“What’s wrong?” ze asked again, zir tone sharper.
“I’m fine. I don’t want to keep you up, but I—”
“Like I’ll be able to go to sleep now? Get down here.” The chime of the comm disconnecting rang through the room.
Cira shoved her blankets off, not bothering to change out of her pajamas or put on shoes as she rushed out. Her suite was in the starboard habitation ring, and even though an elevator was set in the center of her ring—practically right in front of her door—she didn’t press the button to call it up. Instead, she walked down the long hallway connecting the starboard hab ring and the port and told herself it was expediency and not guilt that made her do it. What was important was that the port elevator would set her down closest to Adrienn’s quarters, not that it would also put her farthest away from her mothers’.
When the elevator door opened, a shirtless Adrienn was waiting for her in zir doorway, leaning against the frame with arms crossed. Even if she hadn’t woken zem up, it was clear ze’d been at least getting ready for bed. She bit back the urge to apologize again.
“I don’t need my med kit, do I?” Adrienn asked as Cira rushed into the room.
“No.” She kept walking until she reached the desk along the opposite wall. Tapping her wrist to the sensor built into the surface, she took control of the display.
“Somehow, your answer does not make me worry less.” Zir exasperated sigh almost disappeared under the shoosh of the door closing. “Explain, Cira. I’m beginning to imagine horrors over here.”
In answer, Cira brought up the three reports side by side on the screen.
Adrienn glanced at her and then stepped closer to the display, zir eyes scanning each one with careful attention. Furrows of confusion appeared on zir forehead. “I must be more tired than I thought, because I don’t understand. This isn’t good, but it’s nothing worth panicking over.”
“It is if our secret comes up for air because of this.”
Adrienn’s attention snapped toward her, no sign of sleepiness in zir face now. “You think this is them?”
“You don’t?” Cira scoffed and gestured to the reports.
“I think the point of the reports is that we don’t know,” ze said carefully.
“No.” The word whipped out like a grappling line. “It has to be them.”
“Why?” Zir expression was unsettlingly hard to read.
“Because—” Air and stress and saliva caught in her throat and blocked what she’d been about to say. The only reason was one she didn’t want to admit, even to herself. As painful as Riston’s betrayal would be—had been?—this would be worse, but Adrienn was waiting for an answer. “Because the only other option is unthinkable and might mean Novis is on the verge of either disappearing or dying.”
Nodding, Adrienn sat down nearby, folding zir hands in zir lap and holding her gaze. “Cira, I don’t know how, but I’m almost certain that’s the case for a lot of Pax ships.”
“Shit.” Cira folded, collapsing into Adrienn’s desk chair, covering her face with her hands, and fighting back tears. Fear of what might be happening collided with the video to Riston, and then the whole mess ran over her like an arid wind, leaving her skin tingling and her eyes burning. “I already told Ris I was kicking them all off at Datax.”
“You did what?” Adrienn’s voice hardened. “What the hell were you thinking?”
Cira shook her head and focused on breathing. She hadn’t been thinking. She’d been angry and scared, and her home was under threat for the first time in her life. She hadn’t been thinking when she lashed out and shoved Riston aside to protect herself and her family.
Swallowing, she tried to apply logic to the decisions she’d made with panic and anger. “We talked about the possibility of someone being on board Feris and Amitis, but it’s impossible here, right? No comm errors or system glitches since Mitu, and we haven’t stopped anywhere since then, and it didn’t make sense that someone trying to hide would do something ridiculous like stealing a plasma torch.” It was all flawlessly plausible, and yet Adrienn’s hazel eyes only grew stormier as she went on. That look only made her talk faster. “You were the one who suggested whoever is attacking Pax ships might be doing it from on board. There’s no chance my mothers haven’t thought of that, too. Even if Ris and the others aren’t responsible, how long do you think they can hide when the whole crew is scouring the ship for a stowaway?”
