CHAPTER FOUR
Outside the sick bay, Rylan sighed inwardly. He wasn’t sure what to do with Jaime now. His own duties, when he wasn’t providing muscle on land missions, involved making sure the cargo was secure and helping out with maintenance. The rest of the time he lifted weights. He couldn’t do any of that with the prisoner — or whatever Jaime was — though hitting the weights might be good for the scrawny guy. Rylan had given him a quick once-over in the sick bay, mainly to see how bad the injury Jaime had been complaining about had been. The long, half-healed burn across his back had made Rylan want to apologize for slamming him around — it must have hurt a lot more than Rylan had intended — but he wasn’t about to start apologizing to fugitives.
Still, there was something he could do for him. “Let’s get you that food, like the doc said. The galley’s down this way.”
Jaime hesitated. “Can I, uh, clean up first?”
Rylan huffed impatiently. “It’s not exactly fine dining.”
“I’ve spent most of my day running and the rest hiding in dirt. And that outpost wasn’t exactly the most sanitary to begin with.”
“So dainty.” But he changed direction towards the showers.
Back in the old days, the ship had been outfitted with sonic showers and other high-tech luxuries. But sonics needed precise calibration to avoid taking one’s skin off, and post-Dark Age, no one felt comfortable letting a computer get that up close and personal. The water for the showers was a closed loop with the used water collected and immediately purified for re-use. Water pressure wasn’t always so great, but it worked better than some planet-side plumbing Rylan had used.
He gestured for Jaime to precede him into the room.
Jaime gave him a sidelong look. “You’re going to watch me shower?”
“No.” Why did he have to make Rylan sound like he was taking liberties? “I’m showering, too.” He was dirty and sweaty from spending most of the day in a jungle.
Jaime just stared.
“What?” Rylan snapped. “You some kinda rich kid that’s used to private baths?”
“No.” Jaime looked uncertainly at the long room with the few low benches and dull metallic grates on the floors and walls. A row of shower heads and soap dispensers lined one wall. “But we — there were stalls. And doors.”
Rylan rolled his eyes. “Dainty and shy.” He took off his shirt and tank-top. “There’s laundry here, too. It’ll be dry by the time we are. Empty all that crap out of your pockets first, so it won’t gum up the works.” Rylan had done a quick patdown before hauling Jaime up the riverbank to make sure he didn’t have any weapons, but there’d been a lot of junk in the pockets of that oversized coat.
Rylan kicked his boots to one side and stripped off the rest of his clothes, shoving everything into the laundry chute. Jaime seemed to be standing there frozen, so Rylan went over to the showers. He pretended to ignore Jaime as he turned on the water, but watched him from the corner of his eye. Jaime was awkward as he took off his clothes, trying to keep himself as covered as possible until he had to put everything into the laundry. Rylan turned his back as Jaime approached, going to the showerhead farthest from Rylan.
Rylan closed his eyes, turning his face up to the spray. He ran his hands over his head and face, still not quite used to the longer hair and not shaving every day. He turned around, opening his eyes.
Jaime was watching him.
It wasn’t surprising. Jaime had kept his eyes on Rylan since they’d met. He’d been practically staring in sick bay. But this was different. It wasn’t wary or distracted; this was a definite roving over Rylan’s body in a way that was… hungry.
And, surreptitiously looking back, Rylan found he didn’t mind. Naked, with the water sluicing over his light brown skin, Jaime’s body didn’t seem as scrawny or as young as Rylan’s earlier glances had supposed. He was definitely too thin, with visible ribs and a narrow waist, but his shoulders and chest showed wiry muscles. His wild hair, now wet and lying flat, brushed his sharp collarbones with dark tendrils. Letting his eyes roam further down, Rylan noted that what Jaime had between his legs was a lot bigger than he would have expected given his slender frame. Rylan felt himself twitch a little in interest. Maybe—
Then he realized that Jaime’s eyes, with their ridiculously long sooty lashes, seemed to have fixed on one part of Rylan. Not the obvious, somewhat interested part, but on his arm. His right arm.
