"What's so horrible about Mary's?" Mikhail asked.
Eraphie combed her mane back from her eyes. "Georgetown says that anyone born and raised here has the same rights as any other human, even if they're fully adapted. Mary was an old luxury cruise liner; it had three Blues for every first class passenger. They've been using their Blues like they were a crèche gene bank. They breed the Blues and sell out the children."
Mikhail swore softly. It was bad enough to use the Blues as sex toys. To make them pregnant and then steal away the babies was pure evil.
"Most people that buy a Mary's Blue marry them." Hardin murmured as if that made things better.
'Not all." Eraphie growled. "Mary also collected a file of genetic markers of every adapted on every ship in the Sargasso. Both Blue and Red. If someone goes into debt, Mary checks their DNA, and enslaves them if they have any of the markers. Mary claims that a debt to them overrides the rights given to a person by their own landing."
"They enslave people who were raised as free?" Mikhail asked.
Eraphie nodded empathically. "Oh, yeah! What's more, Mary makes up debts just so they can hold someone. No one from Georgetown will do business with them."
Hardin saw the look on Mikhail's face and said, "Oh, it's not that virtuous. Georgetown lost eighty percent of its crew the first year. They started up production on the crèche just to keep from dying off completely. They're into their third generation; there's almost no one without one grandparent who was adapted."
Mikhail was appalled that third generation could still be considered adapted. "Mary's extends ownership into grandchildren?"
"Once a blue, always a blue." Eraphie said it like she was quoting something. "Ethan was fucked in the head to go there. And I told him that before he left."
"You'll have to be careful, Volkov." Hardin said. "I heard a rumor once that Viktor had a good deal of patented genetic material, in addition to that reclaimed Tsar bloodline. If that's true, Mary's Landing might even lay claim to you."
While Hardin's tone was of mild concern, his eyes held laughter at Mikhail's expense.
"I'll keep that in mind," Mikhail said coldly.
Hardin seemed to realize he'd tipped his hand and the laughter faded out of his eyes. "Did Ethan have anyone with him?"
Eraphie shrugged. "There was a minotaur by the name of Caan and an adorable little obnoaian by the name of Mahoruru tagging along with him. Neither one spoke any Standard or English. I think they were with Ethan because he was the only person that could communicate with them. The shame about Caan was that a minotaur ship showed up after everyone had left."
"So, minotaurs are friendly?" Mikhail asked.
"Usually," Hardin said in a tone that suggested that the aliens could be dangerous.
"If you pick a fight with a minotaur, you're too stupid to live." Eraphie clarified.
"Did you talk to them?" Hardin asked.
"I'm not a Blue." Eraphie seemed to think this was answer enough. Hardin nodded as if it was.
"Did they head back to Midway?" Hardin asked.
"No. They seem to head toward Mary's. Maybe Caan got hold of them and they were going to pick him up."
Hardin nodded slowly then looked away, studying the sea. "I was shipping out soon. A storm is coming in. There's a small safe harbor a few hundred miles out."
"Not much protection here no." Eraphie agreed.
"After that, I'm going to Ya-ya," Hardin said. "You're welcome to come with me."
Eraphie's eyes widened slightly.
"The Svoboda will be leaving for Ya-ya too." Mikhail countered. He didn't want Hardin taking away his native guide. Nor did Mikhail completely trust Hardin. He hadn't decided his next course of action, but his instinct said that if Ya-ya had drydocks and shipyards, then it was a better place for the Svoboda than this desolate island.
"I—I think that I'm staying with Mikhail."
"Mikhail?" Hardin loaded his name with sexual innuendo.
Eraphie blushed and looked away. "It's nothing like that."
My god, this man is manipulative . Hardin's insinuation was nothing more than trying to get Eraphie to come with him to prove she wasn't sexually involved with Mikhail.
"I consider her part of my crew." Mikhail warned Hardin with a look to stop what he was doing. Was the man attempting to steal Eraphie away just because Mikhail desperately needed her help? Did Hardin resent him that much?
Hardin acknowledged Mikhail's rebuke with slight smile. "If you change your mind, Bailey, just send out a signal and I'll have a launch pick you up."
