The Colonists (The Movement Trilogy) (2 page)

Talk, Grant repeats. What's there to talk about?

Let's talk about why I'm here.

Grant leans back in his chair and folds his arms. That's an interesting topic, considering I don't have any expertise in it.
 

I do, though.
 

Alright. Why are you here?
 

Ansel gets up and walks around the table. He takes a seat beside Grant Karkinnen, and leans in close.

I want to talk about Evelyn Jans, he says.

•
 
•
 
•

The men eat dinner like wild animals, then drag themselves out of the mess hall and to their bunks. Captain Karkinnen had been wrong. They hadn't spent just six more hours on the hull. Seventeen hours they'd been outside. The sounds of their ragged snores crawl through the ship.

At four a.m., Ansel sits in the dark of his room, an old screenview on his lap. He's wearing a skullcap with a wire attached to it. He plugs the wire into the tablet, and waits.

Eventually a picture jerks into view. It's fragmented, and it freezes often, but he can make out the craggy, bespectacled face of Mirs Korski. The timestamp in the corner reads 0432 : FEB 22 2586.

Outside, Ansel hears footsteps pass his door.
 

On the screen, a transcription of Korski's words appear.

It's been some time, the transcription reads. Your reports have been tiresome and repetitive.

Ansel thinks,
It's true, and for that I apologize. But I have news.

A transcription of Ansel's own words appear: BLUE FORD HAT LOGIC FLIES HACK NEWS.

Shit, Ansel says.
 

He traces the wire to the skullcap's input. The jack is loose. He presses it into the side of the cap firmly.

Your last message is unclear, Korski's transcription reads.

Ansel thinks,
I'm sorry. There was a Sense malfunction. I have to transmit in secret. Is this more clear?

Ansel's words appear correctly on the screen this time.
 

A long moment passes, and then Korski says, Better. Report.
 

I have news to report.

Each message takes six seconds to travel between the
Nebulae
and Citadel Meili, the enormous space station orbiting Earth.
 

Don't make me ask what it is, Korski says. I have things to do right now.

Ansel thinks,
Evelyn was on the
Nebulae
, a satellite-class station.

Was?
 

She was here a long time ago.
 

Six seconds.

Where did she go?
 

She never left. That's my news.

Six seconds.

Stop toying with me. What happened to her?

It's a bit of a story.

Six seconds.

Let's hear it.

I thought you had things to do.

Six seconds.

They can wait.

I was captain for all of six weeks when she arrived, Grant says. Captain before me -- Seamus Belwether, he was called -- up and died at mess one morning. We had a doctor on the station back then, who said Belly's brain popped.
 

Aneurysm? Ansel asks.
 

Sure, and a big one, too. Old man just got this blank look on his face, then pitched sideways out of his chair. Hit the corner of the table on the way over, so there was a bit of blood to confuse everyone about what had happened.
 

Were you the first officer?
 

Naw, Grant says. Maybe just the most levelheaded on a ship of tightly-wound fools. Belly didn't do much captaining, to be fair. He had rank from the first System War, that's why he took command here. I'm not sure he ever wanted it.
 

He was in the war, Ansel says.
 

He was, for all three weeks of it, Grant says. Belly had one good leg and one that wasn't. Not too different from your hand, there, except where you've got a hand, Belly just had a metal stick.
 

You noticed, Ansel says.
 

I've got an eye for things. And a good ear. I heard the little motors first time you shook my hand. How'd you lose yours?
 

Ansel flexes his left hand. I was in the war, too. Working the munitions dock on one of the freighters. Wasn't anything exciting. One of the weapons crates broke free of the line, trapped my hand against a wall. Flattened it like a slice of bread.
 

Sorry piece of luck, Grant says. I hear the new prosthetics have brains. Yours isn't one of those, is it?
 

No, mine's just little gears and cogs, Ansel lies.
 

Funny thing, you'd think, for the captain of a satellite station to be wary of tech, right? But I am, Grant says. I've seen it do some bad things. Turns friends into enemies. Unravels the best of plans.
 

Grant slugs his coffee and gets to his feet. You're sure you don't want any, he says.

I'm sure.
 

Alright, well, if you change your mind, you know where it's at, the captain says, and laughs.

You said something before, Ansel says. You called the war the
first
System War.
 

Caught that, did you.
 

You know something I don't? Ansel asks.

I wouldn't say that, Grant says. But you're a fool if you think one was enough.
 

You think another one is coming, then.

I think several more are coming, most likely. Council isn't looked upon so kindly, you know that. Especially not by people as far out as we are. Once you get past Mars, you feel the law a little less... tangibly. Easier to go your own way when you see a Council representative once every fifty years instead of once or twice a month.
 

Ansel nods. You know, I think I'll have some coffee after all.

Suit yourself.

He finds a cup and pours. You were talking about becoming captain, he says.

Right, Grant says.
 

You said Belwether wasn't really interested in running the ship.

Not really. He was getting up there. Would've been happiest, I think, if he could've put a hammock right there in front of that window, stare all day at the blue, same as you do.

Were you different? Ansel asks.
 

You mean, did I want the job?
 

Sure.

I never really thought about it. This isn't a military vessel. It's a satellite station. We're here to work the moon. We send teams down, we scoop up some shit, we put it in boxes and we send it to the center, and a few months later we get paid. There's no real command to be had here. Someone just has to decide what to do if things go wrong.
 

Ansel sips his coffee. So who decided that would be you?

