Spinward Fringe Broadcast 7: Framework by Randolph Lalonde Read Free Book Online Page A

New Udalpur, he tells
his brother, 'Earth is remembered. You are remembered. Hope is
remembered.' As their bond could not be broken, your bond with
those who have gone cannot be broken. Now let us watch this fresh
dawn for a moment before we take some time to be with each
other.”
    It was the perfect service. Ayan wouldn't
say it aloud, but she felt lucky. She lent her shoulder to many
people she didn't know, heard stories about crewmembers she didn't
have a chance to know well, or at all. She didn't carry the burden
that everyone else did. The urn she carried through the service
contained the ashes of three people who couldn't be identified.
Everyone suspected they were liberated slaves who made it aboard,
but were never properly registered. They were probably right. Their
deaths were sad, but she couldn't help but feel fortunate that she
wasn't committing the remains of someone near and dear to her. That
luck came with its own measure of guilt. She tried her best to put
it aside.
    The service was overdue, and it was a great
help to everyone in attendance. She wished Jacob could have been
there. It had been a week since she'd seen him. Since they were
forced away from the Triton, it was difficult to find time alone
together. She suspected that many of the mourners, especially the
ones who had been aboard the longest, were also lamenting the loss
of that ship. When she let herself think of the Triton, she
lamented the loss of opportunity, freedom, security, and
organisation.
    That was the last time she wore a Triton
uniform. She went back to the loose skirted, scoop necked maxi
dress design she’d discovered in the vacsuit shape database during
her early days on the Triton. The texture was what convinced people
it was a normal garment, made to imitate high thread count stretch
cotton, an expensive fabric on most worlds. During negotiations,
she dressed in pastel blue, green and white – the most disarming
colours. It provided the same protection a basic combat vacsuit
did, but it looked nothing like one.
    Laura dressed in the same fashion, only
opting for a tighter fitting version. Jason had taken to wearing a
white long coat over his uniform, while Liam Grady opted for his
long robes. The old-fashioned blue cloth robes almost hid his black
vacsuit.
    As Ayan stood at that window, recalling the
service, the irritation at it taking so long for the Carthans to
turn over the remains of the crewmembers killed aboard the Triton
must have resurfaced. She was equally galled by the Carthans'
release of their accumulated captives aboard the Triton. The news
that the slave master, Doctor Thurge, Burke, and a few malcontents
were sent into the wild was delivered as a sidenote with the
delivery of their cremated dead. Ayan felt she and her people had
been tread on; it was impossible to shake.
    Liam Grady’s warm hand rested on her bare
skin, where the cutout in the back of her dress left her skin
exposed. It was generous comfort, but she made an effort not to
take solace in it. “Six weeks,” she muttered as she wiped a tear
away.
    The droning of Percy the negotiator behind
her stopped. “Pardon?” He asked politely.
    “It's been six weeks and one day since we
left our ship,” Ayan said. She patted Liam’s arm and he withdrew it
gracefully. It was easier to find her anger and impatience without
his touch. “You conducted a full forensic investigation, presented
us with whatever personal items were left and a cargo container
filled with urns.”
    Percy, the negotiator drone, regarded her
with earnest surprise. He straightened in his seat. “I'm sorry,
Commander. I didn't have anything to do with how that was
handled.”
    “That's just it. We're being handled. We
keep dancing back and forth in negotiations. I keep asking for what
my people think they deserve while you keep short-changing us and
citing provisions of galactic laws that only marginally apply
here.”
    “Might I remind you that part of our
negotiations are for a