Delta-V — Chaper 4: Complimentary Injury
30 Nov 2019Jason Frimantle
Previously: The year is 3304. Three years after being chased by a bounty hunter and offered a job by a mysterious patron, Jason Frimantle's situation put him in a place he never expected to find himself...
The irony of being stuck with Marcus Corso as a cellmate was not lost on Jason.
Corso had been delivered to the Belmarsh prison ship DLV-812 a few months ago. At first, the two barely spoke to one another. Eventually, they began to commiserate on missing the freedom of open space, facing the dangers of the black, and common points in their history. Corso, a large man with a nasty scar on the right side of his face, had grown up on the fringes of Federation space, the son of down-on-their-luck space miners. He'd taken up bounty hunting to help make ends meet, and an employer who'd promised him a hefty payday had instead reported him to the authorities for murder. His case was being appealed, but in the meantime...
"What're you reading, kid?"
Jason looked up from the small desk that was the only furnishing in the cell other than the bunk. Instead of print books, which could be used for smuggling or even as weapons within the prison, the library issued tablets protected with rubber cases. You'd have to work very, very hard to bludgeon someone to death with it.
"The Book of Five Rings," Jason said. "I first read it back on Eravate when I was studying martial arts, and it's been some time since I went back to it."
"Is that why you whupped Delo's ass so bad in the yard a few weeks ago? Martial arts?"
"I guess so." Jason thought back to the way he'd caught his father's wrist back on Ackerman, in what seemed now to be a different life. There had been five ways he could have broken his father's arm from that position. He'd chosen none of them. "I'm still not sure what his problem is."
"Well, you do kind of act like you're better than most people on this tub," Corso pointed out. "I mean, I get it, you did make a choice to be here, rather than running around breaking laws and getting caught." The bounty hunter paused. "Come to think of it, that could be another reason. 'Snitches get stitches,' as some would say."
Jason frowned. "I wasn't about to stand idly by, knowing what I did about what I was doing."
"From what you told me, you were getting paid a bundle. Lots of pilots couldn't see past that." Corso snorted. "Hell, not sure I could."
Jason set the tablet down and turned in the cheap plastic chair to face the bunk where Corso was reclining. "Yes, you could have. When you found me in that Dolphin, you didn't open fire right away. You gave me a chance, you made it clear where you stood, and you treated me with respect. People who do that aren't easily bought. Even if you act like you would be."
Corso shrugged. "There's reason number three, kid. Folks get jealous of articulation and education around here. You say stuff like that, you're bound to catch an ass-whuppin'. Bookworms are seen as pushovers."
"My mother insisted I get an education. My father went along with it, hoping it'd make me a better pilot to help with his business. In the end-"
There was a rapping sound at the door. The slot opened, revealing the face of a guard.
"Frimantle. You've got a call."
Jason blinked. In the years since he'd been locked up, nobody had called him. This wasn't surprising - the only family he knew of was his father, and there was no reason to get a call from him. Still, communications to the prison ship weren't cheap. And he was curious.
He got this feet and headed for the door. The guard ushered him through the wide open interior of the ship's main section, where several decks of door after door faced one another across an empty space criss-crossed with walkways populated by patrolling guards. Elsewhere in the ship, prisoners exercised, processed cargo, and did other menial tasks that helped contribute to society. Even here, the Federation espoused the idea of paying one's own way, and portraits and quotes from Zachary Hudson were common sights around the ship.
The communications annex was a large square room, with several projectors in the corners near the ceiling. A door was located on either side of the room, the one through which Jason was lead and another directly across from him. He knew there was a guard on the other side of the far door, and his escort stepped back through the near one. The call might be monitored, unless it was an attorney or a conjugal call based on good behavior. Again, Jason had little cause to believe he'd get either of those. As much as I'd like either, for different reasons. He had to smirk. Well, depending on the lawyer.
There was no furniture save for another one of the shaped chairs of cheap plastic. Jason chose to stand. Eventually, the projectors came to life, and a holo-me took shape in front of him.
Standing nervously, his hands in his pockets, Joseph Frimantle looked at his son.
"... Dad?"
Joseph looked like he'd aged ten years in the three since Jason had last seen him. His hair was unkempt. He had a beard, whereas he'd been clean-shaven for most of his life. His eyes were haunted, a look not helped by the dark circles under them. His voice, when he spoke, came out as a cracked reflection of what it had been on Ackerman Market all those years ago.
"Jason. My God, what happened to you?"
Jason swallowed. He looked down at his ratty prison fatigues, the magnetic boots that kept him on the deck, the bracelets that served to monitor his movements and deliver mild shocks if necessary. "I fell in with a bad crowd. And when I realized how bad they were, I went to the authorities."
