Home Fires

10. RESCUE

Angel Mendoza, his hands wrapped with rope, stood beside Skip to interpret; Skip’s hands were wrapped as well.

“He says they’ve got many more prisoners,” Mendoza whispered. “We are the most important, but just a sample. He’s got to exhibit us to the boss of all hijackers. Then the boss will understand what he’s come to say, and there will be an agreement and no shooting. If there’s shooting, he says, they will win. They will kill all the hijackers and keep all the money, but to join forces is better. There are beautiful women topside, and they throw the stick whenever they wish. If no partnership, they have gas. They’ll use it to kill everybody down here.”

Skip whispered, “Do they believe him?”

Mendoza shrugged. “They don’t shoot.”

Crates were moved aside, the barricade demolished. Skip hung back as though frightened, and was prodded (as he expected) with the barrel of a riot gun. A well-remembered passage, scarcely wider than a hand truck, ran down the center of the hull. For a short time that seemed long, they trudged between bulging cliffs restrained by cargo nets, with armed hijackers before and behind them and Soriano (whose Spanish Mendoza had been interpreting) swaggering in the lead. A long machete dangled from Soriano’s belt, a belt into which two stag-gripped pistols had been thrust. To Skip, who kept his head down as he stumbled along, they seemed very like Chelle’s—the new pistol, she had told him, recently adopted by the Army but in such short supply that almost nobody below the rank of colonel had one.

The little office near the freight elevator had not changed; they crowded into it: Soriano, Llanes, and Garcia; Skip and Mendoza; Mick Tooley; and the handsome, worried-looking man Tooley had introduced as Rick Johnson. All the rest—more than a dozen “prisoners” including Vanessa and Susan, and the rest of Soriano’s mercenarios—had to wait in the dimly lit passage with eight hijackers. There were introductions and handshakings.

Soriano addressed the older hijacker who had struck Skip, and Mendoza interpreted: “You see this man? Now he is the leader of those who defeated you and locked you up down here. Their captain fights us to his death, but this man surrenders and lives. These others we bring you, too. This man, he is your prisoner before we came?”

“Yes, he is an eel.”

“I give him to you again, Señor Ortiz, if you wish him.” Soriano twisted the tip of his black mustache. “This I do to show I am an honest friend. You desire to beat him? Do it! He is yours.”

“You have taken the ship?”

“We have. We shall return it to its owners, and for that they must pay very much.”

“Then you have no need of me, Señor Soriano. Nor of my men. Set us ashore, us and our prisoners. We will not fight you.”

“I could do this, but I will do more. Join us and you will be one with us. You tried to take this ship. You may have it and share our joy.”

“You are a man of much heart. It is not pleasant that I take advantage of you. No! Set us ashore, shake my hand in parting and wish us well, and when next we meet it shall be as friends.”

“Alas, señor, you shame me. I must confess that I—even I, whom men call the victorious and the crippler of his foes—require your assistance. I have the ship, and this you comprehend, but I have not mariners sufficient to work it as I would wish. Join us—”

Grunting, the older man pointed to Skip and Mendoza. He rose, left his desk, and cocked his fist. When he was almost near enough to strike, Skip let the rope that had looped his hands fall and Soriano’s arm hooked the older man’s throat from behind. The older man gasped.

Skip’s pistol joined Mendoza’s, thrust into the older man’s face. “We’ve twenty-one here already, and a hundred more on M Deck waiting for the sound of a shot. Tell your men to lay down their guns.”

* * *

Skip and Vanessa found Chelle bruised, bloodstained, and half naked, and freed her. Her first words were, “I think I need to see a dentist.”

Skip was on his knees beside her. “There may be one on the ship, Seashell.”

“And a psychiatrist.” Her voice was weak. “I’ll tell you about that later. Have you got my gun?”

He shook his head.

“You have to help me look for it.”

Vanessa smiled, “Do you know, I’ve never given you two anything? Not even a toaster. Do either of you know about weddings? It’s like contracting, only in church and not legally binding.” The ship heeled and seemed for a moment to tremble, and she added, “What was that?”

“We’re going about.” Skip rose as he spoke. “Heading for home. With control of the rudders, there’s no reason not to.”