“Looking for a weak spot?” Rylan snarled. Jaime’s eyes snapped up to his, startled. “You got me once, you little mutant, because I wasn’t expecting it. My arm isn’t your fucking toy.”
Jaime looked like he’d been slapped, cheeks flushing more than the warm water would account for. “I wasn’t — I was looking, okay? But it wasn’t to try to do anything. I just wondered how it happened. That’s all.”
“All you need to know is that I killed the fucker that did it with my other hand.”
He turned his back on Jaime and spun the shower controls to cold. He was more disgusted with himself than anything else. It was shameful to think of a prisoner in a sexual way. In the military it would mean a dishonorable discharge to act on such impulses. Except Rylan was already discharged. And dishonored.
He didn’t look at Jaime again. Just finished washing and then marched over to where the towels were, wrapping one around his waist while he got their clean clothes out. The contents of Jaime’s pockets, laid out on a bench, were small and sad. A couple crushed food bars, a handful of credit tokens, some squeezed-out tubes of ointment and sanitizers, a creased travel visa. Rylan saw a small data chip case, but he didn’t open it.
Jaime came over, wrapped in two towels and shifting nervously. “I am sorry. Really. I didn’t mean to stare or bring up bad memories—”
“Get dressed,” Rylan said, turning his back again. “Then we’re getting some food.”
The Wayward Prince had a real dining hall, like in the old ships Rylan had read about that kept separate officers’ mess hall and had all manner of fanciness. That room was used for storage now. The seven-person crew made do with a big table dragged into the galley so everyone could help out or offer opinions on the cooking. It was, in Rylan’s opinion, one of the most comfortable rooms in the ship.
He saw that Bo was at the stove today, which likely meant some kind of stew, because the man believed in one-pot meals, but a pretty decent guarantee that whatever was served was going to taste good. They all rotated through kitchen duty, with everyone bracing themselves for Kaz’s heavy hand with the spices, or the Captain’s overly ambitious concoctions that tended to fail more often than not.
Bo turned around, wiping his hands on a towel before offering it to Jaime to shake. “The wizard,” Bo said mildly, which made the handshake more brave than polite. According to the stories, wizards were supposed to have some limited ability to read human minds as well as AIs’, and contact was required for telepathy to work. Rylan didn’t believe any of it; it sounded too much like a kid’s story. He certainly hadn’t hesitated to put his hands all over Jaime. He frowned at how that sounded in his head.
Jaime briefly clasped Bo’s hand. “Wizard is an — never mind. You can call me Jaime.”
Rylan noted that Jaime wasn’t offering up any other names, but Bo just nodded pleasantly. “Bo Chen. When it’s not my night to make supper, I’m the one mucking around with all the environmental controls.”
“Oh,” Jaime said, “and, uh, who does that when you are cooking?”
Bo shrugged. “These things mostly take care of themselves. We’re still breathing right?”
Bo had a certain sturdy unflappability that could be either reassuring or alarming. He hardly had any gray in his black hair or many lines on his broad face, but Rylan thought he was older than he looked. He definitely liked to give the impression he’d seen it all. Bo nodded to the big pot simmering on the stove. “Food’ll be ready soon, you should grab a seat before everyone piles in.”
Jaime sat down on one of the benches around the big table, sliding over so his back was to the wall. His eyes, though, he kept trained on the stove, watching that stew pot with a more literal kind of hunger than Rylan had seen in the showers. Rylan opened a cupboard and rummaged around for the food bars kept there for lunch and snacking. He started to take a chewy bar, but then grabbed a crunchy instead and was annoyed with himself for remembering which Jaime had said he preferred.
“Here,” he said, dropping the bar on the table. “So you don’t start drooling and mess up the furniture.”
Jaime looked briefly embarrassed but then grabbed the bar and started shoving it into his mouth, before pausing. “Thank you,” he said around a mouthful.
Rylan shook his head and began setting the table.
