Pirate In the Hands of a Jealous God

Aymon couldn’t be sure that the stardrive maker would keep his word about surrendering peacefully, but he was oddly entertained by the feeling of trusting him. He stood on the Whitewater ’s bridge and watched as all of their shuttles finally withdrew back inside the ship, save for the few that would escort the stardrive maker— Halen— in.

The pirate ship Barleywind , as soon as its crew realized they were no longer the target, had engaged their own paltry sub-light engines in a futile attempt to put some distance between themselves and the Whitewater . It wouldn’t have made any difference had they stayed close by, as Aymon was intending to honor his promise, but they left regardless. Aymon watched them go, and he watched with the power as Halen’s shuttle was escorted to one of the bays of the ship.

He left the bridge to go greet him as he came in, met en route by the medical director of the Whitewater . It was reasonable, of course, to force the pirate to take a power suppressing drug while on board the ship, even if it did take some of the thrill out of things for Aymon. The captain wouldn’t have agreed to take him on board without it. Even with that assurance, it had been a difficult thing to get the captain to allow. Aymon had needed to remind the captain that he was the apprentice to First Herrault, and that they would be returning to Emerri, now that his task had been accomplished. It was one of the only times during his long journey with the Whitewater that he had pulled rank in such a way, and he was glad that he had saved that trump card until now, because he got the sensation that he would be unlikely to be able to use it again, should he stay on board the ship for much longer.

The bay that the shuttle was being let into was nearly empty. It was one of the smaller ones, the one primarily used to store the captain’s gig. Aymon watched through the observation window as Halen slowly navigated his shuttle in and settled it against one wall. Despite having spent quite some time in space, Aymon didn’t think he would ever unlearn the habits of gravity, of orienting himself by floor and ceiling. The escort ships came in and docked in free spaces surrounding Halen’s shuttle, and then there was the long wait for the bay to be re-pressurized.

When it was finally safe to open the airlock door and enter, Aymon went in alone, using the power to initially re-orient himself to the wall, and then eschewing it to use the magnetic floor holds that his shoes latched onto. His short red cape billowed out behind him as he stood a fair distance away from the shuttle. The crews of the escort ships had been instructed to wait, so it was just Aymon, holding the blister pack of pills that the doctor had given him.

His heart was beating hard in his chest. If Halen was going to attack him, this would be the time that he would be most able and likely to do it. Aymon was the only person on the ship equipped to handle a face-to-face confrontation with a sensitive, which was why he was going in alone. Halen had very little to lose, so it wouldn’t have been surprising if he attempted to kill Aymon then and there.

But with the power, Aymon watched Halen inside the shuttle. He was simply sitting in the pilot’s chair, eyes closed, head tilted back against the headrest. It took so long for him to move that Aymon’s nerves and curiosity began to turn towards annoyance. When he was on the verge of going up to the shuttle and knocking on the door, Halen finally got out of his seat, and the shuttle’s side door lifted open, letting him out.

He moved with confidence in microgravity, swinging himself out of the shuttle and latching onto the floor three meters away from Aymon, not using the power to move at all. Aymon doubted that it even would have occurred to him to use it to navigate the bay. Now that he was out in the light, Aymon got a good look at the pirate in the flesh.

In person, Halen was disorientingly large. Although Aymon had seen photographs and computer images, and had looked him over with the power, this did nothing to prepare him for Halen’s bulk as he took a few steps towards him. In photographs and in the shuttle, Halen had seemed proportional to everything around him. Now, he towered above Aymon. He was well over two meters in height, and Aymon only came up to his broad chest. Halen stopped his approach far enough away that Aymon didn’t have to crane his neck to look up into his eyes.

His expression was carefully blank, but his eyes followed every twitch of Aymon’s movement, trained on his face. Halen wasn’t handsome. He was light skinned— pallid, even— but with a ruddy red flush across his cheeks, right up to his small, pale eyes. His nose was incongruously flat, and his lips were thin. Although his jaw was square, there was a strange slack quality in the skin around his jowls and in the shallow pits of his eye sockets, like he had recently lost a good deal of weight. His hair was light brown and wispy, fraying out in the microgravity. Despite his plain features, there was something arresting about him, something very physical. Aymon smiled, showing teeth.

“Welcome aboard the Whitewater , Halen,” he said, and inclined his head, more of a nod than a bow.

Halen said absolutely nothing, just watched Aymon. His skin crawled under the observation; he felt like he was being stripped bare, much like he did when he spoke with the Emperor. Finally, just as Aymon resolved to say something else, Halen said, “You’re Aymon Sandreas?” His voice was deeper and fuller than it had sounded over the radio, and it echoed in the bay.

“I am. Apprentice to First Herrault, Voice of the Empire.”

“You hunted the Bluebeetle ?”

“I did.”