“Lovely! You and Chelle can have a proper wedding. Do you want one?”

“I certainly do.” He helped Chelle stand; her right arm hung limp.

“One gives gifts.” Vanessa opened her purse. “There should be contract gifts, too. Don’t you agree? I haven’t any birdseed to throw, but I have a gift. Perhaps I should save it for the wedding.” Her eyes sparkled as she drew a corner out: mottled polymer.

“My gun!” Chelle held out her left hand; her right still dangled at her side.

“Well, certainly. Skip caught that horrible Ortiz and marched him off without a word. Only there was a man with Skip who made me uncomfortable. Possibly it was because of his tweed jacket. Who could stand tweed in this heat? So I stayed behind and went through the horrible man’s desk, looking for papers and so forth. I didn’t find any but I found this, and I knew you’d want it back.”

“You…” Chelle hesitated. “You came down to rescue me, Mother? To try to?”

“I don’t think I understand this gun at all. The bottle-shaped bullets and everything. I wanted to try it, but it didn’t seem safe. What’s that funny thing on the trigger? Don’t hold your hand out like that, Chelle darling, it’s not polite and I’m not going to give it back to you until you ask nicely.”

“¡A la puñeta!”

Vanessa smiled. “That was a favorite expression of Charles’s, and I never understood it. Now you can explain it to me.”

Chelle gave Skip a painful smile as he lifted her right arm into the sling he had knotted from his shirt. “Please kick the shit out of my goddamn mother, so I can hug her—that’s if she really came down here for me.”

Skip said, “She did.”

“Yeah, she must have if she went through that desk. Why did you let her do it?”

“Various reasons.” He adjusted the sling. “For one thing we wanted people who looked like harmless captives but could and would fight, if fighting were needed. For another—”

“And you thought Mother would?”

“No. I knew she would. As long as the hijackers had you, she’d fight like a tigress to get you back. I haven’t known her long, but—”

Mick Tooley had come in. “You found her, sir.”

“Indeed he did.” Vanessa looked demure. “Guided by a mother’s love, he could scarcely fail.” She spoke to Skip. “Perhaps you should introduce us?”

Swaying, Chelle said, “Give me my goddamn gun before I knock you down.” Skip tried to steady her.

“Please, Chelle darling. Not in front of strangers.”

Tooley stepped back. “If you’d rather I’d leave…”

“Stay,” Skip told him. “Your presence may prevent a murder.”

“Mine.” Vanessa’s eyes were bright with tears.

“Virginia,” Skip said, “this is Michael Tooley. You may remember that I gave you his number when Chelle and I were planning our cruise. Chelle, this is Mick Tooley. He’s the sort of young lawyer I was when you left Earth.”

Chelle offered her left hand. “It’s a pleasure, Mick. I’m your boss’s contracta. From this point on, a part of your job will be to convince him he’s not too o-old for me. Think you can do it?”

“I’ll try,” Tooley promised, “and I believe I have a clean handkerchief big enough to go around your head.”

* * *

Susan was waiting in the sitting room of Stateroom 23C when Skip opened the door. She rose, smiling. “It’s good to see you. To see you in private, I mean. I’ve been seeing a lot of you in public.”

“I understand. Why don’t you try the big leather chair? It’s a bit more comfortable.”

Susan remained standing. The smile remained as well. “Aren’t you going to ask me how I got in here?”

“You bribed the steward, I imagine.”

“Not at all. I found your Ms. Blue in the infirmary, explained that I was your secretary and needed to speak to you privately, and promised to return her cabin card. She let me have it.”

Skip removed Tucker’s Guide to Modern Military Law from the seat of his reading chair and sat. “I hope you’ll excuse me. It’s been a long day, and I’m tired.”

“That’s what I’ve come to say, really. That I excuse you.”

He nodded and thanked her.

“A long day for me, too. I was seasick on the boat that brought us from Boca. Did Mr. Tooley tell you?”

“That you were seasick? No.”

Susan sat down on the couch. “I thought you’d have a thousand questions, and I’m prepared to answer every one I could dream up. Don’t you have any?”

“I’m exhausted, as I said.” Skip hesitated. “There are two reasons for not quizzing you. May I explain?”

