Hekate's Call, Chapter 44
The smell of the whiskey in her glass overpowered the lingering scent of Velia’s perfume and Morian’s cigarettes in the dreary little office. Krystyn had just finished signing over her share of Hekate’s Call to Elisabet out of an abundance of caution. Elisabet made a strong case for it. They were overburdened with debt, and if the new parent company decided to dissolve them that debt would fall to the stakeholders. Don’t get caught holding the bag.
“Why are you really doing this?”
Elisabet took a sip before placing her glass down on the small table between them. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve always been so good at shuffling all the risk onto others,” Krystyn said, shortly. “So why are you taking it all on at the last second?”
Crater pondered the question for a moment, tenting her fingers. She took her time to consider her answers before her lips cracked into a jagged smile. “The thing about Dr. Kyrnn is that she cares about results, not reasons.”
Krystyn bristled at the mention of her name. Of course it had to do with Kyrnn. Everything did, at the end of the day.
“In her eyes, what matters most is that I am taking steps to protect those I am responsible for. My pilots and my staff. That I am embodying humanity,” the word oozed with disdain. “She doesn’t care why.”
Trying to get an answer out of her would be a losing battle. She had something to change the subject the moment Krystyn pressed. As Krystyn took the breath to interject that she did care about the reasons she was met by Liz’s faux sympathetic smile.
“Speaking of protecting my pilots. Why didn’t you come to me about the incident with Vigil while on leave?”
There it was.
“Don’t give me that look, Charlotte,” Elisabet pleaded unbelievably. “Did you think I would side with Symeon over you?” She let the question hang in the air for effect, knowing Krystyn wouldn’t say yes to her face about that. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes on this venture of ours — I’ll admit that freely — but you are not one of them.”
Kindness first. Firmness second. The way it always went. If Krystyn pushed from here, she’d see the sharp end of whatever trick knife Crater had hidden away. And she still wouldn’t get an answer to the question. Elisabet was planning something.
“Fine,” Krystyn put her glass down without finishing it, saluted her commander, and made a swift exit. Liz didn’t even call after her or admonish her for not finishing her drink like she normally would.
Elisabet’s favorite maneuver for keeping someone trapped in a conversation was controlling their drink. Something expensive to show she respects you, with a price tag that compelled you to finish it lest you disrespect her generosity. Don’t drink too fast, this isn’t a party, savor it. Oh, let me top you up real quick, I insist. You aren’t going to make me finish the whole bottle by myself, are you?
The whole act was so practiced you’d think she wrote the book herself.
If she was letting Krystyn leave without even attempting it, then she’d just signed over the only leverage she might have had in whatever mess they were about to walk into. Were they really going to be thrown to the wolves now?
- - -
The only soldiers who wanted to remain in the imperial military after their tours had ended were officers who would go on to become part of the ruling class. Everyone else went home and got real jobs, or if they were good at what they did they went private for a much nicer salary.
With enough veteran soldiers-for-hire and armaments to stand up to the Domon Imperial Navy, the asteroid that Errant used as its headquarters was a legal nightmare. The gravity well was too small for Domon to install an imperial office and standing army, and was privately owned by a corporation with physical offices registered on several influential Domon core worlds which meant that it could not be forced to form an independent planetary government.
Simultaneously too small to govern, but too dangerous to ignore.
Krystyn would never have willingly signed up with a company like Errant — formerly Sky-Knight Errant. What a stupid name for a company. — on account of all the military old blood it was tainted with. Pathogenic culture. And thankfully she’d never had to step foot on the asteroid until now. Maybe finally having to face it was what had her so on edge. That made sense. It couldn’t be anything else.
The Gestalt and Gravity followed its regular docking procedures as it came into port with an agonizing slowness. Krystyn scratched at her bare neck and fidgeted along the gangway alone. Why was she the only one here? Where were the other pilots?
“Beatrice Manning,” Elisabet’s voice droned as she strode around the corner, alone, in full dress. That was a name Liz hated saying out loud under any circumstances. Uttered only in curses going as far back as her graduation from officer’s school.
“Old flame?” Krystyn responded dryly.
Crater stopped, mid-adjustment, to recoil from the comment. “Here I thought I wouldn’t have to tell you to be on your best behavior. How quickly we relapse into old habits,” she laughed hollow. “I asked your owner to take care of my boots. It would have looked terrible if my pilots were better kept than I.”
Krystyn glanced down. Freshly detailed and polished. The other leather accents of Elisabet’s uniform looked tended to as well. All in all, Crater looked sharper than she ever had before. “How’d you get her to do it?”
“No retort? I hadn’t realized you two had gotten so far. I paid her,” Liz said flatly. Reluctantly, but in the spirit of candidness, she added, “I attempted to argue her down to something more reasonable, but she recognized the position I’m in.”
