Ends, Means, Laws, chapter 12 (Patreon)

“How do you feel?”

Tyce turned to see Yoss leaning against the edge of the door. “Better. I feel human.” He stretched his arms out in front of him, reveling in his ability to move. He hated being restrained. He would rather die than spend the rest of his life in a prison, chained every time he left his cell.

“Ama said you’re not taking the captain’s chair again.”

Ama was a fucking gossip. Eventually the crew would figure out that Tyce wasn’t taking charge of shit, but it would have been nice to get a few days to get his head screwed on before everyone started whispering. “Not right now.” Tyce tried keeping his voice even, as if he didn’t care what Yoss or anyone else thought of his change in status. “It’s not like my tactical experience with Command is going to be much use if we have an alien species incoming.”

“Does that mean you’ll go out on patrol with me?”

Tyce grabbed a shirt from the bunk he’d used for a quick nap. His feet had hung off the end, but it beat the hell out of sleeping on the floor. “What are we patrolling?”

“We’re opening as many doors as we can, checking for escape paths.” He checked his weapon. “What are the odds that these new aliens are hostile?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Tyce said as he grabbed his own weapon and checked it before holstering it. Maybe Yoss liked to hold his big, old weapon, but Tyce preferred to keep his hands free, especially on a ship built by aliens with an allergy to safety rails. As much as Tyce had grown used to a Ribelian disregard for regulations, especially ones from Earth, Tyce wouldn’t mind a few safety officers to write up all the bullshit safety violations on this damn ship. “Did Ama send you?”

“Yep.” Yoss turned and headed out into the corridor. Tyce had chosen a room on the edge of Dragon territory so he would get some privacy, so now the halls were empty as Tyce followed Yoss. They headed up the path Tyce had come down the day before.

“Is this her version of trying to cheer me up?” If so, Ama’s version of being helpful, or possible her sense of humor, needed checking.

Yoss shrugged. “I've got no idea. Could be. Could be she just wants you out of the way if you're not going to sit in the captain's seat. It’s a little awkward having the old captain there, but not having him give orders.” They reached the first set of stairs and Yoss bounded up them. Tyce eyed them unhappily before following much more slowly.

“That's exactly what happened when I took over the captaincy from her,” he said. He’d been shocked when the crew voted him captain over her—and then she told him that she thought he was the best choice. Tyce had the best chance of keeping the Dragon safe from Command. That hadn’t turned out well for the old ship. 

Yoss kept his gaze focused down the corridor as he held up his end of the conversation. “Yeah, but we didn’t actually listen to you outside of battle strategy when we ran into a Command ship. You’re damn good at figuring out how to not die.”

“Thank you. I think.” When Tyce got to the top, he paused to catch his breath. He thought of himself as being fairly in shape, but he sat behind a desk more often than he ran cargo or trained. If he planned on keeping up with Yoss, he was going to have to put more effort into being frontline ready. “If this is some twisted form of you trying to cheer me up, don’t. I'm depressed enough without you helping.”

“Maybe Ama figures that if you hang around with me, you'll just seem less depressed in comparison.”

“Yoss.” Tyce whispered the word, but didn’t dare offer anything close to an apology. Tyce had been drawing a Command paycheck when Yoss’s wife had died. Yoss had lost so much that it did seem unfair to complain around him, and for a second, Tyce had forgotten that. Without answering, Yoss strode down the corridor, leaving Tyce to try to keep up. For long seconds, they walked in a heavy silence. 

At the next stair, Yoss had to wait again. This time when Tyce reached the top, Yoss said, “You’re good with figuring the enemy out. Tell me about our enemy up there.” He jerked his head towards the upper decks of the ship. “What's this John like?”

“He's not an enemy,” Tice said firmly. Even using that word to describe John made Tyce uncomfortable in ways he was not willing to examine. Yoss raised an eyebrow. “He is an adversary.”

“He's Command.”

“So was I.”

Yoss turned to give Tyce a searching stare. “Back then, you were the enemy. If I’d been with Ama that day, I would've shot you through the head before she could have gone pontificating on the universe’s intentions.”

“She really is annoying when she does that, isn’t she?”

“Yep.” That had been the first topic they had ever bonded over. Tyce thought it was unfair that he’d been locked in a tiny cell; Yoss thought it was unfair he had to guard a tiny cell. And they’d both gotten sick of Amali’s attempts to explain the universe and their place in it.

“There for a while, I would've preferred your solution.” Tyce didn't point out that one of the many reasons that he had hated his early life on the Dragon was because Yost had been an unforgiving and sadistic bastard. He never did anything to cause long-term harm, but if he’d been born in Command space, they would have giving him an officer’s commission because of his natural talent with intimidation and interrogation.

Yoss slapped him on the shoulder. “You're all better now. So, what's the best way to kill this adversary?” His tone when he said ‘adversary’ communicated a wealth of disgust, but Yoss was too much of a professional to let that distract him from clearing the curves and side passages as they moved up closer to Command territory. His attention and his gun were focused on the path ahead. Unless Tyce was misjudging distance, they should soon reach the spot where he’d found human trash.

“Kill John and you’re going to have Lord knows how many undisciplined, uncoordinated soldiers all streaking down here at once.” Without a strong officer to threaten or manipulate them, revenge and fear would rule their actions.

“Good. Uncoordinated soldiers are easy to kill.”

“I would like to avoid another bloodbath.”

Yoss finally gave Tyce his attention. He lowered his brows and then asked with genuine bewilderment. “Why?”

