream of small victories and great tragedies that make up the war.
The man inclines his head in a nod.
“Do you need anything?” he asks. There’s a hesitation to the words. Most people on Titan don’t have much, especially in places like this, and providing for five soldiers is a tall order. Four, I remind myself, and shake off the image of Ivennie’s face. It’s still a lot to ask. This man will likely spend days with a half-full belly to make up for it. But my people are hungry.
“Yes,” I say. “Food and drink. Something warm.” I try to ignore the anxiety that crosses Hort’s face before he bows his head.
“Of course,” he says, and backs toward the kitchen. He pauses on the threshold, his gaze flickering to the closed bedroom door. A soft sound—a muffled word or a cough—comes from within. My hand moves to my blaster.
“You said it was just you,” I say sharply. My team’s conversation quiets as they note the tension. Daniil and Magda rise to their feet. The man holds up both hands, palms out.
“Wait,” he says quickly. “I…” He stammers for a moment. “Let me show you.”
I gesture toward the door with my gun, and the man sidles toward it, with nervous glances toward my waiting soldiers. He opens the door slightly and hesitates, giving me an imploring look.
“Please,” he says. “Only you.”
I frown. As much as I want to believe we can trust our own people, this could be a trap. My mind flashes to Uwe’s death, the dirty-faced child in the sewer. After a moment, I gesture over my shoulder.
“Daniil, with me,” I say. “Everyone else stays here.”
Daniil is at my side in an instant, his weapon drawn. Out of the lot of them, I know he’ll be the least eager to fire his blaster, but that doesn’t mean he won’t do it if necessary. And, if it comes down to it, he’s also talented at forcibly extracting information. The man hesitates for another moment, but eventually nods and leads us into the room, shutting the door behind us.
The bedroom is dark enough that it takes my eyes a moment to adjust. It’s a tiny room, with one bed and a small dresser. The man steps around the bed while Daniil and I exchange a glance. What could he have to hide in this room?
“It’s okay,” Hort says in a soft voice, gesturing. “Come and meet our guests.”
On the other side of the bed, two small, pale figures rise. One is a boy—nearly a young man—with narrow shoulders and a mop of scraggly hair. The second is a girl, younger than him by at least a few years, with fair curls and a round face. Both look at us with wide eyes, the resemblance to their father clear.
“I’m sorry,” Hort says, standing beside them with a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “When we heard a knock at the door so late, I didn’t know what to expect. And then…” He hesitates. “As I said, I’m happy to provide. But I know soldiers can be… rowdy.”
I sigh, holstering my blaster, and gesture for Daniil to do the same.
“You could have gotten them shot,” I snap at the man, who bows his head. “Never do something so stupid again.”
Despite my harsh words, I can’t blame him for hiding his children. I know exactly the sort of rowdiness the man speaks of. In fact, I’ve probably heard more accurate—and much worse—tales of soldiers’ deeds than he ever has. Some people have no better ways to let off steam. And as much as I want to tell him that my team isn’t like that, the words stick in my throat. I glance at Daniil, who shrugs at me, and Hort, who is staring down at the floor with his hand still protectively gripping his young daughter. My mind flashes again to that child in the sewers.
“Daniil, check them for weapons,” I order. Hort’s mouth opens, but shuts again, and he steps away as Daniil moves to pat them down. Once he’s done, he nods at me.
“All right. They can stay here as long as they remain quiet. Now get us something to eat.”
I leave the room before the man can say anything, with Daniil close on my heels.
“Nothing to worry about,” I say, stepping into the room.
I’m surprised to find Magda and Sverre re-entering from the kitchen rather than waiting for us. Sverre has a bottle of frostroot vodka clutched in one hand and a grin on his face, and Magda is ripping pieces off an algae sheet with her teeth.
“We got impatient,” she says without a hint of remorse, flopping across the couch before Sverre can reclaim his spot.
“Couldn’t find any water, so I took this,” Sverre says, uncapping the bottle and taking a generous swig.
A hint of shame in their behavior wriggles its way into my heart, but I ignore it and the look on Hort’s face as he shuts the bedroom door behind him and sees them. At least I know I made the right choice in letting the children stay hidden.
“Water and something more substantial than algae,” I order, and the man bows his head and moves to the kitchen.
First comes the water, and I have to order my team to briefly set aside the rapidly depleting bottle of vodka they’re passing around. Soon Hort returns with a fresh pot of soup. The broth is thin, but it contains a surprisingly hearty amount of kale and carrots and pale pink frostroot.
“Village grown,” he boasts, puffing out his chest. “We have a greenhouse with imported Devan soil.”
He stays long enough to be polite before disappearing into the bedroom with his children, taking a small portion of the meal with him.
I help myself to a serving of the soup but wave away the vodka each time my team tries to pass it to me.
“Don’t you ever relax?” Daniil asks me, after a few drinks have made him bold. He perches on the armrest of my chair, looping one arm around my shoulders and pressing his cheek to the top of my head.
“Job’s not done yet,” I say, not returning his touch but not pulling away. His nearness doesn’t make me uncomfortable, precisely—but neither do I want to encourage it, especially with him. Daniil has never been shy about his feelings.
“Not much work to be done during a storm,” he says, leaning against me.