Hardin saluted and strolled off.
Eraphie was still blushing.
"You're going to have to call me Captain." Mikhail said gently as he could.
She nodded. "Mik . . .Captain, what did Hardin mean about the patented genetic material?"
It was something Mikhail normally wouldn't talk about but she'd been open about being a Red. It seemed only fair to admit to his own makeup. "There was a Russian crèche that invested in DNA mining, before it became illegal. Actually, they were why it became illegal. They started with actors and actresses, mostly as part of their Blue line. But then they branched out and tried to recreate famous political figures. Viktor Volkov was made from DNA from Peter the Great. The DNA was fragmentary, so they spliced it with what they had on hand. It's not exactly clear what all went into making Viktor."
It was the main reason they made Mikhail instead of letting Ivan have a normal born son. It was fully expected that most of the genius of Viktor would be recessive.
"What does that have to do with you?" Eraphie asked.
"I'm Viktor's clone."
"You are?"
Mikhail nodded.
"Wow." She breathed. "Yeah. I guess. It's the nose. With that broken like that, you don't look like him. But then, he killed himself before I was born; I've only seen photos of him."
Mikhail been nodding along with her comments and felt like he'd just stepped off the end of a dock. "He killed himself?"
"Yeah. It was a huge surprise. Everyone thought he was dealing well with his wife dying, but one day . . .he shot himself."
"Tsar Viktor Petrevich Volkov?"
"Well . . . he wasn't a Tsar here. He was a fisherman."
Mikhail opened his mouth to protest and then shut it again. Viktor had vanished with the Queen Mary IV. The cruise liner had been the largest one ever built, back in the day when individually owned jump drives were unheard of, even for the rich and powerful. During a summit meeting, terrorists caused the warp field to activate and the ship was lost. Lost . . .to this place. The Queen Mary had landed safety and Viktor survived? Wait. Mary's Landing. "Queen Mary IV's Landing?"
Eraphie shook her head. "No, he left Mary's Landing and came to Georgetown Landing. We went through bad times right after we landed, and things looked bleak. Mary's Landing knew we had a crèche onboard and was going to take it by force. Viktor found out and took what was left of his security team and came to Georgetown to keep the crèche out of the hands of Mary's Landing. He planned to blow it up, but he met Marion, that was his wife, and she talked him out of it. She was yearling Blue."
"Viktor married a Blue . . .and had children?"
"Four girls . . ."
Good god, does that make me a father?
" . . .and . . .um . . .twenty-two grandkids, and I'm not sure of great-grandkids. That number changes every few months."
Great-grandfather? Mikhail stared at her slack mouth for several minutes before he could find his voice again. "He killed himself?"
"My aunt said he was always a little touched. None of his kids were all that surprised. Upset, yes. Surprised, no."
He'd always believed that Viktor had been made perfect. That Ivan continued that perfection. That he was the only one flawed. Were all his suicidal tendencies part of the original package then? Did that mean Ivan hid a dark streak? "What about his children? Are they . . .are they as crazy as he was?"
Eraphie bit her lip
as if the truth was bad. "Well," she finally admitted. "They're all half-blues. And blues are angsty by nature. It seems to come from having their empathic nature ramped up so high for the sex stuff. His grandkids, though, are all rock solid."
Children. Grandchildren. Great-grandchildren. All his life he'd been able to count blood relations with one finger. The only people he could claim as grandparents were dead for hundreds of years.
"You really are going to Ya-ya, right?" Eraphie asked.
Mikhail blinked at the change in conversation, still slightly dazed at the idea of an extended family. "We've searched the island. There's nothing more we can learn here."
"We should leave soon, then, before the storm hits. It's going to be a granddaddy."
Like me.
"We can take off at the last moment and just fly above the storm." Mikhail said.
"Ugh!" Eraphie made a face.
It would help if his native guide was a little more informative. "What?"
"If that's the plan, I'm going with Hardin."
"Flying above the storm is a bad idea?"
"Very bad."
