The Crew Who Came in From the Cold, page 10
She started pushing it through the stew, then burned her finger, then remembered she still had to start the rice.
This time, she was determined to not mess it up and actually read the instructions on the little card from John’s recipe box.
Water just over the knuckle . . .
Which knuckle?
She chuckled to herself as she used the knuckle on her most-used finger.
“Lid on to boil,” she murmured as she clanged the lid closed on the rice. “Lid on and wait,” she popped the masala’s lid into place. Then she noticed the rhythm to that, so she started tapping the spoon on both lids. “Lid on to boil, lid on wait, lid on to boil, lid on wait . . .”
“Keepers witness, Rory. If you’re playing silly buggers instead of dealing with the aft port pod, I will confiscate every last drop of Campbell’s Best and—oh.” John’s voice shifted from aggrieved to shocked in the tap of a spoon. “Sorry,” he said, turning his eyes upward, as if seeking guidance in the struts. “I thought Rory was in here.”
“Well, he’s not, is he?” she snapped.
He sighed, and Jagati grimaced because, ever since their lift-off from Upsilon, just breathing the same air as John had become awkward.
Forcing herself to not lift the lid on the rice, she opened the chickpeas to stir, just for something to do, then realized she had lost the bay leaf. “Dammit,” she hissed as John crossed the galley.
Jagati focused on the stew, poking around for the MIA bay leaf while he parked himself against the counter. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she tried, then glanced over to see him staring at his feet. “Okay, I’m just touchy . . . about choking people on a bay leaf.”
“Ah, but we all know Find the Bay Leaf is a time-honored tradition in most Fordian households,” John pointed out, probably because he also wanted to avoid talking about the mammoth in the room.
“But you know me,” she replied with an almost-smile. “I hate following the crowd.”
At which point, both turned toward each other, and their eyes met, and the mammoth came crashing down. And for the space of a few heartbeats, the connection that had driven them toward each other that night in the ice tavern shimmered to life, as warm and vibrant as in the moment.
They each took a step toward the other, and then . . .
“Oy! Something smells fine!”
Rory’s voice was like a bucket of ice water over Jagati’s head. “Tell me we’re havin’ that masala, again and I’ll be a—ah, oh.”
Both John and Jagati turned to where Rory had frozen in the starboard door, one foot still comically in the air. “Masala it is, then.” He dropped the foot, then glanced at John. “Great. Grand. So.” He paused, shook his head, took a step backwards, spun, and dashed toward the aft ladder.
Hopefully, Jagati thought, back to the aft port pod where he could bash himself in the head with a spanner, sparing her the effort.
Then again, Rory may have done her a favor, because as much as she trusted Captain John Pitte, she wasn’t quite as sure about John Pitte, Special Ops officer.
“He’s right. Dinner does smell grand,” John said, and when Jagati turned, she found he’d returned to his original position. His eyes were fixed on the pot, still bubbling happily as he added, “I told you once, not that long ago, that I had quite a few secrets.”
Her spoon froze mid stir, recalling their conversation on the Nike tram, in the middle of the calculator job. “Mmmph.” Breathe, stir, breathe, stir. “I guess there are secrets and then there are secrets . . . and I was expecting . . . well, not expecting . . .” She felt like an ass.
“You expected I was harboring an illicit gambling addiction? Or perhaps have a hidden collection of Terran soup tins?” he suggested, referring to one of their earliest cargos. “Something less—less.”
There was a hollow feeling in her chest, making his humor fall flat. “I mean, it is not easy to swallow, when the one person . . .” She hissed, put the spoon down, and looked at him. “My bad.”
“How?” he asked, still leaning against the counter.
She shrugged. “I get too cocky about what I know about who and why.” She shrugged again. “I’ll get over it.”
“Will you?” he asked. “Can you?” Into the following silenced, he added, “Would it be different if I’d learned something about you? Something you’d specifically kept hidden?” The question hung between them, and when she failed to pick it up, he continued. “We all have secrets, Jagati. Some good, some bad, some—some because maybe we don’t want to think about them. Do those secrets make us less worthy?”
“Less worthy to who?” She echoed the question. “The one keeping them, or the one they need to be kept from?”
“Either,” he said. “Both?”
She felt, more than saw, his hand rise as if reaching out before it fell back.
“I suppose that’s for you to decide,” he said, when she didn’t reply. “Either way, I’ll be waiting.” He straightened from his spot at the counter and started to leave, but at the door of the galley, he paused to add, “I’ll see you at dinner.”