"What do you mean? I looked for you. Nobody knew what had happened to you. You'd pulled a gun on my people on Abel Prospect, and then I'd heard you were doing odd jobs before you disappeared." Joseph paused, closing his eyes. "I thought you might be dead. Shot down by a bounty hunter, or taken by the Thargoids, or..."
"Dad, I'm okay. I'm right here." Something inside of Jason was breaking. He thought of how he had left his father on Ackerman, how he'd done all he could to get away. "I mean, I'm locked up, but I'm okay otherwise." He sat down in the chair. "I'll tell you what happened."
Joseph nodded, seeming to be relieved to hear his son speak in something other than anger. He, too, sat down, though Jason couldn't see the chair.
"I took a job doing mercenary and bounty hunting work," Jason began. "I'd gotten the notice of someone with how I fly. I was told that I was special, and I heard it from a pretty face. I didn't ask enough questions. I was dumb."
Joseph didn't say anything, and after a moment, Jason continued.
"It turned out that I was working for a fringe organization trying to undermine President Hudson. I started noticing that incidents I'd been close to, or directly involved in, were getting claimed by members of the Kumo Crew. You've heard of the Kumo Crew."
"I have." Joseph looked down. "I didn't think you'd actually turn pirate, Jason."
"I didn't want to." Jason took a deep breath. "I figured carrying some narcotics and fighting in combat zones was a way to stick it to the Federation, to thumb my nose at Hudson." And you, he thought, and almost said it, but he spared his father the jab. "But when I realized what I was doing, that I'd shot down ships carrying slaves, and even civilians, I sought out the closest Federal Battle Cruiser and surrendered myself. I talked to the commander of that ship and gave them all of the information I could."
"And you still ended up here?"
Jason nodded. "Like it or not, I still was the one who carried that contraband, who destroyed those ships. I was put on trial. It turns out the Kumo Crew disavowed their association with the Parker Sisters and their terrorist activities, and last I heard, they were scattered and put on the run by the Federal Navy. As for me, I got a reduced sentence. Ten years, here in this ship." Jason gestured to the cold metal walls around him. "I got off pretty light, and Vice Admiral Hickok told me I'd have a place in the Navy when I got out, provided I keep a record of good conduct in here."
Joseph studied his son for a long moment, then cleared his throat. "Well, I won't pretend I'm not disappointed. You're right, you should have known better. The best thing you can do now is behave yourself, make nice with the guards, and try to get out as soon as you can so you can join the Navy. It's what your Pappy would have wanted."
Jason took a deep breath, feeling an old bundle of raw nerves spark and sputter at the mention of his grandfather. One of the things he was learning while imprisoned was how to handle his emotions. Therapy was good in a lot of ways.
"I don't know what Granddad would have wanted. He's gone. Out there somewhere, maybe even dead by now."
Joseph stroked his beard as he looked down. He seemed ashamed, and Jason surmised it was not because of his appearance.
"Jason... your grandfather worked for INRA."
Jason stared. The Intergalactic Naval Reserve Arm. The people who had studied, hunted, and sought genocide against the Thargoids. Unethical clandestine operators. Spies and assassins.
"How do you know?"
"I found out after he left us," Joseph said. "I didn't have much to go on. He destroyed a lot of his logs and diaries before he left. Covering his tracks, I guess. I still don't know who his wife is, or if she's still alive herself." He shook his head.
"He told us she died around the time you were born."
"Could be another lie." The old man stroked his beard again. "Anyway. What I did find indicated that he'd gotten word of increased Thargoid activity far outside of the bubble. Seems that he left to investigate." He raised his eyes to look at his son. "I think you might be right, son. I think he's dead, buried somewhere out there in the black."
Jason swallowed. He felt a shiver in his limbs. "So it's just you and me, then."
Joseph's eyes watered and he nodded. "Yeah."
"How's business?"
"Fine. I'm mostly retired. Got a couple of good people doing the bulk of the work. I'm maintaining the ledgers and giving out assignments. I miss the runs, though. I miss the black."
"So do I." Jason looked down at his hands. "Maybe I'll be back out there, someday."
"Jason. Don't step out of line again. Do what you're told, get in good with Hudson's people, and you'll be out of there in no time. I might be able to help. I know a few people."
Jason looked up. "Dad..."
"I feel like this is my fault, somehow. I screwed up, a lot, and you got angry with me. But I was doing what I thought was right. I was trying to keep our family going. I..."
"Dad... Stop."
Joseph blinked.
"Look. This isn't about you. What you did or didn't do as a father, what you may or may not have screwed up, that doesn't matter now. It's in the past. And it's not my responsibility." Jason stood. "It's yours. You have to live with it, you have to deal with it. I have to deal with what's in front of me, and I have to do it my own way."
Joseph also stood. "Son, please... let's not fight."