Halen’s expression and posture changed for the first time, just minutely— his hand twitched towards the knife in its holster at his side. Aymon did his own best not to react to the movement, though his heart beat still faster. He could feel the blood rushing in his ears. Halen clenched his fist and let it dangle by his side, no longer reaching for the knife.

“That wouldn’t have been an effective way to kill me,” Aymon said. “But I won’t take it from you. Though I’m afraid that I will have to ask you to take these.”

He stepped forward and held out the blister pack of pills. Halen stared at them for a second, then reached out and took them, tugging the pack from Aymon’s fingers roughly. Without any hesitation, he popped the four pills from the pack and swallowed them at once. Aymon watched the bob of his throat.

“You don’t even ask what they are?” Aymon asked, raising an eyebrow.

“If you were going to kill me, you would have,” Halen replied. He closed his eyes for a moment. “Why did you spare me?”

“I said I want you to work for me. I wasn’t lying.”

“No,” Halen said. “But that doesn’t explain it.”

“We will have time to discuss that later.” He tilted his head. “A more interesting question is to ask you why you agreed. It couldn’t have only been to save that pirate ship.”

Halen stayed silent.

“I’m sure we can discuss that later, as well. Quarters have been prepared for you. If there is anything you would like to bring out of your shuttle, you may.”

“The shuttle,” Halen said, a strain in his voice, “don’t do anything to it.”

“It has sentimental value to you, does it?” Aymon said.

The pills that Aymon had given him were fast acting, but they couldn’t have blocked Halen’s power completely yet. Aymon took a calculated few steps forward towards the shuttle, standing to Halen’s left. Almost casually, he brushed his hand along Halen’s arm, from the shoulder to the elbow. It was a weird gesture, to be sure, but one that no one in the Whitewater ’s crew would be likely to interpret correctly.

With the power, through the physical contact, he said, Do not say aloud that your stardrive is in there. The captain would have it destroyed if he knew, and I’m sure that would be a shame. I hope that it also understands that it must behave itself.

Halen shuddered, or maybe jumped, at the touch and Aymon’s mental voice, but the lack of gravity and the magnets in his shoes kept him firmly fixed to the wall of the bay. Aymon dropped his hand from Halen’s arm and continued towards the shuttle. He touched the cold gunmetal surface of it with one finger, tracing a long, ugly scrape in the paint.

“How is it that your black stations do it? They make you pay to keep your ship in port, don’t they? Let’s say that in lieu of paying a docking fee for your shuttle to be kept, you must come to dinner with me tonight.”

“Why?” Halen asked. He hadn’t turned around to look at Aymon, now behind him. It was good that they weren’t facing each other, because Aymon couldn’t have explained why he had chosen to spare the stardrive. He did want Halen’s services, and the stardrive could serve as a bargaining chip, perhaps. It was clearly precious to him. But besides that, there was something thrilling about keeping a deadly, conscious weapon alive and nearby. Aymon doubted it would be able to kill him, but it could certainly try. He would tell the crew of the Whitewater to leave the shuttle alone and not to search it.

“Consider it a gesture of my trust and goodwill,” Aymon said. “And I would hope in exchange for a gesture of yours.” He turned back around and stalked past Halen. “The pills disrupt your ability to use the power, as I’m sure you’ve gathered by now. Take what you need from within your shuttle. You will be shown to your quarters.” He turned back around to Halen. “If you cause any trouble, you will be killed, so I recommend that you do not.”

He waited for Halen to acknowledge what he had said, but Halen said nothing in reply, simply watching him.

“You will join me for dinner in two hours. We have much to discuss, I am sure.” And then he turned and walked out of the bay.

Aymon commandeered one of the staterooms on board the Whitewater for his dinner with Halen. The crew of the ship could hardly complain about anything that he did, at this point, as everyone was relieved to be returning to Emerri. The dinner that Aymon requested be prepared for his guest was far nicer than the standard fare, mainly because the idea amused him, though it remained within the confines of what one could serve on board a military ship that had been out of port for some time. Aymon dressed in the nicest cassock he had brought with him for the trip, the one with silver embroidery on the collar, and heavy buttons engraved with decorative leaf shapes.

Halen was escorted to the stateroom by several of the Whitewater ’s crew, and they seemed to be under the impression that Aymon would require them to stay for the duration of the dinner for security. Aymon dismissed them before they even came into the room, and held the door open for Halen to step past him and come in.

Despite how large Halen was, he moved very quietly and deliberately. His footsteps made almost no sound as he passed Aymon. Someone had found him a new outfit: a plain white shirt and black slacks to replace the jumpsuit he had come in with. Aymon wasn’t sure how they had managed it; he was certain that there was no one in the Whitewater ’s crew who wore Halen’s size clothing. He saw that Halen was not wearing his knife at his side. The holster was there, but it was conspicuously empty.