Krystyn burst into laughter so suddenly she almost choked on it. “How much did she take you for?”
“Oh look, here come the girls now,” Liz turned to meet the other pilots just slow enough for Krystyn to catch a grin. Managed to take the edge off both of them for once.
Symeon Vigil led the group with a confident march. A model soldier in uniform. Even after a few weeks she could still feel the woman’s lips pressed against her own whenever she saw her. It wasn’t Vigil’s fault. She couldn’t have known. She was gentle, all things considered. But having to look at her made her skin crawl.
Manya followed. Uncomfortably stuffed into a slightly modified regular uniform to allow for her tail freedom, though it blocked the ports on her hips and hid most of her scales. Balking in the face of her own newfound modesty, she had her top unbuttoned just far enough to be distasteful and offensive to the part of Krystyn’s brain that was still in the military. Comforting to know she wouldn’t give that up at least.
Velia and Ilina marched in last, bickering quietly. Velia’s obvious limp drew the eye directly to the brace strapped above and below her knee.
“If you don’t use your cane at least, I’ll put a bullet in your other leg,” Ilina growled quietly as she tried to shove the cane into the woman’s hand.
Velia swatted it away and hissed, “I wouldn’t need it if you didn’t shoot me in the first place.”
Crater cleared her throat. “Morian will not be disembarking at this time.”
In an instant Velia turned and snapped the cane out of Ilina’s hand and braced herself on it as she approached. Velia and Crater discussed details of their upcoming meeting. It sounded important by their conspiratorial tones. But Krystyn felt stunned absolutely stupid looking at Ilina.
Ilina wasn’t wearing that slightly oversize jacket she always wore that obscured her frame. It wasn’t that Krystyn wasn’t familiar with what Ilina’s body was like under all those layers, she just wasn’t used to seeing it in the light. Before she could even take in the details, Krystyn could feel herself getting hot.
A loud clap made everyone jump now that they were all together. Crater made an announcement with the same energy one made to a bunch of children on a field trip. “Alright, girls. Everyone keep your mouths shut and don’t say anything unnecessary. Keep your feelings and fingers to yourself until you’re all safely back on the Gestalt.”
- - -
The mutt flinched when Ilina’s eyes snapped to it in the gangway, and she watched it take a few quick steps ahead to walk behind Crater. Ilina rolled her shoulders, feeling the light breeze as the air pressure between the Gestalt and the port stabilized. Her coat was heavy, lined with a slash-proof material to make rolling around in rubble less dangerous, and all the pockets were filled with extra magazines and small tools. She felt a bit exposed without it, but she didn’t need anything in it.
9mm in her drop-leg holster with a spare magazine in a small pouch on her belt, a knife on the inside of her leg, and a little thumb-sized blade tucked in her belt at the back just in case an amateur decided to tie her up. Her plain t-shirt half-tucked into her trousers, hanging off her shoulders. The looser shirt was a snag-risk but it felt less exposing than the tighter stuff that Manya had tried to force on her the last time they had shore leave together.
It wasn’t a particularly attractive get-up.
Krystyn just had bad taste. It was the only explanation for why the woman couldn’t keep her eyes off Ilina as she stalked down the hallway. And after she had spent so long begging Ilina to be less obvious too. Just more of her usual hypocrisy.
Like a wall of metronomes falling in sync, every member Hekate started to march at the same speed, footsteps all falling together. Even without strict military training it was hard not to when the steps echoed like they did. That sound hovered over Ilina like a shadow threatening her with a headache.
They were met by some paper pushers, little officers in their little uniforms — office uniforms, not field uniforms — who checked everyone’s identification and led them to some meeting hall. They paused at Ilina’s new Domon-Issued ID, paired with her Inter-System Corporate Cooperative pilot’s license that she had been using as her passport previously, but apparently they passed check anyways after Crater explained she was a mercenary with an ongoing contract with Hekate.
The walls throughout the station were decorated and colorful, plenty of plants around the station and judging by the smell they were real. Ilina had spent most of her life planet-side, but this station stood out to her as being the only one with a sense of groundedness. Like it could have been a larger building on a planet instead of a deep space station. Pictures of landscapes, different offices owned by the company, and a bunch of large photos of award ceremonies for the company’s various efforts in maintaining Domon’s imperial hegemony.
It wasn’t opulence. It wasn’t that ostentatious or obscene in its decoration or use of colors. Proud was closer to what she was looking to call it. It was a successful company with some of the best talent in the empire. The homey feeling was part of that. Resistance bases did it too back home, painted the walls of their caves with murals and memories of where they grew up and where they’d been. The company’s officers probably thought the same way as the rebels, that this was some kind of way of memorializing or honoring how far they’d come.
