by Alex White
Even Boots.
Your friend,
Armin
“Punk,” said Cordell, smiling. “Should’ve bought a ship instead.”
“This wasn’t how we were hoping to get a share,” Jeannie said, taking her chit from the velvet lining, “but we appreciate it.”
“Armin never treated us any differently,” said Alister, wiping his nose. “Never looked at us like we were freaks. He … he always saw the potential in people.”
Nilah picked up the silver drive, turning it over in the light to see her name inscribed on its ornate surface. It was so frustratingly like him to always be prepared. But she didn’t want money, she wanted her friend back.
She tucked the drive into her pocket, then ushered her friends into her ancestral home. That night, they would drink themselves stupid, shout and sing, and most importantly, tell stories of the friends they’d lost.
The Capitol Weather Agency arranged for sunny skies on the day of Armin’s funeral, and brilliant rays filtered down through fluffy white clouds onto the steps of the Green Palace. It was a crime to bury him on Taitu, considering that two years ago, they wouldn’t have given him the time of day.
Boots ascended the steps as crowds thronged behind her, the formal suit itchy on her skin. A blustery wind swept in from the west, and she was thankful for the warm protection of her RVC jacket. A veritable who’s who of Clarkesfall personalities was there, from Jack Rook to the members of the Reconciliation Committee. The government hadn’t done any of this for Didier—his grave lay unadorned on a little grassy hill on a Carrétan terrace. She’d always meant to visit; Boots heard his family was good about bringing flowers.
She hadn’t seen Cordell since they’d parted ways in the Central Promenade. They hadn’t spoken by voice, only by messages delivered between their assistants, and she had no idea how he’d react to her the next time they met.
In the foyer, Boots found her crew, and despite her best efforts, she rushed to their side to embrace them one by one. She pulled Nilah in so close that she thought she might squeeze the life from the poor woman.
As they parted, Nilah whispered, “Orna and I are getting married soon. Want to come?”
Boots nodded her head, unable to speak.
“You’re not even going to say hi to me?” came the captain’s voice behind her. “That’s cold, Bootsie.”
She hadn’t wanted to keep flying with them. There had been so much pain, but the moment she saw Cordell in the flesh, all of it melted away. She threw her arms around her captain and crushed him to her with all her might.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
His hand fell across her back. “We’ve all got things we have to do sometimes. Are you satisfied?”
“Yeah,” she said, blinking back tears.
“Then forget about it. You’re with us again, and that’s the end of it.” He stepped back and gestured to the Jade Parlor, where a casket bearing Armin’s stand-in statue awaited the mourners.
An Arcan-born singer rendered a dirge from her homeland, and in turn, each of the crew members got to speak. First came Cordell, then Malik, Aisha, and Nilah. Orna gave a stirring speech about the meaning of mentorship. Jeannie and Alister skipped their turns, having pled to remain out of the limelight. Then Boots ascended the dais. She looked over the crowd of mourners, finding a menagerie of power players from across the various planetary governments. She spied socialites and captains of industry.
“Armin Vandevere was too good for all of you,” she began, and a quiet gasp arose from those gathered. “When we discovered the treason arising in your ranks, where were you? When we bled and fought to save your galaxy from the rot festering inside, where were you? Callous. Careless. Foolish.”
Her eyes drilled into the members of the Special Branch, then Prime Minister Bianchi, who gave her a defiant look.
“But he was too good for me, too. When we first met, he threatened to throw me out the airlock. He was probably the saltiest, meanest officer under which I have ever served, but he was fair. Bluntly, I probably should’ve been thrown out an airlock.”
Cautious laughter tittered in the crowd.
“He gave me more shots than I ever deserved, and while I was on Hopper’s Hope, playing at being a distiller, he was out in the stars trying to protect you lot from yourselves.”
They’d butcher her for this in the media. The prime minister wouldn’t take this embarrassment lying down. Boots couldn’t help but feel like a betrayer, but she couldn’t stop the words coming out of her mouth, either.
