[Author's Notes: I don't own Gundam, as if you didn't know that. I also
don't own Gato's wingman; that person is intellectual property of His
Divine Shadow. So with no further ado...]
GENTLEMEN OF FORTUNE
Anavel Gato stood on the pavement in the early morning gloom, looking up at a dark window on an apartment building. Inside, his erstwhile lover of a year, Nina Purpleton, was deeply asleep. He still had the image of her fresh in his mind from a few minutes ago; tousled blonde hair on the pillow, blanket pulled up over her pale bare shoulders, her face peaceful in slumber.
He looked down at the dufflebag at his feet. Best not to dwell, he thought to himself. If he lingered, there was the chance that he might go back to her. He picked up the bag and walked a couple of blocks before standing on the curb and hailing a taxi.
"Where to?" the cabbie asked.
Gato fished a paper out of his jacket pocket. "Port of Von Braun, slip 94. I have to be there before 8."
"Plenty of time." The cabbie turned on the meter and the car started rolling.
The driver didn't seem inclined to talk, which suited Gato fine. The duffle was heavy on his lap but he didn't want to let it go. As he rode away, he was not only leaving a very emotional year, but his best friend as well as his lover. The friend, Lt. Kelly Layzner, was probably already awake. It was possible he'd never gone to bed. He and Gato had been together since the end of the One Year War, facing homelessness and hardship side by side until Laetura Chapra, the woman who would eventually become Kelly's wife, let them move into her apartment. Leaving Nina gave Gato mixed emotional reactions. True, he loved her, but she was such a workaholic, and unsympathetic to the things that caused him pain, that their separation was more or less necessary if either of them were to stay sane.
The idea of leaving Kelly, though, made Gato's eyes burn with tears. His hands tightened on the bag, which held some photos of the two of them. Someday they would fight together side by side. Kelly was rebuilding a mobile armour in his warehouse. With it he would join the Delaz fleet and they would be comrades in arms once again.
"22 credits, sir," the cabbie said.
"Oh!" Gato hadn't even realized they'd arrived. He reached into his pocket and gave the man 30 for the speed of the ride, and for leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Alone on the pavement he told himself, finally. Finally, he was re-joining his people the Jions, and they would soon bring revenge upon the Federation.
Unbidden, the image of the sleeping Nina came back to his mind. Gato shook his head violently and approached the slip.
The man who came to meet him was short and square, with a wide face and curly hair. It was the sort of face that normally was likable, but in this case he emanated untrustworthiness. "Are you the package?" He didn't try to shake Gato's hand.
Gato felt the corners of his mouth twist. "I'm Commander Gato."
"I'm Kult. That all your luggage?"
"Yes."
"Then come aboard." He turned around and led Gato towards the shuttle. Inside, Gato could tell it was the standard kind carried by Jion battleships, despite how it was disguised as a cargo vessel.
"You go back there," Kult told him before Gato could say any words of greeting to the pilots. He went to where Kult indicated, and found himself in a small cabin containing a bunk, a locker, and nothing else.
"This'll be home for you for a day or so, until we meet up with the fleet," Kult told him. "Make yourself comfy." He shut the door with a slam. Gato snarled and reached for the handle, but found himself locked in.
Panic rose in his chest. Would the Cima fleet really carry him to the Garden of Thorns? He was a respected Jion officer, but he was being treated like a parcel, something being mailed from one place to another. And if the messenger was untrustworthy, the contents of a parcel could be stolen and used....
Gato dropped onto the bunk. It was strongly rumoured that the Cima fleet had gone pirate. He couldn't know for sure; the local packs of pirates working currently didn't leave survivors. He pulled his knees up to his chin. Could he have followed Tetley's instructions to join Delaz only to be kidnapped and held for ransom?
No one told him anything. The ride was only 28 hours, during which time he was fed, watered, and allowed to use the washroom when he called the bridge to ask. Gato had had the foresight to bring some books, and his old King James, which he'd had since the day he left home for the Academy, was always a comfort to him, although reading it did make him miss his parents.
Still, after a long day and night of reading and napping, Kult knocked on his door. "We're coming up on the Cima Fleet. If you wanna change into uniform, now's the time."
Gato nodded. Everyone knew the bloody reputation of Lt. Colonel Cima "the Butcher of Iffish" Garahau. As such, it would perhaps be the wisest thing to meet her in uniform as a sign of respect.
Not that he minded a chance to get back into his true skin, as it were.
With Kult gone, he opened the plastic box in which his uniform lay. He stripped down to his briefs, then put on the collarless button-down shirt that was standard underneath a Jion uniform. The green trousers were tight in the waist; he'd gained weight during his year with Nina but was confident he could lose it again. He slipped the suspenders over his shoulders and reached for the tunic. Again, it was tight, but as he buttoned the cape and panels to the shoulders and slid on the epaulets, he felt a surge of pride that he hadn't realized he'd lost in his time as mailroom worker for Anaheim Electronics.
He had to undo his waistband to pull on his boots, but once he finished dressing, he felt like himself again. He remained standing as Kult opened the door.
The squat man looked him up and down. "You've been hitting the burritos there, haven't you, Gato?"
Gato's eyes narrowed. "You should talk."
"Least I'm wearing the same size I was at the beginning of the war. We've docked in the Lili Marlene, lead ship of the fleet. Ms Cima's waiting for you on the bridge."
Gato stepped past him. "Ms Cima? Don't you mean Colonel Garahau?"
Kult shrugged. "Whatever. We're all from Mahal here, and calling a lady Ms plus her first name is always polite there." His expression suddenly twisted with grief. "Or it was."
Gato felt a moment of sympathy for the man, then squashed it. They were all exiles now, and if the Mahalians were double exiles because their colony had been made into Giren Zabi's giant laser, they could at least reflect on the fact that it had gone to strong use against the Federation.
"You need to be shown up to the bridge?" Kult asked.
"I know the layout of a Zanzibar well enough," Gato told him. "Or is there anything you don't want me to see?"
"Nah."
Gato nodded and left the shuttle. He floated a couple of feet over the hangar floor towards the exit hatch.
Signs of poverty were clear, though. The corridors were poorly lit, as more than half the light fixtures were missing fluorescent tubes. The place was clean, but it smelled as if it was being maintained with water and vinegar rather than the usual industrial cleansers. Some hatches and doors were propped open, having broken their mechanisms. The Lili Marlene was not a place he was going to want to occupy for long, even though it seemed her crew was doing their best to keep her functioning.
The elevator wasn't working, so he ended up detouring up a staircase to main deck. At this, Gato had to pause for a moment, struck with nostalgia.
The room clearly saw a great deal of traffic, going by how paths were worn into the burgundy carpeting. They led past a bulkhead paneled in cherrywood, at the centre of which was a round, sculpted white medallion of the fleet's titulary commander, Kishiria Zabi. The war flag of Jion and Kishiria's personal standard were on poles on either side of it. Beside those were glass cases holding photographs related to the history of the ship.
Gato couldn't resist taking a brief peek at these. There was Degin Zabi, of blessed memory, overseeing the laying of the ceremonial keel. There were a few of the ship being built, then a photo of Kishiria smashing a bottle of champagne over the finished ship's nose. There was a photo of the crew, including Cima Garahau herself, standing in front of it.
There were a few more which looked as if they were dated to around the end of 0078. After that, the photos conspicuously stopped. Not much in their past in the way of treasured memories, Gato reasoned. He moved on to some models of the ships of the fleet and was examining those when a woman's voice startled him.
"I come here and reminisce, too."
Gato jumped and turned to look behind him. Cima Garahau was smiling at him, a smug little turn of her lips. The Butcher of Iffish wasn't quite what he'd pictured. She was in early middle age, he could tell, and almost as tall as he was. Black hair fell in a cascade to her hips, framing a face that was classically beautiful except for a chin that was a little too large for perfection. He couldn't tell what kind of body she had since she was draped to her knees in a reddish-brown cloak.
"Colonel Garahau." He bowed slightly and she nodded her head in recognition. "These are fine souvenirs of Jion's happier days, and a reminder of things to come."
"You can cut the crap, Gato. That sort of line might fly on Axis, but not here. Yes, these are memories of happier days, but those are done. As for what our future will be, I don't know. It doesn't involve Axis. Not for us poor bastards."
