“You must want this very badly, niña, to track me down here.”
‘Here’ being Jumble Station. We were sitting at the small dining table in Gače’s cramped cabin. Gače was tethered to one of the random docking ports scattered around the outer margins of Jumble’s ad hoc construction. Jumble has no sense of structure, nothing more than a century of randomly accreted bits of old ships, cargo containers, and anything else people could steal, salvage or cobble together. It has been growing ever since scavengers first started picking at the bones of the derelict ships left there after the Battle of Sarin and, at Jumble’s heart, is the old Confed border base. Jumble is a kind of space-born coral reef and, in many respects, just as colorful. From the outside, it is a web of lights, bright and glittering. From the inside, well, they say that the center is dark, abandoned and unlivable — though there are stories.
I was waiting for a scavenger who said he had tech worth smuggling into Confed. Gače was an old short haul Starlifter that had been making runs around Confed space since before I was born, but old sometimes just means comfortable and familiar. I’ve had her for forty years and I’ve paid exceptional care to her maintenance and refit — there’s a lot less cargo space than a ship of her class ought to have, but far more range and more than a few stealth modifications.
The Sarin system itself is almost empty except for a small neutron star at it’s center and the remnants of the Confed and Kali fleets that fought here so long ago. The Kali had made their way deep into Confed space, striking at the Sol system itself. The Confed fleet kicked sent them running from humanity’s birthplace and chased them from system to system, finally cornering them in Sarin when a second fleet cut them off using the jump point from Shavor space. If it weren’t for all those wrecks, Sarin would just be another empty system that people passed through to trade with the Shavor. No one stops here. No one except smugglers, scavengers, and people who can’t afford to be found in the civilized systems.
“And what makes you think I knew Xavier Montaigne?”
The young girl across the table from me had told me her name was Katlin. She had shoulder length, honey blond hair that had fallen forward on the left side, partly hiding a bruise that was swelling purple against her charcoal colored skin. Her eyes were cat green and she had the same kind of gaze. She saw me notice the bruise and pulled the hair back as if the bruise was a badge of honor.
“I did my research,” she answered, her smooth contralto a counterpoint to Gače’s ventilation fans. “All through school. I dug up everything I could on him. I read every book, every interview with those involved, but I knew if I wanted the real story, I’d have to find you.”
And how did you find me? I don’t look anything like I did back then. Black hair gone all silver, lines criss-crossing my face, and more pounds than I’d like about the middle. How did you connect that young woman with me? I don’t even go by the same name any more. Too many enemies — here and elsewhere.
“How’s that?” I asked.
Katlin claimed to be a journalism grad looking for the big story that would get her a job with GNS or one of the other big news agencies. And this might do it. Well, if it didn’t get her killed first, it might. She’d tucked into the frozen dinner I’d given her like she hadn’t eaten in a week and she didn’t get that bruise bumping into a doorknob. I wouldn’t have given her the time of day except that she had linked me to Montaigne and I couldn’t afford to have my real name bandied about. Certainly not here. Besides, it took some serious cojones for an upstanding Confed citizen to come to Jumble. Assuming, of course, that she was upstanding.
“There’s a vid,” she started, “taken during the peace talks and you two are in the background — arguing. Somehow I just knew you’d have the inside story. The truth.”
She leaned back, shaking her head. “And that you’d be willing to tell it when no one else is. Everyone paints him as the big peacemaker, but you were arguing with him.”
And don’t I remember that argument. Everything had gone his way – Confed was about to back off and everyone was going to get amnesty. Everyone except his Anyuvin ‘soldiers’. They were going to get shoved out an airlock and I couldn’t let that happen. So we argued. And then he was dead. And the Anyuvin were gone and suitable for framing.
“Dios,” I said, “you want the truth about Xavier,”.
Why is it we always want to know “the truth” about heroes? Especially the dead ones. Are we trying to make sure that they were what we thought they were? Or are we looking for the feet of clay, the dirt that proves they were really no different from the rest of us? Well, that cabrón was far from being a hero, that’s for damn sure, but a lot of people put him up on that pedestal anyway. He played the rakish pirate to the hilt and heaven knows he certainly was handsome enough for the role. But was he a hero? Mierda! Not as far as I could tell. Decent enough in his own way, but not a hero. Not at the end, certainly.
“Why dig this up now?” I asked. “It isn’t going to change anything and all you’re going to do is piss off the Feds and everyone on Jumble.”
“You tell me he was the hero everyone here claims he is. You tell me the legend is true and there’s nothing for me to write that hasn’t already been written.” Katlin leaned forward, her eyes looking steadily into mine. “Convince me of that and I’ll leave now.”
Does she know this has been a thorn in my side the last forty-odd years? Or is she just guessing? Do I tell her my side of it? Someone would put two and two together and rat me out to the local bosses. Then again, maybe I should take this old ship out and explore some. Then they can hate me all they want. Maybe I’ll go chase after Djani and Mora Šivak. Suddenly I could feel the weight of the data chip hanging around my neck, hidden in the pendant Amara had made. Kyle told me that K’Mora wasn’t all that many jumps away — Gače could make it there easily.
Funny, thinking about Kyle again after all these years. He’d gone with the Anyuvin when they left. I never did figure out why — he was the only human among them. Then again, why did I stay behind and cover for them while they jumped out? Because, in the end, we were family. You do things for family. Maybe trying once more to get the truth out was one of those things. Maybe she could succeed where I had failed.
“OK, turn that thing on,” I said, pointing my finger at the recorder on the table. “And I hope it’s got a lot of memory, because I’ve gotten garrulous in my old age.” It was my turn to lean forward, “but I’m warning you, no one wants to hear the truth.”
She didn’t even blink, just smiled and turned on the recorder.
“What is it, child, that you have when you have nothing else?” I asked. It isn’t much of a riddle, but most people never get the right answer. “You, that’s what you have. Stark naked without a penny to your name, you’re still a commodity. You can sell yourself, if you want, but more’n likely some hijo e’ puta going to come along and do that for you – if you’re unlucky enough.”
Yeah, and isn’t that a pleasant memory. You’d think forty years would blunt the edge, but it doesn’t.
Rebirth ►