In Nadir's Shadow Page 4

  He squeezed his eyes shut. That is not her. She's not really here.

  Eyes open, he resumed walking, hands squeezed into fists. Halting before the apparition, he looked up and met its cold stare. "Ilya died in service to the Commonwealth," he said through the lump in his throat. "There are worse fates for fleet crew." He stepped forward. Resistance like a stiff breeze, then he passed through and she was gone.

  Nice try.

  Turning the corner into sick bay, the smell of disinfectant already drifting through his nostrils, Miron almost collided with a fleet hand. The woman gave a hasty salute with a muttered apology before beating a furtive withdrawal. As he entered the compartment, he found Doctor Rurik resealing the drug locker. When the thin, long-limbed man turned around, he caught sight of Miron. The somber face beneath the short-cropped grey hair didn't change. "Good afternoon, Commander. Are you ill or injured?"

  "No. I came to see what you can tell me about the crew. Have you had any patients, besides the one that just ran into me?"

  "A few dozen."

  "Is that a joke? Tenacious only carries forty-two."

  Cold, blue eyes held his own for another second before sliding down to the tablet in Rurik's hands. "Humor is beyond me these days, sir. I haven't seen you down here. Or the Ship Master. Chief Ludmila. Chief Zakhar. There are one or two others, but we have seen everyone else."

  "What do they come in for?"

  "Sleep aids. That is, that's what I give them. There is nothing else for what they suffer."

  Miron glanced at the drug locker. "How is your supply?"

  Rurik looked up. "In the chaos of our rushed departure, we only received the basic allotment of medications for a ship this size. The sedative portion of that allotment ran out two days ago. To answer your question, my supply is fine, because I raided the dockyard sick bay fifteen minutes before we left."

  Miron breathed deeply, the vise around his chest loosening. "Well done, Doctor."

  "I didn't tell you so you'd compliment me. What Fleet Command calls the 'basic allotment' is an embarrassment during any number of common calamities. This isn't my first assignment, Commander, and it isn't the first time I've had the privilege of serving without a ghost shield. On the Dauntless, we ran out of sedatives on the fourth day. I started giving them other drugs, heavy stuff mean to forestall organ failure and such, but with sedative side effects. Some died from it, but it didn't matter. They wanted it anyway." He paused to sip from a cup on his desk. "In the end, half that crew butchered each other. That didn't have to happen. All they needed was sleep." He faced Miron again. "On the off chance that you live to be debriefed, I'm telling you this so that you can recommend some changes."

  Miron nodded slowly. "I don't intend to fail here, Doctor, and I expect to survive long enough to pass on your recommendation. With my emphatic support."

  Rurik stared, his expression unsure. "I thank you, Commander."

  Miron left the man with that, finding his lie easy to live with. Better to let him believe a stubborn and out-of-touch leadership refused to do the obvious than to punish him with the knowledge that raw materials for medications were running out, with no prospects for new sources. The former at least left hope that a change in leadership could offer relief.

  A soon as the door opened, the rhythmic drumming of heavy machinery engulfed Miron. Beyond the door, the corridor turned into a causeway connected to a platform surrounding the massive MPD thruster that propelled the ship at sub-light speeds and provided main power for the ship's systems. A glance over the railing revealed the lower level, populated with several clusters of machinery and the monolithic domed structure that generated the displacement fields needed for faster-than-light travel. A handful of yellow-clad engineers moved among them, making adjustments.

  He breathed the rich smell of lubricants and electricity, exciting a younger part of himself that had persisted in spite of the harsh years. The noise intensified as he crossed the causeway.

  Where the causeway met the platform, stairs to either side led to the levels above and below. Just beyond, the engine casing and the massive control panel and display that covered it blocked the way ahead. Two women dressed in black-smeared yellow engineers' overalls leaned over it, the stockier one pointing at different parts of the three-dimensional diagram of the engine on the display and bellowing instructions. When she half-turned, he recognized Chief Ludmila's square features. After mutual nods, the other engineer sped off up the stairs to the right while Ludmila returned her attention to the display. He came up to stand beside her and raised his voice: "Chief."