"I'm sure that Her Majesty's government could be convinced--"
Cima held up a hand. "We wouldn't necessarily want it to be. What we want now is a home that doesn't move constantly through space is all."
"There's a lot of us in Von Braun."
"Von Braun's not a bad place, but there are just too many of us in this fleet for the one city to handle us. A nice little tropical island would do. But enough of that. Come up to the bridge, I'll introduce you to the crew."
Gato followed her. The door slid open onto a bridge that had been standard, once. Now the command chair was more of a couch, draped in a white tigerskin. Behind the command couch was a large canvas of a stormy sea.
If the bridge had been made fancier, the crew had not. They were all wearing their uniform tunics open over their undershirts, showing the ID discs that hung around their necks. Sleeves were rolled up or torn out completely.
"I'll introduce you to the team," she said to Gato. "Here's Shiro Takagawa and Michael Zuzumbe, the operators. Logan Ximenez, communications. And these two fine lads at the wheel are Daryl Fried and Gordon Macmillan. Gentlemen, this is Anavel Gato. He's going to be riding with the fleet for a bit."
Variations of "Hi, Gato!" filled the air.
"And this is my executive officer, Deitrov Kosell," Cima said, dropping down into her seat and gesturing to the man who sat at the side of the dais.
Kosell rose to his feet and Gato wondered how he could have missed him before. While Dozel Zabi had been a much larger man than Kosell, the key word here was that Dozel had been an enormous man. Lt. Kosell came across as being more of a building. He was in his late forties with grey hair and a craggy, aquiline face. Despite his age, his body was made of cabled muscle, displayed by his sleeveless, open tunic worn without a t-shirt beneath. He stepped in between Gato and Cima without saying a word. Even without speech, his message was clear: I am the alpha male. Fuck with my bitch and you die.
"I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. Kosell," Gato said.
Kosell grunted.
"So, what are our plans?" Gato said.
"Our plans are to collect our paycheques," Cima told him, slinging her legs over the arms of her command chair. "I don't know what you have in mind."
Gato's mouth went dry. "I was told you'd be conveying me to the Delaz fleet."
"Oh yes. That. We'll get you there, don't worry, but this is a tramp fleet now, not Federal Express. To reach Delaz we need fuel, water, and food, and we can't just have Kishiria hook us up anymore. You're going to have to be patient."
"Patient? How can I be patient? More than a year I spent in Von Braun, working as a mail clerk, a mail clerk, Garahau, waiting for the time when I could rejoin the fight! Don't make me waste any more time rotting instead of spreading terror among the Feddies!"
Kosell crossed his arms and said in a deep rumble of a voice to Cima, "I think we could put him to work, ma'am."
"I think you might be right, Mr. Kosell." She grinned at Gato. "Get our new recruit a Gelgoog."
"Colonel!" Gato exclaimed.
She looked pensive. "What, you don't want one? I know you'd take care of it. They're priceless at this point; very few exist anymore and none can be replaced."
"I would. I just didn't expect to be taking up arms yet."
"We'll polish the rust off you, don't worry. Mr. Kosell? Could you take Commander Gato to a cabin? I'm sure he'd like to settle in."
"Aye aye, madame Captain."
Gato followed the craggy man to the executive officer's cabin. The front room was an office, as was usual for those of his rank. Before entering, Kosell stopped to touch a small silver tube nailed to the doorframe and raise his fingertips to his lips. Inside, the office was smaller than Cima's would be, with a closed door no doubt leading to Kosell's quarters behind. The man had obviously been there a long time. The desk sported at least one ring stain from a coffee mug and the office chair was worn. There were photos on his desk; Gato was surprised to see Kosell wearing the uniform of a police officer rather than that of a member of the military. He was smiling widely, surrounded by his wife and three teenaged children.
The Cima fleet had been drifting homeless since the war. It would be hard for Kosell to track down his dispersed family at the best of times, seeing as the citizens of Mahal had been scattered among all the cylinders of Side 3. Now, without any stationary place to call home, it would be near impossible. Gato felt a surge of pity for the man; Gato's parents now knew what had become of him. Kosell likely didn't know what had happened to his family, nor they of him.
Kosell sat at his desk and pulled out a paper file, causing Gato to wonder if the computer on the desk was dead. He paged through it and said, "I'm going to put you on the Vera Lynn. There are three suits on board. And you can have cabin G-9." He wrote this down on a pad of yellow paper which he tore off and handed to Gato. "You know where the shuttle bay is, so go there and get one over to the Vera. I'll call over to the skipper and let her know you're coming. Captain Rosco can handle it from there." He peered up hopefully at Gato again. "You wouldn't happen to be Jewish by any chance, would you?"
"Sorry, I'm Lutheran."
Kosell nodded, and Gato felt as if he'd dashed yet another of this man's hopes. "Our congregation hasn't had minyan--prayer quota--since one of the crew deserted last time we put ashore. You've got a good Hebrew name, so I wondered. Anavel: humble one of God." He sniffed a little. "I can tell it don't suit you, though."
Gato thanked him in a mumble and went to the shuttle deck.
***
Captain Rosco was actually a captain. Her title was not just due to her being mistress of the Vera Lynn. The members of the Cima fleet hadn't given themselves promotions as had some of the Jion remnants, it seemed. While Gato respected and honoured Aguille Delaz with all his being, he had to admit to himself that the auto-promotion to admiral had been somewhat of a show of hubris.
Rosco was in her mid-fifties, tired-looking, and wiry. She seemed rather pleased to meet Gato though on the bridge of her Musai. Both she and her bridge crew were in civilian clothes, eschewing even the worn-out remnants of uniforms. Gato found the effect less unnerving than the sight of Cima's crew, even if it was a little surrealistic.
He mentioned the surrealism to Rosco, though not that the effect was more calming. To his shock, she laughed a little.
"Well, Cima's Cima and I'm me," she said, gesturing to her long felt skirt, peasant blouse and comfortable shoes. "After the war, I decided against uniforms for my crew. We can't replace them, and I didn't want to have my crew dressed in worn-out clothes. We keep them for certain occasions, but otherwise we found we look neater and feel better in civvies. Besides, I think she just likes knowing she's in command of a bunch of ruffians. I want to keep my crew as happy as possible--and that isn't a lot, I'm afraid."
"Colonel Garahau said that I was to be given a Gelgoog, but she didn't say why."
Rosco sighed. "We need those mobile suits for any number of reasons. We have to run patrols and scouting missions of course. They're also a source of revenue. There's plenty of people out there who like hiring a mobile suit and pilot for whatever evil reason. We aren't living on charity out here, Gato."
He felt his stomach knot.
"You're going to like the pilot I'm giving you as wingman though," she said. "I've been in the Jion forces for 30 years, and I've gotten pretty deft at matching people up that way. You'll meet her in the mobile suit deck. Her name's Isolda Raake."
By now, Gato was starting to feel rather like a ping-pong ball. The good news? He was going to the Delaz fleet. The bad news? Oh, you have to work your way doing some unspecified horror. The good news? You get your own Gelgoog for it. The bad news?
Well, the bad news wasn't going to be his wingman. Isolda Raake was a tall woman in brown corduroy pants and a black turtleneck. Her auburn hair was cut short and her green eyes reflected intelligence and sadness. She moved more athletically than he did, which made him somewhat embarrassed.
"You must be Gato," she said, shaking his hand firmly. "Hope you don't mind working with somebody who hasn't earned her own combat nickname."
"You were good enough to survive the war," Gato said to her. "That alone tells me all I need to know."
"A lot of better pilots than me didn't make it," she told him sadly. "I just got lucky."
Gato rather doubted that, but could tell that she had at least one "better pilot" specifically in mind.
"Anyway, the suit you'll be using is here. Follow me."
She shot a cable over to a Gelgoog in an anonymous grey colour scheme. The cockpit was already open, and they climbed inside. Gato took his place in the pilot's seat and adjusted it for his height.
"We don't spare any expense on maintaining these things," Raake said to him as she inserted a disk of flight information. "We put in all the resources we can because these last suits are our livelihood."
"No one has been very honest with me on what that livelihood is," Gato said. "I've already figured that it's illegal."