“I said that you could keep your knife,” Aymon said to Halen as he shut the door.

“Your soldiers took it.”

“They’re not my soldiers,” Aymon said. He gestured to the chair in front of the long table. “Please, sit.”

He did, though not without hesitation, squinting at the size of the chair. It was too small for him to be truly comfortable, but there was nothing that could be done about that. He settled himself at the table and waited, saying nothing. Although his expression was blank, his eyes roved across the covered dishes before him.

Aymon found the bottle of wine that he had requested, and poured glasses for both of them before sitting down himself.

“Shall I say the blessing?” Aymon asked. “It’s usually the privilege of hosts, but perhaps pirates have a different tradition.” He watched Halen’s face, and noticed that he was wearing jewelry: a pair of gold earrings set with carved green stones.

He was surprised when Halen spoke almost immediately. “You say it.”

Aymon smiled and closed his eyes, raising his hands. “Oh Lord, as the darkness gives glory to the light, hunger gives glory to satiety. May we give glory to You in our weakness and our strength, in our coming and our going, and in our fasting and our feasting, now and forever.”

He opened his eyes again after a moment, and found Halen staring at him. Aymon had to look away, and he gestured to the food. “I’m sure that since you’ve been making a fortune selling stardrives, none of this can compare to the finest that the black market can provide, but I hope it is to your satisfaction regardless,” Aymon said. “To your health.” He raised his glass.

Halen said nothing, and did not reach for the wine before him. It was funny how reluctant he was. Aymon drank anyway, too quickly to even appreciate the expensive drink. He opened up the covered dishes, revealing the steak dinner that had been prepared for them.

“Eat,” he said. “It was made for you.”

Halen picked up his fork and ate quickly, in a way that seemed mechanical. Aymon ate much more delicately, looking up at the other man in between bites. They didn’t speak for quite some time.

“I hope the medication is not affecting you too severely,” Aymon said when he had finished most of his meal. Halen was still eating. “I know it’s nowhere near as potent as vena, but I have been told it has some interesting side effects.” Aymon didn’t need to be told what it felt like; he had been given it during his punishment as a student at the Academy, but Halen didn’t need to know that. The medicine blocked the power’s active mechanism by disrupting various crucial chemical pathways in the brain, making abstract thought difficult and concentration harder. The most disturbing and immediate sensation it caused, aside from the loss of the power that was as natural to a sensitive as breathing, was the odd and unaccountable sudden jolts that went through the head at random intervals.

“I would be less dangerous to you if it was vena,” Halen said.

“I’m afraid you’re not much of a danger to me at all.” He finished his glass of wine and poured himself another, noting that Halen hadn’t touched his own glass.

“You’re drinking even though it makes using the power harder,” Halen pointed out. The words came out stiffly; he was fighting against the medication. “You’re equalling our decks.”

Aymon’s lip curled. “If you would like to think of it that way, you’re welcome to. But I don’t suggest you try to find out for sure. I would hate to kill you, after all the trouble I’m going through to keep you alive.”

“They took my knife,” Halen said again, as if there weren’t plenty of other ways a man could be killed.

“I’ll have someone give it back to you.”

Halen turned back to his food.

“In any event, as soon as we return to Stonecourt, you won’t have to take that anymore. But we wouldn’t want to trouble the Whitewater ’s dear captain any more than I already have.”

“How many jumps?”

“Three days. We’re not far, really.”

Halen nodded.

“We won’t go to Stonecourt directly, I’m afraid,” Aymon said, tilting his wineglass and watching the red film that formed on the sides. “I suspect that my master will not be pleased with me, so I will give her a chance to adjust to the idea of my return. We’ll come down the space elevator, rather than taking a shuttle, and then we’ll fly to Yora the next day. It’s tedious, but I don’t see a better way to do things.”

Halen was silent.

“If you’re worried about my master’s displeasure,” Aymon said, compelled to fill the silence, “don’t be. I don’t believe you will be in any danger from her.” He paused. “Though perhaps I should speak with the Emperor first, and with the Emperor’s permission to keep you, she won’t be able to say anything.” He considered Halen carefully. “You might like the Emperor.”

Halen continued to eat, not even looking at Aymon.

“You wanted to know why I kept you alive, earlier,” Aymon said. “Are you no longer curious?”

“If you’re going to tell me, you will.” The flatness of his affect was likely due to the medication, but he followed it up with, “You like to hear your own voice.”

Aymon was reminded of the girl who had refused to say where Halen was located, and who had spat in his face. The propensity to insult him ran in the family, he supposed. But Halen had delivered the line without even looking to see Aymon’s reaction, and so he took a moment to calm himself before he responded.