“I never met an admiral who had half the bravery and sound judgment of Armin Vandevere. I never met a politician who had his backbone and clarity of morality. And because we weren’t taken seriously, his life was squandered. There should’ve been an armada at that station, blasting those murderers and slavers into space dust. Instead, you had a lone man in a damaged starship doing what needed to be done.”
She gripped the podium on both sides and glanced back at his effigy. It was a poor approximation, lacking his sour frown and furrowed brow. He looked entirely too peaceful for a man with such fire. When she returned her gaze to the audience, she found them conflicted—some of them wouldn’t meet her eyes.
In her debrief, she’d been warned not to discuss sensitive information with the general public. The funeral was live simulcast across the galaxy.
“The thieves who took him from us are still out there. They’re building something bigger than ever, waiting for their chance to strike. They would’ve stolen the life of every last person in the galaxy, and you all jump on the Link to wonder loudly if we’ve ‘gone too far.’”
Fire burning in her heart, she said, “Until every one of you is willing to stand up, we haven’t gone far enough. So keep on betting your futures on a single, tiny starship crew. Take a load off and leave the rest to us. I wouldn’t trade your entire police force for one Armin Vandevere, so keep your damned medals.”
Stunned silence followed her from the podium, until Cordell shouted, “Hear, hear!”
As one, the crew of the Capricious rose and filed out of the Jade Parlor, leaving only murmurs in their wake.
A tremendous feast spread before them, but Nilah wasn’t hungry. None of them touched a single thing on the table as they waited for Armin’s service to end, save for Cordell, who wet his lips with a glass of wine. Nilah nuzzled into the crook of Orna’s arm, holding her close for comfort.
“I hate this dress,” Orna whispered. “Why did you convince me to wear this?”
“It looks good on you,” Nilah replied, then added wryly, “though everything looks better off you.”
Cordell choked on his drink and Jeannie laughed.
“Y’all need to get a room,” he said, wiping his lips with a napkin.
“We’ve got one on the ship,” Nilah replied.
“I thought you wanted a fancy Taitu wedding, Miss Brio,” said Alister, reaching out and plucking a kinsberry jam cracker from the spread.
Nilah looked up into Orna’s eyes and kissed her. “I’d rather do something small at my father’s house. Maybe Kristof could come.”
“Hate that guy,” grumbled the quartermaster.
The doors to the banquet hall spread wide, and Agent Cedric Weathers came storming in, face red. “Do you think that was entirely wise, Miss Elsworth? Talking down to the Assembly Government like that?”
“Your cowardly police force is what’s unwise,” countered Boots. “You keep letting powerful people off the hook, we’re going to keep killing them.”
The agent straightened his cuffs. “On that, we’ll have to agree to disagree.”
“Funny,” said Cordell. “Agreeing to disagree seems to be what got us into this pickle. The Children of the Singularity never would’ve picked up steam if your people had the stones to put them down.”
Nilah cleared her throat. “Do you have a reason for disturbing us, agent? As you can see, we’re busy mourning
.”
“Before Miss Elsworth’s public outburst, I had been authorized to make a deal with the lot of you, though I’m not sure anyone cares to see you again after today,” said the agent.
“Caring about public opinion isn’t our forte,” said Malik, and Aisha added, “Or your opinion in general.”
Cedric pursed his lips and shook his head in disappointment, then snapped his fingers. An attendant entered, holding a data cube transit case, and he placed it on the long banquet table. The special agent flipped open the latches and extracted a scuffed-up cube, placing it into the contacts along the wall closest to him.
“Perhaps you’d like my opinion, then?” asked Kinnard, his voice rendered in perfect clarity over the dining hall.
That got their attention. Nilah looked around at her friends, and though Jeannie and Alister didn’t get it, the others couldn’t hide their elation.
“Kin!” cried Boots. “Is that really you?”
