2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
My first impressions of Tobago’s ship and his crew were rather mixed.
I was pleased to learn the ship was named the Trojan Horse, presumably after the famously deceptive gift from Homer’s great epic poem The Iliad.
This literary allusion gave me some hope that perhaps there would be others of a more scholarly persuasion aboard the vessel, with whom I could discuss the big questions of the universe as we traveled through . . . well, the universe.
I was less pleased to realize that the smugglers, as a whole—and I don’t mean to negatively stereotype, I’m just making an observation—were a bit of a surly, stare-y bunch.
As in, they stared quite a lot. At least, they stared quite a lot at Ursa and me.
It seemed difficult for them to decide which of us was the stranger specimen.
Ursa, with his big, broad, wild masculinity; or me, with my snarled hair, near-manic smile, and compulsive waving.
To be fair, I would soon learn in my travels with the smugglers that there was very little variety to break up the monotony of life in space.
Any novelty becomes an object of much curiosity.
My experience with the crew of the Trojan Horse was actually the reason I would later know how to appeal to the Brethren to keep myself alive.
And, to be even fairer, Ursa was most definitely staring back at the crew.
No, let’s name it as it truly was—glaring.
Sizing them up. He even started making a strange huffing noise that I didn’t know until later research was a common sign of aggression in Kodiak bears; at the time, I thought he was just allergic to something.
If I’d known better, I might have discouraged him from threatening imminent harm to our new crewmates, but truthfully, establishing some dominance probably wasn’t the worst idea.
All I did know then was that Ursa was clearly agitated.
He had good reason, I suppose, not to trust strangers much.
After all, the last time he’d come into contact with a group of humans, they’d taken him captive.
Still, I didn’t want him to be upset, and I didn’t want the smugglers to decide we were more trouble than we were worth.
I reached out and touched Ursa’s forearm, gently but firmly. I’m here, I was trying to say. Everything is going to be all right.
Out loud, I said, “Who likes pine nuts?”
Not my cleverest moment, I agree, but I wanted to ingratiate ourselves to the crew, and I couldn’t think of anything else we’d packed during our harried escape that might hold universal appeal.
Well, that wasn’t precisely true; I’d packed Amanita muscaria, a red mushroom variety that could really help us bond with the crew, if you catch my drift.
But I gleaned Tobago would likely want to have a say in when his crew got stoned off their gourds, and anyway, it might give the wrong impression to offer psychedelics to a group of total strangers.
Alas, no one seemed particularly interested in my offer of pine nuts. Everyone just kept—you guessed it—staring at me like I’d spontaneously grown a horn out of the center of my forehead.1
Then, to my surprise, one of the men stepped forward, holding out his cupped palms. He kept his gaze intently trained on mine the whole time.
“Oh!” I forced a smile. It really was rather awkward, though, with him staring at me like that. He must have been awfully hungry. “I didn’t mean right this moment, but after we’ve put away our things, I’ll come and find you in the galley.”
The man shuffled another step closer to me. “I can come with you to your room.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I assured him—or at least started to, before Ursa abruptly reached forward and shoved the man.
In Ursa’s defense, he by no means pushed the man as hard as he could have.
Ursa could lift a ponderosa pine,2 for goodness sake!
He could have knocked that man on the floor if he’d wanted to, instead of just making him stumble back a few steps.
No, the gesture seemed intended not to injure so much as to give a warning.
Still, one should not go around shoving others—especially not those who were about to become companions on a long journey through space in isolated quarters.
“Ursa!” I reprimanded. I was shocked at his behavior, although in truth, I probably shouldn’t have been.
I had come to know Ursa as a kind, intelligent, generous, and loving person, but mainly during our time alone together.
At the research facility, when we’d been surrounded by other people, he had been cagey, hostile, and aggressive with everyone but me.
There was the time he pushed Rawley’s face into a glass wall, and though that had been both very funny and well deserved, Ursa hadn’t known how truly awful Rawley was at the time.
Plus, there was the whole business of Ursa breaching Olympus Camp and attacking a bunch of people so he could find me.
He’d been lucky that at the time, the researchers were more interested in learning about who he was and where he came from than in trying to take revenge. The smugglers, I quickly gleaned by their stormy expressions, would not be quite so quick to forgive.