  The first look she gave seemed intended to frighten off anyone who didn't have pressing business to discuss. When she recognized who stood beside her, she faced him. "Commander. Is there something you need?"

  Her tone made it clear she'd rather be working than wasting time humoring a senior officer. "An update on the ship's status. I know you report to Borya, but right now you report to me."

  Her weathered, ochre-toned face settled in stubborn lines. She looked away and ran a dirty hand through her short brown curls, leaving a black trail. Her shoulders drooped when she said, "We can't fix things as quickly as the floaters can break them. Adding to that, too much wasn't done when we left." She raised a hand and counted with her fingers as she continued: "We've got no ammo feed. No Lancer cannon. Limited sub-light maneuver control. No long-distance transmitter. Not much of a power grid. As of about half an hour ago, no food processors; the crew can eat raw wrack and I need that circuitry for more important things—" She caught herself and glanced around before giving him an intense look. "They're smart," she said, barely loud enough to be heard over the engine noise. "But not too smart. And they'll never know this ship like I do."

  An orange light on the control panel came on, accompanied by an urgent buzz. She muttered under her breath and stepped past him. As he turned to follow her, he noticed an engineer who had been working on one of the power distribution nodes below now sat slumped over the control panel. A moment's concern evaporated as an audible snore rose above the noise. He stepped up to the railing, prepared to bellow a call to attention the man would remember for the rest of his days.

  "Commander, wait!"

  Ludmila appeared next to him. She met his incredulous stare with an even look. "Anisim hasn't slept since the red lights came on. He's resistant to the sedatives somehow. Rather than stare at the overhead or play Tactics, he's been working double shifts ever since." She looked down at the man. "They're not going to let him sleep long, anyway. I'm not going to ruin what little he gets."

  He eyed her for another second before deciding she was probably right. "How is the distortion drive? And the core, for that matter?"

  "The drive is fine. Thank quadruple redundancies for that. We can travel, as long as we have core power. As for that, you'll have to ask Chief Nazar."

  He frowned. "You have no idea?"

  "I'm still getting power, and the current is steady." She glanced at the door separating the engine room from the core chamber. "He stays in there and does his job, I stay out here and do mine. We don't need to talk to keep the ship going." She muttered something else, too soft to defeat the noise, that seemed to include profanity. He didn't like dealing with core crew any more than she did, so he didn't ask.

  "What do you need to be more effective?"

  She replied without hesitation: "More hands. Trained or otherwise. I need people."

  "And all the fleet guards are already working with you, correct?"

  An impatient nod.

  "All right. Where do you want me to start?"

  Ten back-breaking hours later, Miron stood before Ludmila again and finished updating her on the work he'd done. Her expression had changed much from the first time they'd spoken. "Thank you, Commander. Dunyasha said you did good work. Will we see you again tomorrow?"

  "Count on it," Miron said, even as his muscles throbbed at the thought of another shift probing Tenacious's systems. His mind felt crip
pled and sluggish, demanding his full attention even for basic tasks.

  Ludmila hesitated. "I appreciate what you did today, sir. So does the engineering crew."

  Miron nodded. In truth, he valued the work because it would help him sleep, but he'd figured morale would get a boost from his contributions. If Borya needed him, he knew to call. "I'll see you tomorrow."

  The day's work had allowed him to put off visiting another department. He considered waiting until tomorrow, but he could already tell what state of mind his aching muscles would put him in when he woke up. Best to get it over with.

  He departed the engine room through a pressure door two levels below the main access. After a short hallway and another pressure door, he emerged into a large compartment.

  "Please shut the door."

  The power core dominated the space, a pulsing light-blue orb wrapped in a metal coil. It hung within a transparent sphere, suspended from the tall overhead by thick supports. A thin probe penetrated the outer sphere to connect with the orb's surface. The thick coil around the core uncurled at the top and bottom to disappear into the bulkhead.

