Gene Wolfe - Home Fires

Skip nodded. “I agree, Captain, but I have a question.”

“So do I,” Vanessa said, “and I think it’s the same one. You’re the captain, Richard, so why ask us? Why don’t you just do it?”

The captain drew a deep breath. “Because I need your cooperation—all three of you. Lieutenant Brice is in the infirmary, and some of the best people I had are dead. I don’t want another fight with the hijackers before we make port there. It would be a fight we might lose.”

He paused, then spoke to Chelle. “You’re headstrong, Ms. Blue. I don’t want you to organize an attack on your own, and after what I’ve seen you do, I’m afraid you might do it. You’re a soldier? That’s what Mr. Grison told me.”

Chelle made him a mock salute. “Mastergunner Blue at your service, sir.”

“I certainly hope so. We’ve quite a few vets among the passengers, and Mr. Gorman tells me that they—and you—were our best fighters. Would they follow you if you tried to surprise the hijackers?”

“Absolutely. Every one of them.”

“I want you to give me your word you won’t do it, at least until we reach Grenada—or fail to reach it. Will you?”

“You’ve got it, Captain,” Chelle said.

“Thank you. I’m deeply indebted to you.” He turned to Vanessa. “You’re Ms. Blue’s mother, Virginia? That’s what Mr. Grison told me, although you seem much too young.”

Vanessa’s smile would have charmed a man far less susceptible. “I was a mere infant of twenty-three when Chelle was born.”

“But if Ms. Blue here fought…?”

Chelle said, “You’re right. I was gone over twenty years, Earth-time. My mother’d be pushing seventy now if she hadn’t been up in space herself. She won’t talk about it, damn her. Not to me and probably not to you.”

Vanessa smiled again. “My lips are sealed.”

“I understand,” the captain told her. “You were a civilian employee of the government. We’ll leave it at that.”

“As I said, Richard, my lips are sealed.”

“Not where your daughter is concerned, I hope. You’re bound to have a good deal of influence with her. I’d like you to exert it to prevent a premature attack. That’s why you’re here.”

“I’d do it even if you hadn’t asked, Richard. I’d rather die myself than see Chelle killed.”

No one spoke until Skip said, “What about me, Captain? Why was I invited?”

The captain seemed to hesitate. “You’re an attorney, Mr. Grison? I believe you told me so.”

Skip nodded. “Burton, Grison, and Ibarra. Chet Burton’s our senior partner, but he’s retired.”

“You do the senior partner’s work without the senior partner’s pay.”

“If you want to put it that way. I’m doing all right financially.”

“I imagine you are.” The captain cleared his throat. “You and Ms. Blue are an extraordinary couple. We’re very lucky to have you two on board.”

Chelle said, “Thanks.”

“I feel blessed in all three of you.” The captain studied their faces before he spoke again. “Something was said earlier about Mr. Grison’s jumping the railing. Like a tiger was the way you put it, Mastergunner Blue. I was nearer than you were, and I confirm it. He realized—he’s told me this since—that they were shooting at you.”

Vanessa said, “You must have gone over that railing too, Richard. You were on deck with two empty pistols when I got there.”

The captain nodded. “Thank you. That brings me to my point, and I didn’t know how I was going to get there. I’d never have gone over that railing if Mr. Grison hadn’t done it first. As it was, I followed him without thought and without hesitation. Are you—”

As the captain spoke, the door opened. Achille looked in and made an odd, urgent gesture.

Skip said, “We’ll be through in a moment.”

When the door had shut, the captain said, “I was about to ask whether you were the leader of the passengers.”

“No. I don’t think they have a leader.”

Chelle said, “He is, Captain.”

“That is my impression as well. Whether you’re their leader or not, Mr. Grison, I know you have influence and I want you to use it.”

Soon after that, the meeting ended. The captain and Vanessa left together, going up the stairs to the signal deck. While Skip and Chelle made their way forward, she asked, “What do you think Achille wanted?”

“I have no idea. Something was wrong with him. Did you notice?”

“Sure. One side of his face was swollen.”

“You’re right. He’d put a hook through the face of one of the hijackers, and they beat him for it. That’s not what I was getting at, though. I lost track of him when the shooting started, and he looks different now. It took me a moment to put my finger on it.”

“Maybe he took a bath.”

Skip was silent.

When they had passed a dozen weary doors, Chelle asked, “Where are you going?”

“To our stateroom. I thought Achille would be waiting outside. He wasn’t and I’d like to be where he can find me, at least for the next hour or two. I’ll probably go out on the veranda and read. What about you?”

“Going down to the second-class bar. I just decided.” Grinning, Chelle raised her larger hand. “I swear I won’t have more than a couple of beers, and I won’t cheat on you. Trust me?”

Skip nodded. “I love you too much not to.”

“Okay. I need to talk to the guys and tell them to lay off the rough stuff until we get to that island he’s heading for.”

“Grenada.”

“Yeah, that was it. I’ll circulate and pass the word. Then I’ll come in and make you drop your book.”

As he walked down the corridor to their cabin, Skip decided that he would read for no longer than one hour. If Chelle had not returned by then, he too would look in on the second-class bar.

Achille was waiting outside the door. “We talk, mon. Mus’ talk. I got big news. Bad news.”

Skip slipped his key card into the lock. “Come in. I’ve got a question, but I may not need to ask it after I hear your news.”

Hesitantly, Achille followed him in. “Is good, I come in this place?”

“You’re worried about Chelle. She isn’t here, and you’ll be gone before she comes back. You said you had news. What is it?”

“They take me, los picaróns . Take my hooks.”

Skip nodded. “I should have noticed that when you opened the door and waved to me. I knew something was wrong with the way you looked, but I didn’t know what it was. How did you open the door?”

Achille grinned. “Roll him between arms, mon.” He demonstrated, one brawny forearm on top of an imaginary doorknob and the other below it. “This how I do him all days.”

“I see. How did you get away from the hijackers?”

“They let me go, mon. Take my hooks, I no fight then. Give paper and let go. I say I take to you. In pocket my shirt.” Lifting one shoulder and bending his head, Achille caught the top of a soiled note between his teeth.

Skip took it. It proved to be a list of names, some printed, some cursive: David Arthur Pechter, Gregorio I. Lo Casale, Joe Bonham, Donald Miles, Gerald Kent-Jermyn, and Angel Mendoza.

Achille pointed to the last. “Is gone, mon. He give slip before let me go. Him, him, him, him, him they still got. Rope on hands, feet, so they not give slip, too.”

“These five men are their prisoners?”

“Is so, mon. They give paper, make every mon write his name. They give me paper, say you come talk or they—” Achille made a throat-cutting gesture with the end of his right stump. “You come talk?”

“Yes. Yes, certainly.”

“No gun. No knife.”

Skip nodded. “Chelle doesn’t have a laptop. I ought to have gotten her one.” A short search uncovered paper with the ship’s name and image blazoned on top, and a pen.