Tales from the Drift: Old Lessons, Hard Futures

Chapter 25 - Arrival at Montressor

THE OXALIA EXPANSE // THE MONTRESSOR SHIPYARDS // LOWER DISC

The Delgrado lumbered up to the pier on a cushion of gravity, the pilot tugs careful to keep the boxy beast at a steady pace.

Brego pressed his gloves down between his fingers, searching for comfort in the soft leather. An agitation without source danced across his nerves. Electric with impatience and idleness he sought an outlet, something with which to fidget. Right now, it was his gloves. They felt too loose, and then too tight. He was fond of their general snugness, but he'd have been happy to toss them out the nearest porthole.

It wasn't the mission. Or was it? Perhaps it was the multitudes behind him, the rust-worn bay doors before him, or the safety rail which he kept bumping with his left hip. All the mingling, all the chattering. He felt as though he were being crushed in a compactor.

Vyx stood beside him, tall and glorious and dangerous, a silent effigy. She was not fond of the plan. Bluffing their way onto the prison ship through pretense and deception did not make for an honorable hunt, and she had taken great offence when he had likened it to laying a false trail as a lure or misdirection for a clever beast.

She preferred working alone. She preferred being unseen.

There was, however, no viable way to board the Yorev alone and unseen. While it was at port, security would be too tight, too aware, and too on edge.

Posing as his bodyguard while he conducted a snap inspection was the better option, and while it was not without its risks, it was, despite the name suggesting otherwise, quite routine. Inspections occurred at regular intervals, and always while a ship was undergoing refit. They were unscheduled, but not unexpected. Not unanticipated. They were a layer of frenetic fear which served to weed out the weak and disorderly.

Fear was a much-used tool of House Norr, though it was often wielded like a mallet, smashing apart more people and lives than objects.

The spreading of fear was at the core of House Norr doctrine. It wasn't necessary to take life, but it was necessary to have the power to do so. It was a dogmatic ideology which combined the dread of reprisal and the suspicion of betrayal and cultivated the angst-ridden mixture into a manic need for self-preservation. To act otherwise was to act counter to the precepts of the universe, a futile effort which left one vulnerable. So, Grandfather Arr'el had often pontificated.

Yet Brego's own acute sense of self-preservation wasn't warning him away. So, why the doubt? Why the hot tickle in the hollow of his palms? If only he could see far enough ahead to put together the consequences of delivering Masani to the auction. If only.

If only moons were made of silver and stars of diamonds. He huffed out a sigh. He knew well enough that it wasn't possible to always be a step ahead. Consequences weren't always obvious. Which made life exciting. Right? Why wasn't he excited? His stomach rumbled with deep foreboding. Had he skipped breakfast? He couldn't remember.

His instincts were a mess: urging caution, daring risk, flashing high stakes with higher rewards, portending doom, craving fruit-laden porridge slathered in a syrup of sweet honey and warm milk. Which was it?

Success or failure, it wouldn't be some faceless, feckless officer sent after him this time. She would investigate this outrage. Personally.

It was the mission.

He shivered.

The ship shuddered.

There was at least another rotation before they needed to approach the Norr Enclave, and he had other business to conduct on Montressor. He needed the distraction. Vyx disagreed with the delay but insisted on accompanying him despite his urging her to take in the local sights and acquaint herself with the shipyards.