Raake nodded sadly. "Yeah. We do other things for money, but we're pirates mostly. Those news broadcasts with traumatized survivors found drifting in lifeboats? It's not always us, but much of the time it is."
"That's what I was afraid of", Gato said, his hand resting lightly on the right control stick. "Do I have a choice?"
Isolda snorted. "We all have choices. You can refuse. If you do, chances are that Cima will space you, of course, but that's your choice to make."
"Does this fleet ever come into port?"
"Sometimes, but never until after a raid. There are lots of little islands run by crime lords out there. One of our ships specializes in running tons and tons of white powder between one of them and Side 6. Another doesn't really have a crew anymore because it's full of computer servers carrying everything from anti-Federation sites to the worst kiddie porn to the backup machines for JION.GOV. But our day to day living is provided by preying on luxury liners and freighters."
"I'm supposed to be taken to the Delaz fleet," Gato said to her.
"I've no doubt that you'll get there, especially if Cima's getting paid, which she will be since she doesn't ever work for free. But I can tell you the logic in her mercenary little head: 'I've got use of the Nightmare of Solomon. I'm going to make him make money for me.' That's how she thinks."
"I take it you're as much a prisoner of undesirable choices as I am," Gato said. "You seem that sort of person."
She nodded. "Like all of us after the war, I didn't have anyplace to go. I could have gone home I suppose, I'm from Hoeksche Waard and not Mahal, but a prison term is waiting for me there because of the awful things we did during the war. And yes, I participated in them too." Her voice filled with misery.
"I don't see how you could have avoided it," Gato said. "You're a soldier, you followed your commander."
"You're right, but that doesn't feel like an excuse," she said. "So now I'm stuck, until something changes the situation." She gazed blankly at the floor for a while. "Well. I think we should get suited up and take these things out for a drive."
Gato hadn't been in a mobile suit since early in his relationship with Nina, when she managed to get him a clandestine ride in a captured Zaku. Now, despite the small voices of anger and disgust which he was ignoring, he felt his adrenaline start to rise even at the simple action of putting on a normal suit. Walking alongside Lt. Raake, both of them dressed as Jion pilots, brought back many memories both good and bad.
As Gato climbed into the cockpit the ghosts of 0079 began resurfacing at a rate he hadn't expected. It had been a long time since he'd launched from a Musai; he'd spent the largest chunks of the war on Solomon and the Doroa. He looked up at the signal lights. No, he hadn't been on a ship this small since he was just out of the Academy, in a Zaku II that he'd thought was the pinnacle of engineering, and he'd been so proud to be in one.
The light turned green and he hit the accelerator. His Gelgoog tore out of the ship, sending him back into the padding of his seat. For a second the interior of the ship flashed by, and then he was in space.
"You're being quiet," Isolda's voice said inside of his helmet as her Gelgoog caught up to his.
Gato realized he had the controls in a deathgrip. He gazed at the screens, rapt. The eternal night of space was around him. He hadn't been able to see the stars so clearly since one single Zaku ride a year ago. "I'm in space."
"Yes. Been away from it a while?"
"Since the war ended. The moon didn't give me opportunities to break loose." He considered mentioning the Zaku flight which Nina had devised for him, but decided against it. That had begun his affair with her, and besides that, the emotions it had evoked were not to be shared with a person he'd just met. "I'd almost forgotten how beautiful it is out here."
"Well, you'll be seeing it aplenty when we're on patrol." She was silent for a moment. "Sorry. I've just gotten jaded."
"I can understand." He scanned the horizon. "I see an asteroid belt over there. I'm rusty; I could use some hide-and-seek."
"Well then, let's dance," Isolda told him, and hit her boosters, flying out in front.
***
On landing, a yeoman brought a message to Gato.
"Ms Cima hopes you had a nice afternoon. She wants to meet you on the Lili Marlene for dinner."
Isolda gave him a sympathetic look. Gato nodded.
"Tell Colonel Garahau I'll be there."
"Meet in the galley at 1730."
"Have fun," Isolda told him softly, and squeezed his arm gently as she went to change from her suit.
Things were quiet on the bridge of the Lili Marlene. The crew who had been working that watch looked as if they were getting ready to stand down for the next. Cima was reading from a comp-pad and ticking things off with a stylus.
As Gato approached, Kosell looked at his watch, waited a moment, looked at his watch again and turned on the shipwide intercom. After a last glance at his watch he took the cord of a large brass bell and rang it.
"Eight bells, gentlemen, hand in your reports and stand down," Cima ordered. "I hope you had an interesting day, Mr. Gato?"
"Reporting as ordered, ma'am," Gato said to Cima.
She nodded. "I thought we could have dinner, seeing as it's your first night on board and all. You're a valuable addition to the fleet." She got up and led him out through the main deck.
Strange how praise from this woman struck like insults. Patience, he told himself. This woman had all the control over the situation and he'd have to at least be polite.
"I am honoured, ma'am."
She led him to an elevator he hadn't seen before and pressed the call button."Call me Ms. Cima. Everybody else does."
"All right, as long as you recognize that I'm Commander Gato."
She stepped into the elevator. "You academy types. So stuck on ceremony. Very well, I'll call you pigeon pie if that makes you happy."
Gato hid his scowl behind her back.
The galley was loud. Aside from the usual dining-room chatter, there were a few crewmembers in the corner with a guitar, squeezebox, and fiddle, playing up a storm. The din was increased by the sound of Cima's crew calling out greetings to her that she acknowledged with a tip of her fan.
The only thing that could have made the atmosphere worse would have been smoking, but the "No Smoking" signs were still on the walls. Dipping was obviously all right though, Gato observed with a wrinkled nose as he saw at least one crewmember spit brown juice into a cup. Cima had her own table, but it was still in plain view and shouting distance of the rest of her troops. She took her seat and placed her napkin tidily in her lap. Gato did the same.
One of the cooks emerged with a waiter's tray and set plates in front of them. Gato looked at the food. It was some kind of stew that didn't look bad, mashed potatoes, and a side of veggies.
Cima poured herself a glass of water. "I pride myself on being able to take care of my crews. The food's not fancy, but it's nourishing and there's enough of it. It's a struggle keeping ourselves in food, water filters and spare parts, but we manage."
"Yes. I've heard."
"Well then, you won't mind being impressed into duty for a while. Our shopping list is getting long, and we'll have to go to the store soon." She picked up her cutlery. "Go ahead, enough waiting for me."
Gato took an experimental forkful. "Not bad at all. Much better than some of the things I had to live on at war's end."
"Then you can appreciate our difficulty. We have no government to support us anymore. We kill what we eat. This is where you come in. I'm sure a fine Zum City academy graduate like yourself has trouble accepting the idea of raiding for a living."
Gato stared at her. "Of course."
"Well, I'm open to any other business plans. No one has been able to give me one, though." She picked at her mashies, which had turned out to be a potato/turnip mix. "Don't worry, Commander, we'll get you to your friend Delaz. He hasn't invited us to join in his plans beyond taking you there, so we have to be compensated somehow. Do you think you'll be able to work with Raake?"
"She seems to have the potential to be a good wingman."
"She's another non-Mahalite. She's from some Dutch colony. She grew up rich but gave it all up to join the war effort. So heroic."
Gato pretended not to notice the sarcasm in her voice. "What inspired you to join the military, then?"
"I needed a job that wasn't construction. I don't need to pick out an outfit in the morning, and the job involved no heavy lifting. I could do without the amount of travel I've done, though."
They both jumped slightly as the crew in the galley started banging on their drinking glasses with their cutlery. "I hope they're not demanding I kiss you," Cima said.
Gato wasn't sure how to respond to that, not wanting to imply either that he was repelled by the idea of kissing her or that he wasn't. The reason for the commotion was revealed as one of her men hopped up onto his chair and announced, "Seeing as we've been gifted with a new member of the family, howsabout a round of applause for him!"
The cutlery went down and they started clapping. Gato felt his face growing hot. The noise faded as the man on the chair started singing:
Well the year was 0078
(How I wish I was on Side 3 now)
An invitation came from Zabi
To a Mahalite vessel called Lili Marlene.
