B15 Lesser (Patreon)

I think this could be a great chapter of Executioner's Gambit, but I'll admit that I'm really tired right now. It may still need revising.

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When Tori shambled through the airlock, she found Daskatoma wearing an unfamiliar expression on his face—not that this was all that strange. Geroo hold their ears in different positions to emote, so learning to read facial expressions was a new thing for her. She glanced up at him a couple times as she made her way to the office chair he’d left out, before asking, “What's with the face?”

The question made him frown. She was more accustomed to this expression. He grumbled, “I'm just worried, okay?”

She almost laughed out loud. With a sparkle in her eye, she asked, “Why are you worried? I’m the one meeting your uncle tomorrow.”

He lowered his gigantic body to the deck and rested his chin on the back of his claws. Quieter now, he said, “You know how I said that I have lots of friends that are geroo?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, that doesn’t mean that I’m ready to lose one,” explained the krakun.

She smiled. Though she had no intention of dying tomorrow, she appreciated his concern. If the commissioner wouldn’t grant her surgery, then her days would be limited. She’d have until the case was solved and then … then she wasn’t real sure what would happen. She’d look for a job where her disability wouldn’t matter, but there wouldn’t be many. If she couldn’t find an opening for one… Well, it was best not to think on that.

Or the commissioner could declare that the ship was on the edge of revolt and purge the crew. She’d managed to put that possibility out of her mind for much of the week, but now with the commissioner’s visit growing close, the prospect loomed larger in her thoughts.

She looked up at Daskatoma’s worried face. “Thanks,” she said, “but geroo only live sixty years. If you’ve been doing this job for a couple centuries, then you’ve got to be used to losing some friends.”

“No, you never really get used to that, Tori,” he said. “At least, I haven’t. I think it’s easier to accept when someone has gotten their full share of years, but…”

Tori’s stomach tightened. “Yeah, I get it.”

Silence hung over the commissioner’s stateroom like a vast nebula. She gave him an encouraging smile. “It’s not too late though,” she said. “Just tell me something I can say to impress him. He might still sign off on the surgery.”

“I wish I knew what that would be,” grumbled Daskatoma. “I’ve been trying to impress my uncle all this time.”

Tori shrugged. She hadn’t really been expecting him to throw her a lifeline at this late stage. “I guess I’ll just wing it then.”

“Okay, good luck,” he sighed, “and try not to make me look bad, okay?”

Tori’s ruined ears perked. “What?”

Daskatoma squeezed his eyes shut in distress, pausing a moment as if silently chastising himself for saying anything. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be heartless or anything,” he whispered, “but even if things go really wrong tomorrow and my uncle won’t sign off on surgery…”

When his words ran out, she prompted him to continue. “Yes?”

He sighed. “I’m just saying that even after you’re gone, I’m still going to be here, trying to impress my uncle. I know you must be frustrated. I would be too. And you don’t strike me as the vindictive sort…” He drew a deep breath and released it slowly. “But I’m just asking you to watch what you say. That if you were to lash out, I could be regretting it for decades.”

Tori’s paws felt cold. She hated how he was already thinking ahead to a time when she’d be dead, but perhaps that was natural for a creature who could not only live twelve thousand years but also surrounded himself with people who’d only live for sixty. She rose and approached him, taking a moment to run her palm across his snout. “Yeah, okay. I get it,” she whispered. “I doubt my opinions count for much, but of course, I’ll try not to make anything harder. For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a great job as Deputy Commissioner.”

“Thanks,” he whispered, his eyes closed.

But then, his eyes opened once more, bright and full of purpose. “Hey, look, I’ve got an idea,” he said. “Let’s just forget about you meeting with my uncle tomorrow.”

She blinked. Not talk to the commissioner? Had Daskatoma lost his mind? She needed his uncle’s permission if she was ever going to have a normal life once more! “What? No, I have to—”

“No, you don’t have to, actually,” he said. “There’s nothing I can do about my uncle’s policies, but that doesn’t mean I’m powerless.”

Her ears lifted high, and her eyes opened wide. She stammered, “Y-you’d tell Doctor Amhela to—”

“No,” he said with a touch of frustration, bringing her right back down, “but if you’ll call your mate and have him meet us down at my shuttle—”

Her heart fell into her stomach. “Your shuttle?” she whispered. “Captain Gutassi said it’s falling apart and isn’t safe—”

“Okay, yes, the shuttle is behind on maintenance, but that’s not my fault,” whined the enormous lizard. “My uncle is the official commissioner, and he has to take it to the company shop, otherwise I’d have to pay for it myself, and I just don’t have the money.”

