Home: Interstellar: Merchant Princess (25 page)

He leaned back.
Nothing conclusive that Meriel hid Elizabeth in her cabin. Well, there’s one way to check for sure
.

***

Meriel was halfway to Cookie’s security office when her link buzzed with notification that a flag had been placed on her cargo-rating card. A flag meant she could not work, and Molly would kick her off the boat, leaving her stranded on a station scrounging for a meal while she appealed the flag. She pulled up the authority behind the hold—Doc Ferrell.

Meriel called him immediately. “Doc, why is this flag on my card?”

“Meriel, you’re off duty until I clear you. See me in five minutes, or I pull your card.”

“Doc, really, I’m working on something vital. Please, right after the jump. Please.”

“Five minutes,” Ferrell said coldly.

“Please, Doc. Cookie’s called me to a security alert.”

“Five minutes.”

Crap, I don’t have time for this
, she thought,
but I need my work card, or we lose the
Princess
. Well, it’s two hours yet to jump. OK, only a few seconds with Doc, and then I’ll talk to Cookie
. She charged into Ferrell’s office.

“OK, Doc, so here I am.” She sat in a chair opposite the desk and eyed the couch that she would never lie down on. The desk had a pitcher of water and two glasses. Otherwise, his office was a monochrome putty-white like a morgue or a mortuary, untouched by human character, and Meriel wondered just how human he was.

“You’ve stalled for weeks now, and time is up,” Ferrell said. “I clear you, or you’re done on the
Tiger
.”

“Does the XO concur?”

“I don’t need her concurrence to put a medical flag on your card,” the doctor said, not looking up. “Drink?” He pulled out a flask.

Practical man
, she thought and shook her head.

Ferrell pointed to the JCS medal on her necklace and looked back to his console. “You a believer?”

“Kinda. Just been real busy,” she said while taking a wire cargo tie from her pocket to clean her fingernails.

“You’re rated marine-three, and that’s a loaded weapon.”

“You may be grateful for that,” Meriel said and checked her link.
Gotta get this moving
. “OK, then let’s talk.” She poured a glass from the pitcher and sipped.

“File says that your psych was clear until…until the
Princess
. Tell me about it.”

Curve ball. He wants a therapy session
. “Not a chance, Doc. You’ve seen my file. Pirates. Cargo emptied, adults slaughtered. It’s all there,” she said with contempt.

Ferrell flushed and glared at her. “That’s the conclusion, not what you experienced. You were a child.”

“We were all children,” she said while concentrating on her cuticles.

“How many?”

Meriel felt a bit light-headed.
I should have eaten something with Liz
, she thought. “It’s all in the files. Six kids plus me and my sister…”

The doctor looked up and stared at Meriel. “And…?”

She had not come here for this. She rose to leave. “Look, Doc…,” she began, but her head started to spin, and she fell back into the chair. This was not hunger. “You bastard!” she said.
Drugs. This will be bad
. She put the wire between her palm and the arm of the chair and squeezed so that the pain would help focus her attention.
If he finds out that Liz is here, they’ll turn the
Tiger
around and hand her over to murderers.
Don’t tell him about Liz. Don’t tell him about Liz…

Ferrell stood up and sat on the edge of the desk. “Sorry, Meriel,” he said. “My responsibility is to the ship, not your privacy.”

“Uh-huh,” Meriel said with a smile and closed her eyes. She was under.

Ferrell opened his console. “Open file, personal, Meriel Hope. New entry, interview, time, ship, Ferrell, MD, attending. Begin.”

Ferrell snapped his fingers. “Meriel. Meriel. Open your eyes, please.”

Meriel opened her eyes feeling no concern about what might happen to her and only the need to do what was asked of her, yet the wire poking her palm reminded her not to mention Liz.

“Meriel, are you still taking your meds?”

She opened her mouth to lie, but the drugs removed all resistance.
Such a nice man. And so attractive
, she thought. “No.”

“Why not?”

Meriel tipped her head and smiled a goofy smile. “They make me forget things.”

“Forget what?”

“Forget to care,” Meriel said slowly.

“Don’t you want to forget?”

Meriel stared at Ferrell’s desk. “All the time,” Meriel said. She was thinking about the
Princess
. “But I can’t. I need to remember. They need me to remember.”

“Who needs you to remember?”

“The kids,” she said and smiled at the memory of Anita and Harry. Her eyes closed, and her head bobbed. The doctor snapped his fingers again, and Meriel raised her head, her eyes unfocused.

“Tell me about the
Princess
, Meriel. The day your folks died.”

Meriel frowned. “I don’t want to.”

“It will be OK, Meriel. You’re safe here.”

Meriel felt compelled to tell him of the kids and Liz.
Oh God, I’ll tell him
, she thought. She squeezed the arm of the chair and felt the wire cut into her palm, but she still wanted to speak. She squeezed the arm of the chair until the wire broke the skin, and she felt the pain and focused again.
Why not tell him? I need to tell him
, she thought, but the wire argued back:
do not tell.

“Come, Meriel.”

Meriel told him the whole story about how the claxon’s wailing awakened them, and her mother hid them in the maintenance hold. She told him about the sim-chip and key.

“Can I see that, please?”

Meriel took off the necklace and handed it to him without hesitation. He tapped the chip on the desk near his console and pursed his lips.

“What’s on it?” Ferrell asked.

“I don’t know,” Meriel said. “Jump coordinates and family vids. My mother said, ‘It’s all on the chip.’”

“All what?”

“I don’t know.”

