DERELICT RUN
(Part 2 of 8)
The brig was less comfortable than Florio’s office. Mercutio lay on a hard bunk, hands behind his head, whistling “Varnapalo”. One of the lights overhead fluttered, and the cell smelled rank. It didn’t help that seven men were crowded in, and all had liquor in them and on them.
Dalibor, Maltego, Krimulo, and Feraji played Folly with a greasy deck. Vesperto did situps, sobering up. Batalo, having extracted a knife from his boot, was carving his name in the doorframe.
“When we gettin’ out, Warrant?” Maltego groused. “It’s breakfast.—Captains and pilots to you, Babyface.”
Dalibor snarled, throwing out a three. Feraji jeered.
“We’ll get out when we get out,” Mercutio said. “Maybe you’ll learn something.”
“I’ve learned to run out the back when Batalo gets told to get out,” Krimulo said.
Batalo stabbed the doorframe. “If you all backed me up—”
“Try drinking less,” Mercutio said.
“I should drink more,” Batalo said. “Stuck out here, week after week, no end to it,” he stabbed the doorframe, meditative, “nothing to do but drink.”
“Girls hate a sloppy drunk,” Vesperto said, pausing his situps. “You have more to do if you weren’t such a pig.”
Batalo yanked the blade from the wood and tossed it and caught it, tossed it and caught it, menacing.
“Put it away,” Mercutio said. “Someone’s coming.”
Batalo slipped it home in his boot leather and stepped from the door.
“Look lively, lads,” Mercutio said.
Dalibor swept up the cards and the money, and they turned.
There was a jangle, and the door opened.
“Commandant,” Mercutio said pleasantly. He swung his feet to the floor and stood, giving a reasonable salute.
Aydin looked them over with distaste. “You lot,” he said. “Any man of you other than the warrant here know how to salute? Oh, not all at once, now, please!”
“Sorry, sir,” Mercutio said. “Bit under the weather this morning.”
“Under the weather and hung over? Eh?”
They’d managed a straggling line, and he gave them a hard look. “Temes take it,” he said. “At ease, damn it. Batalo, you can stop glaring. Dalibor, those are playing cards sticking out of your pocket. Feraji—button up your damned pants, man. You lot are an embarrassment.”
“Sorry—”
“No, Mercutio. Does anyone want to know what my morning is like? I woke up, I made something like coffee, I shaved, and I got a face full of my exec telling me that the Stationmaster desired the pleasure of the top line of my dance card. Exciting! I had nothing better to do, so I rushed over. What did he want? What did he want,” he said thoughtfully, trailing off. “Oh, that’s right. He wanted to tick me right off because you lot are a bloody menace! I didn’t want you on board, and I didn’t want to be out here, but here I am, with a tedious set of reprobates who steal wallets and fight bartenders and tup wenches. Next week, you may steal wenches and tup bartenders and fight wallets, I dunno, but he’s implying strongly that he wants you under control, and he feels I am not the man to make that happen.”
He paced up and down. “I did not need a boarding party after that last mission, but Command didn’t seem to think you totally sober geniuses could keep your mouths shut, and so here we all are. Stowed in the back of beyond, me and my ship and seven very bored young men luxuriating in budding criminality and indiscipline.
“Naturally, Mist’ Stationmaster wants to be rid of you, but Command won’t take us back. He’s proposed,” Aydin said, “that you should all stay right here. In this cell. Where you’re sitting. Stow it!—” Their protests echoed on the metaplastoc walls. “Until when, Feraji? I’ll tell you. Until—if! Command sees fit to send for us again.”
“We stay in here,” Maltego said, “Batalo will kill us all.”
“We stay in here,” Dalibor said, “Krimulo will cheat all of our money out of us.”
“Didn’t ask your opinion. Play for buttons. To the victor and so on.” He paced back down the ragged line. “Lord, you are filthy men. You smell like spilled wine and loose women.—As usual with these things, there’s an if in this.”
“If?” Mercutio said.
“Maybe we can make a deal, Warrant. If you can take care of an issue,” Aydin went on, “then you might get let out.”
“If,” the warrant said. “What sort of an issue?”
“Oh, it’s easy,” Aydin said. “Simple collection job.”
“If it’s easy, why are we handling it?”
“You’re free labor, and you can be ordered to shut it.”
“Free labor—for who?”
“Not me, and I’m not telling you this. But if you like walking around and going to bars and not being in here...”
The team looked at the warrant. Mercutio thrust out his lower lip. “Well, we could do a little work.”
“Beats sitting in here,” Vesperto said.
“You’ll like it, Vesperto,” Aydin said cheerfully. “Your kind of job.”
“Can we know a bit more—” Mercutio began.
“No,” Aydin said flatly. “Take it. Leave it. Get out of here or go to the hells. I officially know nothing, you understand. So, no details. In or out?”
“In,” Mercutio said.
(See you next Thursday morning!)