Jason held up his hands. "I'm not fighting you, Dad. You and I... we've hurt each other enough." He lowered his arms. "I'm talking about the facts. The fact is, I made the choices that put me here. I chose to leave Ackerman, to pull a gun on your people, to get in that Viper time and again, to turn myself in and tell the truth. You didn't make me do any of those things. This isn't about you."
Joseph was silent, seeming to not know what to say. Jason took a deep breath, let it out slowly.
"I'm going to do my time, however much of it I have to. Maybe I'll get out early, maybe I'll serve the full ten. Maybe I'll join the Navy, maybe I'll go out on my own again. I don't know. I can't see the future. All I can do is what I can with what I've got."
Joseph's eyes watered again. "Let me make it up to you, son. Let me make up for all the years we lost."
Jason felt his own throat closing, his own eyes stinging. "You've changed, Dad. I can see that. And I wish things were different. I wish I could let you do that." He bit his lip and looked away. "But I can't. I won't. You taught me that people need to make their own way, to stick by their choices and accept the consequences. I hated you for that, for a long time, because it seemed like an excuse to stay away from me and Mom. But there's merit to it, and it's helped me in a lot of ways." He turned back to his father. "So... thank you, Dad. We both screwed up. But we're both still here, and we can both make better choices."
Joseph got unsteadily to his feet. "I can't believe I'm saying this, considering you're in prison for piracy and terrorism, but... I'm proud of you, son."
"Thanks, Dad. I'll find out how I can write to you. It'll save you money on making another call."
"Okay. I have to go."
"Okay."
Joseph looked like he wanted to say something else. Then the feed cut out. Jason closed his eyes and felt a tear run down his cheek.
Somehow, there was a hole inside of him that seemed bigger than ever.
* * * * * *
For the next few months, Jason and his father corresponded occasionally. When the letters stopped coming, Jason made inquiries, and found out his father had died of heart failure. According to the new CEO of the Frimantle's shipping & logistics company, a fresh-faced young woman who seemed very upset at Joseph's death, the elder Frimantle's health insurance plan had changed without him knowing, and doctors had been reluctant to admit him for surgery until the matter had been sorted out and billing requirements satisfied. Joseph had died in the midst of the debate.
It had been a long time since Jason had felt such incandescent rage.
A few weeks later, a person the guards described as a VIP called the ship. Several inmates, including Jason and Corso, were brought to the communication room and lined up. The holo-me of the VIP, a prim gentleman with a monocle, looked over one face after another, stopping at Corso.
"Perhaps when I am in need of a bodyguard or enforcer," he sniffed. He walked to face Jason, and made an appraising sound. "Warden, tell me about this fine young specimen."
"Jason Frimantle, inmate 742-XPT-68014," the warden said. "Ten-year sentence. He's due for a probation hearing in a year."
"XPT, you say? I have some familiarity with Federation designations of their prisoners. What extenuating circumstances keep a pirate and terrorist from a life sentence?"
"Provided information leading to the Parker Sisters organization being disbanded and dismantled," the warden replied.
"Hmm. Inmate, would you say you are a decent pilot?"
"Third generation," Jason said, trying to hide his confusion. The hell is this all about? "My father and grandfather were combat pilots, and traders as well, and I had a clean record with several recommendations before I unknowingly began assisting the Parker Sisters."
"Very good, very good." The holo-me turned to the warden. "I say he'll do. Transmit his records, and my people will be in touch."
The holo-me disappeared and the guards began to file the prisoners back to their cells.
"What just happened?" Jason asked Corso, who laughed in response.
"You're pretty damn lucky, kid," the bounty hunter replied. "Fancy-Pants there just bought you. You're going to be an Imperial slave."
Jason's eyes went wide. "What? How?"
"Credits talk." Corso gave his cellmate a nudge with his elbow. "So on top of being a brainiac and a snitch, you're about to be an Imperial pet. Lots of folks in here hate the Empire. Best of luck not catching a shiv between the ribs before your new owner shows up to collar you and train you how to sit and speak and play dead."
Jason glared at Corso, but as far as he knew, the bounty hunter wasn't wrong.
"Well, if I do, you'll have the cell all to yourself, at least for a while." Jason leaned closer. "Sure you don't want to try and suffocate me in my sleep?"
Corso laughed harder. "Kid, if I didn't shoot you down in that Dolphin all those years ago, I ain't going to do something that cowardly now. I told you I liked your gumption. Who knows? Maybe you'll lead some kinda slave revolt and we'll see your face all over the news. I'll say I knew you when you were just another inmate, and then you can come buy my ass outta here."
Jason smiled. "Don't hold your breath, Corso. That Imperial was right about one thing - you've got a face only a mother could love."
Corso grinned. "Damn, but I'm gonna miss you, kid."
To be continued...
Image courtesy Cannon Science