Kalan stormed onto his bridge and ordered, “Get me someone on the comms!”

“Right away, captain,” said Em, unperturbed by Kalan’s tone of voice.

Kalan paced back and forth in barely controlled fury as Fresia and Petronan stepped onto the bridge and stood there in silence. He shot them a look that made Fresia flinch and Petronan stiffen his spine. Kalan looked away. He wasn’t angry with them. They were just in his proximity at the wrong moment. The pacing continued for another fifteen seconds before Em called out.

“Captain, I have someone on the line.”

A woman’s voice came over the line, “Ankala Rising, this is…”

“I don’t give one solitary damn about who you are. I’m about five seconds from ordering this ship back into orbit, dropping a contagion beacon, and leaving you all out here to die.”

It was no empty threat, either. Kalan knew that, if he followed through, no ship would land here for the next century. No captain would run the risk of touching down on a contagion world. Even raider captains would stay away. Apparently, the severity of that threat wasn’t lost on whoever was on the other end of that comm channel. There was dead silence from the line for a long time while Kalan weighed his options. The person on the other side of the channel broke first.

“What would you have us do?”

Kalan stared at the back of Em’s metallic skull and gave serious consideration to doing exactly what he’d threatened to do. They’d meant to take his ship, his livelihood, his home, and all too probably had meant to eject him and his crew out of an airlock. He had to keep reminding himself that the people who were supposed to be running this base were probably locked in a room somewhere, assuming any of them survived. There are probably children too, he told himself, who had no hand in whatever minor coup took place here. He felt and heard the knuckles in his hands pop as he squeezed his fists into ever tighter balls.

“You have exactly three minutes to find the most senior authority you didn’t murder. You will send them out here, alone. They will sign for this medicine. We will unload the cargo. Then, that person will come with me to give sworn testimony to your government.”

“But,” the voice started.

“Em, start the clock. If there isn’t a legitimate authority standing at our cargo bay door when the clock runs out, launch the ship, and prep a contagion beacon.”

“Yes, sir,” said Em in his usual calm voice.

There was a brief moment of panicked, screamed orders from the base before the comm channel went dead. At two minutes and fifty-two seconds, a haggard-looking man stumbled to a stop outside the ship.

“Em?” Kalan asked.

“He is alone, captain. Shall I continue the sensor sweeps?”

“Yes. Fresia, you stay here. I mean it.”

He fixed her with his eyes. Her head immediately started bobbing up and down. “Yes, captain.”

“Petronan, with me.”

“Aye, sir,” barked Petronan, falling into step beside the captain.

Kalan lowered the cargo bay door and glared down at the man. He looked deathly pale up close, with sunken cheeks that Kalan suspected had more to do with starvation than sickness. He hadn’t shaved in days, and the stubble was more gray than brown.

“Search him,” ordered Kalan.

“Sir,” said Petronan.

Petronan gave the new man a quick, but thorough pat down. He removed a datapad from the man’s pocket before he nodded to Kalan.

“Who are you?” Kalan asked the new man.

“Edmus Alland,” said the man with wheezing breaths.

“Your position here?”

“I’m the junior administrator here.”

“Can you sign for this cargo?”

“Yes. I can,” said the man, gesturing at the pad in Petronan’s hand.

“Then, get on with it. Petronan?”

“Aye, sir. I’ll assist.”

Kalan stood sentry in the door while Petronan did most of the actual work of logging the cargo to the base system. While they did that, Kalan called up to the bridge.

“Em, please find the treatment protocols for Sallin Fever, as well as the infectious period and transmission rates.”

Kalan’s eyes kept sweeping the empty landing zone. He didn’t think his eyes were any better than the ship's sensors, but it gave him something other than his anger to focus on. He’d have to make sure they kept enough of the medicine to treat everyone on board. He’d call it a surcharge if the client complained. He didn’t expect they would, though.

Em came back on the line. “Sir, the infection rate is one hundred percent during the infectious period, which only lasts forty-eight hours. Treatment is three doses of Percimexal, given once daily for three consecutive days.”

“Survival rate?”

“Better than ninety-nine percent with treatment, captain.”

“Understood. Thank you, Em.”

Kalan had to push back against another surge of wild rage. He didn’t know exactly what had happened on the base, but he could make some educated guesses. All of that senseless violence over an illness they could treat, with the medicine already on the way. It was so stupid. When Petronan indicated that they were done logging the cargo, Kalan opened one of the containers and counted out enough doses for Edmus and everyone else on board.