“So banishment is your answer?” Adrienn sounded more disgusted than she’d ever heard zem. At least, it’d never been directed at her before. “Think, Cira. If Erryla orders a search, it won’t happen in a few weeks, it’ll happen now. Today or tomorrow or in a few more days if we’re lucky. And our next station stop is where?”
“Datax,” Cira forced herself to say. The word came out hoarse and quiet.
“How long will it be before we get there?”
“Two more weeks.” Her voice cracked on the answer.
Zir voice softened a little, disappointment ringing in zir words instead of disgust. “And what are the odds Erryla will wait that long given what happened to Pax Feris?”
“Probably somewhere in the single digits.”
“That’s optimistic. I’m guessing it’s somewhere between zero and one.” Ze sighed, eyes closed tight. “You’re usually so responsible, I let myself get in the habit of leaving the kids entirely in your hands. Sometimes I forget you’re as young as you are.”
“You’re only twelve cycles older than me,” Cira muttered. Tension made the muscles in her right shoulder ache, and she winced as she rolled the joint to stretch it.
“A lot can happen in a decade. Or in a week.” Ze sat back in zir chair, shoulders slumping. Cira couldn’t tell if exhaustion, resignation, or disappointment in her weighed on zem more heavily. It made her stomach flip. This was one of the reasons she always worked so hard to excel. Yes, she wanted the work, the accolades, and the respect for their own sakes, but she also had zero tolerance for someone she loved—especially Adrienn, Halver, and her mothers—to feel like she’d let them down. The sharpness of anger was easier to bear than the impossible weight of disappointment.
She let the silence hang for a moment before she asked, “What should I do?”
“Not send any more damned messages, that’s for sure.” Adrienn crossed zir arms and bit at zir lip ring. Although ze opened zir mouth a moment later, ze only sighed and closed it again.
“Even if they didn’t do anything, these reports laid a trail that’ll lead directly to them.” Cira had hoped the desperation swirling in her chest wouldn’t be obvious in her voice, but even she could hear the tremor. “What are we supposed to do, stuff them in a cargo container?”
“Maybe. If necessary.” Several seconds passed before Adrienn took an audible breath and spoke again. “I know I was the last one to question this mission of ours, but I was wrong. What we’re doing matters. Those kids matter. They take risks sometimes, sure—what teenager doesn’t? They’ve done remarkably well considering the restrictions we’ve placed on them. Humans aren’t designed to live in isolation. There’s a reason every treaty includes a cap on the number of days prisoners of war can be kept in solitary confinement.”
One month. That was the limit in most treaties, and it was a punishment only to be used in the most extreme circumstances. Riston had been more or less alone for three cycles. The others hadn’t been on Novis quite as long, but even Tinker—the newest of Novis’s permanent residents—had been living in the belly of Pax Novis for a little over a full cycle. Adrienn was right; their stowaways had adapted to the demands of circumstance extraordinarily well.
“The best we can do is apologize and offer them a choice. They can stay but be restricted to a level of isolation most governments aren’t even allowed to subject mass murderers to, or they can leave when we hit a safe station.” Ze rubbed the shaved sides of zir head. “An awful option and a worse one, but it’s what we have. Just don’t send anything else to th
em yet. We need to get a better feel for what our tenacious captain is going to do first.”
“I won’t say anything else,” Cira promised. She couldn’t. What was there to say if she was as wrong as it appeared she’d been?
With her acquiescence, Adrienn seemed to sag even deeper into the chair, and Cira remembered how late it was. They’d be starting their days in another five hours or so, and exhaustion seemed to be crushing zem like the gravity of a giant planet. One of them should get some sleep tonight. Since Cira knew it wouldn’t be her, she should give zem a chance to rest.
They arranged to meet after their shifts the next day and try to come up with a better plan. Then Cira left, slowly walking back along the path she’d nearly run not too long before. She didn’t pass a single person. It was good; it meant she didn’t have to pretend she was okay.
