by Jody Wallace
Hoff, to his credit, did look slightly intimidated by his ferocious niece. Su’s self-assurance and sharpness were different from Briar’s—more blatant. Su would beat anyone who tried to take advantage of her with her own mechanical leg, but Lincoln suspected Briar would just sidestep them with a sweet smile.
“If you tell me the ship parts you want, I won’t let anyone know and I’ll see what we can do about rerouting them,” Briar said. At last she straightened, but her fingers remained buried in Mighty’s fur, which kept her body pressed against Lincoln. She didn’t seem to notice or care about that part, but he understood her reluctance to let go of the cat now that she knew the cat existed. He loved this damn cat and sometimes wished Mighty didn’t have a cat lady waiting for him in a pod, so Lincoln could be his favorite person. “And you say there are more cats? How many? Why do you need the ship parts?”
As Su, Hoff, and Mighty got down to the business of explaining the situation to Briar, whose sharpness increased by the minute, Lincoln just sat there and soaked it in. Cat in his lap, happy woman at his side, smart people making plans, smart plans, to save lives swirling in the air around him. These folks weren’t stumbling into bad deals or tripping into scams. None of them were a soft touch, not like him.
He could relax. He could trust. For the first time in a long time, his participation in something was not going to screw it up. Now that other folks and cats were taking over, he could fade into the background.
“And Lincoln can come with me as the buyer. We’ll check the structure ourselves and test the Mozim power converter,” Briar was saying. “I’ll be his escort. It’s my deal, after all, and I have a right to allocate it in whatever way I think makes the most profit. It may be irregular to let a buyer into the gen ship before the cataloguing is complete, but maybe it’s not. Tank Union doesn’t get its hands on zhengs very often.”
“Ever,” Lincoln corrected, and then realized what she’d just said. “Wait, did you say I would be the buyer?”
“You’re perfect.” She’d gone from melted against him to jittering on the mattress again, but for different reasons. She waved her hands as if manipulating a holo display to show everyone their spots on a battlefield. “It will be almost like infiltrating but not, because I can get clearance to be there.”
“You seem pretty eager to sneak around,” Su observed, lifting her ankle onto her knee. It was the real leg, apparently, because she started scratching it. “Isn’t there a simpler way to sell us some parts and lie about who we are?”
“I’m hoping,” Briar said, raising crossed fingers, “that the part you want isn’t inventoried yet. They’re only halfway through the ship, and if I recall correctly, zhengs have cryopod bays near the back, and that’s where the Mozim power converter will be. Then we could just…” She lowered her voice, but the glee in it was unmistakable. “Steal it.”
“Well, hold on.” Lincoln leaned away from Briar to look at her. “Nobody said anything about stealing.”
This was how it started. Somebody needed help. Only Lincoln could help them. People would be hurt if he didn’t. It was fine, everything was fine. Every single time, it made perfect sense—like now. So was he in?
Was he?
“I could skip into the cryopod bay first and make sure nobody is there.” Mighty rolled onto his back and squirmed around so he could look at Lincoln and Briar from Lincoln’s lap. “Did I tell you how cats can skip? We can transport ourselves. Merely think about a place we wish to be, and poof, we are there, magically.”
“It’s probably science,” Su muttered.
“Oh my stars.” Briar wiggled with excitement. Her blue eyes twinkled with energy, and several more strands of hair floated around her head as the strategy session juiced her up. The very idea of infiltrating and stealing was turning Miss Quietly Competent into Miss…Chief. Mischief.
Lincoln did not need mischief on his plate. He’d relaxed for one second, and the people he’d just decided he could trust were trying to talk him into something…
That would save thousands of people.
He’d heard that before.
But for the first time, this was truly different. He’d been the one who told everyone that people needed saving. He’d started this. And his partner was a woman so thrilled by the idea of running a con with him that she was bumping against him and petting his leg instead of Mighty, who lay on his back in the cradle of Lincoln’s lap.