Simi came into the room and sat down with a sigh. She nodded at Jaime like he’d been there forever, and began to absently pick up fallen crumbs from the crunchy bar off the table. She was wearing a close-fitting cap over her hair and had goggles hanging around her neck, so she’d likely come straight from the ship’s engine room. Garcia and Mags followed behind her, in the midst of an argument. Well, the captain seemed to be arguing; Mags was looked at him with tired patience.
“All I’m asking for are options,” Garcia said. “That’s a good thing to ask for. I read it once in a captain’s manual somewhere.”
“And I gave you an option.”
“One! Singular. I wanted options.”
Mags went over to the stove and kissed Bo on the cheek. He murmured something in her ear before she went to sit down at the table. Rylan wasn’t sure about open fraternization onboard a ship, but he supposed they were married. Actually, he was supposing that; he’d never actually asked. All he knew was they seemed content with each other, and certainly Bo was the only one who could easily put a smile on Mags’ face.
The doctor came in with a bunch of slender green onions which she handed over to Bo. He began chopping them up for the pot.
She nodded at Jaime as she sat down opposite him. “You clean up well, Jaime.”
Rylan thought Jaime’s hair, which he’d tried to comb with his fingers while standing over a dryer vent in the shower room, looked more out of control than ever, but Jaime brightened a little.
The captain plunked down a container of wine and more glasses on the table. “It’s my thinking wine,” he said to Mags’ disapproving look.
“Then what was yesterday’s?”
“That was my relaxing wine.”
“Same bottle,” she noted.
Simi pulled off her cap, revealing her short black hair. It was a shade or two darker than her skin, though that had rich golden tones. “What’s to think about?” she asked, while holding a glass out for wine. “We need to put in for repairs. And if we don’t do it soon, then…” She made an exploding gesture with her hands.
Jaime gulped. “Really?”
“Well, more like spinning wildly around and around until we break apart. Or we could run out of fuel before then and sit here dead in space.” She smiled brightly at Jaime. “But it’s so amazing to have you here! You know, I always wanted to be a wizard when I was a little kid. I would try talking to machines all the time and hope they would answer back. It must be the best thing ever.”
Jaime’s face turned bleak. “Not everyone thinks so.”
Bo brought the pot over to the table. Under the clatter of bowls and conversation around the table, Rylan could hear Simi saying to Jaime, “I should get you in the engine room. Though,” she looked at Jaime’s hair, “we’d need to pull all that back or something. I wonder if it would fit under my cap?”
“Doubtful,” Rylan muttered, but no one heard.
“It would make everything so easy,” Simi went on. She was probably thirty standard years — Rylan’s age — but acted younger, so when he’d first met her, he’d doubted she could really be the ship’s chief engineer. But it was quickly obvious she knew her stuff, and once Rylan had been dropping off some gear in her quarters and had seen a framed diploma from one of the Commonwealth’s top schools hanging on the wall. He’d never asked her about it; he didn’t want to get to know the crew too well. Still, it was hard not to like her, and Rylan could see Jaime relaxing under her relentless enthusiasm.
“I’d fix things, and then you could ask Dub how it’s working—”
“I thought he wasn’t talking to Dub?” Kaz was scowling at them from the doorway, her tattoos moving in cranky patterns.
“For repair purposes,” Simi said, undaunted. “I bet Jaime is way faster than running a diagnostic.”
Kaz sat down, still glaring, and grabbed a bowl. Rylan realized that Jaime wasn’t able to reach the pot and got the ladle before Kaz could, getting her to switch targets on her bad temper. He shoved the full bowl in front of Jaime.
“Thanks,” he said, looking surprised. At what? Rylan having manners? He glared at Jaime, too, and the younger man dropped his gaze and started eating.
The captain swirled his wine around in the short tumbler. “So, Jaime, how are you finding things?”
Jaime swallowed a mouthful of stew. “I haven’t found anything. Rylan took me to sick bay, then to the showers and then here.”