God damn them all,
I was told we'd win the war and then head home,
We'd fire some guns, drink some beers,
I've had no address for two long years,
As one of Cima's privateers!
Gato glanced over at Cima, who was laughing.
The war knocked unemployment down
(How I wish I were on Side 3 now)
Signing us poor old roustabouts who
Would make for them Ms Cima's crew.
God damn them all,
I was told we'd win the war and then head home
We'd fire some guns, drink some beers,
I've had no address for two long years,
As one of Cima's privateers!
Cima tossed her napkin aside and left her seat. One of her men linked his fingers together and she stepped onto them, letting him boost her onto the first long table.
On New Year's Day we all set sail,
(How I wish I were on Side 3 now)
The Princess Ks all proud marines
Far from their rivets and I-beams.
Cima was obviously having a whale of a time, dancing now with another marine on the table. Gato leaned back in his seat. Well, if nothing else, it looked as if this gang of errant criminals knew how to have fun.
We've done things to make you grow pale,
(How I wish I were on Side 3 now)
Our country just threw us away,
But we'll find ourselves a home someday.
God damn them all,
I was told we'd win the war and then head home
We'd fire some guns, drink some beers,
I've had no address for two long years,
As one of Cima's privateers!*
Cima dipped down in a courtly bow and bounced off the table and back to her seat. A cook placed fruit cobbler in front of them.
"Do you do this every night?" Gato asked.
"Ah, Seamus and the band sometimes feel like providing dinner music." She gestured to his dessert. "Take that to go. We'll talk in my office."
Cima's office was spacious, with two desks. The larger one was the one that was in use, the second probably being for a secretary Cima once had.
Cima stopped to remove her cape and gloves. She rolled up her sleeves to her elbows and dropped into the desk chair. She indicated that Gato should take the other.
"Cognac?" she asked after a moment.
"Yes, please."
She got up to fetch the decanter. Gato noticed the photograph on her desk. It was of Kishiria Zabi in evening clothes with a crown atop her red hair. She was standing beside Cima, who was dressed in a formal Earth Attack uniform.
"Ah. I escorted her to a formal ball, once," Cima said. She placed a cut- glass tumbler in front of him.
"I know that she was usually friends with her subordinates," Gato said.
"Yes, like Aznable and Ridden. She liked having a female officer in her command, though. The fleet was set up in a completely ass-backward way, and Deitrov--Mr. Kosell--smelled a rat from the beginning. She was my commander, but my boss, Colonel Asakura, was under Giren." She shook her head. "Made no sense, and no good came of it." She sat down heavily in her chair and crossed her legs. "So what about you? I know you were Dozel's man once, and now you're headed out to work with the Ghost of Giren Zabi."
Gato took a sip of the cognac, which was excellent. "I don't really think it matters anymore. They're all dead."
"That they are. That they are." She sat quietly with her drink for a moment. "We were all glorious morons, weren't we? I suppose that's why it's so hard to give it up. Princes, princesses, noble causes...it's like we're addicted to a fairy tale."
"Fairy tales don't end like this," Gato said.
"They don't, because they aren't real," Cima agreed, undoing her collar and unzipping her shirt to the collarbone. "Real is exile on these eight hunks of metal, committing crimes and yet having people sing songs about it." She grinned at him. "I'm not shitting you. We were out on Lindsay's Quay not long ago, and someone actually had written a song about our exploits. We're criminals for god's sake!" She snorted. "Humans. I'll never understand them." She took a swallow from her glass and said, "So I'll keep this simple. I think you're a very attractive man and I'd like to sleep with you."
Gato coughed on his mouthful of cognac. Cima was smiling at him, unaware that the lighting in the room was accentuating the fine lines around her mouth and eyes.
"Um--I--that's a very generous offer--ah--Colonel, but I think I'm going to have to decline. I just got out of a bad relationship."
She looked puzzled. "I never mentioned a relationship. I'm just looking for sex. There's not much else to do around this place."
"I'm afraid you'll have to look for your entertainment elsewhere," Gato told her, putting his glass down and standing. "Thank you very much for your hospitality, but it's been a long day and I'm very tired."
He left without another word, knowing he'd just brought the axe down upon his own neck. In fact, the first strike of it arrived just as he rounded the corner.
Gato was suddenly yanked off his feet and his face slammed into the bulkhead. Before he could do anything but yell in pain, a gravelly voice told him, "You fucking better not have taken her up on her offer."
Gato gasped, "If you mean the pass she made at me, no."
The hands holding him backed him away from the bulkhead for a second, then slammed him into it again. "That better not be a backwards way of insulting her, either."
"For the love of---!" Gato managed to turn his head enough to look up with one eye at Kosell. "She is NOT MY TYPE, all right? She's too wild for me. She'd break me in half. Take a pill, Mr. Kosell. She's all yours."
Kosell let him go. Gato hadn't realized he'd been held off the floor until his feet touched the deck and gave out under him.
"Well....all right then," said Kosell, and he disappeared in the direction of Cima's quarters.
Gato's nose was still bleeding and he was still trying to stanch it with tissues as he walked down his hallway on the Vera Lynn. As luck would have it, Isolda Raake was walking down the same hall in her bathrobe with a towel over her arm as he did.
"Gato!" she exclaimed. "You look like you ran into a wall. Or rather, the wall ran into you." She handed him her still-damp towel.
"Mr. Kosell appears to be rather jealous," he said nasally into the terrycloth. The towel smelled nice, of shampoo and her clean hair.
"Sorry. That was an inside joke of mine. 'Kosell' means 'wall' in Hebrew, I've heard. Come on, I've got some cold cans of soda in my cabin."
Application of a can of generic cola stopped the nosebleed and helped minimize the swelling. Isolda stepped into the half-bath that was part of an officer's quarters to dress again, then sat down on the bed. Her cabin was tidy but lived-in, with a desk covered in mementos, a locker, and the bed made up neatly despite the shabbiness of the covers
"A brief tutorial on Cima Fleet," she said. "Each ship does have its own rules, of course. Captain Rosco is an excellent commander. This ship runs like any other Jion vessel, only we don't have any higher authority than Cima and we don't wear our uniforms. Behave as the Jion officer and gentleman you are, and you'll do fine with Captain Rosco.
"Now, as for dealing with the Lili, that's obviously somewhat different. Treat them as a pack of wolves. Cima is alpha bitch. Kosell is alpha dog. Like any alpha bitch, Cima sometimes starts sniffing around for new mates. I don't think she really wants to replace Kosell, simply because she trusts him. They were together at Iffish Island, you see. That bonded them for good, but I think she just isn't monogamous. She's had flings on the sly, but when Kosell smells competition, he attacks. And you, Lt. Commander, are most definitely competition."
Gato started to grin, then winced. "Ow. Don't make me smile."
"All right, I'll make you stop. Dead puppies. Think about dead puppies."
"How about the idea of me as executive officer of this traveling circus? No thank you."
"Well, maybe she just wanted your body. I'm just saying that you're the sort who would come across as a threat to Kosell. However, you reacted like a beta, not that you are, but it probably saved your life."
Gato shook his head, then looked at the can in his hand. "May I drink this?"
"You've bled on it. It's yours."
"I just know that you must have a limited stock."
"I'm sure we'll be restocking soon." Her playful expression faded to blankness. "Anyway, we should probably both turn in. We've got second watch tomorrow."
"Then I will see you later, Lt. Raake. It's been nice meeting you."
"Likewise," she said, smiling a little. "I'll see you tomorrow."
The next two days were very routine. Gato and Raake flew patrols and did maintenance. On the third day, though, they and the other pilots were called to the briefing room by Captain Rosco. The mistress of the Vera greeted them from in front of a large viewscreen.
"No patrol today, gentlemen and ladies. We've got a fat passenger ship coming up from Earth itself. It's payday." She turned on the screen. Gato felt his mouth go dry and looked over at Isolda, whose eyes were focused on her lap. After a moment, she turned her gaze to him.
"You didn't think you were going to get off easy, did you?" she asked.
"One can always hope," he murmured.
"Give up that idea right now," she told him, and gestured for him to be quiet so they could be briefed.
...To be continued.
...For HDS. Come home soon. Come home safe.
