It venters, it enters, it circles, it centers,
-The Power (or Dominion) of the Sword, ballad from the English Civil War
I shudder underneath the white overcoat Sarah had brought me when I got out of my
Banshee after the cooler outside air had ceased to be refreshing and started to be uncomfortable
. But I know that even if I had it closed instead of just hanging off my shoulders I’d still feel cold. I force myself to loosen the grip on the manifest in my hands while still not letting go of it. If I let go of it, I know I’m going to do something terrible to as many of the militiamen that are unloading the ‘cargo’ from the new trio of tank, APC, and truck that had been brought up the dropship’s ramp and into the bay. I need something to restrain myself.
It was all very business-like and straightforward, really. Baron Tsanma owed a substantial C-bill tribute to Tortuga in exchange for five years of no raids on Gronholt. Gronholt and Tsanma, being Outback shitholes in the crappy corners of the Federated Suns and Periphery-noblemen of little import because they ruled over such a shithole, respectively, were not rich enough to pay in
actual C-bills. But they could pass off some equipment as ‘destroyed repelling a pirate raid’ and, as the man himself
admitted, almost been
proud of, he also had large collection of people filling cells that could make up the difference.
I hold down a half-mad laugh. I deserved this, didn’t I? It was what I got for
letting some jumped-up pirate tell me
what to do…And what I got for running for safety after that rather than trying to
do anything for the planets-worth of people he had under his thumb. I keep make-believing I’m some bad bitch when I’m a coward!
I’m not sure how long I stand there, ashamed in the knowledge that despite all my mental protesting and complaint, I’m going to keep being that coward. Because I don’t want to die.
“The new equipment is all loaded and secured, m’lady. Arthur said getting the
people properly situated won’t take much longer and then we’d be underway, but they might need to rig in extra scrubbers for the slaves during the trip back to the jumpship.”
Other than a desire to wince, Sarah’s report only barely registers as I continue to eye the militiamen below as they casually retreat back down the ramp. They show the same utter lack of any concern that their boss had, loading themselves back into their own trucks, obviously exchanging comments back and forth with one another, one pair even high-fiving before getting into their vehicles. They delivered not just equipment but
people they are supposed to
protect into the arms of a pirate. Baron Tsanma could have given me enough equipment to pay his debt easily, but instead he’d shoved people he is supposed to
protect into the arms of a pirate to
round out the balance on his account.
I feel something
dark shiver inside me, just above my stomach.
I’m the pirate he was bribing. And I’d
let all of it happen. Played into it because I might benefit from it. I’m not even certain if a good bit of my rage isn’t at the fact
I didn’t get cash-money out of the deal! Who am I supposed to be pissed at without being a hypocrite, here?
I drum my carbon-fiber reinforced, poison-coated nails against the board in my hands and try not to imagine using them on the men who’d delivered
people to me as if they were
things. Try not to imagine what the toxin distilled from Tortuga scorpions would do once it got into their bloodstream. I fail. Those militiamen had a
responsibility towards those people they had given up. And they’d given them up anyways. For what? Money, safety and power?
It made every action I’d taken since showing up on Tortuga of weaseling out of any responsibility in the name of money, safety or power considerably more…embarrassing. I can feel the board in my hands beginning to splinter, and force my hands to loosen and try to shift my thoughts onto other topics—
again. I seem to spend a lot of time doing that these days.
Besides the bigass truck, the APC that might be of some use and the tank…Well, it would be good against
civilians. Besides them I’ve brought on eighteen more women ‘valued’ at two-thousand C-Bills a piece. Then there are ten ‘technically-skilled’ men—one-thousand each. Finally, four children from pairings of the men and women that were there for leverage more than anything—seven-fifty a pop—and not a single C-bill. Even sidelining the ethical issues, I am getting screwed-over!
I suppose I never
should have expected money. Bar-Dyness had never said it would be a
cash bribe. He’d just let me make the assumption. Probably on purpose. Feeding and caring for the extra slaves destined for
him would all be my responsibility, and, if I had planned on going back to Tortuga, any that died would be on
me to pay for. Add that to the fact the three vehicles take up room in the holds I might otherwise be able to use for valuable shit that actually belonged to me, I can
almost appreciate the simplicity of this scheme to indebt new members of the Council of the Damned firmly to Bar-Dyness. Almost.