“Good. Then after dinner, Rylan can show you to your quarters.” He lifted a casual shoulder at Rylan. “He might as well share with you.”
Rylan nearly choked on his food. “What? Why does he have to bunk with me?”
“You have a spare bunk. Besides, he’s your prisoner.”
“Hey!” Jaime said. “I thought you said I was a guest with limited privileges.”
“Euphemisms are designed to comfort us all,” Garcia said. “But I do assure you, I don’t traffic in humans. Nor are we kidnappers. But we do have an extremely valuable cargo and a touchy ship’s computer. I’m hesitant to put you off until we can make our delivery.” He leaned forward, focusing on Jaime. “What I’m offering you is a limited partnership. You’ll get a share of our profit — half of what the crew is getting, but it’s still generous. And then, afterwards, we drop you off at a location of your choosing. Which I’m assuming is going to be one with minimal Commonwealth oversight?”
“What is the cargo?”
“That’s not something you need to know.”
“Nobody knows,” Simi mumbled.
“Simi!” Garcia snapped. “I’m negotiating here.”
“Negotiating away our profits,” Kaz muttered. “What is he doing to earn ’em?”
“He did get the ship moving,” Mags said.
“That was the one time. What if Dub is fine now, and he never has to do anything else?”
“Think of him as insurance, Kaz,” the captain said. “In the unlikely, yet I suspect somehow inevitable, event something else goes wrong.”
The doctor cut in, “It’s no different than having me onboard is it? In case you lot break a bone or get sick.” Kaz slouched down, unwilling to argue with her. Dr. Stevenson looked at Jaime. “Jaime can help me with the gardening while we wait and see if our luck holds.”
Jaime bit his lip and looked around the table at all the faces watching him. He turned to the captain. “What if I say no?”
“The partnership becomes even more limited.” Garcia shrugged. “Euphemisms again. But while I’ve only just met you, you do strike me as a young man with very few options.”
Jaime let out a slow exhale. “Okay. You’re right. I’m in, I guess.”
“I already appreciate your enthusiasm.” The captain stuck out his hand. “Deal.”
Jaime shook it. “Deal.”
“Yay for Jaime!” Simi said. She raised her glass but only Garcia clinked with her. Kaz looked mad, Mags was shaking her head at Garcia, while beside her Bo seemed unconcerned. Rylan caught the doctor watching him and he focused on his bowl. Except—
“Is he still bunking with me?” Rylan asked.
“Yes,” the captain said in his most captain-like voice and Rylan dropped his eyes to glare at his remaining stew.
“Well,” Garcia rubbed his hands, “now that everything’s settled—”
There was a chorus of protest from around the table, with Mags’ voice cutting through. “Sebastian. What needs to be settled is where we’re going.”
“We have a rendezvous with our buyers.”
“Which we won’t make if the ship falls apart around us.”
Simi silently made the exploding gesture with her hands again.
Garcia looked almost desperately around the table. “But Simi, you and Jaime, together you could work some magic.” He tilted his head to Jaime. “If you forgive the expression.”
“Not accurate,” Jaime sighed.
“New fuel cells, Sebastian,” Simi said. “Parts to repair the stabilizers. None of which we have onboard. Oh, and repairing all these things needs to happen while the ship is not moving.”
“Just give me a destination,” Kaz said folding her arms.
“There’s only place nearby that has what we need but won’t ask questions about where we’re going or where we’ve been,” Mags said.
“The Sprawl?” Bo asked her.
Mags nodded. “But isn’t that where—” She nodded again, and Bo said, “Oh…”
Garcia covered his face with his hands. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”
Rylan looked around the table, but he and Jaime seemed to be the only ones who were confused. Garcia slammed his hands onto the table and then stood up.
“Fine,” he said, his voice filled with despair. “I’ll do it. I’m calling the she-witch.”
He turned and stalked out of the room. Everyone else went back to eating and Simi leaned over to whisper in a loud voice to Jaime, “His ex.”
