Five Glass Slippers: A Collection of Cinderella Stories Page 24

  “Your last report had an error,” the other clone answered. “We heard her banging data folders around. She made another cinder cry later, though, and that always makes her feel better. She’s probably in a fairly good mood by now. Do you know she’s been listening to the same ten pieces of music every day? If we hear one more of Bach’s cello suites, we’re going to throw ourselves out of the airlock.”

  “I’m sorry,” Elsa began, but Priscilla cut her off.

  “Not that it would be the first time, you understand.”

  Elsa blinked. “Sorry?”

  “In one of our past lives, when we were part of a starship pirate’s harem, kidnapped because of our captivating beauty to serve at a smuggler’s whim. We lost our one true love, so we threw ourselves out of the airlock.”

  In the long moment it took her to muster any sort of reply to that, Elsa heard a faint squeak down the hall behind her. The clones paled. “You’d better go,” Priscilla said. They hunched over their work.

  Elsa sighed. The squeak grew louder. She pasted the remnants of that big smile back on her face and turned to face her nemesis.

  Nebraska stood at the central desk, glaring at her with her one human eye. The other was no doubt glaring as well, but Elsa couldn’t tell; Nebraska was a cyborg, and her left eye was artificial. Her right leg, also artificial, squeaked ominously when she walked the halls, giving the other employees just enough advance warning of her approach to feel a shiver of dread.

  “Good evening,” Elsa chirped, determined to begin civilly. “I hope your day went well?”

  Nebraska said nothing but managed to do so disdainfully. She sniffed the air. Elsa surreptitiously took a whiff herself. She couldn’t smell anything, but she was immune to the odor of soot by this time. Nebraska, however, had a nose like a bloodhound and wasn’t shy about reporting Elsa to the supervisor for “reeking like a chimney.” Nebraska swore the smell aggravated her asthma. Elsa didn’t fully understand how a cyborg with artificial lungs could even have asthma, but she wisely kept this observation to herself.

  If she could smell brimstone, Nebraska chose not to comment on it. She smiled. Her face didn’t seem to know what to do with the unusual movement. Elsa resisted the urge to shudder.

  “Could have been worse,” Nebraska finally said.

  “You wanted to see me?” Elsa asked.

  Nebraska pointed dramatically to a stack of reports. The one on top had been highlighted in an alarming shade of orange. Elsa leaned over to read the note. “‘Correct and return to me,’” she read aloud. “What did I do wrong?”

  “I’ve marked your mistake.”

  Elsa scanned the first page. “Well, I see the typo on the third line.” In her haste to submit the end-of-week report, she had tacked an extra H to the end of a word. “I don’t see any important errors, though.”

  “Please do as I requested.”

  Elsa blinked. “You mean you printed out the report, marked the typo, and waited to file it, so that you could hand it to me, I could go into the digital file, fix the typo, and resubmit it to you . . . instead of just removing the letter yourself?”

  Nebraska’s artificial eye whirred disconcertingly. “Do you have a problem following instructions? Please do as I requested.”

  Elsa took a deep breath, held it for a second, and smiled. “I’ll send the corrected report in tonight.” As she lifted her much-maligned report from the stack, she glimpsed a fuel requisition order underneath. Nebraska was frighteningly old-fashioned and still occasionally insisted on hard copies of a document. The name on the requisition caught Elsa’s attention, and her eyes widened.

  “It’ll be late by then, of course. You’ll have to log the time and submit a notification of tardiness,” Nebraska said with relish.

  But Elsa was only half-listening, caught up in her discovery. “Sure, have a good evening, Nebraska.” She left the office as quickly as she dared.

  Choosing a food vendor always took longer than it should have. Bruno waited, a long-suffering expression on his face, as Jaq and Gus argued the merits of crepes versus burgers.

  “You might as well eat nutrient cubes,” Gus complained. “An hour after eating a crepe, and you’re hungry again. They’re practically air.”

  Jaq shook his head in disdain. “You call that food?” he asked, gesturing at the burger vendor’s menu. “That’s an edible coronary.” The burger vendor shot him an irritated look.

