Eldenstar The Trade Wind

The cabin below was dark but better lit than the room above. There were similar warning lights, only more of them. An observation window to the left showed the ship was tumbling. What looked like a patch of stars was moving in a lateral direction upward and across the window. It was an image, a deception of speed and space, but it did cast light into the ship. Some of the patches of light roamed across the dashboard. One lit Marc as he looked back and forth at the warning lamps. A splash of light fell on the pair of fuzzy dice which were tied above the navigation screens. Then one of the patches of light found Elden. Marc watched it slide down the form which had suddenly appeared next to him, a tall young woman with dark tied-back hair and a great interest in his business. “Oh, thank you, God!” Marc leaned over in front of Elden and began working the cockpit atmosphere controls. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Been hearing bells, seeing lights—now look! I’m seeing women in here!” “What?!” “Y-you can stay, but that bell really bothers me!” Elden put an elbow into his stomach—hard. Marc backed up, and she began rapidly throwing codes into the keypad. “I am NOT nitrogen-induced, and neither is that alarm. What are you thinking? You have a collapsed ignition circuit here. We’re riding a dead rocket!” The bells shut down, and Elden glanced over at Marc, still rubbing his stomach. She lit the emergency lighting and faced him straight on and flat footed. Marc saw a determined jaw underlined by the white collar of a suit or uniform. The suit disappeared into a wrap of some sort and reappeared at the sleeves. Her arms hung at her side. The hands were steady. Elden’s tunic was snugged a little at the waist. There was a bulge on her right hip (perhaps a sidearm), and the tunic was bound to the opposite knee. Long white-suited legs disappeared into—he looked twice—riding boots. The compartment lights were up now, and he looked into her eyes. They were hard, determined, and colored yellow. “Where’d you come from?” “I was hiding in the quarantine,” said Elden. She thought, I’ve got no time for this. “Someplace up there?” Marc glanced up and back at Elden. His eyebrows raised, and his mouth broadened into a grin. Elden’s eyes remained completely unchanged; her bottom lip tightened slightly. Marc never saw the next move at all. Elden’s weapon was suddenly in her left hand, and she pressed it against his right cheek. “So you shoot guys?” The eyes remained hard, but Marc saw it. It was very deep, like a small gust of wind had passed by—he had seen it before in the mirror. She has shot men! Marc thought. But she’s not happy about it. Self-defense or line of duty perhaps. Elden answered him, “I don’t if they are smart.” “What - do - you - want - to - know?” “Where’s your weapon?” “It’s in the bin behind your head.” “Thank you. Take three steps back.” Marc took one step and stopped to ask her, “Do you really know how to use one of those?” It was an intelligent question which revealed respect for her sidearm—and his ship. “Infrared target mode. Your ship is getting cold, but you still make a great target.” Marc was looking at the gun, which made Elden anxious. He grinned and thought, Why is she using her left hand? She’s covering the battery status with her thumb … He was almost certain he could take it from her. No, I’m in a really bad spot here. Now, a technician falls out of the ceiling. That’s more than luck; let it ride. “Two more steps! Now!” Elden ordered. “Take off your boots and hand them to me—hurry up!” Marc bent down and started unfastening his boots, but he kept a curious eye on his guest: dark features, perhaps twenty-seven years old. The visitor untied the tunic from her left knee and threw her right foot up on the pilots’ couch. She was wearing a belt with a holster tied down. As she worked at getting it unstrapped, her right sleeve slid up a bit, and Marc could see an old gunshot wound on her arm. She looked businesslike, like she wasn’t kidding, and there could be one in the chamber. Marc unsnapped his boots, and then he drifted loose from the deck. He straightened out and handed the boots to Elden, who grabbed at them impatiently. She threw the boots into the locker with Marc’s weapon. By this time, Marc’s head had drifted back down towards the floor. “Hey lady, why are you hijacking my ship?” “I am not a hijacker, and don’t call me ‘Hey lady.’” Elden felt a hand on her ankle. “I calls ‘em like I—” She flicked her boot, and he did a weightless roll into the left-hand portion of the cockpit. “Are you still disappointed about not getting shot?” Elden rolled up her sidearm and holster, and stowed them in the bin with Marc’s boots. She stepped back in front of the console and brought up a menu of “Drawers, Doors, and Compartments.” “Now what?” asked Marc. “I’m locking the safe.” A door with pins and bolts like a vault slid down over the weapons. “Wouldja look at that!” Marc exclaimed. Elden offered an explanation and went back to the menu. “Now if we want to kill each other, we’ll have to use strangulation.” “Good thinkin’, lady. It won’t make holes in the boat.” Pistols do indeed make holes in the boat, but with Marc weightless now, he would be cooperative.