Another of the men stepped forward, puffing out his chest in that irritating macho way that men do sometimes, and to my dismay, Ursa started toward him in the same manner.
Hastily, I reached up and placed my palm to Ursa’s chest, gripping his arm with my other hand. He could have easily shaken me off, but I knew he wouldn’t. Indeed, he stilled, though he was still tense and coiled, ready for a fight.
Pivoting to look back at the other man, I explained, “He was raised by bears, you see, and so he’s very protective.”
I would likely need to provide more context for that to make sense, but I did manage to deflate the man’s posturing. He cocked his head in confusion. “Huh?”
Luckily, Tobago chose that moment to intervene.
I say chose quite deliberately, because Tobago had been watching this entire exchange and could have easily stepped in at any point to diffuse the situation.
Instead, knowing my childhood friend, I suspect he was taking the opportunity to size us up and see what dynamic we would bring to the ship.
Observe what trigger points Ursa had. Determine what he was capable of.
Tobago clapped his hands, his voice faux-cheerful. “Great. Now that we’ve all had a chance to measure and see who’s biggest”—he shot a warning look at his men before turning back to me—“let’s get you settled in.”
I was grateful, very grateful, for a separate space that would be just mine and Ursa’s, somewhere we could escape from all of this tension and scrutiny and have a chance to rest and regroup.
There I could explain some of the rules to Ursa and help him understand the dynamics aboard the ship.
Also, and not least important, I could finally brush my teeth. 3
But first, there was something important that needed to be addressed. “Don’t we need to be disinfected?” I asked.
Now everyone was back to staring at me again, including Tobago. I didn’t see why; disinfection was common protocol for return journeys from Earth. “To keep from transporting pollutants back to the colonies?” I prompted.
A long beat passed. Then abruptly, the entire crew—all thirteen men and two women—burst into laughter. These were not mild little titters, either. People were guffawing, clutching at their sides. I even saw one man wipe away tears.
Rude.
I failed to see what was so funny. When I was part of the research expedition, we’d received long lectures on the disinfecting process needed after leaving Earth. We’d signed waivers!
At least Ursa wasn’t laughing at me. I leaned against him, grateful for his silent show of support. Then again, he likely had no idea what was going on, but it didn’t matter. I knew if he did understand, he would still be on my side.
At last, Tobago managed to contain himself, no doubt recognizing my imperious scowl. It was not the first time he’d seen it, nor would it be the last. “Come on.” He gestured for Ursa and me to follow him. “We’ll sort that out later . . .”
Tobago led us into the bowels of the Trojan Horse, giving us a cursory tour as we moved down the narrow corridor. “Bridge is that way,” he said, motioning toward a ladder that led to the deck above. “Galley is behind you, just there. Med room is on the right. Cargo hold is one floor down.”
I doubted I would remember much, I was so exhausted from the past few days, but I nodded anyway, eager as always to be a proficient student.
“Men’s bunkhouse is there,” Tobago continued, nodding to a door on our left. “Val and Zenny both have their own quarters upstairs.”
One perk, I suppose, of being so vastly outnumbered onboard by men.
“Washroom is the big door at the end of the hall. My quarters are there.” He motioned to the door furthest down on the right, before stopping in front of a door just on his left. “And this is where you’ll be staying.”
I didn’t expect much for a room onboard a smuggling ship, and the room before me very much met those expectations.
It was small, with the bed and the closet taking up most of the space.
Uncovered pipes and beams made the ceiling low enough that Ursa had to duck his head slightly.
Out of nowhere, a panel covering some of the wiring popped off and fell to the floor with a loud clatter.
“It's meant to do that,” Tobago deadpanned. “Keeps things exciting.” Then he picked up the fallen panel and hammered it back into place on the wall with his fist.
So no, we wouldn’t be staying in the lap of luxury. Still, it was quiet and private, and we would be safe here. That was all that really mattered.
I mustered up a smile. “Thank you, Tobago.”
There wouldn’t be much unpacking to do, since Ursa and I had only managed to scrabble together a few bags’ worth of supplies to bring with us. Still, I looked forward to sorting out our things and making the space ours.