*Great apologies to the late Stan Rogers, whose "Barrett's Privateers" is a surefire way to get a barful of Canadians jigging.
GENTLEMEN OF FORTUNE
Anavel Gato stood on the pavement in the early morning gloom, looking up at a dark window on an apartment building. Inside, his erstwhile lover of a year, Nina Purpleton, was deeply asleep. He still had the image of her fresh in his mind from a few minutes ago; tousled blonde hair on the pillow, blanket pulled up over her pale bare shoulders, her face peaceful in slumber.
He looked down at the dufflebag at his feet. Best not to dwell, he thought to himself. If he lingered, there was the chance that he might go back to her. He picked up the bag and walked a couple of blocks before standing on the curb and hailing a taxi.
"Where to?" the cabbie asked.
Gato fished a paper out of his jacket pocket. "Port of Von Braun, slip 94. I have to be there before 8."
"Plenty of time." The cabbie turned on the meter and the car started rolling.
The driver didn't seem inclined to talk, which suited Gato fine. The duffle was heavy on his lap but he didn't want to let it go. As he rode away, he was not only leaving a very emotional year, but his best friend as well as his lover. The friend, Lt. Kelly Layzner, was probably already awake. It was possible he'd never gone to bed. He and Gato had been together since the end of the One Year War, facing homelessness and hardship side by side until Laetura Chapra, the woman who would eventually become Kelly's wife, let them move into her apartment. Leaving Nina gave Gato mixed emotional reactions. True, he loved her, but she was such a workaholic, and unsympathetic to the things that caused him pain, that their separation was more or less necessary if either of them were to stay sane.
The idea of leaving Kelly, though, made Gato's eyes burn with tears. His hands tightened on the bag, which held some photos of the two of them. Someday they would fight together side by side. Kelly was rebuilding a mobile armour in his warehouse. With it he would join the Delaz fleet and they would be comrades in arms once again.
"22 credits, sir," the cabbie said.
"Oh!" Gato hadn't even realized they'd arrived. He reached into his pocket and gave the man 30 for the speed of the ride, and for leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Alone on the pavement he told himself, finally. Finally, he was re-joining his people the Jions, and they would soon bring revenge upon the Federation.
Unbidden, the image of the sleeping Nina came back to his mind. Gato shook his head violently and approached the slip.
The man who came to meet him was short and square, with a wide face and curly hair. It was the sort of face that normally was likable, but in this case he emanated untrustworthiness. "Are you the package?" He didn't try to shake Gato's hand.
Gato felt the corners of his mouth twist. "I'm Commander Gato."
"I'm Kult. That all your luggage?"
"Yes."
"Then come aboard." He turned around and led Gato towards the shuttle. Inside, Gato could tell it was the standard kind carried by Jion battleships, despite how it was disguised as a cargo vessel.
"You go back there," Kult told him before Gato could say any words of greeting to the pilots. He went to where Kult indicated, and found himself in a small cabin containing a bunk, a locker, and nothing else.
"This'll be home for you for a day or so, until we meet up with the fleet," Kult told him. "Make yourself comfy." He shut the door with a slam. Gato snarled and reached for the handle, but found himself locked in.
Panic rose in his chest. Would the Cima fleet really carry him to the Garden of Thorns? He was a respected Jion officer, but he was being treated like a parcel, something being mailed from one place to another. And if the messenger was untrustworthy, the contents of a parcel could be stolen and used....
Gato dropped onto the bunk. It was strongly rumoured that the Cima fleet had gone pirate. He couldn't know for sure; the local packs of pirates working currently didn't leave survivors. He pulled his knees up to his chin. Could he have followed Tetley's instructions to join Delaz only to be kidnapped and held for ransom?
No one told him anything. The ride was only 28 hours, during which time he was fed, watered, and allowed to use the washroom when he called the bridge to ask. Gato had had the foresight to bring some books, and his old King James, which he'd had since the day he left home for the Academy, was always a comfort to him, although reading it did make him miss his parents.
Still, after a long day and night of reading and napping, Kult knocked on his door. "We're coming up on the Cima Fleet. If you wanna change into uniform, now's the time."
Gato nodded. Everyone knew the bloody reputation of Lt. Colonel Cima "the Butcher of Iffish" Garahau. As such, it would perhaps be the wisest thing to meet her in uniform as a sign of respect.
Not that he minded a chance to get back into his true skin, as it were.
With Kult gone, he opened the plastic box in which his uniform lay. He stripped down to his briefs, then put on the collarless button-down shirt that was standard underneath a Jion uniform. The green trousers were tight in the waist; he'd gained weight during his year with Nina but was confident he could lose it again. He slipped the suspenders over his shoulders and reached for the tunic. Again, it was tight, but as he buttoned the cape and panels to the shoulders and slid on the epaulets, he felt a surge of pride that he hadn't realized he'd lost in his time as mailroom worker for Anaheim Electronics.
He had to undo his waistband to pull on his boots, but once he finished dressing, he felt like himself again. He remained standing as Kult opened the door.
The squat man looked him up and down. "You've been hitting the burritos there, haven't you, Gato?"
Gato's eyes narrowed. "You should talk."
"Least I'm wearing the same size I was at the beginning of the war. We've docked in the Lili Marlene, lead ship of the fleet. Ms Cima's waiting for you on the bridge."
Gato stepped past him. "Ms Cima? Don't you mean Colonel Garahau?"
Kult shrugged. "Whatever. We're all from Mahal here, and calling a lady Ms plus her first name is always polite there." His expression suddenly twisted with grief. "Or it was."
Gato felt a moment of sympathy for the man, then squashed it. They were all exiles now, and if the Mahalians were double exiles because their colony had been made into Giren Zabi's giant laser, they could at least reflect on the fact that it had gone to strong use against the Federation.
"You need to be shown up to the bridge?" Kult asked.
"I know the layout of a Zanzibar well enough," Gato told him. "Or is there anything you don't want me to see?"
"Nah."
Gato nodded and left the shuttle. He floated a couple of feet over the hangar floor towards the exit hatch.
Signs of poverty were clear, though. The corridors were poorly lit, as more than half the light fixtures were missing fluorescent tubes. The place was clean, but it smelled as if it was being maintained with water and vinegar rather than the usual industrial cleansers. Some hatches and doors were propped open, having broken their mechanisms. The Lili Marlene was not a place he was going to want to occupy for long, even though it seemed her crew was doing their best to keep her functioning.
The elevator wasn't working, so he ended up detouring up a staircase to main deck. At this, Gato had to pause for a moment, struck with nostalgia.
The room clearly saw a great deal of traffic, going by how paths were worn into the burgundy carpeting. They led past a bulkhead paneled in cherrywood, at the centre of which was a round, sculpted white medallion of the fleet's titulary commander, Kishiria Zabi. The war flag of Jion and Kishiria's personal standard were on poles on either side of it. Beside those were glass cases holding photographs related to the history of the ship.
Gato couldn't resist taking a brief peek at these. There was Degin Zabi, of blessed memory, overseeing the laying of the ceremonial keel. There were a few of the ship being built, then a photo of Kishiria smashing a bottle of champagne over the finished ship's nose. There was a photo of the crew, including Cima Garahau herself, standing in front of it.
There were a few more which looked as if they were dated to around the end of 0078. After that, the photos conspicuously stopped. Not much in their past in the way of treasured memories, Gato reasoned. He moved on to some models of the ships of the fleet and was examining those when a woman's voice startled him.
"I come here and reminisce, too."
Gato jumped and turned to look behind him. Cima Garahau was smiling at him, a smug little turn of her lips. The Butcher of Iffish wasn't quite what he'd pictured. She was in early middle age, he could tell, and almost as tall as he was. Black hair fell in a cascade to her hips, framing a face that was classically beautiful except for a chin that was a little too large for perfection. He couldn't tell what kind of body she had since she was draped to her knees in a reddish-brown cloak.
"Colonel Garahau." He bowed slightly and she nodded her head in recognition. "These are fine souvenirs of Jion's happier days, and a reminder of things to come."
"You can cut the crap, Gato. That sort of line might fly on Axis, but not here. Yes, these are memories of happier days, but those are done. As for what our future will be, I don't know. It doesn't involve Axis. Not for us poor bastards."