“Authorized user Elizabeth Elsworth identified,” said Kin. “Ratifying voice print.” Then came a short beep. “Indeed it is! I’m so glad to hear from you again.”
“They unlocked you,” said Nilah, sounding a little sadder than she intended.
“Of course we did,” said Cedric. “We had to, in the interest of global security. Now I’d like to offer you a special opportunity, provided Prime Minister Bianchi doesn’t withdraw the recommendation.”
“And what’s that?” asked Cordell, looking down his nose at the man.
Cedric clasped his hands behind his back. “You’ve been remarkably effective at dealing with Henrick Witts’s coconspirators, and Miss Elsworth, you were right about the level of governmental support you’ve received. We didn’t believe you, and we should have.”
“I’m sorry, can you speak up?” Aisha asked. “It sounded like—”
Cedric glared and said, “The Galactic Alliance Treaty Organization worlds have an extrajudicial task force, dedicated to the pursuit of high-value targets, code-named Compass. We’d like you to join us, and in return, you’d get top-level access to sensitive archives, weaponry, and transport, and most importantly, we would outfit your ship with a jump drive.”
Nilah narrowed her eyes. “So you want us to be cops?”
“No,” the agent replied. “You’d make regular reports to the minister of defense and the prime minister herself, and your actions would be classified at top levels. GATO police and military would be bound by treaty to intervene on your behalf. We’d also return your AI. Provided, of course, Miss Elsworth’s stunt didn’t ruin your chances.”
Nilah found her friends a rightly skeptical group of people. Each one had proven themselves a hero, and in return seen obstruction at best. And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a chance for vindication, and perhaps when it came to Henrick Witts, retribution.
Cautiously, she ventured, “Perhaps, Special Agent Weathers, if the prime minister lets a few reasonable criticisms impair her judgment, we’d prefer not to be beholden to her.”
“Fair enough,” Cedric replied. “And if all goes according to plan, I’m offering you the chance to take this fight a step further on your own terms.”
Cordell uncrossed his arms and pushed off the wall where he’d been leaning. “Well, we’d have to think about it.”
The agent nodded. “Of course. Take your time.”
“Better guns and gear?” said Boots. “I’m in.”
“Alister and I would like recognized citizenship,” said Jeannie.
“And maybe some backup from time to time,” said Alister.
“No trackers. No funny business,” said Aisha. “I don’t want you people keeping tabs on our ship.”
Cedric spread his hands. “You only get the assistance you request as a member of Compass.”
“And I expect you to update the med bay,” said Malik. “We cannibalized our last bot and needed a new one, anyway.”
“Of course,” replied the agent.
“Give me crap to rebuild my battle armor. Oh, and one for Nilah,” said Orna, “and maybe I’ll sign on.”
Cedric looked to his associate and smirked, but then nodded his approval.
“What about you, Miss Brio?” asked Cordell, turning to Nilah. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to stick it to Witts sooner rather than later. What do you say?”
Her beloved friends were sure in their purpose, tall with pride. With the help of Compass, they might be able to score a real win. They might be able to avenge Clarkesfall once and for all and rid the galaxy of the greatest thief it’d ever known.
She nodded, looking dead into the eyes of her captain.
“I’m in, too.”
The story continues in …
THE WORST OF ALL POSSIBLE WORLDS
Book 3 of the Salvagers
Keep reading for a sneak peek!
Acknowledgments
I can’t start thanking people without professing my undying love for my editors, Brit Hvide and Nivia Evans. Your clear and competent guidance turned my story into a book, and I’m always grateful for that.
Thank you to JesReadsBooks for my first ever video review. Watching you take the journey through my story was such a thrill, and the closest thing I’ve ever had to real-time feedback.
Thanks to Stephen Granade for letting me ask him all sorts of ridiculous physics questions, and to Christopher Rapin and Scott Hutchton for answering my obtuse military queries. It’s always a privilege to have access to so many experts.
