Piece Simul ✔

Chapter 8-Forster-Relic Like Me

Forster had been lucky on a few counts.

The trip to the jump point had been successful, and no crewmembers had suffered negative effects from extended sleep. There had been complaints of nightmares, but it was to be expected. For most of the dura-sleep, Foster's dreams had been a void. That made the one dream he did have all the more prevalent:

Chabon grinning mischievously, a colorful player piece in hand. She knew she was going to win the board game against the girls, and being competitive, she relished it.

Annie decried her mother's ruthlessness, while Nadine burst into full-on crocodile tears.

It was the best, and the worst dream he'd had in years. Years. It had been longer than a few years since he'd seen his girls.

Nothing would replace the hole they'd left. Not even a comely and quite limber woman on board. The relationship with Guin was hollow. And he didn't like the way Russ looked at him now. All the reverence had faded, and he knew she knew. The entire crew knew, thanks to that Chatty Kathy, Tiptree.

His ire rose, but he reminded himself (again) that it was his own fault.

I'll end it, today. Or tomorrow.

Whichever day the minx sought his company, and it was often, he'd refuse.

The comms interface lit up.

"1 new message."

Forster perked up. "From who?"

"Message sent from: Control."

He dropped back into the pillow. Chabon and Nadine hadn't sent a single message. Not that he expected them too. But he hoped they would.

Heart stinging, he dictated a message to the interface and sent it.

In response, two minutes later, a limber woman bypassed his particle wall and bounced into his bed.

"So glad you called," Guin said, fusing her lips to his.

~*~

An hour later, Forster showered. He always did after meeting with Guin.

He didn't think she was dirty. Certainly, she did many a naughty thing Forster had only read about.

Whenever he finished with her, he resisted looking at her. She wasn't Chabon.

Guin never seemed to take it personally.

The shower wall dissipated. As Forster dressed, the blinking interface reminded him of his duties.

"What's the message from Control?"

"Message sent 2-3-2072. Recieved 4-6-2072. Director Rotsberg found dead in home. Suspicion of murder. Files taken. Possible Green-Eyed aboard the S.S. Delaney."

Forster jumped into his coveralls. He fired off a response to Control, then two more messages.

Minutes later, Russ appeared in his open doorway.

"Sir?"

She was carrying a book. A relic. Like me.

Before sharing details, he ordered the room to be locked down. Russ straightened, aware of the seriousness of his request.

He circled her, spitting out Control's message quickly. He had scheduled another meeting and needed her gone soon.

Russ absorbed the news with minimal shock. She recited protocols and promised to be on the lookout. She was a solid, dependable crewmember. Forster knew how lucky he was. He trusted the girl.

Maybe because she reminds me of Annie.

Her face looked always on the verge of smiling, but she usually saved it for something good.

"Have the rations been sorted?"

The inquiry surprised him. No one knew about the ration issue beyond Kathar. On top of everything else, Russ was insightful. He decided she had earned some honesty.

"They're not where I want them," he admitted, "but we'll survive. What tipped you off?"

"Ten days of leave turned to five. What happened to the extra rations? Green-Eyed?"

The thought of a traitor sneaking aboard had crossed his mind, even before Control's warning.

"Let's hope not," he said.

Forster dismissed her. Then, he repeated the same briefing, but with Samuel.

The man seemed perturbed by the news about Rotsberg. She had been his mentor, after all. Unlike Russ, he didn't recite procedure or platitudes.

For this reason, he liked Samuel. The man told it like it was, and he was very calculating in his answers.

"I'm the only one you've entrusted with this information?"

"Yes," Forster said smoothly.

After thirty years of marriage, he was a skilled bullshitter.