"I'm sure that Her Majesty's government could be convinced--"
Cima held up a hand. "We wouldn't necessarily want it to be. What we want now is a home that doesn't move constantly through space is all."
"There's a lot of us in Von Braun."
"Von Braun's not a bad place, but there are just too many of us in this fleet for the one city to handle us. A nice little tropical island would do. But enough of that. Come up to the bridge, I'll introduce you to the crew."
Gato followed her. The door slid open onto a bridge that had been standard, once. Now the command chair was more of a couch, draped in a white tigerskin. Behind the command couch was a large canvas of a stormy sea.
If the bridge had been made fancier, the crew had not. They were all wearing their uniform tunics open over their undershirts, showing the ID discs that hung around their necks. Sleeves were rolled up or torn out completely.
"I'll introduce you to the team," she said to Gato. "Here's Shiro Takagawa and Michael Zuzumbe, the operators. Logan Ximenez, communications. And these two fine lads at the wheel are Daryl Fried and Gordon Macmillan. Gentlemen, this is Anavel Gato. He's going to be riding with the fleet for a bit."
Variations of "Hi, Gato!" filled the air.
"And this is my executive officer, Deitrov Kosell," Cima said, dropping down into her seat and gesturing to the man who sat at the side of the dais.
Kosell rose to his feet and Gato wondered how he could have missed him before. While Dozel Zabi had been a much larger man than Kosell, the key word here was that Dozel had been an enormous man. Lt. Kosell came across as being more of a building. He was in his late forties with grey hair and a craggy, aquiline face. Despite his age, his body was made of cabled muscle, displayed by his sleeveless, open tunic worn without a t-shirt beneath. He stepped in between Gato and Cima without saying a word. Even without speech, his message was clear: I am the alpha male. Fuck with my bitch and you die.
"I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. Kosell," Gato said.
Kosell grunted.
"So, what are our plans?" Gato said.
"Our plans are to collect our paycheques," Cima told him, slinging her legs over the arms of her command chair. "I don't know what you have in mind."
Gato's mouth went dry. "I was told you'd be conveying me to the Delaz fleet."
"Oh yes. That. We'll get you there, don't worry, but this is a tramp fleet now, not Federal Express. To reach Delaz we need fuel, water, and food, and we can't just have Kishiria hook us up anymore. You're going to have to be patient."
"Patient? How can I be patient? More than a year I spent in Von Braun, working as a mail clerk, a mail clerk, Garahau, waiting for the time when I could rejoin the fight! Don't make me waste any more time rotting instead of spreading terror among the Feddies!"
Kosell crossed his arms and said in a deep rumble of a voice to Cima, "I think we could put him to work, ma'am."
"I think you might be right, Mr. Kosell." She grinned at Gato. "Get our new recruit a Gelgoog."
"Colonel!" Gato exclaimed.
She looked pensive. "What, you don't want one? I know you'd take care of it. They're priceless at this point; very few exist anymore and none can be replaced."
"I would. I just didn't expect to be taking up arms yet."
"We'll polish the rust off you, don't worry. Mr. Kosell? Could you take Commander Gato to a cabin? I'm sure he'd like to settle in."
"Aye aye, madame Captain."
Gato followed the craggy man to the executive officer's cabin. The front room was an office, as was usual for those of his rank. Before entering, Kosell stopped to touch a small silver tube nailed to the doorframe and raise his fingertips to his lips. Inside, the office was smaller than Cima's would be, with a closed door no doubt leading to Kosell's quarters behind. The man had obviously been there a long time. The desk sported at least one ring stain from a coffee mug and the office chair was worn. There were photos on his desk; Gato was surprised to see Kosell wearing the uniform of a police officer rather than that of a member of the military. He was smiling widely, surrounded by his wife and three teenaged children.
The Cima fleet had been drifting homeless since the war. It would be hard for Kosell to track down his dispersed family at the best of times, seeing as the citizens of Mahal had been scattered among all the cylinders of Side 3. Now, without any stationary place to call home, it would be near impossible. Gato felt a surge of pity for the man; Gato's parents now knew what had become of him. Kosell likely didn't know what had happened to his family, nor they of him.
Kosell sat at his desk and pulled out a paper file, causing Gato to wonder if the computer on the desk was dead. He paged through it and said, "I'm going to put you on the Vera Lynn. There are three suits on board. And you can have cabin G-9." He wrote this down on a pad of yellow paper which he tore off and handed to Gato. "You know where the shuttle bay is, so go there and get one over to the Vera. I'll call over to the skipper and let her know you're coming. Captain Rosco can handle it from there." He peered up hopefully at Gato again. "You wouldn't happen to be Jewish by any chance, would you?"
"Sorry, I'm Lutheran."
Kosell nodded, and Gato felt as if he'd dashed yet another of this man's hopes. "Our congregation hasn't had minyan--prayer quota--since one of the crew deserted last time we put ashore. You've got a good Hebrew name, so I wondered. Anavel: humble one of God." He sniffed a little. "I can tell it don't suit you, though."
Gato thanked him in a mumble and went to the shuttle deck.
***
Captain Rosco was actually a captain. Her title was not just due to her being mistress of the Vera Lynn. The members of the Cima fleet hadn't given themselves promotions as had some of the Jion remnants, it seemed. While Gato respected and honoured Aguille Delaz with all his being, he had to admit to himself that the auto-promotion to admiral had been somewhat of a show of hubris.
Rosco was in her mid-fifties, tired-looking, and wiry. She seemed rather pleased to meet Gato though on the bridge of her Musai. Both she and her bridge crew were in civilian clothes, eschewing even the worn-out remnants of uniforms. Gato found the effect less unnerving than the sight of Cima's crew, even if it was a little surrealistic.
He mentioned the surrealism to Rosco, though not that the effect was more calming. To his shock, she laughed a little.
"Well, Cima's Cima and I'm me," she said, gesturing to her long felt skirt, peasant blouse and comfortable shoes. "After the war, I decided against uniforms for my crew. We can't replace them, and I didn't want to have my crew dressed in worn-out clothes. We keep them for certain occasions, but otherwise we found we look neater and feel better in civvies. Besides, I think she just likes knowing she's in command of a bunch of ruffians. I want to keep my crew as happy as possible--and that isn't a lot, I'm afraid."
"Colonel Garahau said that I was to be given a Gelgoog, but she didn't say why."
Rosco sighed. "We need those mobile suits for any number of reasons. We have to run patrols and scouting missions of course. They're also a source of revenue. There's plenty of people out there who like hiring a mobile suit and pilot for whatever evil reason. We aren't living on charity out here, Gato."
He felt his stomach knot.
"You're going to like the pilot I'm giving you as wingman though," she said. "I've been in the Jion forces for 30 years, and I've gotten pretty deft at matching people up that way. You'll meet her in the mobile suit deck. Her name's Isolda Raake."
By now, Gato was starting to feel rather like a ping-pong ball. The good news? He was going to the Delaz fleet. The bad news? Oh, you have to work your way doing some unspecified horror. The good news? You get your own Gelgoog for it. The bad news?
Well, the bad news wasn't going to be his wingman. Isolda Raake was a tall woman in brown corduroy pants and a black turtleneck. Her auburn hair was cut short and her green eyes reflected intelligence and sadness. She moved more athletically than he did, which made him somewhat embarrassed.
"You must be Gato," she said, shaking his hand firmly. "Hope you don't mind working with somebody who hasn't earned her own combat nickname."
"You were good enough to survive the war," Gato said to her. "That alone tells me all I need to know."
"A lot of better pilots than me didn't make it," she told him sadly. "I just got lucky."
Gato rather doubted that, but could tell that she had at least one "better pilot" specifically in mind.
"Anyway, the suit you'll be using is here. Follow me."
She shot a cable over to a Gelgoog in an anonymous grey colour scheme. The cockpit was already open, and they climbed inside. Gato took his place in the pilot's seat and adjusted it for his height.
"We don't spare any expense on maintaining these things," Raake said to him as she inserted a disk of flight information. "We put in all the resources we can because these last suits are our livelihood."
"No one has been very honest with me on what that livelihood is," Gato said. "I've already figured that it's illegal."