Her enthusiasm was about to make both of them super uncomfortable.
Lincoln put his hand on Briar’s wrist. She was all soft skin, no scars. “Stop?”
She stared down her hand, clutching an area of his thigh that was too intimate for strangers. Of course, it was also pretty close to Mighty’s butt.
The cat’s yellow eyes gleamed and his tail whipped back and forth. Hoff cleared his throat, and he and Su struck up a loud conversation about something entirely different.
“I’m sorry.” Briar snatched her hand into her own lap, where she threaded her fingers together. The nail she’d broken yesterday was healed, no more blood, though the curved pink nail itself was shorter than rest. A little speck of disharmony in her otherwise perfect appearance—that and the hairs escaping her slicked-back bun to match the sparks escaping her bright blue eyes.
“You sure you can’t just sell us some parts and put the one we want in the batch? Legit-like,” Lincoln asked with a frown. “Complications end up…complicating matters.”
“That’s astute, but we don’t even know if the part is there,” she pointed out. Mighty had explained about Lincoln’s efforts to create camouflage for a shuttle and space suits so they could sneak into the ship while it had been in the sky pile—and how Lincoln had failed. It had been real flattering.
“I don’t like the idea of thievery,” Lincoln said, though the plan to obtain the power converter when the ship had been in the sky pile had amounted to the same thing. “And I’m not good with people.”
She lifted her hand as if she was going to pat him on the leg reassuringly, froze, and shot to her feet. Cold flushed along his side in her wake.
“You don’t have to be. You just have to follow my lead.” She spread her hands, as if that explained it. Yesterday she’d been so professional and proper, and today she was all hands and excitement. “Since you’re already an approved client, you can send a second offer and I’ll enter negotiations and get us onto that ship. Tomorrow. It certainly won’t hurt for us to go take a peek. You wanted to yesterday. That’s what gave me the idea. I swear this will work.”
The room fell silent until Lincoln nodded his head. Once.
“All right,” he said doubtfully. “We can go in. Should I wear the business suit?”
“Oh, yes, it looked very good on you,” Briar said, and then her cheeks turned as pink as a cat’s tongue. “It’s convincing. Like a real Oka Conglomerate rep.”
“As the engineer of the Catamaran, I should come, too,” Mighty said. “I need to be there to inspect the part and the cryopod bay and also provide backup if anyone needs a push.” Lincoln was afraid the cat might mean him. “You can carry the briefcase we designed for Dear Barbara.”
“Don’t worry,” Briar said to Lincoln—to all of them. She had leapt headfirst into the scheme as if she’d been waiting all her life to double-cross her employer, and Lincoln wasn’t sure what to think about that. He’d spent his life hoping for a situation where nobody asked him to double-cross his employer. Their life goals might well be at odds. “I’ve used this strategy before. Telling a buyer no so they offer more money. Classic. When I show up with Lincoln, nobody is going to be suspicious, not even for a second.”
Chapter 4
If one more person asked what she and Lincoln were doing in the zheng ship, Briar was going to scream. She’d cleared this with the Tank Union Board, minus Steven, who hadn’t been available for some reason. Why was everyone being so suspicious?
They tramped down a chilly corridor of the Sikong with Briar helpf
ully explaining about AI soft tubes to Lincoln while he strode a meter or so behind her carrying the briefcase. Glimpses of the shipyard shone through various portions of the dilapidated framework, the grounds strewn with parts but free of the poisonous chefo bushes that grew all over the planet. Lincoln didn’t so much as grunt to confirm that she’d been right about zhengs not having hardwiring for their AIs. If anyone overheard them—and many of the strip team had—she would appear to be upselling Lincoln on everything the ship had to offer.
And he would appear to be…listening. Noiselessly. Sometimes she had to glance behind her to make sure he was there or take his arm to bring him forward. For a man as tall as he was, he walked as lightly as a dancer.