“People need that medicine,” Edmus protested.

Kalan gave him an unfriendly stare. “I suspect there’s more than enough for however many people are actually left. And, even if you aren’t contagious anymore, I’m not taking any chances. I won’t leave my people to suffer until we get back to somewhere they can get treatment. Now sit down over there.”

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Edmus did what he was told. Kalan gestured to Petronan. They started lugging the cargo containers to the bay doors and unceremoniously dumping them out onto the landing zone. They weren’t rough with the containers, but they weren’t exactly careful, either. Kalan wanted his ship off this rock as soon as possible. The second they got the last container unloaded, Kalan sealed the bay doors and ordered Em to get them into the sky. Kalan handed the medication to Petronan, then hoisted Edmus off the floor. He half-led, half-carried the man to the ship’s small medical suite. About halfway there, Em piped up over the comms.

“Sir, we have an incoming comm from Ariadne Base.”

“Em, you feel free to tell them, from me, that they can all go straight to the countless hells.”

“Understood, captain.”

Kalan thought that Em would probably soften the language, if not the sentiment, when relaying that message. Kalan didn’t really care. Things like this were why so many freighter captains refused to take on relief missions. He supposed he was one of them now. He wouldn’t willingly take on another one any time soon. Putting his crew in jeopardy like that wasn’t something he cared to do again. Not if he could avoid it, at any rate, and he could avoid it. He never lacked for work. Once they arrived at the medical suite, Kalan helped Edmus crawl onto the sickbed. He held out a hand to Petronan who put a dose of the medication into his hand. Kalan studied the cartridge for a moment before pulling out a standard hypo-loader. He put the cartridge into the hypo-loader and injected the medication into Edmus’ arm. He ejected the spent cartridge into the hazardous waste bin and dropped the hypo-loader into the sterilizer. By the time he finished all of that, Edmus was unconscious.

“Sir,” said Petronan.

“Yes, chief,” answered Kalan, feeling very tired now that his anger had mostly burned away.

“I’m not sure I’d have done the same thing you did. It was a mercy, to be sure, but I don’t know that I’d have done the same for those mutineers.”

“I didn’t do it for them.”

“Sir?”

“I did it for their families, and people like this man, who didn’t take a hand in the violence. We can let their government sort out the guilty from the innocent.”

Petronan seemed to consider that for a long moment before giving Kalan a sharp nod. “Aye, sir. Probably for the best.”

“We’ll be jumping back into the wormhole as soon as possible. I’d appreciate it if you manned engineering until we’re underway. After that, take a day for some downtime. You’ve more than earned it.”

“Thank you, sir. We headed back to Cobalt 7?”

“No. I need to make a stop at Hasen 5. I’m hoping the Kesselian Alliance has an embassy or diplomatic outpost there where we can leave him,” said Kalan, waving his hand at the unconscious Edmus. “I don’t relish the idea of going all the way into Kesselian space for a delivery we won’t even get paid for.”

“Agreed, sir. I’ll go mind the engines.”

“Thank you, chief.”

Kalan took his time walking back up to the bridge. Some of it was just the natural weariness he felt after any intense situation. Some of it was the sure knowledge that he’d have to explain some things to Fresia. He didn’t begrudge her the explanations. They were a necessary part of any learning process. He just wished it didn’t have to be today. The bridge had resumed its usual air of calm efficiency by the time he arrived. The only blemish on that efficiency was Fresia, who looked a little stunned and unsure of what she should do with herself.

“Em, please prepare a beacon.”

“A contagion beacon, captain?”

Kalan gave that idea another round of consideration. A petty little part of him wanted to do it, but he ignored the impulse. “No. Dispatch a warning beacon that there is an active uprising on the world below and all civilian ships should steer clear.”

The robot paused for a moment while inputting commands to the ship. “Of course, captain. Beacon away.”

“Thank you. Please take us back into the wormhole network. Destination, Hasen 5.”

Kalan dropped into his captain’s chair and leaned his head back. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about Ariadne Base. He wasn’t all that successful. The words never again swirled on an endless loop through his brain. He let the phrase swirl until it felt like a tattoo on his brain. Without opening his eyes or moving his head, he spoke.

“New standing protocol. All inquiries for future relief mission cargo runs are to be firmly declined.”

