18. Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Eighteen
This last incident with the Brethren has reminded me of something that happened aboard the Trojan Horse.
Although it was quite a memorable event, as you’ll soon see, for some reason, I can’t exactly recall when in the journey it took place.
Memory is funny that way, isn’t it? You can recall lyrics to a song you haven’t heard since you were a child, but forget what you ate for lunch the day before.
Anyhow, I’ve thought it over again and again, and it makes the most sense for the event to have taken place roughly around this time, after the heist on Newearth. There was a rather long gap as we traveled between Newearth and our next destination—a month, give or take a few days.
Much of that time was spent trying to merely endure the boredom of long-distance space travel.
We played games—LOTS of games—as a crew.
So many games that I began to loathe the idea of ever playing another game again, so I’d vow to stop, only to last a day or two before sheer ennui set in once again and I found myself playing beer pong or slapjack or wild pony, just for something to do.
Of course, Ursa and I spent a great deal of time on our own during this stretch, too.
We resumed our habit of reading—well, me reading, and Ursa listening—and passed some time working on grammar, too.
Not as much as I would have liked, mind you, but as much as Ursa could bear without getting grouchy.
And we spent lots of time on our own getting to know each other in other ways, too.
I don’t think I’ll need to spell this out much more clearly to the Brethren.
I’ve lost most of my nerves about telling them the scandalous bits, but these anecdotes wouldn’t serve much purpose for the sake of plot or character development.
Even if they might buy me a few more days’ worth of storytelling before we reach Haven 3, better not to get too repetitive.
Better still to keep a few things private, just between Ursa and me.
Suffice it to say, we got to know each other very well during that time.
Yes, well. Moving on. Although there were ups and downs during this long stretch of travel between ports, one incident certainly stands out in my mind more than most.2
The day we were raided by Vikings.
The news spread round the ship faster than a yawn: Indy had spotted a Viking warship, trailing us for about two days. They were being very leisurely about it all, shadowing us at a distance, but there could be no mistake. We were being pursued.
“Probably just bored,” Tobago reassured an uneasy crew during family dinner on the second day. “Looking to kill time in space.”
Croydon grunted, clearly not appeased by that answer. “What if it’s us they’re looking to kill?”
Others grumbled their anxious agreement. Despite this, Tobago remained unfazed. “No reason to expect the worst. Most likely, they looked up the ship log, saw who was captain, and just wanted to get close enough to take a peek at my magnificence.”
That earned him a few grumbles of another nature, but it did the trick at diffusing some of the tension in the room.
The next morning, though, alone on the bridge with just Indy and me, Tobago was nowhere near as unruffled.
In fact, he was quite ruffled, if his pacing or the state of his hair had anything to say about it.
He couldn’t keep his hands out of his hair when he was anxious, and it was sticking up in all directions now.
“Why haven’t they made contact yet? Why’re they just prowling behind us like some . . . creepy space shark?”
Indy and I exchanged a glance. It was usually Tobago who made light of everything, lowered the tension in the room. If he was the one panicking, it was up to us to calm him down.
“Do sharks prowl?” Indy asked me, brow furrowed. “Is that a verb we’d use for them?”
“Seems more catlike,” I agreed, giving the question more importance than it probably deserved. “Skulking, maybe? I feel like sharks could skulk.”
Our distraction didn’t seem to be doing much good, alas. Tobago gripped his hair in both fists, letting out an aggravated breath. “What do we do? What do we do?”
Havens if I knew. I’d only come to the bridge to get my first glimpse of a Viking warship.
I’d never seen one before. It wasn’t much different from a normal ship, from what I could tell, except there were more guns.
Much bigger guns, too. And there was the traditional Raven Banner symbol painted on the side.
Come to think of it, I’d never seen a Viking either, for that matter.
Well, I suppose, technically, Trini’s husband, Sven, was descended from Vikings, but from Old Earth Vikings, not this new breed who’d set up camp on Valhalla, on the outskirts of the known galaxy.
They followed their own rules, lived by their own laws, were notoriously cagey about visitors on their settlement. And there were, of course, the rumors.