Ferrell fiddled with the chip and checked the connector to his console, and then he put it in the middle of his desk. “Go on, Meriel.”

“The ePod ejected,” she said.

“Who was in it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Continue, please,” Ferrell said. His voice was the voice of God, a disembodied voice that walked with her through the
Princess
again, re-experiencing everything, talking to her, and listening to her as no one ever had before.

“We got too cold and had to leave, and I cracked more light sticks to see better…,” Meriel began, but in a flash, she returned to the
Princess’s
hold, where she and the other kids hid. She gasped; the image of her mother’s ashen face was crystal clear. Compelled by the drug, Meriel said, “My mom died.” When she said it aloud, her feet sank into a tar pit, and she could not move. She wanted to stay and warm her mother’s cold hands and wait for her to revive, as if she had simply fallen asleep in the cold. However, she knew that was a wish, and they needed to leave the hold.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Meriel,” Ferrell said without the slightest trace of emotion, but the sound of his voice lifted her out of the pit. “Go on,” he said.

On the
Princess
she wanted to stay there with her mother, but she couldn’t. They needed to leave the cold, or the kids would die. It was up to her. “I told the kids she was sleeping and would be OK.”

The image of her sister taking care of the kids came to her. “My…” but the pain in her palm reminded her not to talk about Liz.
He’ll understand
,
she thought,
No!
“My mom welded the hatch shut, so I went another way and…” The black cloud appeared again, and she could not remember. It scared her, and she started to shake.

“And what, Meriel?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see,” she said as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Try harder, Meriel. Your memory is fine.”

“No!” she said firmly. She struggled with herself, not wanting to remember. “I shouldn’t be here. I’m only twelve. Mom and Dad should be here, not me. I don’t want to be here.”

“Try, Meriel.”

The black cloud would not lift, but she knew what lay on the other side. Her tears fell openly, and she could not speak.

Ten years ago, she had left their hiding spot and started to lead the children to the alt-bridge, taking the shortest path. But when she turned the corner to the mess hall, she had seen a bloody arm in the passageway outside the infirmary. She asked her sister to hold the kids back while she checked. The bloody arm was connected to Penny’s dad, but he was not breathing. When she looked into the room, she cried out. There was the entire crew, stacked up like cargo and bleeding.

“Oh, God,” Meriel said, blinking to stop the visions, but they still came. Even though she was old enough to tear down the black wall, she did not want to, because it hid the face of her father.

“No, Papa,” she whispered.

***

Ferrell snapped his fingers. “Meriel. Meriel wake up.”

“Huh?” Meriel said. She was drowsy.

“You’re leaving the cargo hold. What’s happening?”

“I’m with them. They don’t want me to be here, to see them like this,” she said.

“Who?” Ferrell asked.

“Our parents.”

“See them like what, Meriel?”

“Broken. Hurt so bad.”

“Go on, Meriel,” Ferrell said.

“I can’t let the kids see their folks like this,” Meriel said, “but the kids will freeze if I don’t do anything.” Meriel remained quiet and could not stop the memories. One by one, she checked each of the adults to see if they needed help, fully aware that she was a child and did not know what to do. They were all dead, and Meriel sat in the doorway and cried.

“Meriel, what’s happening?” Ferrell asked.

“I tried to wake them. They’re…all gone.” Meriel froze. “I shouldn’t have to see this,” she said aloud now, unable to stop herself. “I’m only twelve. I need help. I shouldn’t have to do this.”

“What happened to the people, Meriel?”

“They’re…” Meriel froze again, unable to speak of the carnage. “They’re gone. It’s just me, just us.” The pain in her hand reminded her not to mention Liz, and she pressed it again.

“OK, Meriel, what do remember next?”

She wished for someone to help her but then saw the wrecked face of her Uncle Ed. “Meriel, help me,” he had begged in her imagination.

“Ahh,” she groaned, and she clutched her arms to her chest and neck to cover her scars.

“What’s happening, Meriel?” Ferrell asked.

“I…I got hurt,” she said, dopey and exhausted. “I got this.” Meriel pointed to the edge of the scar on her neck.

“How did it happen?”

“I think it was one of the…things they used to hurt my folks.” She closed her eyes. “A laser scalpel, maybe. I slipped on…on the blood and fell against a table, and it fell on me and…burned me from here,” she said and pointed to her neck again and then slowly trailed her finger across her breast and stomach to the opposite hip. “To here.” Meriel started to breathe quickly. “It hurt a lot.”

“I’m sorry, Meriel,” he said. “That must have been tough growing up.”

Meriel nodded and held her left arm tight to her chest with her right hand. Tears came to her eyes again and a soft, “Yeah,” was all she could say.
He understands
, she thought.

“How do you feel now, Meriel?” he asked.

“It still hurts,” she said. She wanted Ferrell to ask her what it was like to grow up not wanting a boy to look at her and why she could only make love in the dark. But Ferrell took notes and did not ask, and Meriel was adrift again.

“What happened next, Meriel?”

She had locked the door and found an alternate route around it for the kids. And along the way, she checked each cabin before letting the kids pass.

“I led the kids to the alt-bridge.”

“And then?”

Meriel remembered standing with Liz in the alt-bridge and putting the chip in the nav comp. The
Princess
came back to life. “We found the alt-bridge and used the sim-chip to jump.”

“We?”

Meriel wanted to tell him that Elizabeth helped her, but she squeezed the arm of the chair again, and the wire dug deeper into her hand until she gasped in pain.

“Are you all right, Meriel?”

“No.”

Ferrell ignored her response. “Who helped you use the sim-chip to jump the
Princess
, Meriel?”