Usually the shared folder only held copies of the ship’s general schedule and any major ship-wide alerts—like when a glitch in the water filtration system had contaminated the whole tank. This was the first time she’d ever shared anything this sensitive. At least she didn’t have to worry about the files being flagged by anyone scanning the system—there was nothing strange about an officer collecting data for later review.
What would Riston think of this, though? She hadn’t seen Riston or any of the stowaways since she all but yelled at zem, and she didn’t know when she’d be able to see zem again. This move felt like something that needed explanation. Hadn’t she just scolded them all for getting too careless and too closely involved in what was happening on the ship? Now, here she was handing over scads of data that would get them even deeper. She couldn’t regret the decision. Soon, this folder and bags of food and supplies left in strategic locations might be their only way to communicate at all.
File transfer complete.
Cira went back to the main screen. Nothing had changed. All stations in all sections of the ship reported in on time and without issues, and every vessel within any significant distance of Novis was tagged and lit either green or yellow on her threat display—green for almost definitely safe, and yellow for probably safe, but keep an eye on them anyway.
A ping announced an incoming alert, but this one came from inside Novis. Cira’s eyebrows rose as soon as she took in the text. It was an incident report from engineering.
An inventory was completed today, and it appears three tools are missing (list included below). This inventory was completed ahead of schedule on the orders of Lieutenant Commander Meida Dalil-Antares after she was unable to find a specific plasma torch. Senior Engineer Goldin would like it noted that it is possible these tools have been misplaced due to excess stress the past week. The Lieutenant Commander is adamant they are missing and probably stolen.
Stolen. Tools stolen. Tinker. Cira’s left hand clenched so hard her knuckles popped. Would her exile from engineering cause rebel this recklessly? Previously, Cira wouldn’t have thought so, but she was staring at evidence to the contrary.
Or it’s a stowaway you didn’t bring on board, a voice in the back of her mind whispered as nebulous fear coalesced into thought. Adrienn thought the problems on Feris and Amitis were caused by an outside hand physically infiltrating the ships.
The logical side of her mind scoffed. (A) there hadn’t been a single communications or systems glitch in any department on the ship since they’d left Mitu, and that was seemingly where all of the trouble had started on the other ships. (B) they hadn’t stopped anywhere since then to pick up stray passengers. And (C) what saboteur would be foolish enough to expose their presence by stealing tools? Especially something like a plasma torch. Certain tools could probably be missing for months before anyone noticed, but Cira had once seen an argument over a preferred plasma torch nearly turn into a fistfight. They were used constantly. Anyone smart enough to sneak on a PCCS without inside help and break the communications systems past the point of the crew being able to fix them would know not to take a damn plasma torch.
Plus, Cira argued with herself, I watch every air lock and hatch when we’re docked at a station. I know every single way on and off this ship—the normal ones and the sneaky ones. No one gets on this ship without my permission.
The application of reason smothered Cira’s rising fear, which only left space for her anger to surge again. A ball of warm metal had lodged itself in her chest, and it hurt no matter how she tried to breathe around it. Cira honestly wasn’t sure what was worse, the anger or the hurt underneath it. She’d trusted Tinker and given her a home. How could Tink have repaid her like this? And what could she possibly even want a plasma torch for?
Despite how this report bit like a betrayal, Cira didn’t want to bring it to her mother’s attention. Instinct still had her protecting both her secrets and her stowaways. Last month—hell, even last week—that might’ve been possible. After the disappearance of Feris, though…
Cira forced her left hand to relax, cleared her throat, and called, “Captain? You wanted to be kept in the loop about anything suspicious.”
Erryla’s attention snapped to Cira’s station, and she was across the bridge in a few long strides. Her lips were moving, but Cira didn’t hear what her mother was muttering until she leaned over Cira’s shoulder to read the display. “—and for the third time?”
Third time? Cira’s mind spun faster than a millisecond pulsar as she tried to parse the comment. Had more things gone missing from engineering specifically or had items disappeared from other departments as well?
She couldn’t look it up. Erryla had taken control of Cira’s screen and was busy making notes on the open memo. Then she switched to a different display and set a reminder for herself before relinquishing control of the station. But she didn’t go back to her seat. The bridge was arranged like an amphitheater, with three levels and several stations on each. Those on security duty took the far end of the second tier, which was where Cira sat today. The captain’s seat in the center of the highest level gave Erryla a view over everyone’s shoulder should she need it. Right now, she was leaning against the armrest of Cira’s seat, her attention focused entirely on her daughter.
“You’ve been looking into Feris and Amitis again.”
Cira swallowed. “Yes, Captain.”
“Find anything?” she asked.
“New questions no one knows how to answer.” Cira exhaled slowly and went back to the most recent report from Sustis and Auxis. “Readings that make no sense.”