“I wish you would.”

“The first is that I’m not entitled to. You came with Mick—”

“I joined him in Boca.”

“I stand corrected. I thank you for that. I’m deeply indebted to you, just as I am to Mick and the rest of his party. I’m further indebted to you because you volunteered for the hold. We wanted women—attractive women who would fight, if fighting were necessary. You and Vanessa stepped forward, and I was stunned. I still am.”

“What’s the second?”

“I haven’t finished with the first, but as you wish. I don’t want to question you because I anticipate that any questions of mine would evoke tears and recriminations. I deserve both and more, I know. But I’m not looking forward to them.”

“There are women who can cry whenever they want to,” Susan said. “I’m not one of them. There have been a lot of times recently when I wanted to cry. Sometimes I did, and felt better afterward. Sometimes I couldn’t. It’s like wanting to breathe when you’re under the water.”

“You’re asking my permission to cry.”

“Yes. I suppose I am.” She rose and wandered into the bedroom. “We had a nice cabin, but it wasn’t as nice as this.”

“That was a different ship.”

If she had heard him, she gave no sign of it. A few seconds later, she slid back one of the veranda doors and stepped outside. “It’s cooler out here.”

He followed her. “It is, now that the sun’s low. Chelle and I opened them—this was the first night out—after we came back from dinner, but we were afraid to leave them open when we went to bed. That seems rather comic after everything that’s happened.”

“After the hijackers.”

He nodded. “Then Chelle went to bed with a guy she met at a party, and they left them open. I know that, because he jumped out of bed and ran out here when I came in. His name was Jerry, Chelle said. Jerry ran out here, knocking over a lamp, and jumped the railing. He may have hurt himself, I suppose, but I don’t really know.”

“She cheats on you.”

Skip shrugged. “I wouldn’t call it that. I cheated on her while she was gone.”

“With me.”

He nodded. “So I can’t complain. And I don’t. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Maybe that’s the best way.”

He waited.

“Here’s what I was going to say. I was going to say that you had told me—once—what would happen when your Chelle came back. You had told me, but I hadn’t believed you. When I got you the train tickets to Canam, I still didn’t know.”

He nodded.

“When I found out why you’d gone up there, it knocked the props out from under me. That’s when I quit. I went into Mr. Ibarra’s office and cried my eyes out. He shut the door and let me cry as long as I wanted. Then he said he understood, and the firm would tell anybody who asked that I could walk on water.”

Skip said, “Luis is a good man.”

“Yes, he is. It stuck in my mind for some reason, that business about walking on water. And then somebody—I won’t tell you who—called and told me you were in trouble and Mr. Tooley had gone to Tamaulipas with a dozen men to help you, and they were going to hire mercenaries and buy a boat. So I went too. I met them there, about an hour before they sailed.”

Skip nodded. “I owe you a great deal. I believe I’ve said that already, but I’ll repeat it.”

“You don’t owe me one damned thing, Mr. Grison. I couldn’t help doing what I did.” Susan’s hands writhed in her lap. “I love you. It’s something I can’t control. Would you rather I stayed away?”

“It might be better if you did.”

“I … understand. Can I tell you what I was going to tell you? I was going to say I love you, and I’m sorry I got all upset and quit. But I did and that’s that. Only if you ever want me, I won’t be hard to find. I was going to say you could stay with your contracta, but sometime you might remember the cruise or the skiing vacations. If you did—I’m not saying this, it’s just what I planned—all you’d have to do is call me.” Her laugh held no merriment at all.

He said, “I’m glad you’re not saying that.”

“So am I. I’m getting a little of my pride back, or that’s how it seems to me. I’ve had some time now, and I’ve been terribly seasick. Being seasick puts everything in perspective. I’m still an attractive woman, or think I am.”

“You are.”

“So I’m going to try to find somebody. Somebody nice who wants to contract.”

Skip nodded.

“Somebody who’ll love me, poor dowdy little Susan, the way you love your Chelle.” Susan took a deep breath, held it, released it, and took another. “So this is what I’m really saying, Mr. Grison—it doesn’t bother you that I’m not calling you Skip?”

He shook his head. “Call me whatever you like.”