It might not be standard protocol to tour a half-catalogued gen ship with a buyer, but it should be. Briar was enjoying herself immensely—getting out of the office, flashing her badge, indulging in a big fat helping of secret agenda while spending time with one of the calmest people she’d ever met and a lovely magical cat who kept saying things to her inside her head.
She loved cats. She loved this job. She loved that she was in the right place at the right time to help those in need. Finally, finally, something was happening in her life, and it was better than she’d ever imagined.
They neared the end of the ship where the cryopod bay was indeed located. Earlier, Mighty had done his magical skipping thing and confirmed there was nobody in the bay. Excitement danced through her veins like electricity, and she tamped down the urge to echo it with a little jig.
A stealthy jig. Oh, she hoped they could steal the part! It would be sensational. This was what she’d imagined when Hoff had asked her to be his mole in Tank Union. Covert ops. Double talk. Slinking around to help someone who deserved it more than the powerful union board.
They rounded the corner into the empty bay, except it was no longer empty. Steven Wat and two skeezy men in standard coveralls were hovering around the cryopod banks, taking apart a machine.
It was Briar’s turn to demand, “What are you doing here?”
Steven whipped around, his eyes bulging at the sight of her. While she hated his face, his neck had the benefit of being skinny enough to wrap her fingers around.
“I could ask you the same thing,” he said in his snottiest voice.
Briar lifted her chin. Today she had worn her dress coveralls in honor of escorting her silent, towering faux-client onsite. The padded baby blue suit both protected her from the elements and gleamed like a crisp, clean patch of sky in the greyness that was Trash Planet. She knew how to manipulate her wardrobe to provoke desired responses from people, and it often benefited her to be seen as vain or impractical—but also as a breath of fresh air.
“I got approval from the Tank Union Board to bring my client on a tour of my recent acquisition,” Briar said, emphasizing “my” acquisition. “Only one member of the board was incommunicado. Wonder where he could have been and whether he got approval to be here?”
Steven sneered at her while the men with him pretended like they hadn’t been caught in the act of disassembling a piece of machinery. Unlike most of the men on Trash Planet, Steven was clean shaven except for a thin moustache, with a receding chin that would have been better hidden behind hair. “I am the board, sweetheart. I don’t need permission to be here.”
Some people thought belittling another person, particularly a woman, reduced her power. Briar kept the nicknames she assigned people inside her head, where they belonged. Steven—Skeever, Snotbag, or the Shitter—rarely referred to her by name, always by some diminutive. She’d thought his attitude hadn’t influenced the others, but he’d gotten the job she wanted, so now she had to question everything.
“I would think if you were already showing some clients around the site, the rest of TUB would have mentioned it to me. Unker—the strip team foreman, you know—didn’t mention it, either.” She traipsed across the cryopod bay, inspecting every centimeter, knowing Lincoln was behind her doing the same. He made for very reassuring backup, and she had enjoyed his company now that they weren’t at odds. Was Mighty inside the carrier or had he skipped? They couldn’t test, much less steal, the part in question with people here to witness their interest in it.
“You aren’t authorized to know what the board is doing,” Steven said. “Takes being on the board for that.”
“And who are your clients today, Individual Wat?” she asked pleasantly, not awarding him the title he’d only had for two days anyway. “I wonder why you didn’t transfer them to one of the sales associates now that you have board duties.”
“Director Wat,” Steven corrected, as she’d expected him to. What a pompous tool.
Ignoring him, she held out a neatly gloved fist to the men in coveralls. “I am Individual Briar Pandora, lead sales associate for the Tank Union Board. It is so nice to meet more of our clients.”
The men glanced nervously at Steven. Briar didn’t allow her expression to change one bit, just maintained a slightly vacuous smile. These weren’t clients. Steven and these greaseballs were up to something. This wasn’t the first time she’d walked in on Steven Wat sneaking around, but prior to this it had been at HQ or various establishments in Yassa Port as he attempted to filch clients or sales from the other associates.
Steven crossed his arms and pouted, and the men reluctantly bumped fists with Briar in the manner favored in this part of the galaxy.