  A Core Operator stood at a control station, staring at the rhythmic light. He didn't acknowledge Miron's presence beyond the words he'd spoken.

  Miron did as he'd been asked, though the man's toneless request rankled him. "I need to open it to come in at all. And you are to address me as 'sir' or 'Commander.' What's your name?"

  "My apologies, Commander. I didn't realize it was you. The light from the corridor makes it difficult to track the changes in core emissions. I am Core Chief Nazar."

  Miron remained standing just inside the room. The Core Chief's control station was one of three spaced evenly around the core. The outer bulkheads held larger displays that showed three-dimensional images of the PRISM core with various overlays. The red lights indicating the presence of incorporeals were reduced here to a single indicator over each door.

  "How is your equipment?"

  "The core is operating at peak efficiency, sir. It will continue to do so." The man's hands twitched in the control gloves, the only move he'd made since Miron entered.

  Miron frowned. "You've suffered no interference?"

  "Yes, sir, we have. Floaters change the core control settings whenever they can. It causes the output to drop. That's why we're always watching. Maintaining a steady flow requires constant observation and adjustments under any conditions. With incorporeals on board, a lapse in diligence could mean an immediate drop in power, even sufficient to cut the FTL drive."

  Reluctantly, Miron came to stand beside the Core Operator. "How about your people? Are they sleeping? How are they holding up?"

  Nazar pointed at a far corner of the compartment. Miron had to look twice before noticing the blanket-wrapped figure lying on the floor. "They are doing fine, Commander. In here, the ghosts concentrate only on sabotage. They have a singular interest in our power core."

  He glanced at Nazar, wondering if the man knew the truth about the equipment he operated. "Glad to hear it. I'll let you concentrate on your work."

  Miron was halfway to the door on the other side of the compartment when Nazar spoke again: "We have much faith in you down here, Commander. The core crew knows your reputation."

  He wheeled. "And what does that mean, Nazar?"

  "You know what this ship means to the enemy," the Core Chief said, one corner of his mouth turned up. "You'll keep it safe."

  Miron's restrained discomfort had left him eager for a legitimate outburst. "I don't care for your tone, Chief, or your assumptions. We all have a job to do, and we're going to do it, regardess of the cost. Everything else is expendable, including the ship. Have faith in that."

  He didn't look back as he walked to the exit. In the moment before the door slid open, he thought he saw Nazar's face reflected in the gleaming surface, now staring after him. He suppressed a shiver and fled into the corridor.

  *****

  "Aren't you excited?" Shura asked.

  Kirill shook his head, staring at his feet dangling between the legs of his waiting room chair.

  "It's your benchmark tests. Today we're going to see how well you're doing. Don't you want to see Doctor Ermolei again?"

  "No. He doesn't like me anymore."

  She wanted to press, but couldn't summon the energy. She sat back and tried to avoid looking at the motivational posters. Kirill had been increasingly morose the past few days, and dragging him to the infirmary had sorely tested her patience.

  The door to the examination room opened and an orderly invited them in. Kirill didn't resist being placed on the table.

  "The doctor will be here shortly," the orderly said on her way out the door. "He's had to cover a lot of other shifts now, so we're a bit behind." Shura had no idea what she was talking about, but decided she could ask Ermo instead.

  "I'm scared," Kirill said, still refusing to look up.

  She kneeled before him. "Kiri, what's wrong? You've been down all week. What's the matter?"

  Finally he looked at her. Concern wrinkled his face. "Smiley says I have to be brave, but I don't want to."

  She gave him her best loving smile as she tried to dismiss the worry that took root in her gut. "It's okay, cub. Being brave isn't as hard as it seems. Sometimes it's actually easier than being afraid."

  She could tell she didn't reach him. "Smiley wants me to tell you something."

  Her smile shrank a little. "What's that?"

  "It wasn't your fault."

  Before she could ask what he meant, the door opened. She rose to greet the doctor.

  A different doctor.

  The man closed the door behind him. "Busy morning to you. How is Kirill doing today?"