It occurred to him that if flying was a safe option, then they would have spotted at least one plane. The total lack of aircraft should have told them that flying wasn't safe. They weren't prepared, though, for a speedy takeoff; they had people and equipment scattered all over the island.
"We have a lot of work to do if we're going to take off soon," Mikhail said. "Go get anything you want to take with you."
She flashed him a smile and took off like a gazelle.
* * *
He had Ensign Moldavsky gather weather patterns before pulling all her equipment down off the observation deck. Eavesdropping on Hardin had given them Ya-ya's position and radio frequencies the settlement used and an idea of standard protocol for reaching authorities. Ya-ya lay to the northwest several thousand kilometers. If they went straight north, before heading west, they could outrun the storm.
"All crew onboard," Lieutenant Ulanova reported.
"Is Eraphie Bailey on board?" Mikhail had left instructions that she would be allowed to board.
"Yes, sir." Lieutenant Ulanova said.
He almost left it at that. But then he wondered where on the ship Eraphie might be. In the rush, he'd forgotten to leave orders on what part of the Svoboda she could have access to. With the bridge out, once Eraphie was on the ship, there wasn't any way to track her movements. "Who escorted her on board?"
"I did." Inozemtsev said as Ulanova read off his name.
Mikhail turned to his Red Commander. "Where did you put Eraphie Bailey?"
"In red pit, sir." Inozemtsev said.
"What? Why?"
Inozemtsev looked as confused as Mikhail felt. "She's a Red, sir."
"You bigoted idiot!" Mikhail snapped before catching himself. He was fraying at the edges if he was losing control of his temper. "No, she wasn't to be put in with the rest of the pride."
He started for the red pits with Inozemtsev trailing behind him. Hopefully Eraphie wouldn't take offense for the temporary placement. He would need to find a place for her and make her position clear with the crew. He should have thought of this before hand. The enlisted were hot bunking, and convincing them to share their bed with "one of them" might be difficult. There were officer cabins empty; their owners dead in the crash. Putting her into one of them could cause resentment, but if he shuffled the people he'd made acting officers into those cabins, it might come off as a sign that their position was permanent. As in the Svoboda was stuck in this place. Which was the lesser of evils?
The word 'evil' made him think of the replacements' previous owner.
She had sex with her Reds while they were restrained.
"Oh fuck!" Mikhail spun and caught hold of Inozemtsev's shoulder. "You put Bailey in with the veterans didn't you?"
"No. That was full. I put her with the replacements."
"You fucking idiot!" Mikhail snapped and took off running for the red pits. Oh, God, let the stupid things not decide that proper behavior with a Red was tying it up and forcing it to have sex. Bailey might be a Red and trained in combat, but she was locked in with a dozen males, all taller and more muscled than she was. Butcher had used his pride to kill Turk. Butcher organizing a gang rape was all too possible.
Mikhail dropped down to the last deck to the red pits. Eraphie's screams were audible even through the thick steel. Swearing, Mikhail punched in his override.
They had torn her clothes off and used strips of cloth to tie her arms behind her back. Butcher was trying to enter her, but even tied and pinned on her stomach, Eraphie was fighting.
"Stand down!" Mikhail shouted. "Stop it now!"
"Get him off me!" Eraphie screamed. "I told you! I wouldn't be part of a pride and no sex!"
"Butcher, stand down now!" Mikhail shouted. He knew better than trying to grapple with a Red.
"I'm top cat and she's a Red," Butcher snarled. "Humans have no say on dominance fights. She's going to do what I tell her to do if I have to beat it into her."
Mikhail pulled his side arm, placed it at Butcher's head and pulled the trigger. The gun kicked in his hand, the explosion deafening in the enclosed space. Blood and bits of brain splattered the wall and rained down on Eraphie. Butcher slumped down on top on of Eraphie. Whimpering, she squirmed out from under Butcher's body and rolled onto the floor. There she scrambled back into the corner.
"What did you do?" Eraphie echoed the cry of his childhood. "Are you insane?"
Possibly. At least she didn't call him a monster, even if that was what she probably was thinking.