Em gave it a beat before asking, “Any exceptions, Captain?”

Kalan also gave it a beat before he answered. “No exceptions.”

“Understood. Protocol updated.”

Kalan waited until they were inside the wormhole before he stood and headed for the hatch, gesturing that Fresia should join him. She followed a little behind him. He wondered if she was trying to stay out of his line of sight. He supposed he couldn’t blame her. He thought about taking her to the galley so he could have a cup of coffee while they talked but decided against it. He’d made the cargo bay their unofficial classroom, so they’d talk there. He closed and locked the hatch behind them. Then, he looked at Fresia.

“Ask your questions,” he said.

“I really don’t-,” she started.

“I’m very tired, Fresia. So, please, ask your questions.”

“Petronan explained some of what happened,” she offered before trailing off.

Kalan suspected she needed a little help. “You didn’t understand what you were seeing. You saw that woman, begging for her life, and you thought I’d lost my mind. Or, you thought something along those lines?”

Fresia blushed. “Something like that.”

“And now?”

“How did you know? Petronan was armed. You were ready for it. How did you know?”

“I had more information than Petronan. I knew that the base computer systems and networks were compromised. That was a warning sign. It wasn’t proof. A lot of things can compromise computer systems. Still, you don’t need proof to prepare. When that mob was waiting on the landing zone, I had my proof.”

“That woman you were going to kill. Did she deserve it?”

Kalan paused at that question before asking one of his own. “How do you decide who deserves it, Fresia?”

Fresia stared at him, and her mouth worked a few times. “I’m not sure.”

“I had the right to kill her. She’d openly declared herself a pirate. I’m not sure she understood that’s what she was doing, but she did it. That meant the law was on my side, technically speaking. It was pretty clear that she’d led that little revolt. You don’t end up in charge of something like that and come away with clean hands. I believed that she deserved it. Those aren’t the reasons I would have done it, though.”

Fresia thought for a long time before she asked the inevitable next question. “Why would you have done it?”

“Because she’s stupid.”

Fresia gaped at Kalan in utter horror. “You’d kill someone because they’re stupid?”

“No, not just anyone. She’s a particular kind of stupid. She killed innocent people or ordered other people to do it because she didn’t listen when people told her the truth. The illness everyone had back on that base is a curable condition. Treatment was on the way. All they had to do was wait. Instead, she assumed that everyone was lying to her and convinced other people of the same thing. Worse, if she’s ever put in a similar situation, I think she’ll do the same thing again. She won’t learn from this. That means she’s a threat to everyone around her any time a crisis rolls her way. By letting her live, I’ve almost certainly endangered lives in the future.”

Fresia gave all of that about five minutes of uninterrupted thought before she finally asked the question Kalan had been waiting for.

“Then, why didn’t you kill her?”

“Because you asked me not to.”

“That’s it? Just because I asked you not to do it?”

“That, and because I knew you didn’t understand. You didn’t have all the information. So, I stayed my hand. Now, you do understand that I don’t kill without reasons or a purpose. Do you understand what that means for the future?”

Kalan waited while the girl processed the implications.

“It means,” said Fresia slowly, “that next time you’ll expect me to know that you’re doing things for reasons. You’ll expect me to trust you, even if I don’t have all the information.”

“Yes. That is what I’ll expect. Can you do that?”

Fresia only considered that question for a few moments before she nodded and said, “Yes. I can do that.”

“Good,” answered Kalan, reaching out and unlocking the hatch.

The girl started to reach for the hatch and then stopped. She looked up at Kalan. “So, mercy isn’t a part of our way?”

Kalan blinked in surprise.

“Oh, gods, never believe that Fresia. Never think that mercy is a bad thing. We should always offer mercy,” said Kalan, “when it’s the right course of action.”

“How will I know when it’s the right thing to do?”

“Experience will teach you some of the finer points. Most of the time, though, you’ll know. For the people most in need of mercy, you won’t need to ask.”

Fresia frowned and then gave him a pointed look. “Then why won’t you take on cargo for relief efforts again?”

Kalan grunted. It was a fair question. “Because I have a duty to do everything I can to keep my crew safe and alive. That has to be a captain’s first priority. Relief runs are risky. It’s a risk we don’t have to take. So, I won’t do it again.”

Kalan could tell the answer didn’t sit well with Fresia, but it was also clear she understood. She nodded and left Kalan to his thoughts.