“What we had for nine years and eighty-seven days is over and done with. I’m not going to try to restart it. If you try to, it won’t work. Mr. Ibarra promised he’d give me good references.”

Skip said, “So will I.”

“I’m sure, but I don’t want them. There are a million women out there trying to land secretarial jobs, women working as waitresses and maids who have business degrees. A lot of them have wonderful references. I know some who are posted on every website in the world and have spammed out résumés by the thousand. Women who offer to go to the north coast at their own expense for one interview. I’ve got thirteen years with Burton, Grison, and Ibarra. May I come back? Please?”

Skip nodded. “With no loss in seniority. I’ll see to it.”

“Thank you. Thank you, Mr. Grison.” The words were scarcely audible.

“You won’t have to come back as my secretary, Susan. I realize that—”

“I want to! That’s exactly what I want. It will be all business, I promise, and I’ll be the best secretary anybody ever saw.”

“You always were. Do you really want your old job back?”

“Yes! You—you said you needed women who’d fight if necessary. I’ve still got the gun Mr. Tooley gave me in Boca. Look!” Susan’s hand went to her holster. “Tell me to shoot a couple of those hijackers, and they’re dead. Order me to do anything you want done, Mr. Grison except—except what…”

“I won’t,” Skip said quickly. “Now take your hand off your gun.”

Susan did, and sat down on the bed.

He went to her. “You’ve become what you told Chelle you were. It’s a business relationship, a permanent one, and that’s how it’s going to stay. Let’s shake hands.”

Susan’s hand seemed damp, weak and a trifle too small, and he realized with a start that he had already grown used to Chelle’s. Feeling awkward, he cleared his throat. “Now that you’re my confidential secretary again, I want to ask you a question. It’s a delicate matter, so don’t tell anyone I asked.”

“Of course not.”

“If you know anything, if you have even the smallest scrap of information, I want it. No matter how trivial it seems.”

Susan nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Have you ever heard of a woman named Jane Sims?”

For a fraction of a second, it seemed him that Susan had recognized the name; there had been, he felt, a flicker in her eyes, a slight tightening of her mouth. Then she said, “No, sir. Who is she?”

“She’s a woman Chelle mentioned. I don’t want to pry, but it’s something I may need to know. So I’m trying to find out.”

“What about Boris?”

“I’ve got him looking already. Are you sure you didn’t recognize the name?”

“Yes, sir. Unless you mean Jane Simmons. I used to know a Jane Simmons.”

“You’re no longer in touch with her?”

Susan shook her head. “Not for years, sir. We were never really close. She contracted with a woman in the rapeseed oil business, and they went off to someplace in Asia.”

“I doubt that she’s my Jane Sims.”

“So do I. You said you were tired, sir. If you’d like to lie down…?”

“I’d like to, but I can’t afford it. I was going to take a long, cold shower, then go back to the infirmary to see Chelle. Since you’ll be going there, we might as well go together.”

* * *

It was on J Deck, aft. The middle-aged nurse at the reception desk said, “You want to see Chelle Blue? Both of you?”

Skip nodded. “I’m Chelle’s contracto, and this is my secretary, Susan Clerkin. We need to talk to her together. It won’t take long.”

“Ms. Clerkin was here…” The nurse pressed buttons and studied her screen. “At fourteen thirty-five. Weren’t you one of the people who brought Ms. Blue in?”

Skip nodded again.

“Well, I can’t let both of you in together.”

“Yes, you can. Ask Dr. Prescott.”

The nurse frowned. “He’s not here.”

“In that case, I’ll have him paged.”

“Are you going to be long?”

In the end they were admitted, and found Chelle in bed with her head swathed in bandages and her right arm in a cast. She tried to sit up, and did when the nurse cranked up her bed. “This is great! Got my cabin card?” Her grin made Skip want to turn away.

Susan held out the card. “Here it is. I’m glad we didn’t wake you up.”

“Not a bit! I was just staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out how I’d like to die. Fighting, sure. But would I want to know it’s coming, so I could get ready? How much time? Stuff like that.”

Skip said, “That doesn’t sound healthy.”

“Sure it is—takes my mind off my troubles. I got blown all to hell up on Johanna, maybe I told you.”

Skip nodded.