  At last even Bruno’s legendary patience gave out. He came up between the two younger men, grabbed an elbow apiece, and steered them across the station’s food plaza. “Pasta it is,” he decreed.

  The other two men acquiesced with a readiness that would have been surprising to those who didn’t know them well, but Bruno was well aware that their bickering was an expression of their friendship. There are limits, however, to how much friendly banter a hungry man can take, he thought, looking over the menu options.

  “Should we get something for Elsa?” Jaq asked.

  “I know she likes the lasagna,” Gus put in. “I’ll order her a piece.”

  “She may be awhile,” Bruno warned. “Depends on how long it takes Nebraska to vent her frustrations.”

  “I don’t understand Nebraska,” Jaq said as he selected his entrée and scanned his commlink over the payment terminal. “Hating everyone at that level of intensity has to be exhausting.”

  “She was always prickly,” Bruno said quietly, “but she wasn’t always so vicious.”

  “Really? What happened?” Gus asked, surprised.

  “It was a few Earth-standard years ago,” Bruno said as they left the vendor to find a table. “She was just starting a temporary assignment as an ore inspector, didn’t intend to be there long—she always thought working for the mining industry was beneath her.”

  It wasn’t an uncommon viewpoint. Cinders, though a necessary part of the galactic economy, weren’t held in high esteem as individuals. With its high pay and dangerous reputation, the job did tend to attract the desperate. I should know, Bruno thought.

  He continued as they all sat down at an empty table. “Nebraska was caught on a transport shuttle when a massive plasma storm hit the station. The shuttle was all but torn apart, and Nebraska almost didn’t survive.” Bruno paused, remembering the sight of Nebraska on a hoverbed as the rescue team took her to the infirmary. Suddenly his pasta marinara didn’t look so appealing.

  He cleared his throat. “Her recovery was . . . lengthy. Afterwards she was guaranteed a permanent position with the mining company as part of her compensation. She didn’t want to stay, but the pay was decent, and there’s still a bit of a stigma against cyborgs on some worlds, after the Galatea Rebellion. Everyone’s going the synth-flesh route these days. I guess she figured this was as good as she was likely to get.”

  Gus picked at his dinner quietly, more subdued after hearing the story, but Jaq still looked skeptical. “I know she’s miserable here,” Jaq said, “and I feel badly for her, but that doesn’t excuse the way she treats people. I heard Anastasia quit because of her, and you know how tough she is.”

  “Oh, believe me, I agree,” Bruno said. “Her misery doesn’t entitle her to pass it on to other people.”

  Before he could continue, klaxons sounded throughout the station, cutting off all conversation. Bruno stood up, heart pounding, as he looked at his commlink for a more detailed notification. Jaq dropped his fork in his spaghetti with a splat.

  “What is it?” Gus asked, fumbling for his own commlink. “A storm?”

  “No,” Bruno replied, heart rate slowing. “Looks like it was a false alarm for us here.” He sat back down. “The notification says the alarm was only meant to sound in the mining hub. There was some seismic activity on Aschen’s surface, and they’re recalling any cinders currently in the southern hemisphere. No injuries or damage.”

  “Oh.” Jaq fished his fork out of the sauce, wiping it with his napkin. The klaxons continued to blare. “So why aren’t they shutting the al
arm off here?”

  Bruno snorted. “The mining supervisor sent the alert. You know what he’s like. Probably hasn’t even figured out that he triggered the alarm here too.”

  Gus winced at the racket. “I bet the clones could shut it off. Those two can hack into anything.”

  Jaq had his commlink out. “I’m messaging them now,” he muttered around a mouthful of spaghetti.

  Looking far too pleased for someone coming from a meeting with the cyborg, Elsa approached their table just as the klaxons fell silent at last.

  “It’s a miracle!” Gus said. He pushed the lasagna in front of Elsa as she sat down.

  “What, that I survived the trip to the main office, or that the alarms finally shut up?” she asked. “And thank you,” she added, giving Gus a smile.

  “Both,” he replied.

  “Here’s another one for you. I have news you won’t believe,” she said, throwing her report down in the middle of the table triumphantly.