Safely hidden away, Cira sat on her bed and stared at the frame secured to the opposite wall. Tinker’s clever fingers had done incredible work with the intricate design, and the screen itself was a beautiful, vibrant addition to her room. She hadn’t even needed to adjust the original program, just limited it to a color palette—orange and red and gold and yellow and every shade between. Now, every half hour, it changed from one ancient work of art to the next, all of them full of happy, captivating colors. Cira was tempted to get lost in the images sometimes.
Riston hadn’t said anything, but Cira knew why the day after Mitu had been significant. Three cycles earlier, Cira had convinced Riston to board Pax Novis. Ze hadn’t been the first stowaway to board Novis, but ze’d still been special. It was the first time she’d brought someone so close to her own age onto the ship, for one. More than that, no one else had a smile that made her want to give them a thousand more reasons to be happy and no one had looked at Novis with the same love she had always felt for the ship. Had ze remembered the importance of the date? She’d assumed so when ze’d given her the gifts. The others had likely gotten involved because Riston’s determination to call Novis home was what made it possible for them to do the same.
And Cira had exiled them from the only home they’d had in cycles—or ever—on the basis of vague reports. In one moment of panic, she’d betrayed the trust they had in her and forgotten every way they’d earned her trust.
There had to be a way Cira could make it up to them. Even if she was right and it was time for them to leave, she could at least prove they had nothing to do with the thefts. To do that, though, she’d first have to admit something to herself.
A stranger had snuck onto her ship.
If that was true, Novis was in danger. Cira’s stowaways were in an even more precarious position because all the blame was about to crash down on their heads.
Unless she saved them.
“Prove it,” her mothers were fond of saying. About pretty much everything. Ready for a new responsibility? Prove it. Have a plan or idea we should implement? Back it up with data. Want a certain task or duty to go away? Better have a solid list of reasons why. Cira would approach this problem the same way. Gut instinct wouldn’t be enough to save her stowaways. She needed data. She just had to figure out where to get it from. Being an officer allowed her more access than the average Pax citizen, but she was light-years away from the clearance her mothers had. There would be certain information she couldn’t see.
Maybe I can sneak a look at files from the panels in their quarters? She dismissed the idea as soon as it formed. Too big a risk, both for herself and her moms. She’d have to do what she could with what she could see.
Her conversation with Adrienn echoing in her head, Cira created a new partition to her personal storage, encrypted and password protected, and started researching. First, she grabbed copies of what she’d already learned, especially the information sent by Auxis and Sustis. From there she moved on to articles and video feeds from across the quadrant with a focus on the last several stations Feris and Amitis had visited. She pulled in every public security report going back a full month before the Pax ships had reached port.
For now, she barely looked at any of it, just set it to download and moved on to the next search. She looked up anything she could think of that might be useful, and then she let herself go on tangents she probably wouldn’t find a single use for, just in case. It was an inundation of data, so much she already wasn’t sure how she’d collate it, but somewhere in there was a clue. Hopefully, it would be the clue she needed to unravel the whole tangled web. She was determined to somehow make sense of this.
Finally, the only other place to look was inside the missing ships.
Data traveled between Pax ships and PSSC Control constantly, and much of that was public record for Pax citizens. Personal messages, command communications, and other sensitive material was protected, of course, yet sensor logs, security reports, duty rosters, and other minutiae were there for anyone to poke through. She was sure an entire team on Paxis Station was already sifting through this—and the details Cira couldn’t see—but one more pair of eyes couldn’t hurt. Besides, they didn’t have the same motivation she did. They weren’t sailing between the systems inside a bright white target for whoever had decided to risk the ire of the entire quadrant by taking out Pax ships.
Cira downloaded everything from the last two months on board Feris and Amitis into her protected partition. Only then did she actually look at her download queue. Even knowing how much information she was demanding, she groaned when she saw the total file size. Over sixty-three petabytes just from the ships. Nearly an exabyte of data was already saved. Yes, she’d be able to ignore a huge swath of it once she’d skimmed for anomalies, but the sheer scale of what she was attempting to do felt like dropping a rope into a fathomless chasm and climbing down without knowing for sure there was a bottom.