“Oh,” Jaime said. He stirred his food for a moment. “I suppose he knows that ‘she-witch’ is both inaccurate and redundant?”
Rylan spun the wheel-like handle and opened the door to his quarters. He gestured for Jaime to go inside, and Jaime stepped over the raised threshold, taking care not to trip. He walked to the middle of the room, which took all of two steps, and slowly turned around, taking in the room.
“So, uh, this is it?”
“You were expecting a hotel? This is a working ship.”
“It’s just kinda small for two people.”
“Which is why I wasn’t looking to share,” Rylan said through gritted teeth.
The room had two bunk beds built into one wall and a desk against another. Rylan’s clothes and gear were all stashed away in the cupboards lining the third wall. There was one chair, and that was pretty much it for the room’s amenities. He didn’t see the point in decorating, though he could get how the room might come across as a bit cold and bare. He also saw that he had left the commode out, and Jaime was staring at it, so he kicked it until the toilet retracted properly back into the wall. Jaime still looked askance at the square in the wall.
“You take the top bunk,” Rylan growled. He had to clear some boots off the bed and throw the extra pillow he’d been using back up there, but the beds were roomy, with enough length for Rylan to stretch out, so Jaime would be able to turn somersaults if he wanted. He had no reason to complain.
Except he wasn’t complaining. Just standing in the middle of the room, looking lost in his oversized coat.
“There a problem?” Rylan asked.
He rubbed a hand over his face. “No, it’s — hey, it’s way cleaner than the room I had above that bar at the outpost. And before that I was sleeping with chickens. So this is fine.” He raised his brown eyes to Rylan’s; they seemed huge in his narrow face. “It’s been a long day. Long few weeks, I guess.”
Rylan felt a faint flutter of alarm at the tremor in Jaime’s voice. Was he supposed to what? Comfort him? There was a place for wizards, and it was working for the Commonwealth. Jaime being on the run meant he was practically a traitor. Rylan hardened his jaw.
“Yeah? Well, I’ve had to drag you through the jungle and all over this ship, so it’s been a long day for me, too. Right now, I’m looking for some quiet, and since you’re here, I need to get it elsewhere. So I’ll see you at lights out.” He started angling for the door. It was as good a reason as any to leave.
Jaime straightened up, the gleam of tears in his eyes quickly replaced with anger. “Like any of this was my idea! You could have just left me in the jungle you know. I was doing fine on my own.”
“You were five minutes from being spotted by that Commonwealth drone. And I didn’t exactly have much choice myself when you attacked me. With my own hand.”
“Only after you pointed a gun at me!”
Rylan unclenched his fists and put one hand on the door. “Like I said. I need some personal time.”
“Can I look around the ship?”
“No. In fact, I’m locking you in.”
“I thought I was supposed to be part of the crew now. A partner.”
“The captain can dress it up as pretty as he likes, but no one trusts you to go roaming around.”
Jaime looked hurt. “Whatever. I can just ask Dub to unlock the door anyway. She likes me.”
“Door’s manual.”
Rylan couldn’t slam the door — it had seals lining it that prevented a satisfying sound — but the bolts made a heavy and definite noise as he locked it.
As he stomped away down the hall, Rylan tried to put out of his mind how small and lonely Jaime had looked as he closed the door.
Rylan went down to the cargo bay, encountering no one else along the way — or everyone scattered when they heard his heavy tread. That was fair. He’d been with them for months now, and while he liked some of the crew quite well, he kept his distance. They’d learned to do the same.
He didn’t dare open the door to the specially-lined room that held their one piece of cargo, but he did check the locks. He did a quick sweep of the larger hold, both out of duty and to ensure his privacy, before sitting high up on a ladder where he could survey the whole space. Only then did he turn his attention to his artificial arm, concentrating on the components that connected it to him. Rylan wondered briefly what Jaime had heard or felt when he had reached into Rylan with his mind. Then he made himself stop thinking of anything else and focused on clenching and unclenching his hand.