All I can actually do is imagine strangling the man who had somehow been a looming presence over me since I’d arrived. Strangling the man who’d driven me into running away and taking slaves despite the giant war-machines and spaceships I
literally own. Despite every chance I’ve had to
do something about any of it. About the
slaves.
I’m selling my soul…and I’m not even getting a good deal for the damned thing! I’m banking on the kindness and responsibility of
others to help people after I leave, when I am in every position to help
right now…And instead I’m just hurting people more so that I don’t have to be the one to risk anything against shitty people like Bar-Dyness or Baron Tsanma. Cowardly
and selfish.
I’m knocking it out of the park on being a pirate, aren’t I? And I’m not going to do a single thing different because I’m
scared and
running away for the sake of my own future.
Something in the bay in lets out a loud, industrial
pop. I glance around, searching for the source of the noise, but don’t immediately see any techs working on anything. Only Sarah’s careful pointing to it makes me notice the broken clipboard I’m holding, the nails of my fingers stabbed through the cheap plastiboard sheet. The statuesque slave that I’m
still jealous of pulls the two sides of the board free, careful to keep her hands a safe distance from my nails as she does so she doesn’t scrape against them.
“Thanks.” I mutter, tossing the little bits of pulp that had exploded into my palms out onto the deck.
Sarah makes an odd humming noise and tilts her head at me. “Of course, m’lady. I’d not want you to overexert yourself.”
The
dark shivering in my abdomen is joined by a stiletto knife the words drive into me. She’d said it so innocently, but…What did she mean by that?
Or am I just imagining things?
I nod arrogantly down towards the bottom deck of the bay we’re in. “I want
you to keep an eye on our new guests. Try to set them up properly with anything reasonable from our stores, and remind any of my
illustrious crew that might get ideas in their heads about them that they aren’t our loot and are
not to be touched. Understood?”
The blonde nods.
“I am going to get a shower.” I continue, spinning my way out of the overcoat I know she’ll pick up for me and turning towards the nearby ladder off the ‘Mech-maintenance scaffolding. “If anyone tries something stupid with them, just be nice and tell them Lady Death will have a word with them unless they stop causing you a problem. If that doesn’t stop them, come get me and I’ll trouble
shoot the problem.”
I laugh at the implication as I drop down the ladder. I can’t hear it over the other sounds in the ‘Mech-bay, but where she’s kneeled picking up my overcoat, I can see Sarah’s lips twitching as well. That’s progress, right?
If someone laughs at something you say, it means you aren’t a bad person!
I take a very long shower when I get back to my quarters and try to laze around in a towel. It doesn’t really help, so I put some proper clothes back on over a sports-bra and boxer combo that, sadly, isn’t
quite as
loud as the unitard and try to ‘work’. Listening to the recording I’d made of my meeting with Tsanma and fantasizing about how much better off I’ll be if I can just manage to make it to the next system and turn all this in doesn’t help either. Even field-stripping the laser-pistol and marveling at how
fucking cool it is doesn’t settle me down.
“Twenty minutes to liftoff. All personnel, there are twenty…”
I open my desk. Stare at the container of booze inside. I just have to run away
one more time and then—
The door slides open. I slam the drawer closed to make a point to whatever idiot was dumb enough to barge into
my room unannounced! Throwing my head up, a dozen different ideas for furious comments come to my mind. They die on my lips when I see who it is and the peculiar look of panic and
horror in her eyes.
“There’s a
problem.” Sarah growls.
Not even a half hour? I HATE
my crew. No wonder pirates were declared enemies of all humanity. This constant inability to have even a shred of decency or let me have any kind of peace is so damned annoying
! I am going to love
waving at them as they march towards the hangman's noose!
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A/N: Things might actually be almost on the edge of the verge of actually happening!
...I seriously need to work on cutting-down character-building exposition-y monologue thoughts in my writing. I take way too long to progress into things actually happening in the story because I get distracted by asides and commentary and stuff...