Ean didn’t know, but wondering about it had brought back some of Abram’s energy and spirit. Maybe it was time to raise the other matter.
“Did you know the captain of a ship doesn’t have to be the captain?”
Abram raised an eyebrow.
“Patten isn’t the one Confluence Station thinks is in charge. That’s a guy called Ryley.”
“Malcolm Ryley? Patten’s second-in-command?”
“Yes.”
“He’s probably a better choice,” Abram said. “So you say if a ship has a bad captain, it chooses its own.”
How bad had Patten been? Ean shrugged. “It chooses its own if it doesn’t have a captain.” Maybe Ryley had been around longer. Maybe the station liked Ryley better. “It finds someone who looks after it and is there all the time.”
Abram didn’t get the hint.
“The ships are starting to do that.”
Abram said, “That may be no bad thing.”
There was nothing Ean could say to that.
Fergus greeted them with, “Have you ever worn one of these things?” Externally, he didn’t look any different. Not even bulkier. “They’re dreadful.”
“They keep you alive,” Sale said.
“But still, against a bunch of linesmen?”
“Linesmen who are in the military. Who’ve been trained to shoot accurately and shoot fast.”
“Are they likely to be a problem?”
“Why don’t you ask Rossi, over there, who’ll be wearing that splint on his wrist for the next three days? Or Ean, whose leg is fresh from rehab.”
Technically, the damage to Ean had been done by Rossi, and the damage to Rossi by Bhaksir and her team.
“Why are we expecting problems?” Fergus asked. “Surely, the business of yesterday cleared the air.”
“One can only hope,” Sale said. “Unfortunately, it seems to have had the opposite effect, and everyone is resentful because that lockdown will be on their record. We want you to find out if someone is deliberately stirring up trouble.”
“Peters?”
“Probably not Peters. He’s more likely to be a vocal result of whoever is stirring them up.”
Fergus nodded. “Anything else?”
“Be prepared. Don’t be complacent.”
Fergus nodded again.
They walked down to the shuttle bay with him—their second walk for the night—while Sale gave Fergus last-minute instructions. A frowning Rossi accompanied them, the first show of line solidarity in what felt like a long time.
“We’ll look after him.”
“Thank you.”
“The lines will protect you,” Ean said.
“That’s good to know. Thank you.”
What harm could befall Fergus on the Gruen anyway? It was a fleet ship; it should be safe.
“See you tomorrow at training.” Ean hoped his foreboding was more to do with his concern about facing the trainees again than it was about what might happen to Fergus in the meantime.
Sale, Craik, and her team accompanied Ean to line training the following day. They had a full complement of senior linesmen, with Rossi, Hernandez, and Fergus all present.
“I want to talk to them,” Ean told Sale. “Rather than you tell them off, I mean.”
Later, facing the trainees in the cargo hold, he wasn’t as confident. Gruen had provided her own guards, and they stood ready—with weapons—for any assault.
Fergus smiled encouragement. He, at least, was still whole and safe.
“What happened yesterday was a disgrace to us all, as people, and to the lines you are learning to work with. Some of you have issues with me being your trainer.” He paused and looked them over. Peters opened his mouth to say something. “Don’t say it, Peters, or I’ll be forced to use you as an example.”
Peters closed his mouth with a snap. Ean breathed out; that was one battle he hadn’t wanted to fight.
“I’m sure you’ve all had trainers before that you didn’t like. Ones you didn’t think capable of training you. They weren’t necessarily the highest rank in their field, either. Did you pick a fight with your trainers and continuously undermine them? I doubt it. You gritted your teeth and hoped to get through the course.”
They were all silent. How much of that was because they were listening to him, and how much of it was because of Gruen’s armed guards around the room? Sale’s team, too, although they didn’t look as menacing as Gruen’s people even if they were more dangerous.
“Yesterday was your last chance. You work with the program or you are out.”
He took a deep breath. “As some of you mentioned, you’re not getting access to the alien ships, even though you think you deserve it.” He could tell them now that they didn’t deserve it, but they wouldn’t believe him. “You have to earn that access. Once you earn it, we’ll take you on a tour.”
Sale straightened but didn’t say anything.
“And who decides when we’ve earned it?” Peters couldn’t stay quiet for long. “You? We know who you’ll pick.”
“Not me.” He looked out over the crowd to the linesmen at the back. Hernandez, scowling at the group. Rossi, arms crossed, frowning. Fergus, stiff in his armored suit. “Since you all know how good he is, Linesman Rossi will deem whether you’ve earned a trip to the alien ships.”
“Don’t include me in your crazy schemes.”
“We’re linesmen, Rossi. We work together.”
He watched the speculative looks the trainees shared. Some of them were definitely out to prove themselves. Even Peters looked interested.
“So what earns us a pass?” Kentish demanded.
“You talk to the lines; you hear them when they talk back to you. Rossi will tell you if you’re doing it right or not.”
“Thank you very much.”
Ean smiled. “Let’s start training, shall we.”
Jordan Rossi wasn’t a patient man, or a tolerant one. He listened to each linesman sing, pointed left or right, then moved on to the next. The four Xantos went right, and Ean already knew they could hear the lines, so that meant those on the left needed more training.
Peters was sent left.
Ean went over to him. “Can you feel the lines? Like you do normally, I mean.”
“Is this a trick question?”
Ean hid his sigh. “No,” direct to Peters, and then to the lines, “Please tell him no.”
A strong chorus of noes filled the room, mixed in with some of Ean’s exasperation. Even the elevens joined in.
Peters looked taken aback.
“Do you mind?” Rossi said.
“Did you understand what I said?” Ean asked Peters.
“No.”
Ean didn’t push it. He moved on to the next linesman.
Halfway through training, Vega left a message. Renaud Han was in Haladean space. She’d sent him to Confluence Station. She would meet Ean there.
They met in the small meeting room off the main control room.
“You got here quickly,” Vega said
“I will do whatever needs to be done for my son.” It was both a promise and a challenge. “He’s not involved. He’s an honest boy and works hard. He doesn’t know about any of this.”
“And what did it take to get a ship here so fast?”
It wasn’t the first question Ean would have asked, but Renaud laughed. “I’ve been smuggling goods for fourteen years now. Getting a ship was the least of my problems.”
Vega didn’t even blink although Ean did. “You don’t strike me as a man likely to become involved in smuggling, Lord Renaud. What could you possibly gain?”