And then he was gone, leaving Jagati to wonder if she was more afraid of his secrets, or her own.
John was still staring at the letter in his hands when a shocked, “Oy!” had him looking over to see Rory had opened his envelope, and was gaping at the bank note inside.
“It does rather add up, doesn’t it?” Eitan barely glanced at his compensation, reminding John that, however he lived now, Eitan had come from wealth.
John looked at Jagati, who shrugged, opened her envelope, and looked at her compensation. Then her eyes widened in genuine surprise. “Wow,” she said, then, “Wow,” again.
John could appreciate her sentiment, but it was the letter clearing him of any wrongdoing aboard the Kodiak that really struck home.
And not only the letter, but the Sol Medal of Valor resting in the bottom corner of the envelope. That . . . was unexpected.
He looked into the envelope again, where the slim box holding the medal rested, a quiet reminder of doing the right thing in the face of an incredible wrong.
To his left, he caught Eitan peering into his envelope, and guessed there was a Crimson Heart inside, at the least.
Finally, John turned to see the general watching him.
“Do not say it is generous,” Satsuke said before he could speak. “What happened at Nasa is a stain on the Corps as a whole. This . . .” She gestured toward the envelopes each member of the crew held. “. . . is literally the least we can do by way of restitution. Especially as General Rand is dead and can no longer be prosecuted.”
Which the Errant crew already knew, thanks to Gideon, but all John said was, “Understood, and appreciated.”
“What about Sergeant Jihan?” Jagati asked.
Of course she would ask about Jihan, John thought.
Sergeant Wex Jihan had been General Rand’s aide de camp and had a few crimes of his own to answer for, including stabbing John in the back.
“Unfortunately, Jihan retired from service at the end of the war,” Satsuke replied. “We’re not sure where he is at this time.”
Tenjin nodded. “Worse, as our advocates have explained, it will be difficult to prosecute Sergeant Jihan, as he was following orders.”
Rory, another victim of Jihan’s “following orders” shifted, and John cleared his throat.
Rory paused, unclenched the hand he’d fisted, and eased back on his heels. “Sorry.”
Satsuke nodded. “As I indicated earlier, this isn’t a perfect solution, but it is the best the Corps can do. I am also authorized to offer you your commissions, if you wish to return to the service. Though, having just made a similar offer to another of Nasa’s casualties, I believe I already know your answer.”
“Thank you, but no,” John said.
“Not on your life—respectfully,” was Rory’s take.
Jagati’s snort said it all, and Eitan simply shook his head.
The colonel coughed back what might have been a laugh, but Satsuke merely nodded. “As you wish.”
At which point everyone stood around for a few moments, as if uncertain what to do next.
“You know what I wish?” Jagati finally tossed into the uncomfortable silence. “I wish for a meal that someone else cooks, serves, and cleans up—and a nonstop flow of alcohol.” She waggled her bank note. “On me. Who’s in?”
And so, after a few more expressions of mutual appreciation, John and his crew were escorted off base.
At Rory’s suggestion, they headed toward the nearby skyway hub that connected Epsilon’s districts from above.
“The view’s better than the tram or the canals, and we can decide where to get off if we like the looks of it,” he said.
“Like we don’t spend enough time in the air,” Jagati groused, but with a grin. Then she shoved her envelope into her coat’s inner pocket. “So, what do we do with the cash?”
“The Errant needs some upgrades,” John began.
“What, like a crystal drive?” she asked.
“No,” John shook his head.
“Can’t do crystal.” Rory peeked around Eitan’s shoulder. “We’d have to lose the liquid aluminium—”
“Aluminum,” Jagati muttered.
“—batteries,” Rory continued without a break. “We’d also need to rebuild the entire power core . . .” He shook his head. “Might as well buy another airship.”
“And we’re not buying another airship,” John asserted. “But I’m thinking we can replace that aft port pod and upgrade our bact-tank.”
“Keepers, yes!”
“And,” Rory steamed right ever Jagati’s cheer, “we could top up on the replacement parts—you know, the bits and bobs that are forever wearing out.”
“That may cost the entirety of our windfall,” John pointed out.
Eitan shook his head and eased around a party of cadets on their way back to base, ignoring the looks all three sent his way. “I recommend everyone pitch in what they consider fair to the company account.” He paused, looked at John. “We do have a company account?”
“Yes,” John said.