Exhaling, she dropped her elbows onto her desk and let her head fall into her hands. Her fingers dug into her hair, and the heels of her hands pressed hard against her forehead. For a minute, she focused on counting each breath. Clearing her mind. Refocusing. All she was looking for was a pattern to exonerate Riston—and the rest of her stowaways, obviously. All she needed was a way to save them from the worse of two fates. It wasn’t necessary to solve every problem in the quadrant or answer every nagging question. The task was daunting and complicated, but it wasn’t impossible.
She refused to believe it was impossible.
Her door pinged, the sound of someone asking for admittance. When she moved her hands, several hairs caught in the joint of one of her cybernetic fingers, yanking the strands out by the root. She flinched and then quickly brought up the controls for the door. There were several options in response:
Accept and open. | Request ID. | Deny. | Deny with message. | Deny; not in residence.
Cira picked the last option, the one intended for use when responding to a door ping from somewhere else on the ship. Sending whoever was looking for her off on a pointless search would’ve seemed a little callous in other circumstances, but it was the safer choice today. She didn’t have it in her to pretend she wasn’t in the middle of panicking.
But then the door beeped twice—the high-low tones of an override—and slid open without her permission. Cira’s heart lurched as she spun to face the portal. Only four people could override a denial, and Cira was not ready to face Halver or either of her mothers. Thankfully, Adrienn was the one who walked in.
“Yeah, thought so,” ze said as the door shooshed shut. “Since I couldn’t sleep, I figured you’d be even worse off. You’re working yourself into a right state, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.” Cira took a slow breath and tried to slow her heartbeat. She shrugged one shoulder. The motion felt too stiff to be as nonchalant as she’d intended it to be, but it didn’t matter. Adrienn knew her too well to be fooled even by her best masks. And ze’d been there for the worst of her panic already tonight. “But I’m also working myself into a plan, so…”
The room’s armchair was sealed to the floor—most of the large furniture
pieces on the ship were; a precaution in case catastrophic power failure ever disrupted the artificial gravity. When Adrienn sat, ze didn’t have the best view of the screens she’d been using. With a few commands, she switched to the ceiling projectors and the larger wall display. It didn’t take long to explain what she’d been looking for, but it took a while for Adrienn to understand why.
“I do find myself wishing for all the logs I had to purge before we left Mitu,” she said at the end. “I keep feeling like I must have deleted some alert that could point us the right way.”
For several seconds, Adrienn said nothing, zir gaze slowly traveling across the displays before drifting down to Cira’s face. Then, ze leaned forward, elbows on zir knees. “This won’t save them. You must know that.”
“Depends on your definition of ‘save,’” Cira countered. “You know the difference between being charged as a stowaway and as a traitor or a saboteur. Will I be able to keep them on Novis? Of course not. But I can keep them breathing. Besides, if there’s a pattern to what’s happening on the other ships, shouldn’t we know what it is?”
Adrienn rubbed the close-shaved sides of zir head and nodded, looking relieved. “I just wanted to make sure you had your expectations set right.”
“Expectations.” Cira laughed, the sound too harsh even to her own ears. “I expect that if anyone is arrested as a traitor, it’ll be me.”
“Us,” Adrienn quietly corrects. “I’m not letting you take the blame for this alone.”
We’ll see, Cira thought. Adrienn’s hazel eyes narrowed as though she’d said it aloud. Forcing a smile, she changed the subject. “Do you want to start with Feris or Amitis?”
“Give me Botran’s ship,” Adrienn said on a sigh. “I don’t have the same prejudice against him your mothers seem to have passed on to you.”
“Fine.” She swiped through the controls to give Adrienn access to her partition.
She half expected zem to leave for zir own quarters and work on zir own screens, but instead ze settled more comfortably into her armchair and pulled a tablet out of the pocket of zir jacket. Cira smiled despite the stress of everything, and they began to work in relative silence.
Pax Novis Page 14