Raake nodded sadly. "Yeah. We do other things for money, but we're pirates mostly. Those news broadcasts with traumatized survivors found drifting in lifeboats? It's not always us, but much of the time it is."
"That's what I was afraid of", Gato said, his hand resting lightly on the right control stick. "Do I have a choice?"
Isolda snorted. "We all have choices. You can refuse. If you do, chances are that Cima will space you, of course, but that's your choice to make."
"Does this fleet ever come into port?"
"Sometimes, but never until after a raid. There are lots of little islands run by crime lords out there. One of our ships specializes in running tons and tons of white powder between one of them and Side 6. Another doesn't really have a crew anymore because it's full of computer servers carrying everything from anti-Federation sites to the worst kiddie porn to the backup machines for JION.GOV. But our day to day living is provided by preying on luxury liners and freighters."
"I'm supposed to be taken to the Delaz fleet," Gato said to her.
"I've no doubt that you'll get there, especially if Cima's getting paid, which she will be since she doesn't ever work for free. But I can tell you the logic in her mercenary little head: 'I've got use of the Nightmare of Solomon. I'm going to make him make money for me.' That's how she thinks."
"I take it you're as much a prisoner of undesirable choices as I am," Gato said. "You seem that sort of person."
She nodded. "Like all of us after the war, I didn't have anyplace to go. I could have gone home I suppose, I'm from Hoeksche Waard and not Mahal, but a prison term is waiting for me there because of the awful things we did during the war. And yes, I participated in them too." Her voice filled with misery.
"I don't see how you could have avoided it," Gato said. "You're a soldier, you followed your commander."
"You're right, but that doesn't feel like an excuse," she said. "So now I'm stuck, until something changes the situation." She gazed blankly at the floor for a while. "Well. I think we should get suited up and take these things out for a drive."
Gato hadn't been in a mobile suit since early in his relationship with Nina, when she managed to get him a clandestine ride in a captured Zaku. Now, despite the small voices of anger and disgust which he was ignoring, he felt his adrenaline start to rise even at the simple action of putting on a normal suit. Walking alongside Lt. Raake, both of them dressed as Jion pilots, brought back many memories both good and bad.
As Gato climbed into the cockpit the ghosts of 0079 began resurfacing at a rate he hadn't expected. It had been a long time since he'd launched from a Musai; he'd spent the largest chunks of the war on Solomon and the Doroa. He looked up at the signal lights. No, he hadn't been on a ship this small since he was just out of the Academy, in a Zaku II that he'd thought was the pinnacle of engineering, and he'd been so proud to be in one.
The light turned green and he hit the accelerator. His Gelgoog tore out of the ship, sending him back into the padding of his seat. For a second the interior of the ship flashed by, and then he was in space.
"You're being quiet," Isolda's voice said inside of his helmet as her Gelgoog caught up to his.
Gato realized he had the controls in a deathgrip. He gazed at the screens, rapt. The eternal night of space was around him. He hadn't been able to see the stars so clearly since one single Zaku ride a year ago. "I'm in space."
"Yes. Been away from it a while?"
"Since the war ended. The moon didn't give me opportunities to break loose." He considered mentioning the Zaku flight which Nina had devised for him, but decided against it. That had begun his affair with her, and besides that, the emotions it had evoked were not to be shared with a person he'd just met. "I'd almost forgotten how beautiful it is out here."
"Well, you'll be seeing it aplenty when we're on patrol." She was silent for a moment. "Sorry. I've just gotten jaded."
"I can understand." He scanned the horizon. "I see an asteroid belt over there. I'm rusty; I could use some hide-and-seek."
"Well then, let's dance," Isolda told him, and hit her boosters, flying out in front.
***
On landing, a yeoman brought a message to Gato.
"Ms Cima hopes you had a nice afternoon. She wants to meet you on the Lili Marlene for dinner."
Isolda gave him a sympathetic look. Gato nodded.
"Tell Colonel Garahau I'll be there."
"Meet in the galley at 1730."
"Have fun," Isolda told him softly, and squeezed his arm gently as she went to change from her suit.
Things were quiet on the bridge of the Lili Marlene. The crew who had been working that watch looked as if they were getting ready to stand down for the next. Cima was reading from a comp-pad and ticking things off with a stylus.
As Gato approached, Kosell looked at his watch, waited a moment, looked at his watch again and turned on the shipwide intercom. After a last glance at his watch he took the cord of a large brass bell and rang it.
"Eight bells, gentlemen, hand in your reports and stand down," Cima ordered. "I hope you had an interesting day, Mr. Gato?"
"Reporting as ordered, ma'am," Gato said to Cima.
She nodded. "I thought we could have dinner, seeing as it's your first night on board and all. You're a valuable addition to the fleet." She got up and led him out through the main deck.
Strange how praise from this woman struck like insults. Patience, he told himself. This woman had all the control over the situation and he'd have to at least be polite.
"I am honoured, ma'am."
She led him to an elevator he hadn't seen before and pressed the call button."Call me Ms. Cima. Everybody else does."
"All right, as long as you recognize that I'm Commander Gato."
She stepped into the elevator. "You academy types. So stuck on ceremony. Very well, I'll call you pigeon pie if that makes you happy."
Gato hid his scowl behind her back.
The galley was loud. Aside from the usual dining-room chatter, there were a few crewmembers in the corner with a guitar, squeezebox, and fiddle, playing up a storm. The din was increased by the sound of Cima's crew calling out greetings to her that she acknowledged with a tip of her fan.
The only thing that could have made the atmosphere worse would have been smoking, but the "No Smoking" signs were still on the walls. Dipping was obviously all right though, Gato observed with a wrinkled nose as he saw at least one crewmember spit brown juice into a cup. Cima had her own table, but it was still in plain view and shouting distance of the rest of her troops. She took her seat and placed her napkin tidily in her lap. Gato did the same.
One of the cooks emerged with a waiter's tray and set plates in front of them. Gato looked at the food. It was some kind of stew that didn't look bad, mashed potatoes, and a side of veggies.
Cima poured herself a glass of water. "I pride myself on being able to take care of my crews. The food's not fancy, but it's nourishing and there's enough of it. It's a struggle keeping ourselves in food, water filters and spare parts, but we manage."
"Yes. I've heard."
"Well then, you won't mind being impressed into duty for a while. Our shopping list is getting long, and we'll have to go to the store soon." She picked up her cutlery. "Go ahead, enough waiting for me."
Gato took an experimental forkful. "Not bad at all. Much better than some of the things I had to live on at war's end."
"Then you can appreciate our difficulty. We have no government to support us anymore. We kill what we eat. This is where you come in. I'm sure a fine Zum City academy graduate like yourself has trouble accepting the idea of raiding for a living."
Gato stared at her. "Of course."
"Well, I'm open to any other business plans. No one has been able to give me one, though." She picked at her mashies, which had turned out to be a potato/turnip mix. "Don't worry, Commander, we'll get you to your friend Delaz. He hasn't invited us to join in his plans beyond taking you there, so we have to be compensated somehow. Do you think you'll be able to work with Raake?"
"She seems to have the potential to be a good wingman."
"She's another non-Mahalite. She's from some Dutch colony. She grew up rich but gave it all up to join the war effort. So heroic."
Gato pretended not to notice the sarcasm in her voice. "What inspired you to join the military, then?"
"I needed a job that wasn't construction. I don't need to pick out an outfit in the morning, and the job involved no heavy lifting. I could do without the amount of travel I've done, though."
They both jumped slightly as the crew in the galley started banging on their drinking glasses with their cutlery. "I hope they're not demanding I kiss you," Cima said.
Gato wasn't sure how to respond to that, not wanting to imply either that he was repelled by the idea of kissing her or that he wasn't. The reason for the commotion was revealed as one of her men hopped up onto his chair and announced, "Seeing as we've been gifted with a new member of the family, howsabout a round of applause for him!"
The cutlery went down and they started clapping. Gato felt his face growing hot. The noise faded as the man on the chair started singing:
Well the year was 0078
(How I wish I was on Side 3 now)
An invitation came from Zabi
To a Mahalite vessel called Lili Marlene.
God damn them all,
I was told we'd win the war and then head home,
We'd fire some guns, drink some beers,
I've had no address for two long years,
As one of Cima's privateers!