  She stood between him and her son. "Where is Doctor Ermolei?" she asked, trying to keep her tone neutral.

  He stopped and looked up from his tablet. "I thought everybody had heard. Ermolei was collected by the auditors yesterday. We were told not to expect him back."

  The ground beneath her seemed to fall away. She'd been working field assignments all week. No chance to share gossip. "What happened?"

  The doctor shrugged. "They didn't say much, other than they'd be back to interview some people." He checked his tablet again, then looked up with a smile. "In any case, my name is Tikhon, and I'll be administering Kirill's benchmark tests. How is he feeling?"

  Shura didn't answer, fighting to keep her calm and find a way out. An idea sprang up in her mind and she seized it. She looked away and lifted one finger to forestall more words from the doctor as she faked a look of concentration. After a few seconds, she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Doctor, it looks like it's not going to happen today. I just got a message and I need to get to work. Right now. It's... imp—Urgent." She gave him a long-suffering look and fought to keep from swallowing. "Not the first time. We'll just reschedule."

  Tikhon gave a slow nod. "Of course. Have a productive day."

  She could tell he was suspicious of her, but she didn't care; she had to get out of there first, and she rushed Kirill out the door and down the hall by one hand. She walked as fast as she could, avoiding eye contact with anyone she encountered, and made it to the apartment without incident. After the door slid closed behind her, she leaned against it and let Kirill go. She covered her face with her hands and tried to slow her breathing, only to find that she couldn't. Why was Ermolei audited? Was it because of what they did? Were they coming here next? Would they take Kirill away from her? She struggled to force her mind to slow down, but the same thoughts kept repeating, driving her deeper and deeper into despair.

  The door buzzer snapped her out of it. She spun around and backed away, knowing, with dread certainty, that whoever stood on the other side of the door was here because of Ermolei.

  Kirill stood with his arms crossed and his hands on his shoulders, staring up at her with fearful eyes. "Aman, I don't like that man."

  She didn't try to smile, afraid to fail and scare him more. "It's okay
, cub. Someone's just coming to see me. Why don't you sit at the table here." She guided him to the table in front of the window with the courtyard view and put him in a chair. From his play corner, she took a grey lump of modeling clay. "Play with your clay while aman is talking, okay?" She kissed his forehead, hoping he wouldn't notice her shaking. "Everything's going to be okay."

  The door buzzed again, twice in a row. Her mind blank and nausea churning her stomach, she went to open it.

  On the other side stood two men, both dressed in the burgundy uniforms of the auditors. The broad one stood with his back to her, but the one facing her drew all her attention. His gaunt frame stood no taller than she did, but the hard grey eyes in his wide, hollow face still appeared to look down on her from beneath his thinning, but neatly combed dark hair. "I am Auditor Koldan. Are you Shura dash one-two-one?"

  "That's me."

  He offered a thin smile. "I will be taking some of your time to discuss Doctor Ermolei."

  She didn't move. "Does it have to be now? I was just called into work."

  "It does have to be now. Your supervisors will understand."

  Out of ideas, she stepped back to allow him to enter. He left his companion outside and walked to the middle of the middle of the room, surveying the space. "Is that your son? What was his name, Kirill?"

  "Just Kiri sometimes." She had no idea why she said that.

  He approached her son, and she hurried to follow. Kirill had molded his clay into a rough shape Shura recognized as one of his usual creations. He glanced at her, then looked up at the visitor.

  "What are you making?" Koldan asked him.

  "A spaceship," Kirill answered quietly.

  "Why?"

  "Because I like them."

  Koldan crouched beside him. "I used to make things from clay. Like you. I was good at it, because I spent a lot of time on it. My father was a chief in the fleet, so he wasn't home very often. One day, my mother told me his ship had been lost. He was hurt, and he would be coming home soon, to stay for a while. I went to my clay and I worked for days to make him a model of his ship. I made sure that everything about it was perfect. When he finally came home, I gave it to him. Do you know what he did?"