For a second, Tyce couldn’t form an answer. The truth was too obvious to require one, only clearly Yoss didn’t see it. “One, war is over,” Tyce finally said. Sure, Command wanted him in prison, but the slaughter, the massive destruction and starvation and frontline battles were over. “There's no reason for us to keep fighting, and bloodshed doesn't serve anyone.”

“Serves me.”

Tyce caught Yoss by the arm and pulled him around. For a second, Yoss bared his teeth as if he might bite Tyce. Some days it felt like he was one tattoo away from becoming a suicide attacker, and maybe if his wife had the mark, he would have chosen that path. Tyce held up his hands in surrender, but he moved to block Yoss when he tried to keep moving. “If I can't trust you to make the smart move, I will tell Ama to remove you from patrol.”

“You wouldn't.” Yoss’s voice was tight with anger.

Tyce simply glared. He could not afford to lose this battle of wills, not when John’s guys were already one pile of nuclear rods ready to go critical.

After long minutes, Yoss huffed. “Fine. No killing the Command soldiers unless they try to kill me. I assume you’re okay with me firing my gun under those circumstances.”

“Of course I am.”

“Just checking.” Yoss shoved past and took point again. “Now you’ve procrastinated long enough. Tell me what I have to know about this John. God, is there a more stereotypical Earth-name in the universe?”

Ribelians defined themselves by not being from Earth. They had been the first colony to establish any sort of independence, so much so that they rejected everything from home, including names. Tyce wasn’t surprised John’s name was particularly offensive. The Dragon had a few Earth-born crew, and some Ribelians insisted on giving them nicknames, just to avoid the stigma.

“John’s smart,” Tyce said slowly. Telling Yoss about John’s weakness felt much more traitorous than shooting his own men. “But he will delay making decisions, sometimes too long.”

“There’s advantage in that.”

“There often is. In school he didn't get top marks because any time we had to do simulations, he came to the right decision on the wrong time table. But don't mistake that for indecisive. He will make the difficult decisions.”

They had reached the last corridor before the hidden spiral ramp and Yoss stopped. He studied the area, his gun sweeping both ends of the corridor before Yoss turned to him. “What decision is this John likely to make about us?”

Tyce wished he had an answer. John had made it clear that he considered Tice a traitor, but he also provided John with a weapon. He was trying to placate a crew of war damage soldiers, but it sounded like he himself had never gone to the front. Tyce’s specialty was the big picture. He could see historical movements laid out like in game pieces on a map. He wasn't that good with predicting an individual’s motives or actions.

“Are you trying to protect him?” Yoss demanded, his voice sharp.

“I don’t know,” Tyce finally confessed. “I lived with him for three years, but the man he was back then… I don’t know how much of that man is the same. My gut tells me that I know John and he will never cross his own ethical lines in the sand. He’ll attempt to arrest me, but he won’t do anything to the Dragon crew.”

“Your gut’s an idiot,” Yoss said. “He used two of our boys to get you to surrender. He’s Command; he’ll do what he needs to.”

“My head suspects you might be right,” Tyce confessed, “which is why I can’t be captain. Not now.”

“You dick-sick?” Yoss asked.

Tyce hated that phrase. It was so crude, and entirely too accurate for how some of the men reacted when they fell madly in lust. However, it didn’t describe the tangle of emotions Tyce was trying to sort. “I was never intimate with John. We didn’t have that relationship.”

“Did you want to?” Yoss asked. 

The question hit Tyce with far more force than he’d expected. Sometimes he hated how damn perceptive Yoss could be. He played at being a stupid soldier, a hired gun, a widower who didn’t care about anything but revenge and who had all the subtlety of a bull. And then every once in a while, he would wield words like a surgeon’s scalpel and slice Tyce all the way down to the bone.

Had he wanted John in his bed? Probably. Back during his academy days he’d been focused on earning every chance at promotion or recognition, so any personal desires had been tossed in the bin along with his hobbies, sleep, and any pretense of having a life. He’d loved John. He’d loved him more than any of the nameless hookups he’d indulge in when the stress got too high and testing season rolled around. He’d loved him like family.

But Tyce had tried hard to avoid examining that feeling too closely. Before the Ribelian massacre and before Landmark became a killing field, Tyce thought he had time to worry about relationships later. After, he’d been caught up in the same hate and anger that had grabbed the rest of the universe. Maybe he’d never sunk into it to the same depth his Command crew had, but he wanted to fight. When he’d gotten his commission, he’d packed and left within two hours. He’d left John a fucking note. After three years of living in each other’s pockets, sharing a room the size of a land vehicle, he left a note, and he didn’t even remember what it said.

“Yeah, you want him.” Yoss sounded infinitely disgusted.

“I don’t know what I felt years ago, maybe then I was interested in him. But I don’t know the man I used to be. That Tyce Robinson died a long time ago. I wouldn’t know the man if he showed up with his shiny new Command uniform.

“And I don’t know this John Burden. I knew a twenty-year old kid who wanted to live up to his father and who got drunk after every test because he got so frustrated about the fact that he knew every right answer an hour after the scenario ended. I don’t know sub-commander Burden who Command sent out to arrest me. But after being his prisoner, I believe he’s an ethical man. He armed me rather than leave me helpless against incoming aliens or his own crew’s plots.”

“Either he’s ethical or he’s dick-sick for you,” Yoss said. And with that he strode off. Tyce really hated the way Yoss dropped words like they were major ordinance. Tyce certainly hoped John didn’t feel that way. If he did and Command had forced him to lead a hunt anyway, that was a fucking sick joke the universe had played.