“Nothing about this makes sense,” Erryla muttered as she focused on the data. Her hand twitched, and Cira guessed she’d been about to squeeze a pressure point at the base of her neck—a sign of stress she tried not to let herself give in to when she was in captain mode. Erryla fully believed captains were supposed to be as unbreakable as the ships they commanded—or, at the very least, they were supposed to make their crew believe it was true. Then Erryla’s expression smoothed out and her attention shifted back to Cira. “How are you doing, Cira?”
“What?” Hands freezing midgesture, she blinked at her mother in shock. Erryla rarely used Cira’s name when they were on duty, especially not on the bridge. Cira was always Ensign or Ensign Antares if specificity was needed. Hearing her name on Ma’s lips here made Cira’s heart jump. She also had to suppress the instinctive urge to apologize for something she must’ve done wrong. “Oh, um, yeah. I’m fine. Why?”
“It’s been a hard week, and I know I’ve been busier than usual.” The skin around Erryla’s mouth pinched minutely. “I wanted to make sure you know I’m here if you need anything. Meida and I both are.”
Cira was better at reading her mother’s expressions than anyone on Novis except Meida and Halver, but now she failed. Not knowing how else to respond, Cira slipped her hand over Ma’s on the arm of the chair and told the only truth that mattered right now. “I know you’re here. I never doubt that, even when you’re busy captaining.”
She hoped Ma didn’t sense the worry this display had stirred up in Cira’s mind. Given the way Erryla’s wide mouth nearly twitched into a smile, Cira must have succeeded. She kept her calm as Erryla gripped her shoulder and moved away. Once Ma was gone, though, Cira had to remember how to breathe.
Pax ships were going missing, search vessel scans were turning up baffling reports, her stowaways were suddenly threatening to ruin everything with petty theft, and now Erryla had transformed into Ma on the bridge and made Cira wonder if things were already worse and she simply hadn’t learned the details yet.
Or maybe she did know. Three times, Erryla had said. What else had gone missing? Cira’s fingers danced across the holo-controls and pulled up the previous reports.
It wasn’t unheard of for things to go missing. People misplaced stuff all the time. When something was worse than misplaced, it was less theft and more honest mistake—one item w
as too similar to another and the wrong owner walked off with it. That wasn’t what happened here. First, a lieutenant filed a personal item loss statement when a full set of casual clothes—including undergarments—went missing from their suite. None of the items had been found. The second report was from the kitchens; a box of ration bars and another full of water pouches meant for vac suits and zero-G conditions were missing from their storeroom. One or the other could’ve been written off as misplacement or an inventory error, but both?
Cira felt like she’d swallowed a stone. Tools. Clothes. Food. None of the PCCS crew would need to steal any of these things—all they had to do was ask if they needed something. Only someone who wasn’t part of Novis’s crew would steal what would otherwise be freely given, and the only people on this ship who weren’t part of its crew were…
Dammit, Riston!
Another alert popped up on her display, a priority one report from the botany labs about a potential addition to their route in order to obtain samples the team needed for research. They were, the doctor insisted, on the verge of a breakthrough which could be an additional layer of filtration for the water purification system, a beneficial redundancy in a system prone to cascading failures when things started going wrong. All the long-haul Pax ships supported small teams to look into ways to make life easier and safer aboard deep-space vessels, and security normally wouldn’t be involved in decisions regarding that segment of the ship. These weren’t normal times. Cira ended up listening in on a conference with the research team leader, Adrienn, Meida, Erryla, Badri, and Halver as they discussed the request and weighed it against the orders to head back to Paxis with all possible speed.
Cira latched on to the distraction with both hands, bringing up every argument she could think of both for and against the stop, just to keep the conversation going longer. Just to keep from thinking about those three security reports and what it meant for the stowaways.
The stowaways, a voice in the back of her mind scoffed. The? You know they’re yours. They’re yours and you’re the one who’s going to have to deal with this. You’re the one who’s going to have to tell them they’re getting off at Datax.
But she didn’t have to—she couldn’t—tell them now. She focused on plant samples and security concerns and the intense debate this conference had devolved into, and by the time it finished, there was only five minutes left on her shift. Somehow, she managed to sign off, pass the station to the next ensign, and leave without anyone seeing through her mask of placidity.
Alone in her quarters, Cira gave up the act. She collapsed into the seat at her desk and let her head fall into her hands, her thoughts consumed by reports, stowaways, and Riston.
She’d heard Riston before she ever saw zem, and she’d known on that long-ago afternoon she wanted to help the young zeran who gave so much of zirself over and over again.
“You’re never going to get off this pit of a station if you keep acting like a self-sacrificing idiot,” someone had accused Riston, after ze’d given a younger child what had to be almost every credit tied to zir name, and that speaker hadn’t even sounded surprised. It was like Riston had done this before and they knew ze’d do it again if the need ever arose.
That was the Riston she knew, the one she’d eventually come back to Datax to find and the one she took a chance on when ze asked to stay. She’d trusted zem more than any of the others, and those three brief theft reports felt like a dark, unforgivable betrayal.