“Maybe it’s better to reach out first?” I suggested. At Tobago’s blank stare, I held up my hands. “You’re the captain, of course. But it seems to me, if you’re worried they’re planning on raiding, wouldn’t it be better to reach out and make them an offer first?”
Vikings were known for being unpredictable.
Unlike running into the Brethren of Blood, which would have meant almost certain death, a Viking warship might ignore you entirely.
Or drop in to share some mead and stories for a night.
Or kill everyone onboard. It seemed to me that, rather than wait for them to decide which of those options they’d most like to take, we ought to suggest our own.
Tobago kept staring at me, but I could tell the gears were turning in his mind. If it hadn’t been for the possibility of violent death in our near futures, it might have been funny—him with his mussed hair and blank expression.
“We don’t have much to give,” he said after a moment, rubbing a hand over the lower half of his face.
Indy sighed. “The giggle gas.”
Tobago cut him a glance. “Then we have nothing to trade when we get to port. Nothing but an empty gas tank to show for the Newearth job.”
No medicine, was the unspoken thing neither wanted to say.
Indy was doing remarkably better after the dose of bear algae he’d received, as indicated by the fact that he was here and able to do his job as pilot of the ship.
But it was a temporary reprieve. It couldn’t cure him wholly.
He would need more medication. Not to mention, there were other things needed for a ship to fly. Food, petrol, and so on.
Indy reached a hand out to Tobago, who hesitated a moment before taking it. Twining their fingers together, Indy gently cresting his thumb over the back of Tobago’s hand. “Better that than dead, though, surely?”
I felt like I was intruding on a private moment, watching something I wasn’t meant to see. Clearing my throat, I looked out the window, up at the big shadow of the warship slowly pacing us. My, it was a big ship, wasn’t it? A chill shuddered through me.
When I looked back, a decision seemed to have been made. Tobago had stepped closer to Indy and was resting his free hand on his husband’s shoulder. He gave it a quick squeeze. “Okay. Send the comm. If they answer, I’ll talk to their captain from my quarters.”
So no one would overhear, I expected. Hopefully Tobago would have the good sense to comb his hair before making contact.
Without much else to do, I wandered back to my own quarters.
I didn’t exactly want to be listening in on that call, but I also felt so useless, just dawdling about, waiting for something to happen.
If only there were some way I could help.
Something of worth I had to offer, so the crew wouldn’t have to turn over the giggle gas.
Yes, I’d been morally opposed to them distributing it, but I was also morally opposed to Indy not being able to afford his medication. There were no easy answers out in the black, it seemed.
Unless . . . Oh, that might work. Determined, I hurried the rest of the way back to my quarters now, hoping I’d have enough time to properly prepare.
By the time the Vikings boarded our ship, I’d just managed to put everything together, more or less. What I hadn’t had time to do was to fill Tobago in on my plan. Oh, well. All I could do was sincerely hope this would be a case of “Ask for forgiveness, not permission.”
The rest of the crew was at the docking bay when Ursa and I arrived. Gripping his arm tightly with one hand, I clutched my parcel to my chest with the other as I determinedly wound us toward the front. There were a few grumbles from the crew, but a glare from Ursa shut them down fairly quickly.3
Tobago stood at the very front, doing his best to look unbothered, though I could tell by the reflexive twitch of his hands that he was still rattled.
Someone, probably Indy, had convinced him to comb his hair, and I had the feeling he was practicing all the self-restraint he could muster not to reach for it again.
As the boarding doors began to open, he stood taller.
Though he was far too anxious to spare me a glance, I channeled all of my positivity toward him.
It’s going to be fine. Not that I really believed in that sort of nonsense, mind you—e.g.
the power of positive thinking—but under the circumstances, it was all I could do.
Once the doors opened, though, I confess I wasn’t paying attention to Tobago any longer.
I was about to catch my first glimpse of a real and proper Viking!
I’d seen them before, on the galaxy-net, of course, but to see one in person was probably a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
No hyperbole, that, since the likelihood of meeting them and then promptly being killed by them was rather high.
Not today, I told myself, clutching my parcel more tightly to my chest.