Scardown-Jenny Casey-2 by Elizabeth Bear Page B

answer, and drape the towel around my shoulders. “Now if you don't mind, sir. I'd like to get clean.”
So why does Valens want you back on drugs?
    Because it's one more way he can control you. Beyond Gabe, beyond the girls.
He smiles and gets out of my way. “Uniform, Casey,” he reminds me.
    “Why are you so damned determined to get me all dressed up and spit shined, Fred?”
    “One. This is not a civilian ship, and you represent Captain Wainwright, myself, and the entire crew of the
Montreal
when you step on that bridge. Two, we have some visiting dignitaries, which is why we're doing a second run under solar power to get well above the plane of the elliptic before we try the stardrive. Seeing as how said stardrive is a little tricky.”
    “Understatement.” Like her sister ships, the
Montreal
has a fatal attraction to gravity wells.
    Valens winks. “Also, one of my grandkids is onboard.”
    How the hell did he manage that?
“Grandkids?”
    “Patty. She's sixteen. She'll be one of your students once we start the second phase of the program.” There's something in his voice. Pride, sure. But something else, and maybe a little frantic glimmer in clever hazel eyes.
Worry.
    I don't want to think what might have Col. Frederick Valens running scared. “Valens. How many of these ships are you planning on building?”
    He ignores the question as I undog the hatch. “Your locker's 312. Everything you need is in there. There's a sidearm, too. I want it on you at all times.”
    “Bullets?”
On a pressurized tin can in interplanetary space? I step into the corridor.
Holy fuck. What do I need a sidearm for?
    “Plastic,” he says. “Fatal at short range. Won't pierce a bulkhead.”
    “You promise?” His face gives nothing away; Valens plays his games on a dozen levels. It's why I fear him.
Fred, is this your underhanded way of telling me there might be somebody on the
Montreal
who means her harm?
Oh, hell. And this ship has kids onboard. Kids not much older than Leah. Kids the same age I was when I signed on to this man's army. “All right. Combination? Key?”
    He comes out of my cabin, passing me as I hold the hatch open. “Thumb lock,” he says, and continues down the curve of the hallway, leaving me behind.



 
    1200 Hours

Monday 6 November, 2062

PPCASS
Huang Di
Earth orbit
    “The
Montreal
is accelerating again, sir.”
    At the astrogator's words, Min-xue smoothed his hands on the arms of his couch of honor and tried to ignore the black webbing creasing his thighs. Only the captain's chair was more prominent on the softly lit bridge of the People's PanChinese Alliance StarShip
Huang Di,
although Min-xue's role was strictly ceremonial until the
Huang Di
was under way. He was not wired in to his ship, but the command might come at any moment, and regulations demanded a pilot—one of the starship's five—be always on duty. Which was also why the lights were dimmed and surfaces padded in acoustically absorbent material.
    Min-xue glanced up at the gleaming panels around the rim of the bridge, struggling not to shiver in the inadequate warmth. He watched Captain Wu's reflected expression without daring to turn his head, lest the commander think his attention less than perfect. The ship's commander watched view screens impassively, one eyebrow rising slightly in calculation. Min-xue stilled fingers that wanted to fret the prickly slick curved surface of his interface shield, press down the soft gelatin protecting the contacts, and reveal the slender pins that would seal themselves into his neural port with a single swift gesture. The coolness was soothing, the sharpness of the pins concrete and focused enough that they left no room for the blurring of contact that could throw Min-xue into a panic of sensory hyperarousal.
    “Do we follow?” asked the junior officer at the controls. “It is probably another demonstration run. There have been shuttles recently—the
Leonard Cohen
and the
Buffy