Errant HQ was basically all the worst parts of every place she’d ever visited. Trappings of empire and order painted over with individualism and exceptionalism to satisfy the egos of a bunch of unburned military chaff. Their uniforms weren’t particularly standardized to the degree that the real Domon services were, though there was obviously a dress code being lightly adhered to.
Ilina’s tomboy fashion — Manya’s little snip from nearly a year ago became a point of pride, really — stood out. She was out of place in every way. She wasn’t from Central Domon. Never served in a military proper. Didn’t know the little etiquette tricks to signal the in-groups and out-groups. She could feel the judgmental eyes of every officer behind every kiosk and desk and every soldier they passed in the hallways, each one assuredly finding a new flaw to pick at.
Stand up straight. Eyes forward. Memorize your surroundings. Wide-view cameras looked over the halls while the offshoot doors had overhead cameras to verify people carding in and out. Most of the staff seemed to have a sidearm at the very least, but none of them were standardized — security blankets for soldiers and mercenaries alike, Ilina couldn’t judge any of them. Once they’d passed out of the main hall and were buzzed into a less front-facing area, there were far fewer cameras and less decorations.
The head-splitting echo of marching was worse in this area too. Fascistic and familiar. They’d fallen into lockstep with the officers too, though the only one who was struggling with the pace was Velia. She was hiding it pretty well all things considered since nobody else seemed to notice, with the exception of maybe Manya.
Focus. Don’t slouch. Please don’t pout, Irene just wants you to be able to look after yourself. Did you notice you were being followed on the way home? How many times did they hand off tails? Oh, is that why you were late? I thought you’d dozed off on the bus again. It gets really hot this time of year.
No, no. You did such a good job. I really am so proud of you. I know she doesn’t say it enough, but so is your mom. Yes, Irene is still your mother, even if she doesn’t want you saying it. No, you can’t call her dad just because she makes you call her Sir. She makes me say it too, you know! Don’t tell her I told you that.
But I swear, Irene’s training is going to make you neurotic and paranoid. She promised to stop next year, remember. She’s never broken a promise to either of us, and I won’t let her break that one either. So, it’s almost over, and then you don’t have to do any of this anymore.
There was no call to halt and Ilina ended up colliding with whoever was in front of her. As she staggered back the woman turned and Ilina could feel her eyes shake in their sockets violently trying to dislodge the image of Irene Hunter. Elisabet Crater narrowed her eyes briefly, silently calling Ilina a failure, before turning back to whatever stupid meeting they were having.
They were ordered to line up for introductions. Crater had them practice this bit. Ilina was only here because there might be a more permanent position if the company doesn’t devour Hekate. But she was the one here with the least stake in things, just a contractor. She stood at the end of the line next to Krystyn, and Manya thankfully agreed to stand between Krystyn and Vigil.
Vigil. Symeon Vigil.
Months of progress finding gaps in Krystyn’s armor undone in a single fucking night. Brain-dead mutt. She’d put a bullet in it for it if she could trust Morian would do her god damn job. What did Morian say? It wouldn’t be a punishment. Just a natural consequence of the dog’s behavior. How convenient for the doctor that her that reasoning shifted the responsibility so effectively.
Ilina finally raised her eyes to see a line-up of pilots across from her. Matching uniforms, no visible weapons, all younger than Ilina. There was something that bothered her about those uniforms, between the shorts and short sleeves. They seemed almost excessively childish. Little proto-fascist scout uniforms. Their little tittering whispers didn’t help with that child-like image, or how they snapped to attention whenever their commander glanced at them.
Oh my god, is that Carie?
You know that freak?
I’ll tell you later.
Check out the little dyke-thing at the end. It’s staring at you, Mary.
This is a military base, not a fag bar. Why’d it dress like that?
Ilina found herself reading their lips instinctively. Whatever they were talking about was more important than whatever little underhanded jabs Crater and her new boss were exchanging. According to Krystyn, the two women weren’t on good terms.
“Pilots,” Crater turned and called for attention. Ilina’s back straightened instinctively, as if Irene had just said her name. Everyone else had the same reaction, but probably for military reasons. “This is Beatrice Manning, the new owner of Errant.”
Beatrice Manning did not look like a soldier in her cable-knit cardigan over her too-fancy under-buttoned blouse, jeweled in gold and pearls. Long painted nails, meticulously kept. She looked the part of the villainous boarding school teacher in one of Morian’s horror flicks. The one that was always the first to get carved to gory pieces by the monster. Looked like she’d deserve it too.
Each pilot introduced themselves in turn. Manning paused in front of each one, taking them in and asking a question or two.