“That was one hell of a lot worse than this. This is kid stuff. The dentist says not to eat anything tough for a while and my teeth should root again, or whatever you call it. Not come out. I got a scalp wound and they’re bleeding bastards, but it’s been sewed up good and they gave me a transfusion. I’ll be back on the field in the third quarter.”

Skip said, “What about your arm?”

“It’s busted, that’s all—simple fracture of the humerus, so there’s a titanium plate and a bunch of screws in there now. One of those bastards hit me with a crowbar. See this black dingbat in my cast? High-frequency sound, with all the best undertones and overtones. It’ll heal fast, and it’s been splinted and pinned already.”

Susan said, “Is there anything that we can do for you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, there is. That white box in the corner? My stuff’s supposed to be in there, only I’m not supposed to get out of bed. Look inside, and see if you can find my gun. The nurse says it’s in there, but who the fuck knows? I’d like to check on her.”

Skip opened the cabinet and pointed.

Susan said, “Yes, it’s right here.”

“Hold it up, okay? Don’t touch the trigger.”

Susan did.

“Great. Bring it over here. I just want to hold it for a minute.”

Susan hesitated, then looked her question at Skip.

He nodded.

“I’m not going to shoot anybody. I just want to feel it.”

Skip took the gun from Susan and put it into Chelle’s right hand.

“That’s great.” Chelle’s smile warmed him.

“What is it?” Susan asked. “I don’t know much about them.”

“A Springfield MIL 31-3. It’s got everything you need and nothing you don’t—high capacity, a comp that hides flash and doesn’t knock your ears off, ambi safeties, flat trajectory, lots of knockdown, and a jewel of a trigger. Was that old lady magic, Skip? Or was I?”

“Tante Élise? Both of you, I think.”

Chelle turned back to Susan. “You went down into the hold to get me, didn’t you? Somebody said that.”

She nodded.

“You had a gun? Do you still have it?”

“I … Yes. It makes Mr. Grison nervous, but I do.” After a moment she repeated, “I don’t know very much about them.”

“So you think people like me, people who love their guns, are nuts. I’ve used a gun to save my life. That’s the difference. They’d sent us some new ’bots, and they were good but it was desert camo. They might as well have been bright yellow, and they got picked off pretty fast. We were supposed to come in behind them—”

The middle-aged nurse in the office outside had raised her voice, “You can’t! Don’t you listen?”

The words of the reply were indistinct but its tone was unmistakable. A moment later, the door opened and a lean man in a tweed jacket stepped through. He shut the door firmly behind him and held it shut with his heel. “Bureaucrats!”

Skip said, “Chelle, this is Rick Johnson. He came with Mick Tooley and was one of your rescuers.”

Susan added, “Came prepared to fight. He has a gun like yours.”

“Not quite,” Johnson said, “but it’s a good one. You’re Mastergunner Blue, ma’am?”

“Sure.” Chelle grinned. “But I’m not really holding a gun on these folks. I just wanted to see it and make sure it was safe.”

“I understand.” Johnson was studying Chelle’s gun. “There’s no reason for you to trust me to keep it for you, but I will if you want me to.”

“So will I,” Skip said.

“Thanks.” Chelle moved the gun from her right hand to her left and gave it to him butt-first. “With three of you here, I’ve got a great chance to ask about the other guys who went into the hold.” She paused. “Not your bunch. Sergeant Kent-Jermyn’s and mine. Some didn’t come out alive. I know that. Does anybody know which ones made it out?”

No one spoke.

“From my bunch or the earlier bunch?” Chelle looked from face to face.

“I can’t tell you,” Skip said. “I know we freed some, but I’m not sure how many.”

“When I was down there,” Johnson said slowly, “we got out four, I believe. Four alive, not counting you. Three had to be carried.”

“I saw them,” Susan said.

“I took down seven,” Chelle’s voice had sunk to a whisper. “Somebody said there were eight in the first bunch.”

Skip nodded. “That’s what I was told, too.”

“What about Don?” To hear her, Skip had to bend until his ear was almost at her lips “Don Miles? Does anybody know about Don?”

Outside, a shrill new voice argued with the nurse: “But she’s my daughter!”

An explosion shook the ship.