“One of my fellow apprentices, Jalena Marne, died a while ago. It has become clear to me that being the apprentice to First Herrault, being next in line to lead the Empire, is a dangerous position, and not even the sharpest set of eyes can see behind themselves. I would like to survive to see the end of my apprenticeship,” Aymon said. “You seem like you could be fit for the task of keeping me out of harm’s way.”

“You want me to be your bodyguard?” Halen asked, the disbelief creeping into his voice.

“What did you think I wanted you for?”

“To make stardrives.”

Aymon laughed aloud. “You would never do well with our stardrive makers,” he said.

Halen was silent again.

“It takes a different type.” He finished his second glass of wine, but didn’t reach for a third. “You know, when I was offered my choice of apprenticeship, that was one of the offers I received. To apprentice to the stardrive makers. But I don’t think that means you and I have anything in common.”

Halen finished his food, his fork scraping along his empty plate.

“There’s dessert, if you like,” Aymon said. There were two more covered trays at the end of the table, and he used the power to push one in front of Halen. Halen pulled the cover off and started eating the delicate lavender-honey cake without even looking up.

“Do you like the idea of working for me?” Aymon asked.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Of course,” Aymon said. He leaned back in his seat. “You’re not my slave, or my prisoner.”

Halen looked up, and their eyes met. “I am,” Halen said.

Aymon smiled. “No. If you don’t wish to work for me, then when we reach Emerri, you can go free.”

“Free to stand before a tribunal as a pirate.”

“I keep my promises, Halen. You wouldn’t be tried.”

“Free to die, then.”

“You have such a low valuation of what my word is worth.”

Halen fell silent and turned back to his food.

“If you do not wish to work for me, what will likely happen is that you will be prevented from using the power, if only to ensure that you don’t produce any more stardrives,” Aymon said. “There are permanent ways of doing this, though none of them are particularly pleasant. You would then be free to live the rest of your life as an ordinary citizen of the Empire. Provided you commit no further crimes, I see no reason why you should not live a long and prosperous life.”

There was a long stretch of silence. Halen finished his cake.

“Would you like some more?” Aymon asked. “You can have mine.” He pointed at his untouched cake dish.

“No,” Halen said.

“You don’t have to make your decision now,” Aymon said. “You have until we get back to Emerri, at the very least.”

“You expect me to say yes and work for you.” It was not a question.

It was Aymon’s turn to stretch out the silence. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“You want to kill me, don’t you?” He held up his hand, knowing that Halen wouldn’t answer that question, even if he gave plenty of space for him to answer. “You’ll have many more chances for revenge if you’re close to me and in full command of your facilities.” He decided to eat the cake he had offered to Halen, opening up the silver dome and taking a tiny sliver of a bite. Halen’s eyes followed his fork. “And it would burn terribly to see someone else kill me, wouldn’t it? You’ll have to stop that from happening.”

Halen stared at him.

“You don’t like my thought process?” Aymon asked, taking another bite of cake.

“If you were in my place, you’d take this offer?”

“If the alternative was losing the power, yes.”

“And if I try to kill you?”

“You won’t succeed, and if you try, you will die.” He cocked his head. “But you are welcome to try, of course. I enjoy a contest of wills.”

“You have a deathwish.”

“I don’t believe so,” Aymon said. “But regardless, it’s a genuine offer that I’m giving. You won’t find its like anywhere else.”

Halen looked away, finally. Aymon put down his fork.

“What do you think?” Aymon asked.

“About what?”

“About the offer, about me, about your future… I’m a curious man, Halen.”

The silence wound on. But Aymon knew to wait, this time. Halen would say something eventually.

“You’re not looking for a bodyguard,” Halen said finally. Perhaps the silence had not been due to not wanting to speak, but because the medication made forming what he was trying to say a struggle. His words came slowly. “You’re playing God.”

“How so?”

“You want to have someone whose whole life is devoted to you alone,” Halen managed to get out. “It doesn’t matter to God if the devotion is love or hatred.”

It was not often that Aymon was rendered speechless, and he wasn’t now. “What flattery, to be compared to the One who created every star in the sky,” he said. He stood and smiled at Halen, though it was a thin and cold expression. “If you are to work for me, perhaps you should pray that along with God’s love of devotion, I also have God’s patience and God’s grace—”

Halen stood from his chair violently, knocking it over, and he lunged across the table at Aymon, tipping his full glass of wine onto his clean white shirt. That was about as far as he got before Aymon’s cold power held him still, pinning him to the table on top of the scattered dishes. Aymon leaned down towards him, enjoying the sensation of Halen needing to look up at him, his hatred-filled eyes the only thing that Aymon let move.

“And God’s forgiveness of trespasses,” Aymon said. “You’ll have to try harder, next time.”

Aymon turned and headed out. The guards who had escorted Halen to dinner had not gone far, and were leaning against the hallway walls.

“You may bring him back to his room, now,” Aymon said. “And give him back his knife, whichever one of you took it.”