If anyone caught Riston and the others because of these reports, all five kids would be turned in to the PCGC for trial. But it wouldn’t end there. The investigation would lock Pax Novis in port, and they’d likely discover how long the kids had been hiding on board. That would raise other questions, like how the food they ate hadn’t been logged as missing. Cira and Adrienn would be found out, and it would taint the entire crew, especially their captain. Why would anyone trust a captain who hadn’t noticed five stowaways hiding on board their ship? Even without proof—maybe especially then—it might be easy for people to assume the whole Novis crew had been in on this. The crew would be branded smugglers and traitors and then exiled from the PCGC’s protection. Unless they were executed, of course.
If the worst happened, Cira’s entire family would be imprisoned, exiled, or killed, and it would be Cira’s fault just as much as it would be Riston’s. Unless she put a stop to this now.
Fury warred with fear for supremacy as Cira straightened in her seat. She activated her cuffs and brought up her system’s camera, arranging her proof and adjusting the settings before folding her hands on her desk and verbally ordering the computer to begin recording.
Riston never should’ve made her choose. Novis and her family always came first.
Personal Correspondence
From: Graham “Greenie” Danvers, Alula System, Planet Syèlifi
To: Louda Danvers, Alula System, Planet Nou Walspere
Terra-Sol date 3812.005
They came and took Pa again two months ago. It was the army this time instead of the navy, though it’s not like that matters much. Gone is gone.
Everything was fine at first, but now the crops are starting to fail, and everything is falling apart. Nothing I do is helping. The magistrate is getting pushy. He finally quoted some bit of the planetary charter at me, so I looked it up. If an adult in our family isn’t here to take over control of the land soon, there’s something in the laws about being able to take control of it all for the greater good. It doesn’t make sense, and the law is as old as Syèlifi itself, but it’s there, and I can’t stop them from using it. Not alone.
Auntie, I don’t think Pa’s coming home this time. Please come back? I got a meeting with someone up on the station who says they might be able to get Pa back because of special circumstances or something, but the odds aren’t good. So many people have special circumstances these days that there’s not much special about them anymore. Just, please come back? I can’t do this by myself much longer.
Receiver, please note: This message was sent from a public-access terminal. This message is not secure.
--------
To: Graham “Greenie” Danvers, Alula System, Planet Syèlifi
From: Unspecified
Terra-Sol date 3812.006
Automatic message from receiver terminal: Delivery incomplete. This message was rejected upon receipt.
Chapter Eight
Riston
Terra-Sol date 3814.251
Riston stared at the chat program on the screen and told zirself ze wasn’t pining. Ze was simply staying alert in a time of potential crisis. It was a lie ze didn’t believe even as ze said it. Staring at this window was beyond pathetic because the program was set to self-delete conversations within five minutes of the messages being read. Ze didn’t even have past conversations to scroll through; ze was staring at a blank screen. Some kind of communication had to be coming, though, especially after Cira had dumped all that information on them yesterday.
When she had explained the folder in her personal archives she’d shared with Riston’s false account, Riston set an alert on it. Every time a current file updated or a new one appeared, zir tablet pinged with a bass bell. Most weeks, it rang once. Riston’s heart had jolted uncomfortably hard when it chimed for the thirteenth time in several hours.
The first batch had been files, data sets, sensor logs, and investigation reports. Ze’d immediately read through them. Without a note from Cira, though, ze wasn’t sure if she was simply keeping zem in the loop or if ze was supposed to be looking for something specific. The information was interesting, but there was too much of it and too much context ze didn’t know, which made it impossible to draw any useful conclusions.
Then another bass alert rang. Riston’s breath caught when ze read the notification in the command bar at the top of the screen. A video message from Cira had been saved to the folder.
She’d never left a message here before because the file type created an easier
to follow digital trail. Breaking her own rule now could mean a lot of things. Few of them were good.
Automatically, the system had pulled a still frame from the video to help identify it visually. It was Cira, her hands folded on top of her desk and expression serious. Still in her uniform, she looked like a diplomat delivering a public address. She’d pulled her hair back tight against her scalp, and the lighting turned the mercury color of the strands to a more white-gray, making her look cycles older. It was like staring at a stranger, and Riston could already feel zir hands trembling.
Maybe this was a follow-up to the immense amount of data she’d given zem access to? Ze wanted to believe that, but the only thing that’d gone right since they left Mitu Station was the gift the others found for Cira. Everything else had been in an out-of-control acceleration since then, one doomed to end with them smashed to shards and embers. Ze wasn’t optimistic enough to think zir luck was about to change now.
Lips pressed thin, Riston gathered what courage ze had left and pressed play. On screen, Cira took a long breath and exhaled in one burst.
“Look at these.” Her words were clipped and her gestures sharp. Then abbreviated views of three security reports took over the display, each filed mere days apart.
Pax Novis Page 12