It’s still staring at you, Mary.
Disgusting.
Ilina closed her eyes as something twitched at her nose. Flowers? Not the roses or lilies of Velia’s perfume. Not an uncommon scent, but not one she could immediately place. There was an image in her mind of a street outside a little apartment building and mama’s voice calling her inside. An unattended garden left by the woman who fell down the stairs the week before.
“Lavender?”
A hand grabbed Ilina by the chin and dragged her head up. There was one of those bright station lights haloing Manning, who was sneering down at her. Ilina made eye contact with the woman before she realized she should have avoided it. A thumb dragged slowly across Ilina’s bottom lip, just the way Crater did the first time they met. Ilina felt herself begin to salivate against her will.
“Is that your name?” The woman sounded as departed as Crater did most days.
“Falke,” Ilina pulled back and tried to clear her head with a little shake. Swatted the woman’s hand away while she was at. “Ilina Falke. Callsign Hunter. Independent contractor.”
“Not an employee?”
“No, ma’am.”
A preening smile on the woman as she adjusted her cardigan slightly and tossing a glance back at her own pilots. “Ma’am?”
Best behavior. Don’t be an embarrassment. Ilina, just do what you’re told. Right, right. Back straight, eyes forward. Proper posture. Just like that. Whatever you do, don’t antagonize her in front of her coworkers, please.
Irene glowered on the edge of her vision with a judgmental stare. If she was going to be a failure no matter what, she might as well be a failure on her own terms. The furious shudder in the woman’s voice would be worth the beating afterward.
“Well, I’ll call you Sir if you pay me,” Ilina’s face pulled back in her awful little grin, “And I’ll call you Sir if you hit me hard enough.”
Beatrice Manning hid a disgusted smile behind a hand as she stepped back and looked to Crater. Fuck. Crater. Why did her brain have to start scrambling the two of them together now? Crater’s eyes were cold and empty in the way that an incinerator was before you shoved the meat into the back of it with a stick. That was going to come back to bite her.
“Another pilot with an attitude problem,” Manning muttered a bit theatrically as she tossed Krystyn a glance. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Results are results.”
“Really?” Manning walked past Crater and motioned for the officer to follow. “I think you just enjoy making pets out of troublemakers. Never thought you’d employ swine though.”
“Falke is a woman,” Crater corrected as the two of them left the pilots alone in the hall.
Their conversation droned as they walked into the distance, leaving Velia and all the pilots behind. Ilina barely noticed the three pilots, whose names she’d missed entirely, scurry off making their little giggles and noises. She barely noticed the muttered complaints of her fellow pilots too.
What was she even doing here?
Well. She had nowhere else to be. Nothing else to do. With their contracts almost done, she should see what Morian’s plans were.
Ilina came to her senses in the moment before Krystyn folded her in half with a punch. Just fast enough to brace her core for it. It still hurt like hell, but watching Krystyn wince and shake her hand as she kept Ilina from hitting the ground with her other hand was a nice bonus. Krystyn’s face was twisted with rage that could only elicit an excited smile from Ilina.
“Didn’t I tell you to stop acting like that?” The woman snarled as she nearly ripped Ilina’s shirt trying to lift her off the ground. “You’re going to get the rest of us lumped in with you.”
Before Ilina could snap back at her she found herself on the floor. Hand around her throat and a boot behind her leg and toppled like it was nothing, hitting the floor practically head first. She wasn’t prepared for it was all. Neither was she prepared for Krystyn to put a boot in her ribs with the kind of real force she did a moment later.
Krystyn scratched at her neck while staring down at Ilina before giving a second solid kick. She looked so natural that way, wearing the same expression and body language she did the first time she dragged Ilina into a soundproof room for some correction.
“Fucking disgusting.”
Manya sidled up beside her, rubbing shoulders with a renewed Krystyn wearing the same smug face she always did. “You can’t break her yet. Her contracts not up until Crater signs the paperwork. Let’s go.”
“Vigil, drag this thing back to the Gestalt. I don’t want to be seen with it.”
Symeon dragged her to her feet by an arm with the roughness you handled a prisoner. Hand clasped tightly around the back of her neck and forcing her to march forward, retracing their steps through the halls. Not a word shared between them. She didn’t even get a chance to see Krystyn and Manya skulk off somewhere. The mutt didn’t even give her the chance to turn her head far enough to get a look at her.
Conspiracy? No. Simpler than that. They were all falling into step behind their commander. Ilina had been warned about her behavior repeatedly, and failed dramatically and publicly. It stung, but protecting the team came first. Krystyn was a slave to duty and responsibility before her own desires. Ilina really couldn’t blame any of them.
Even if she really wanted to.