Magda, now sitting on the couch with her legs draped over Sverre’s lap, clicks her tongue at us. She eyes Daniil’s arm around my shoulders, and I resist the urge to pull away from him. This is fine, I remind myself. This is normal for them. And even if it wasn’t, there’s no reason I should care what she thinks.
“Our dear sergeant’s job is never done,” she says, her eyes locked with my own though she’s speaking to Daniil. “Because he always has to keep an eye on us.” Her gaze flicks toward the bedroom doorway before returning to me. “Isn’t that so?”
I tense, waiting for her to pry more or for one of the others to comment. But Sverre is busy eating and drinking as much as he can get his hands on, and Daniil ignores her. I choose to do the same, and busy myself moving our packs to the kitchen to open up more space in the crowded room.
By the time I’m done with the task, everyone is fast approaching drunk and the tension has thawed. I don’t usually allow my team to drink much—it’s a dangerous habit on a world like this—but tonight they deserve to relax. I indulge in a glass of it at their insistence, and tolerate the subsequent cheer with a roll of my eyes.
Situations like these always make me think of my sister. In years past, I never understood Scorpia’s drinking, how she could spend all night puking and reach for the bottle first thing in the morning, insisting it was “the best hangover cure.” Aside from those times, I always thought of my sister as happy. She was constantly laughing, cracking her stupid jokes at the most inappropriate moments. She could lighten the mood of any situation, a talent I sorely missed when I first came to Titan. Losing her felt like losing a part of myself—the good part, the part who knew how to laugh and how to show mercy. I thought her drinking was an affliction, a learned habit not dissimilar from her stealing and lying. Now I wonder if it was a crutch to dull the edges of a constant hurt, like it is for so many people on Titan.
That’s why I refuse to drink much myself. I want to let this ache linger as long as it can. I owe that much to Ivennie, and the other hundreds of faces that haunt me. The guilt, the regret, the uncertainty tearing at me—I deserve it all. I failed Ivennie, and unless I decide to take Altair’s offer, I’ll be turning my back on the rest of my team soon. What will happen to them if I leave? How can I turn away after everything we’ve been through together? They need me. Likely much more than my family does. Watching them now and thinking about it, my heart tells me to stay. To protect them until I can’t anymore.
After a couple of hours of drinking, the day catches up with everyone. Sverre and Daniil curl up on the couch together and exchange a few tired kisses before falling asleep. Magda, sitting on the floor with her back propped against the same piece of furniture, dozes off with her head leaning against Daniil. Exhaustion hits me as well, amplified by the aftereffects of the Sanita, and I nod off despite my intention to keep watch.
I’m not sure how much time passes before I wake. I jolt upright and wince as the movement jostles my ribs. The others are sleeping soundly, and the house is quiet, though the storm still rages outside. It’s tempting to let myself fall back asleep in the company of my team, but instead I stand, cracking my neck and back as I rise to my feet. Someone needs to watch over the power source. I shouldn’t have left it alone at all, but my exhaustion sabotaged me.
I walk into the kitchen, and freeze as I spot Hort in the corner. My mind races. I had assumed he retreated to the bedroom with his children, but he must have slipped out while I slept. Even with his back to me, it’s obvious that he’s shuffling through our packs on the floor.
The sound of me drawing my weapon stops him. He turns, face draining of what little color it has as he finds himself staring down the barrel of my blaster.
“I—I didn’t mean anything by it,” he stutters. “I—my family, we hardly have enough as it is, and with this—I was just looking for some food—”
He blathers on, but I stop listening as my eyes shift past him to my pack and the soft glow emanating from within. My stomach drops. How could I be so stupid as to leave it unguarded? If only I was less tired, if only I had woken when he left the bedroom… But after a moment, my heart grows hard and cold. “Classified,” Altair told me at the end of our conversation. “Let no one see it.”
“Did you look?” I ask, cutting off the string of useless words coming out of the man’s mouth. His mouth hangs open, and I steel myself further.
“No,” he says, and I step closer, aiming my gun directly at his forehead. “I mean—I did, but I have no idea what it is!” His expression turns wild as he sees the look in my eyes. His own eyes dart around, searching for an escape or a weapon. But instead of going for either, he breathes, “Please.”
I grab him by the arm and drag him toward the door. My team stirs at the sound of the struggle, and Magda raises her head. One hand reaches for her weapon, but I stop her with a quiet order. She watches me go.
“I won’t say a word,” Hort says, gripping my arm while I haul him outside.
Once I shut the door behind us, it’s just me and him and the howling wind. The storm is starting to break, and the ground is covered in a fresh blanket of snow as far as the eye can see. Each step crunches through a few inches of it as I move forward and release the man. He stumbles and falls, his bad leg giving out beneath him.
“I’m sure you think you won’t,” I say, my voice flat. “But if the enemy comes here? If they threaten to kill your family and destroy your village? If they torture you? Then will you be able to hold your tongue?”
He looks up at me, his mouth working silently for a few moments before he manages a word.
“Please.”
I grimace in disgust. Not an argument, not a denial—merely a please, again. I wish this man would at least put up a fight, at least give me some reason to consider doing something other than what I have to do. I crouch beside him so we come face-to-face. He’s trembling in the cold, his breath coming in short puffs, but I’m barely aware of it myself.