Mikhail turned and all the Reds backed away from him. "Listen very closely. First off, I am the Captain, and you will obey all my orders. There is no part of this ship that is not mine to command.
"Secondly, we will be encountering other female Reds. Regardless of what your last owner said or did, what Butcher was attempting will not be tolerated. You will not treat females—part of this crew or civilian—human or adapted—in this manner.
"Lastly, I know what Butcher did to Commander Turk. I know he made the airlocks opens after we jumped. I know he killed Commander Turk, and caused the flooding that drowned the Reds in this compartment. Any Red that harms another member of the crew—and that includes the Reds—or attempts to force himself onto a female, will be punished."
He stood panting, gun aimed very carefully at the floor. They could tear him apart before he could get another shot off. The only reason he was in control was years of deep conditioning. And it seemed to be holding. He keyed open the door.
"Eraphie, get out. Go," he said as calmly as he could. Her reader was on the floor among the tattered remains of the clothing he'd given her. He snatched it up without taking his eyes off the Reds, then stepped out of the pit and locked the door behind him.
He'd killed one of his own crew. He stared down at the sidearm in his hand. He'd put it to an unarmed man's head, one of his own, and pulled the trigger. Tiny drops of blood splattered his hand past his wrist. He was nearly overwhelmed with the need to wash the blood off. Out, out, damned spot.
Eraphie was braced against the wall, far away as she could get from him in the short hallway, glaring at him through her long hair.
He put his sidearm into its holster before even trying to approach her. "I'm sorry." He held out his hands to show he wasn't armed. "I'm sorry. I—I made a mistake. I forgot to make sure that you were taken care of in the right way. I'm very sorry. Are you hurt?"
She shook her head.
"Let me untie you." He held out his hand and then realized it was covered with Butcher's blood.
She flinched but shifted slightly so he could reach her makeshift restraints. He tucked her reader under his arm as he worked at the knots. She trembled as he untied her.
"I'll get you some new clothes," he promised in what he hoped was a soothing voice. I killed one of my crew. He held out her reader once she was free. "Here, you dropped this."
The statement was so normal sounding compared to the circumstances that it seemed a ridiculous thing to say.
She was slow to take it back, but she did.
* * *
Mikhail put Eraphie in Furtsev's cabin for the time being. He gave Lieutenant Ulanova orders to find another set of clothes for Eraphie and make sure she knew how to operate the toilet and shower. Eraphie temporarily settled, Mikhail went to deal with cleaning the mess he made in Alpha Red. Sometime later, Lieutenant Ulanova caught up with him with a stack of clothes under under her arm.
"Sir." Lieutenant Ulanova held up the clothes as evidence. "I've been looking for Eraphie Bailey to do what you ordered. I can't find her."
"I put her in Furtsev's cabin for now. I need to find a place for her." Mikhail stressed that the situation wasn't permanent.
"I looked there. I also checked the other empty cabins, the galley, the sick bay, and the red pits. I don't think she's on the ship."
After the attempted gang rape and Mikhail shooting Butcher, he wouldn't be surprised if she had left. Nobody should been able to get off the ship unnoticed, but she'd shown herself quite practiced at coming and going.
Mikhail put a call through to engineering. "Tseytlin, can you check the tracking device we put in that reader? Is the reader still on the ship?" If it was, it still might not mean anything because Eraphie might have left it behind.
After a minute, Tseytlin said, "No, sir, it's not the ship. Not on the island either, sir. It's about a hundred kilometers out."
Mikhail turned to Moldavsky. "Did the Red Gold leave?"
"Yes, sir, it pulled out a few hours ago."
He'd scared Eraphie badly enough that she ran to the man she didn't trust.
"You want me to . . .?" Tseytlin didn't finish; he obviously couldn't think of what a proper response would be.
Mikhail sighed. "No. Thank you, Tseytlin, that's all."
* * *
Inozemtsev had 'I've done something wrong' written all over his face. He studied the floor instead of looking Mikhail in the eye.
"What is it, Ensign?" Mikhail asked, aware that the last time he spoke with the man, he'd called him a 'fucking idiot.' Hopefully the man wasn't going to live up to that title.