And where would I be without the Orbit publicity team: Ellen Wright, Laura Fitzgerald, Paola Crespo, and Alex Lencicki! People can’t buy a book unless they know about it, and you made sure the word went far and wide. I look forward to working with you again.
As always, a deep and abiding thank you to my spouse, Renée White. Without your love and support, I’d never have the strength to do this.
extras
meet the author
Photo credit: Rebecca Winks
ALEX WHITE was born and raised in the American South. They take photos, write music, and spend hours on YouTube watching other people blacksmith. They value challenging and subversive writing, but they’ll settle for a good time.
In the shadow of rockets in Huntsville, Alabama, Alex lives and works as an experience designer with their spouse, son, two dogs, and a cat named Grim. Favored pastimes include Legos and race cars. They take their whiskey neat and their espresso black.
if you enjoyed
A BAD DEAL FOR THE WHOLE GALAXY
look out for the next book in the Salvagers series
THE WORST OF ALL POSSIBLE WORLDS
by
Alex White
The crew of the legendary Capricious may have gone legitimate, but they’re still on the run.
With devastatingly powerful enemies in pursuit and family and friends under attack planetside, Nilah and Boots struggle to piece together rumors of an ancient technology that could lead to victory.
CHAPTER ONE
Spectrum
Nilah Brio was so tired of having the dress conversation.
They’d settled it once before in the Green Palace of Aior. They’d talked it out in the quiet hours of a Capricious night cycle. They’d negotiated the topic in the ruins of Gelding Colony.
And now, beside the rush of Mizuhara’s spectacular Thousand Falls, Nilah’s comm chimed so Orna Sokol could once again say, “I’m just going to be honest, I really don’t like dresses.”
Winding up a set of serpentine steps, Nilah emerged onto the landing of a small infinity pool. It was empty, save for a few bathers, but none of them interested her. The view over the Delta Valley, with its intertwined golden rivers like circuit boards, should’ve arrested her heart. She should’ve been taking in the salubrious mist of an entire mountainside of hot-spring waterfalls, shot through with dozens of rainbows. Instead, she had to strain to keep her annoyance in check.
“You do understand that a wedding is a ceremony,” Nilah
quietly replied, trying to keep her conversation disguised. People came to Mizuhara for peace and relaxation, not to see each other gabble on their comms. “And my family has ceremonial dresses.”
“Arnie Camden offered to design me a suit,” said Orna. “Not Camden Cross. Arnie himself.”
“You’re not marrying Arnie Camden.”
A short huff entered Orna’s voice. She must’ve been climbing stairs, too. “If he keeps sending me custom suits, I might. I don’t like looking girlie.”
Nilah did a one-eighty and marched back into the bathhouse caverns, restraining herself from taking the next set of stairs two at a time. It wouldn’t do to be seen in a hurry. “We’re wearing sodding bikinis, darling. That’s about as girlie as one can look.”
There came a scoff on the other end of the line. “As a disguise, babe. Not for my wedding. Speaking of which, are the mods holding up okay?”
Nilah glanced at her arms: no visible dermaluxes, no dark skin, no sleek combat suit or hidden slinger holsters—just bare flesh, glistening with droplets of condensation. Typical illusion spells weren’t great at concealing an entire human body, but the headbands from the Masquerade were a million argents’ worth of bespoke tech and top-quality components. The masks had been designed to make people look like animals, but Nilah and Orna had cracked them open and changed out a few parts to make them general purpose.
“All good,” Nilah replied. “I look like a tourist. A ‘girlie’ tourist, as you put it, and I’m fine with that.”
“There’s a difference between what you wear and projecting a spell,” said Orna. “If you’d have told me to come in here in a real bikini, I’d have told you to shove it up your ass.”
Nilah moved to one side of the pathway as a large party of drunken bathers came streaking past, giggling. She couldn’t have them bumping into her, finding a rough body sleeve instead of skin. “I’m surprised you didn’t want to go swimming as a giant onyx wolf.”