“Excellent. In that case, we take care of the pod and the bact-tank, add in backups of the most necessary and most used parts, and set the rest aside for potential investments.”
“You said something about diversifying before.” John recalled a previous discussion with Eitan about updating Errant Freight’s business plan. Since, to that point, Errant Freight’s business plan had been less a plan and more a “let’s buy an airship and see what happens,” it could only be an improvement.
“I guess you weren’t talking about betting on the Fujian marathon?” Jagati guessed.
“I was not.” Eitan shot her a smile. “I meant we should keep an eye out for promising businesses on the ground. Invest for a percentage of the gross.” Eitan looked at Rory. “Something like what Gideon is doing with Jinna’s tea shop.”
“I’m game, as long as you still get the bact-tank,” Jagati said. “Besides the glory of taking a shower longer than three minutes, having functioning facilities will make it easier to take on more passengers.”
“You want to take on more passengers?” Rory asked, shocked.
“What?” She shrugged. “It didn’t entirely suck swamp water this time.”
“This time,” Eitan echoed as they. “Not every party will be as charming as the doctors.”
“Opposite argument, we probably won’t get another spy in the mix,” Rory said, his voice dropping, though there was no one else nearby. “I mean, how many are out there?”
“No one knows,” John said, taking a breath perfumed by the pine trees lining the path, “which is rather the point.”
“Whatever. I just want to have water available when I need water,” Jagati said.
“Bact-tank and engine pod,” Rory echoed, producing a notepad and pencil from somewhere.
“I wouldn’t recommend we start throwing money around at the first opportunity, either,” Eitan said. “We should wait for something that has legs and feels right for us.”
“Like the tea shop,” Rory echoed Eitan’s earlier statement.
“I also wouldn’t recommend going into competition with Jinna—” Eitan began.
“Not if you value your life,” Jagati said.
“—but there may be other opportunities—something that supports both our financial goals and gives someone else a chance they might not otherwise have.”
John eased back a few steps, watching the others as they bent their heads over Rory’s pad.
Jagati was laughing and slapping Rory on the shoulder, and all three were walking in sync.
Knowing his crew, John doubted such harmony would last, but he allowed himself to enjoy the moment.
He felt the weight of the letter in his breast pocket, and thought of how it had come to be there.
General Satsuke had been right when she said there could never be true compensation for Nasa, but, for now at least, it was enough.
THE CREW OF THE ERRANT WILL RETURN.
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Acknowledgments
While writing is often considered a solitary process, once it starts taking steps into the wider world, it is very much a group effort, and we are fortunate in our team, beginning with Lori Diederich and the talented artists of Deranged Doctor Design, for making our book both readable and pretty.
Thanks also to Lori Drake and Cameron Coral, for the daily Wombat writing sessions, which kept the story on track.
Last but far from least, we are tremendously grateful to our Buy Me a Coffee supporters:
Steve K.
Susan N.
Donna C.
Debbie R.
as well as those who chose to remain anonymous.
Thanks for getting us to publication, and for being part of the journey.
Also by the Authors
FORTUNE
Gideon Quinn Adventures
Soldier of Fortune
Fortune’s Fool
Errant Freight - with Kelley McKinnon
Outrageous Fortune
Tales of Fortune
The Longest Shard
The Crew Who Came in From the Cold
THE ZODIAC FILES - with L. Gene Brown
The Gemini Hustle
The Libra Gambit
About the Authors
A lifelong fan of vibrant characters and outrageous worlds, Kathleen McClure uses her history in theater and fight choreography to create immersive adventures readers will want to visit over and over, again.
Her published works include the Fortune-based Gideon Quinn Adventures, as well as the Errant Freight novels, written with Kelley McKinnon. She also writes The Zodiac Files, a spy-fi series with L. Gene Brown.
In addition to keeping the Errant crew flying, Kelley recently returned from five years of teaching acting in Shanghai. She now serves as an adjunct professor, teaching voice and directing at Mary Baldwin University in Staunton, Va. During the summers she teaches acting for the New School at New York University.
Want to be in the know on new books, special offers, and exclusive content? Subscribe to our newsletter at:
https://outrageousfiction.com/subscribe/
or follow Kathleen on Bookbub.
Contents
Welcome to the Fortune-verse
Prelude
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Sign Up For Our Newsletter
Acknowledgments
Also by the Authors
About the Authors
Kathleen McClure, The Crew Who Came in From the Cold