  Jaq squinted at the report from where he sat in his chair, teetering on the back two legs. “Nebraska still hates your guts, and you can’t spell? You’re wrong. We do believe you.”

  Elsa ignored him, and Bruno bit back a laugh. “The rumors about the frigate are true. Hold on to your helmets—the Sovereign is docking here!”

  Jaq’s chair hit the deck with a thump.

  “Blow me down and close the airlock!” Gus exclaimed. “Where did you hear that?”

  “I saw a fuel requisition on Nebraska’s desk. The requisition was for a single ship, and the quantity needed could only have been for a frigate. More importantly,” she said, “the name on the requisition was Jacob Tsarevich.” She took a dramatic bite of lasagna.

  Bruno whistled long and low. “Captain Tsarevich. Never thought I’d even be in the same star system with him, let alone on the same space station.” He couldn’t deny feeling a thrill at the prospect.

  “He must be getting up in years, isn’t he?” Gus asked. “I’ve been hearing tales of his exploits since I was a boy.”

  Jaq nodded. “Me too. On my homeworld, they called him the Roi des Astres—the King of the Stars. Have you seen the recordings of the Battle of Castle Nebula?”

  Better than that, Bruno thought, remembering the sight. I was there. But he only nodded. “He’s unmatched as a strategist—though they say his son Karl may be almost as good. Perhaps even better.”

  Gus scoffed. “I can’t believe that. The Prince better than the King?”

  “Well, his mettle is yet to be tested in the way his father’s was, I’ll grant you that,” Elsa replied.

  “Does his son still sail with him?” Jaq asked.

  “There were rumors that Karl might take over the Sovereign when his father finally retires,” Bruno said. “He should—he grew up on that ship, and he’s the senior lieutenant. No one knows her better.”

  Jaq gave him a sidewise glance.

  Bruno shifted in his chair. “What? We all have our interests. Mine happens to be the fleet.” He didn’t add that his interest could be termed obsession; ever since his own discharge from the fleet years ago, he spent an inordinate amount of time keeping up with the latest news.

  “Why would the Sovereign be coming here, of all places?” asked Gus.

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Elsa said, scooting her chair closer. “Initially, talk was that a frigate might stop here on its way to patrol. That wouldn’t really make sense, though. A whole frigate, just to patrol the Periphery of the quadrant? It’s a waste, even more so if it’s the Sovereign they’re sending. I think the fleet must be reinitiating the deep galactic exploration program.” She leaned back, watching the reactions her statement produced.

  Jaq cried, “What!”

  Gus waved a hand in dismissal. “There’s been no official notice of that, and nothing at all has been done with the exploration program since before the war.”

  Bruno, however, nodded slowly. “It makes sense. True, no exploration has been done in almost fifty years, but the peace has been solid for a decade now. It’s logical for the fleet to return its attention to former goals, now that the region is stable.” He hoped that was the case, anyway: no one wanted to relive the war.

  Elsa slapped the table, making her half-eaten plate of lasagna jump. “Exactly! And even though things seem stable for now, it would also make sense to keep talk of the expedition to a minimum, which explains why we’ve heard nothing till now. News of the departure of one of the fleet’s best could cause old enemies to prick up their ears, wondering if this is their chance to make a move.”

  “Do you know when the Sovereign is arriving here?” Jaq asked.

  Elsa shook her head. “I didn’t see the arrival date on the form.”

  “We’ll know soon enough,” Gus answered. “Much as they want to keep this quiet, the preparation work for fitting out a frigate—and accommodating its crew on shore leave—will require that most of the station occupants know about it.”

  Bruno couldn’t argue with that. It was impossible to keep secrets aboard the station. Well, he thought, nearly so.

  He rose from the table. “I think I’m going to call it a night.” He picked up Elsa’s report from the middle of the table and handed it to her. “Oh, don’t forget about this, or Nebraska will have your hide.”

  She took it from him. “I’ll submit the corrected report online and log the late submission right now. Maybe that will make her happy.”