Gato glanced over at Cima, who was laughing.
The war knocked unemployment down
(How I wish I were on Side 3 now)
Signing us poor old roustabouts who
Would make for them Ms Cima's crew.
God damn them all,
I was told we'd win the war and then head home
We'd fire some guns, drink some beers,
I've had no address for two long years,
As one of Cima's privateers!
Cima tossed her napkin aside and left her seat. One of her men linked his fingers together and she stepped onto them, letting him boost her onto the first long table.
On New Year's Day we all set sail,
(How I wish I were on Side 3 now)
The Princess Ks all proud marines
Far from their rivets and I-beams.
Cima was obviously having a whale of a time, dancing now with another marine on the table. Gato leaned back in his seat. Well, if nothing else, it looked as if this gang of errant criminals knew how to have fun.
We've done things to make you grow pale,
(How I wish I were on Side 3 now)
Our country just threw us away,
But we'll find ourselves a home someday.
God damn them all,
I was told we'd win the war and then head home
We'd fire some guns, drink some beers,
I've had no address for two long years,
As one of Cima's privateers!*
Cima dipped down in a courtly bow and bounced off the table and back to her seat. A cook placed fruit cobbler in front of them.
"Do you do this every night?" Gato asked.
"Ah, Seamus and the band sometimes feel like providing dinner music." She gestured to his dessert. "Take that to go. We'll talk in my office."
Cima's office was spacious, with two desks. The larger one was the one that was in use, the second probably being for a secretary Cima once had.
Cima stopped to remove her cape and gloves. She rolled up her sleeves to her elbows and dropped into the desk chair. She indicated that Gato should take the other.
"Cognac?" she asked after a moment.
"Yes, please."
She got up to fetch the decanter. Gato noticed the photograph on her desk. It was of Kishiria Zabi in evening clothes with a crown atop her red hair. She was standing beside Cima, who was dressed in a formal Earth Attack uniform.
"Ah. I escorted her to a formal ball, once," Cima said. She placed a cut- glass tumbler in front of him.
"I know that she was usually friends with her subordinates," Gato said.
"Yes, like Aznable and Ridden. She liked having a female officer in her command, though. The fleet was set up in a completely ass-backward way, and Deitrov--Mr. Kosell--smelled a rat from the beginning. She was my commander, but my boss, Colonel Asakura, was under Giren." She shook her head. "Made no sense, and no good came of it." She sat down heavily in her chair and crossed her legs. "So what about you? I know you were Dozel's man once, and now you're headed out to work with the Ghost of Giren Zabi."
Gato took a sip of the cognac, which was excellent. "I don't really think it matters anymore. They're all dead."
"That they are. That they are." She sat quietly with her drink for a moment. "We were all glorious morons, weren't we? I suppose that's why it's so hard to give it up. Princes, princesses, noble causes...it's like we're addicted to a fairy tale."
"Fairy tales don't end like this," Gato said.
"They don't, because they aren't real," Cima agreed, undoing her collar and unzipping her shirt to the collarbone. "Real is exile on these eight hunks of metal, committing crimes and yet having people sing songs about it." She grinned at him. "I'm not shitting you. We were out on Lindsay's Quay not long ago, and someone actually had written a song about our exploits. We're criminals for god's sake!" She snorted. "Humans. I'll never understand them." She took a swallow from her glass and said, "So I'll keep this simple. I think you're a very attractive man and I'd like to sleep with you."
Gato coughed on his mouthful of cognac. Cima was smiling at him, unaware that the lighting in the room was accentuating the fine lines around her mouth and eyes.
"Um--I--that's a very generous offer--ah--Colonel, but I think I'm going to have to decline. I just got out of a bad relationship."
She looked puzzled. "I never mentioned a relationship. I'm just looking for sex. There's not much else to do around this place."
"I'm afraid you'll have to look for your entertainment elsewhere," Gato told her, putting his glass down and standing. "Thank you very much for your hospitality, but it's been a long day and I'm very tired."
He left without another word, knowing he'd just brought the axe down upon his own neck. In fact, the first strike of it arrived just as he rounded the corner.
Gato was suddenly yanked off his feet and his face slammed into the bulkhead. Before he could do anything but yell in pain, a gravelly voice told him, "You fucking better not have taken her up on her offer."
Gato gasped, "If you mean the pass she made at me, no."
The hands holding him backed him away from the bulkhead for a second, then slammed him into it again. "That better not be a backwards way of insulting her, either."
"For the love of---!" Gato managed to turn his head enough to look up with one eye at Kosell. "She is NOT MY TYPE, all right? She's too wild for me. She'd break me in half. Take a pill, Mr. Kosell. She's all yours."
Kosell let him go. Gato hadn't realized he'd been held off the floor until his feet touched the deck and gave out under him.
"Well....all right then," said Kosell, and he disappeared in the direction of Cima's quarters.
Gato's nose was still bleeding and he was still trying to stanch it with tissues as he walked down his hallway on the Vera Lynn. As luck would have it, Isolda Raake was walking down the same hall in her bathrobe with a towel over her arm as he did.
"Gato!" she exclaimed. "You look like you ran into a wall. Or rather, the wall ran into you." She handed him her still-damp towel.
"Mr. Kosell appears to be rather jealous," he said nasally into the terrycloth. The towel smelled nice, of shampoo and her clean hair.
"Sorry. That was an inside joke of mine. 'Kosell' means 'wall' in Hebrew, I've heard. Come on, I've got some cold cans of soda in my cabin."
Application of a can of generic cola stopped the nosebleed and helped minimize the swelling. Isolda stepped into the half-bath that was part of an officer's quarters to dress again, then sat down on the bed. Her cabin was tidy but lived-in, with a desk covered in mementos, a locker, and the bed made up neatly despite the shabbiness of the covers
"A brief tutorial on Cima Fleet," she said. "Each ship does have its own rules, of course. Captain Rosco is an excellent commander. This ship runs like any other Jion vessel, only we don't have any higher authority than Cima and we don't wear our uniforms. Behave as the Jion officer and gentleman you are, and you'll do fine with Captain Rosco.
"Now, as for dealing with the Lili, that's obviously somewhat different. Treat them as a pack of wolves. Cima is alpha bitch. Kosell is alpha dog. Like any alpha bitch, Cima sometimes starts sniffing around for new mates. I don't think she really wants to replace Kosell, simply because she trusts him. They were together at Iffish Island, you see. That bonded them for good, but I think she just isn't monogamous. She's had flings on the sly, but when Kosell smells competition, he attacks. And you, Lt. Commander, are most definitely competition."
Gato started to grin, then winced. "Ow. Don't make me smile."
"All right, I'll make you stop. Dead puppies. Think about dead puppies."
"How about the idea of me as executive officer of this traveling circus? No thank you."
"Well, maybe she just wanted your body. I'm just saying that you're the sort who would come across as a threat to Kosell. However, you reacted like a beta, not that you are, but it probably saved your life."
Gato shook his head, then looked at the can in his hand. "May I drink this?"
"You've bled on it. It's yours."
"I just know that you must have a limited stock."
"I'm sure we'll be restocking soon." Her playful expression faded to blankness. "Anyway, we should probably both turn in. We've got second watch tomorrow."
"Then I will see you later, Lt. Raake. It's been nice meeting you."
"Likewise," she said, smiling a little. "I'll see you tomorrow."
The next two days were very routine. Gato and Raake flew patrols and did maintenance. On the third day, though, they and the other pilots were called to the briefing room by Captain Rosco. The mistress of the Vera greeted them from in front of a large viewscreen.
"No patrol today, gentlemen and ladies. We've got a fat passenger ship coming up from Earth itself. It's payday." She turned on the screen. Gato felt his mouth go dry and looked over at Isolda, whose eyes were focused on her lap. After a moment, she turned her gaze to him.
"You didn't think you were going to get off easy, did you?" she asked.
"One can always hope," he murmured.
"Give up that idea right now," she told him, and gestured for him to be quiet so they could be briefed.
...To be continued.
...For HDS. Come home soon. Come home safe.
*Great apologies to the late Stan Rogers, whose "Barrett's Privateers" is a surefire way to get a barful of Canadians jigging.