Neal Asher: The Voyage of the Sable Keech

Erlin responded with a measured nod—indeed, how well she knew that.

‘Shut the fuck up,’ Janer muttered to the carry case affixed on his shoulder.

Erlin grinned, almost able to guess what the hive mind was saying to him—probably some sarcastic comment about Janer’s ‘busy-ness’. She then glanced beyond him towards a commotion on the other side of the concourse. ‘Here they come.’

Janer and Wade turned simultaneously.

Even though the concourse was not particularly crowded, the people occupying it moved sharply out of the approaching party’s way. Erlin then noticed some of the Polity citizens groping in pockets for their holocams. Their fascination was understandable, as four Old Captains together in one place was not a common sight. It was certainly an impressive one.

Ambel, Ron, Drum and Orbus—they strolled along with leisurely power, appearing utterly dominant, as if they could rip this moon base apart with their bare hands. Forlam, not yet having attained such great age, just looked dangerous and edgy alongside them. Crewman Drooble still bore the smiling expression of the mildly demented. Keech alone seemed utterly normal and human amidst them, while his prisoner, Bloc, almost faded into insignificance. Even as this diverse bunch arrived at the bar, the turbot vending tray was returning laden with big mugs of seacane rum. Janer glanced at Wade and raised an eyebrow.

‘Old Captains are always thirsty,’ Wade explained, having summoned the tray by internal radio.

While the new arrivals gathered round them, only Keech held back.

‘My slot is nearly due,’ he announced. ‘I should say my goodbyes now.’

‘Then say them, lad,’ said Ambel. ‘Just give him to me.’

As Ambel grabbed Bloc’s shoulder, the man stared up at him, terrified. Erlin considered what was in store for him: forensic examination and interrogation by AI, then inevitably mindwipe. But perhaps Bloc somehow thought he would escape that fate. However, there would be no such mercy if he remained here in the hands of the Old Captains.

‘It’s been as interesting as ever.’ Keech shook hands all round. Then, eyeing Janer and Erlin, ‘I will see you again, perhaps.’

Retrieving Bloc from Ambel’s firm grasp he slapped that Old Captain on the shoulder. ‘Stay well, Ambel.’ Then he herded his prisoner off towards the runcible embarkation lounge.

‘We should be moving as well.’ Wade stood up.

‘Yeah.’ Janer quickly rose too.

The vending tray, now empty, abruptly swooped in on them. When Janer looked up, it was hovering only a metre in front of his face.

‘Janer Cord Anders,’ it announced, ‘you seem to have forgotten something.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

The tray opened two small laser ports situated on its underside.

‘You’re just no fun,’ grumbled Janer. He removed the singun from his jacket and tossed it onto the tray. ‘Can we go now?’

The tray floated higher. ‘Of course.’

Janer said only brief goodbyes, until he came to Erlin.

‘Will you ever come back here?’ she asked him.

Grinning widely, he took hold of her chin and kissed her hard on the mouth.

‘Oh definitely,’ he said, and turned away.

Feeling slightly discomfited, Erlin watched them disappear after Keech and Bloc. Ambel sat down beside her, studying her with some amusement, before both turned their attention to Captain Ron, who was still standing, arms akimbo, conversing with Captain Orbus.

‘Are you sure about this?’ he asked.

‘I’m sure,’ Orbus growled, then glanced at Drooble. ‘We’ve been on that ocean too long. We’ve got to do something new.’

‘And can you?’ asked Ron.

Orbus looked directly at Erlin as he said, ‘The change, it twists you round. Mostly that’s bad, but sometimes it twists you right.’ Feeling further discomfiture, Erlin found she could not meet his gaze. Returning his attention to Ron, he continued, ‘I’ve done some bad things in my life. But not any more.’

Ron nodded contemplatively, then slowly removed a palm console from a capacious pocket of his canvas trousers. He handed it to Orbus. ‘It’s all there: the manifest and the contract with the owners. They’ve no pilots out this way, so they’re glad to have you on board. Their only real requirement is that you get the Gurnard back in one piece.’

Orbus accepted the console, grabbed Drooble by the shoulder and turned away, heading for the spaceport airlocks.

‘How can Ron trust him?’ Erlin muttered to Ambel.

Ambel smiled. ‘We Captains, we’re old—we know how to judge people.’

‘Yes, I suppose.’

‘What about you? Are you staying or leaving?’ he asked.

‘I’ll stay—if you have the patience, and the time for me.’

‘I’ve got plenty of both,’ the Old Captain replied.