Freedom's Horizon

III. Close Quarters-1

III. Close Quarters

* * * *

Mikhail and Anjali returned to the dock at five past fifteen hundred, each carrying a duffle bag which held their scant personal possessions. Behind them hovered a float pallet which carried their weapons and equipment, all neatly packed away in cases and crates, so as not to run afoul of local regulations regarding heavy weaponry. Because if there was one thing they couldn’t afford, it was drawing attention to themselves.

When they returned to docking bay 52, the cargo had already arrived and so the bay was full of containers and crates. Captain Tyrone stood next to the ramp, directing dockers in exo-suits, because the ramp was too narrow for automated cargo loaders.

The dockers, being dockers, were arguing amongst themselves. Anjali caught something about union-mandated break times and rolled her eyes. Something like this would never happen in the Empire where workers actually worked instead of endlessly complaining.

One of the dockers whistled after her, as she and Mikhail walked past. “Hey, baby, why don’t you come over here and keep us some company?”

Anjali ignored him. What else could she do? Beating him up would only make the loading process take even longer. Besides, it would attract attention and bring spaceport security running and that was one complication they could not afford.

“We’ll be sure to show you a good time, sweetheart…”

Next to her, Mikhail seemed unperturbed, but then he’d always been the calm and collected one. Though he did move closer to her and reached for Anjali’s hand in a gesture that was both protective and possessive.

“Cute arse, sweetheart,” one of the dockers hollered. He really did have a death wish, didn’t he?

“Calm,” Mikhail whispered to her, “Remember, we can’t afford any uproar.”

“Oh, I remember,” Anjali whispered back, “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

She stopped abruptly, set down her duffle bag, stood on tiptoes, slung her arms around Mikhail and kissed him hard on the mouth.

For the space of a heartbeat, Mikhail just stood there, stunned. Then he wrapped his arms around her and responded in kind, his kiss telling Anjali and the dockers and the whole damned universe, “You’re mine. You’ll always be mine.”

Somewhere in the background, the dockers howled like hungry wolves. Anjali barely heard them. They didn’t matter. Nothing did except Mikhail.

Eventually, the need to breathe reasserted itself and they broke apart, reluctantly. Beside them, Captain Tyrone cleared his throat.

“Cute. But keep it to your off-duty times.”

“We’re not on duty yet,” Anjali pointed out.

“As soon as you get settled in, you will be,” the Captain countered, “I see you got all your gear.”

Mikhail and Anjali nodded.

“Travelling light, I see.”

Mikhail gave him a smooth smile. “Best way.”

Anjali pressed a button on the control unit and the float pallet began to trundle up the ramp. Or at least it tried to, for unfortunately, one of the dockers objected.

He grabbed Anjali by the arm, trying to wrest the control unit from her hand. “No self-loading, honey. According to union rules, only licensed dockers are allowed to…”

He never got any further, because all of a sudden the docker found himself on his back with Anjali’s knee on his chest, pinning him to the ground. His heavy exo-suit didn’t help either, rendering him as helpless as a beetle who’d fallen onto his back.

The other dockworkers stepped in to aid their fallen comrade, but Mikhail swept his coat aside, letting them catch a glimpse of his blasters. The dockers caught the hint and backed off.

Meanwhile, Anjali drew her dagger and placed the tip at the exposed skin of the docker’s throat.

“If you ever lay a hand on me again, I’ll cut it off.” To emphasise her point, the tip of her dagger nicked his exposed skin, drawing blood. “And if you as much as touch our stuff, I’ll kill you. Is that understood?”

The docker groaned and nodded, so Anjali sheathed her dagger and stepped off his chest.

The docker was still on his back, unable to get up. However, he was also an i***t, who didn’t know when to let go. And so he had to open his big mouth again before he was even back on his feet.

“What sort of man are you?” he sneered, not at Anjali but at Mikhail this time, “To let your w***e fight your batt…”

Again, he never got any further, because Mikhail brought his foot down on the man’s wrist. “Anjali can take care of herself,” he said, his voice eerily calm, “But if you ever speak of her like that again, you’ll find out exactly what sort of man I am.”

He shifted his foot, earning him a pained groan from the docker. “And now you will apologise.”

Mikhail stepped back to stand beside Anjali again. Meanwhile, the docker was helped up by a colleague, mumbled “Sorry, Miss” and returned to work. There was no more talk of union-mandated breaks after that.

Captain Tyrone gave them both an appreciative nod. “If that little display was for my benefit, then all right, I am impressed.”

Anjali shook her head. “It wasn’t for your benefit.”

“It was for theirs.” Mikhail pointed at the dockers who had resumed loading the cargo, though not without grumbling about it.

“Nobody touches our gear,” Anjali explained.

Mikhail put a possessive arm around her waist. “And no one touches her.”

“Or him.” Anjali placed her hand over his.

The Captain just rolled his eyes.

The float pallet had made its way into the cargo hold by now, unimpeded by the dockers who seemed to have learned their lesson. As soon as the pallet had settled down, Anjali pressed a button on her control unit and the lash webbing dissolved.

They got to work immediately. Mikhail bent down, picking up a heavy missile launcher as if it weighed nothing, while Anjali grabbed two gun cases and carried them into the ship.

Captain Tyrone whistled, clearly impressed. “You’re enhanced, aren’t you?” he asked, as Mikhail slung the launcher over his shoulder and picked up another case with his free hand.

Mikhail flashed him a quick smile. “We both are,” he said and nodded at Anjali who had set down the gun cases and grabbed an armour case clearly intended for someone twice her size.

“Where can we store our gear?” Anjali asked, all business-like once more.

“Well, I have to supervise those idiots…” The Captain flicked a finger at the dockworkers in their exo-suits. “…lest they damage the cargo, so I can’t show you around myself, but…”

He spoke into his com-unit, “Hannah, get your butt up here. I need you.”

The float pallet was almost entirely empty, its contents stacked against the bulkhead of the cargo hold, when a woman sauntered into the hold. She was in her thirties and dressed in a mechanic’s coverall that looked in dire need of washing. Her face was pleasant, her rosy cheeks freckled and her brown hair was pinned back in an untidy knot.

She walked over to stand beside the Captain, craning her neck at the dockworkers. “Wow, they’re actually working,” she exclaimed, “Whatever happened to ‘contractually mandated break times’ and all that bullshit?”

Captain Tyrone flashed her a smile. “Looks like someone scared them into productivity.”

“So what can I do for you, Captain?” the woman asked. She was watching the dockworkers like a hawk, probably due to prior bad experience. Given her brief encounter with them, Anjali couldn’t even blame her.

“Hannah…” The Captain indicated Anjali and Mikhail who were still stacking up the crates holding their gear. “These are Anjali Patel and Mikhail Grikov, our security team on this voyage.”

At the mention of their names, they both looked up.

“Anjali and Mikhail…” Tyrone began. Apparently, he was one of those captains who preferred to address their crew by their first names.

Anjali suppressed a scowl. Typical spacer. No sense of hierarchy and proper behaviour at all.

“This is Hannah Green, our chief engineer.”

In response, the woman — Hannah — reached into a pocket of her coverall, pulled out a rag and wiped her hand before holding it out for Mikhail and Anjali. “Pleased to meet you.”

They both shook her hand, Mikhail first and then Anjali, trying to ignore the fact that the rag hadn’t done a very good job and that Hannah’s fingers were still stained with grease.

“So we’ll be having two security people on this trip,” Hannah said, “I feel safer already. Come along now.” She gestured towards the blast door at the far end of the cargo hold. “I’ll show you to your quarters.”