  Bruno raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Fine,” she conceded, “there’s little hope of that. But after today’s news, I don’t feel too badly about the situation anymore.” She smiled, looking like an excited little girl, and not for the first time Bruno wondered what she had been like as a child.

  She glanced at Gus and Jaq, who were caught up in a debate over the Sovereign’s specs, and she moved around the table closer to Bruno, lowering her voice. “When I heard the klaxons, I thought they may have been sounding for another plasma storm,” she said, her eyes searching his face.

  Bruno looked away. “It did bring back memories,” he said. Nebraska hadn’t been the only casualty of the storm. Of the group at the table, only Elsa had been there that day, years ago, when he was still licking his wounds from a failed fleet career. One side of his mouth rose in a half-hearted smile. “Not that those memories ever really left.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Elsa said earnestly. “None of it was. I know you look out for all of us like a father would, but you weren’t responsible—”

  “Yes, I was,” he snapped. Gus and Jaq looked over the table in surprise at his tone. Elsa sent them a reassuring smile, and they resumed their discussion.

  “I was responsible,” Bruno continued more quietly. “I suspected the shield wasn’t going to hold. I should have disobeyed the station’s orders. I didn’t.” His already-rough voice rasped even deeper in his throat. “And lives were lost as a result.”

  Elsa put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a little shake. “Regardless of what you may think, that burden doesn’t lie with you,” she said, holding his gaze with her own. “We do dangerous work; risk comes with the job description. You can’t protect us all,” she said with a small smile.

  Perhaps not. But he could try.

  3

  In the event, Gus was right: By the end of shift the next day, news of the Sovereign’s arrival hummed throughout the station.

  “A week, can you believe it?” Jaq said as they all filed into the shuttle after their shift. “There’s no way everything will be ready in a week, even with every staff member scrambling.”

  “Oh, they’ll make it happen,” Gus said, buckling his harness. “My steward friend says they’re receiving a boatload of temporary employees today, borrowed from the Charger 751 starbase for the event.”

  Elsa noticed Jaq craning his neck to see over the seats. “Looking for Marraine?” she teased.

  He shot her a look. “Nothing wrong with being friendly,” he said. He pulled out hi
s commlink and pretended to be absorbed in it. Suddenly he sat up straight. “Check your messages! We were just invited to a station-wide party in honor of the Sovereign’s arrival.”

  They all pulled up the message on their commlinks. Bruno raised a bushy eyebrow as he read the details. “There’s going to be dancing?”

  Gus shrugged. “I’ve heard that the captain enjoys ballroom dancing.”

  Elsa stared. “How in the worlds do you know that?”

  Gus held up his hands, looking the picture of innocence. “I have a very trustworthy face; people tell me things.”

  As the week passed, the end-of-shift commute became a free-for-all of speculation among the cinders as excitement built. The furor truly exploded, however, on the day the Sovereign docked at the station.

  The observation deck of the station was packed with people, and vendors with windows in their shops were allowing people to cram inside so they could see the frigate come into port—for a fee. The cinder crews created their own workaround to the problem by paying the shuttle pilot to take the scenic route back to the station from the mining hub after their shift. The cinders craned their heads to see out of the shuttle windows.

  “Anything?” Elsa asked, tapping her fingers on the armrest. She and Marraine were too short to see over the other cinders’ heads.

  Jaq shook his head, not taking his eyes from the windows. “Not yet.”

  Gus whooped. “There she is! Aft starboard.”

  A hush fell over the shuttle.

  Elsa unbuckled her harness, stood up in her seat, and locked her feet around an armrest in case the gravity shorted out.

  “Good thought,” Marraine murmured, doing likewise so she could catch a glimpse.

  And there was the frigate. Silvery white, she glided towards the station, space sails still set. Even as Elsa watched, they gracefully furled, tucking away like the wings of a bird. Her heart clenched unexpectedly at the sight, a reminder of her home; her father used to take her to watch the ships dock at her homeworld. She remembered how he proudly pointed out her mother’s ship, and she recalled the thrill of knowing her mother would be home with them soon. Except for that last time, Elsa thought. She swallowed past the lump in her throat.