We took a vote, Grant says. Seemed like the democratic thing to do.

Democratic, Ansel repeats.
 

Haven't heard that word in awhile, I'd wager, Grant says.
 

No, not much.
 

Where are you from, Mr. Agusti?
 

You ask like a man who already has an idea.
 

Yes, Grant says. I had to hazard a guess, I'd say you're from the center.
 

You're not far off.
 

Not Mars, and not Earth. I've got a funny feeling you're Meili stock.
 

Ansel says, What gives you that idea?

Gut, I guess. You keep to yourself, you don't spread no ideas around. And you're asking about Evelyn, so I'm going to come right out and say it. I think you're Meili proper, sent to find her. Sound about right?
 

Ansel shrugs. You know where she is?
 

Grant finishes his coffee. I know where she's not.

And where's that?

The captain pushes back from the table, cup in hand.
 

She's not here.
 

•
 
•
 
•

The men crawl on the hull like spiders, hammering panels back into place, ripping out the punctured ones. The sound is insidious, as if they are trying to chew their way into the ship.

You get used to it, the captain says. More coffee?

I won't finish the one I've got, Ansel says.

Shit, isn't it.
 

Yeah, Ansel says.

You get used to that, too. The captain takes his seat again. Tell me, though. You plan on being around long enough to get used to it?
 

That's up to you, Ansel says. Tell me where she is.

Grant nods thoughtfully. Well, Mr. Agusti, she's in one of two places.
 

And where might those be?
 

She's either down there --

The captain points out the window at Triton's horizon.

-- or she's out there.
 

He points at the inky black space beyond.

Ansel says, So she's dead.

Oh, yes, Grant says. She's most certainly dead.

Tell me how.

•
 
•
 
•

You remember what I said about the law, and how short its reach feels out here? Grant asks.

You just said it, Ansel says. So -- yes.
 

How many ships have you been on this deep in the black?
Nebulae
can't be the only one.

Nine, Ansel says.
 

And of those nine, were the crews uniformly male?
 

Yeah, Ansel says. They were.

You ever wonder why?
 

I've heard stories, Ansel says. Tell me yours.
 

Women this far out, they aren't women any more, Grant says. They're things. I don't condone it -- don't get me wrong. I've got two daughters of my own, and they're safely on Luna. But this is what happens out here.

So she was raped, and then someone covered it up, Ansel says.

That about covers it, Grant says. I wish I had a more interesting story for you, but I don't.
 

Tell me how it happened.
 

You want names?

I do, Ansel says. I want the name of every man who touched her, and the name of every man who didn't do anything to stop it.

So basically the crew list, Grant says.
 

If they all were involved, then yes.
 

Who are the names for?
 

Tell me how it happened first.
 

Grant frowns. I didn't see it happen. But I was there when she was jettisoned.
 

She was raped?
 

Yes.
 

By one man?
 

By all of them, probably. You know how men are this far --

One time? Multiple times?
 

Grant shakes his head. Maybe you've never been on a ship where it happened before. But they -- she was a kept woman, Mr. Agusti. In fact, your quarters? That's where she was kept. And she had visitors all day, all night, over and over. There are usually twenty or more men on this ship. The line doesn't ever die down.

And you knew about this.

I won't lie to you, Grant says.

Good. Don't.

I knew.
 

And did you --

Never.
 

Not once?
 

I would never treat a woman that way.
 

But you allowed others to.

Grant pushes his coffee aside. Who exactly are you working for, Mr. Agusti?

I wouldn't ask a question if you didn't really want the answer.
 

I'm asking.

You really don't want the answer, Ansel says.

Council? It's the Council. You're an operative.

Ansel leans forward in his chair. Captain, he says. Do you know who Evelyn Jans was?
 

Grant says, Just the usual, I figured. Woman who wants to do the same work the men do. Doesn't take into consideration the risks. Wants to be a miner, wants to be an engineer, wants to see the black.

Evelyn was all of those things, Ansel says.

I could tell. She was --

But she was also heir to Council seat four.
 

Grant's eyes widen.
 

You didn't know, then.

Grant stutters. I -- I didn't --

I believe you. You agree we have a problem now.

I don't -- I want -- this is -- it was seven years ago. There hasn't been a woman on-board since. Nobody's done anything wrong since --

Captain Karkinnen, Ansel says gently. Your men violated and then murdered Council royalty. It really doesn't matter if you knew who she was or not. The Council sent me to find out what happened to her, and now I have. Do you know what will happen now?
 

I don't know, says the captain.
 

What happens now is I'm going to file my report, Ansel says. And I'm going to wait for further instruction.

Ansel stands up. He slides his coffee cup down the table towards the captain.

And Captain, he says. I promise you, the Council's reach is more than long enough.

•
 
•
 
•

Korski says, So she is dead.

Yes, sir. I believe that she is.

Six seconds.

And you saw no body?
 

She was pitched out of an airlock nearly seven years ago. Her body is somewhere on the dead moon below, unless it escaped orbit. Then she could be anywhere.

The seconds pass by, and Ansel waits for Korski's response.

Ansel doesn't trust the man. Korski was born to fugitives, and when his parents were hunted down, he was adopted by an operative named Josef Korski. Mirs was only six years old when his parents were killed. Josef taught him the truth: that if Mirs's parents had been loyal to their Council, they would not have died. Over the years, his memories of his parents faded, and his loyalty to Josef and the Grand Council grew.