Free Land of the Dead by Thomas Harlan Page A

around in the dark, out beyond the fringes of Imperial control. She was years behind the others from her Academy class in achieving a ship command— but there is a balance, Kosh ō reminded herself, none of the others were given a battle-cruiser. None of them had her combat experience.
    “ Chu-sa Kosh ō ,” the man said, peering up at her with a pair of black eyes. The pupil and irises were almost exactly the same peat-dark brown, leaving only a thin white ring to outline them against his skin. He was wearing the somber black uniform of the Engineering service—not the shipboard branch, which was under the purview of the Fleet, but the station-side arm, which ran the sprawling complex of orbital habitats, forges, construction frames, and fitting stations which comprised the Akbal yards.
    A Mayan, she thought with interest. Of an old, old family. What an astounding profile.
    “Oc Chac, kyo ,” he said, bowing stiffly to her once he’d stood.
    “A pleasure,” she replied, then paused a split second before saying: “Is there something wrong with this zabuton ?”
    Chac nodded, lips thinning.
    “Should it be replaced?”
    He shook his head, no .
    His silence was both amusing and irritating at the same time, and she was hungry.
    Chac frowned, thought for a moment, and then shook his head. “ Chu-sa , be mindful of this mess hall—always leave one seat empty. Always.”
    “What suggests this?” She shifted the binders under the tray and started picking at her sliced fruit.
    “Saving yours, kyo , there are only twenty-five seats.” He indicated the tables and Kosh ō saw this was indeed the case. “The last to sit will be—must be—in the thirteenth chair, regardless of how they enter.”
    “Ah,” she said, suddenly realizing who he must be. “You are our hafuri priest.”
    “No!” He shook his bald head abruptly. “The jichinsai rites to consecrate the hull will be performed by others, before you leave the yards. I am your fitting officer, kyo .”
    But our hafuri bonze should … “You’re not our fitting officer,” she said, voice suddenly cold. “You’re our superstitions officer.”
    Chac’s impassive face seemed to congeal, and Susan bit down on further angry words. That was not polite .
    “Starmen are  … superstitious, Chu-sa ,” the Mayan hissed, trying to keep his voice down. Kosh ō realized she’d cut him to the quick with the heedless statement. “Do not tempt fate! You bring this ship bad luck enough, kyo , without provoking Camaxtli with your rudeness!”
    “Bad luck?” Susan’s eyes narrowed to bare slits.
    “Not that you are a woman!” Chac hissed, standing his ground. Though Kosh ō would never be accounted tall, she had a good two inches over the tiny Mayan. But he did not flinch away from her. “Your last ship died, her crew disgraced, captain sent down to the List … you think no one here knows what happened at Jagan? And you survived? Were promoted? How dearly bought was that last golden skull, Chu-sa ? Did your family pay?—Or did you?”
    “I see.” Kosh ō felt still and cold, the Mayan’s words a well-placed dart straight to the heart. She turned, sweeping the mess with a sharp, piercing glance. Every officer sat still as a statue—staring at the two of them in varying degrees of interest, horror, and uncertainty. “Rumor is fleet of foot, they say, and your ears will be filled with all manner of calamities.” Her voice echoed from the unfinished shoji . “I will say this—and no more—the Cornuelle was well and truly caught in a trap at Jagan. Her captain taken by surprise, myself trapped planet-side when the ship was stricken. The Admiralty made many excuses for us, but none of them are the truth. We had been out on patrol too long . We were far past tired, and our ship had worn down to nothing … a stupid, deadly mistake her captain rues to this day. His soul was in that ship, and now—with Cornuelle sent to the breaking yards—he is lost as