“Gullim Vex,” said the taller guy, and the other just grunted, “Tim.”
“What a pleasure,” Briar warbled. “Now tell me, what are you fellows looking for today in the cryopod bay of a three thousand year old generation ship? Can you believe it? Three thousand years. That’s twice as long ago as the Obsidian War.” She spread her arms, walking in a circle and gesturing to the vast, towering stacks of empty pods. Most seemed to be intact. She’d visited a functional gen ship once, on a sales trip, but no sleepers had been in the pods. “These people lived before the Obsidian War was even a glimmer on the horizon.”
As she wandered around the bay lecturing, distracting Steven and his mystery guests, Lincoln repositioned himself and the briefcase near some machinery that looked like it had been disassembled. Had it been that way already or had Steven mucked with it? She kept an eye on Lincoln but focused on boring Steven and his minions enough that they would leave.
Jabbering near-nonsense that wasn’t nonsensical enough to be obvious was very effective with certain types who preferred to be the center of attention. Or types who had been up to something before being interrupted. Every time Steven tried to slide a word in edgewise, she twisted whatever he said into another patter about the history of generation ships or Tank Union’s role in the Trash Planet economy, extolling the union’s virtues to the purported buyers.
The truth was, she was better at this than Steven. Better at dominating the conversation, convincing people to listen, to buy, to sell, without making them feel like fools or suckers.
And that was why she should be the new director, not him.
But if she’d been elevated to director, she’d never have met Lincoln and gotten this opportunity to put her corporate spy skills to work for a miraculous cause.
While Lincoln attempted to discreetly locate the piece the cats needed, she honed in on the two fellows Steven had dragged into his nonsense, whatever it was. It didn’t matter if he was on the board. He had no business skulking around the ship she had snagged for Tank Union. Never mind that she had nefarious purposes herself. “What are you citizens of the galaxy in the market for? Our strip team has accounted for nearly three-fourths of this magnificent vessel’s contents, and I have the list right here on my chrono.”
They were trying to steal the power converter, said Mighty’s voice in her mind. Before we even had a chance.
Briar nearly tripped over a cable on the floor. Shit. What were the odds?
Zhengs were rare and, based on the Catamaran’s situation, the entire cryo bay relied on that piece, among others.
Who else would need such a thing?
Nobody she’d want to sell it to. Were these men pirates or Steven’s toadies? Why did Steven want that part? The greaseballs kept glancing at Lincoln, too. Had they become suspicious of him? He was trying to be discreet, but Briar heard numerous rattles and scratching noises. She imagined it was hard for someone as tall and handsome and distinguished as he was to be discreet, ever, unless your only gauge was boisterousness.
But one thing was true. Slavers and pirates were dangerous. Outside of the safety of HQ, they were worse, and that was only one of the reasons she refused to sell to them. They did not abide by Trash Planet’s union agreements on treatment of other human beings. And if they wanted that specific power converter…
Not happening. Briar checked her chrono as if pulling up the manifest. Increasing skitters and rattles nudged the edge of her hearing, but Lincoln wasn’t causing it. “I believe the strip team was right behind me. They’re due to start in here today. Now. Are you ready to continue your tour, Steven? The hydroponics bay is right through that door and down the hallway.”
Would Mighty be able to convince Steven and his friends to behave? The tall one in particular did look menacing, almost as big as Lincoln. She didn’t know enough about the cat’s skills or personality quirks to factor them into her planning. She didn’t even know where the cat was.
Steven glanced toward the entryway the strip team would presumably use. “I thought they were only half done. Shouldn’t be here yet.”
“Perhaps you should have remained at HQ today to receive the updates,” Briar said kindly. “Our strip teams are very efficient.”
The skeezeballs with Steven were now watching Lincoln more than her. Where was that blasted part? She’d counted five disassembled machines, though Lincoln had been hovering around one in particular. Back left. He hadn’t really touched it, but who knew what Mighty was saying in his head?