He scowled for a long moment before his expression softened once more. “Anyhow, I’ll fly you guys back to your original ship—”

“No!” shouted Tori. Her only hope lay with Dr. Amhela. The odds he’d succeed at her transplant might be poor, but from the way he talked, she was confident that her doctor back home would be doomed to failure if he tried.

“Yes, Tori. Face it, my uncle is never going to sign off on you getting surgery here,” he said with a softer, consoling tone, “regardless of whether Doctor Amhela is more capable than who you had back home. Riskier surgery is better than no surgery, right? Let’s go back to your old ship—”

Her brain scrambled for an excuse, a reason why she’d have to stay here. “You don’t have a transfer order. The Harvest Reaper III would need to transfer two crewmen back here to balance—”

He ignored her, plowing ahead. “And I will tell your captain, personally, that I’m very disappointed in our last personnel trade—no offense.”

Tori’s eyes opened wide, and her muzzle hung slightly open. For a moment, words wouldn’t come. She squeaked, “How am I supposed to be not offended by that?”

Daskatoma rolled his eyes. “I’ll tell your captain that he cheated me by trading an injured geroo for a healthy one, and I’ll demand that he fix you up before giving you back to me.”

Still smarting some from him calling her lesser, she poked a few holes in his plan. “But you’re not his commissioner. You’re not even a commissioner at all, really.” She reminded him, “You can’t give him orders.”

“No, I can’t. You’re right,” he admitted, “and I would totally get dunked in boiling oil if I crushed another commissioner’s captain.”

Dunked in boiling…! “What?” she shrieked.

The krakun rolled his eyes once more and waved away her concerns with the flip of a claw. “It’s just an expression, Tori. I don’t mean that literally,” he said. “But your old captain doesn’t know me. I’m a krakun! Despite whatever you might think of me, I’m still totally capable of being scary.”

She looked up at the enormous reptile and tried to imagine him through someone else’s eyes—someone who wouldn’t realize what a softie he really was. Back home, Commissioner Sarsuk was likely the only krakun her previous captain had met, and Sarsuk was no softie. Rumor had it that Sarsuk crushed geroo just to take out his personal frustrations. With only a single datapoint, the captain might presume that all krakun were just as horrid. Only a week ago, she had thought the same.

If Daskatoma did intimidate her old captain, then she very well would get the surgery. But how did that balance? More chance back home of getting surgery that would probably fail or less chance here of getting surgery that might actually succeed. Which option was better?

She wanted to call Druka and ask his opinion, but she already knew what he’d say. He’d want to stay and take a chance with the more skilled surgeon. He was always confident in her. Convince the commissioner to allow the surgery? No problem! He’d be sure she could do it, even though it seemed like an impossible goal to her.

But that wasn’t the only problem, was it? There was still a possibility that the commissioner would order a purge. If so, then getting Druka off the ship was a must. Her life was irrelevant. She had to save him!

But was a purge really going to happen? A week ago, she’d been sure of it, but now not so much. What had changed? She wasn’t certain but suspected that her friendship with Daskatoma had a lot to do with it. After all, why would he have bothered to nurture a friendship with her if he truly thought a purge was likely. Any sane person would be trying to insulate themselves emotionally from such a horror.

Or was this his curious way of trying to save her, a trick to get her off the ship before it was too late? Krakun were famously crafty and easily capable of such guile, and even if she didn’t understand why he wanted her off his ship so badly, that in itself was hardly proof that the end was nigh!

Tori took a long moment to let the possibilities battle inside her mind. Then, at long last, she shook her head. “No, I want to stay. I came here to do a job and I intend to see it through.”

Daskatoma frowned. “Are you certain about that?”

She leaned into him and pressed her forehead against his lip. “No, I’m not,” she admitted. “But I really do want to finish what I’ve started, and I do want a chance to speak to your uncle.”

She rubbed her palms across his warm scales. “If you truly do want to help me, Dask, then your offer shouldn’t be a today-only sort of deal,” she said. “Yeah, sure, maybe your uncle will turn me down tomorrow. But if so, then I’ll still need your help after he’s left.”

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Reviewer's link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1pNvGYOi9X2g_XV4z9NYMshXV1qan91KQPkOcWeq3Kr0/edit?usp=sharing

Thoughts?