by Lee Savino
“Very little, I imagine.”
“Almost none. We are tools to them. Ektons are good navigators, and so they use us when they want to travel along unstable wormholes. But they don’t consider us their equals. They don’t learn our culture, our ways.”
Buy me a beer, and I’ll talk your ear off about how abhorrent I find the Zorahn caste system. The Zorahn are geneticists. They know perfectly well that there’s no difference between the Lowborn, the Midborn, and the Highborn. But the damn system keeps the rich and the elite in power, and so they prop it up with all their might. “They don’t even consider their own people their equals, Thel. Who gives a damn what they think? You have money. Use it. Hire a competent scientist, set up a lab, fund their research. Get them working on a cure.”
In reply, he shuts his eyes and leans back in the tank.
Ah, this conversation is over. Thel can be like an immovable wall about some things. From experience, I know there’s no point pushing any longer, and so I change the subject. “Speaking of Ekton culture, I thought it was interesting that our Zorahn invader apologized in Ektona.”
Ektona is difficult, and I’m not just saying that because I’m useless at languages. Lisa is trilingual. She speaks fluent English, Mandarin, and German. She’s been trying to learn to speak Ektona, and she’s struggling. “It’s so impossibly hard,” she’s grumbled. “The entire language—the vocabulary, the grammar, everything—changes depending on who you’re speaking to. Then there are the tones. Mandarin has four. Cantonese has six. Ektona has fourteen.”
Not just Lisa. Parani, one of the ship’s two engineers-slash-navigators, is Ekton. She’s the human equivalent of thirty-three years old, and she thinks she’ll be good enough to pass the official language examination in another four years. That’s just crazy. It’s as if they want the language to go extinct.
Thel turns to me. “That was interesting.” He waves a hand, and a projection of the stranger shimmers into existence in the middle of the room. “His Ektona was more than passable; it was good. Whoever he was, he got it almost right. Do you know how many Zorahn I’ve met who speak Ektona? Three, and they were all Ru’vi’s spies.”
I frown at the image of the massive man. Holy crap, he’s huge. But in a really good, sleek, proportional way, not in a pumped-up body-builder kind of way. His muscles don’t look like they came from the gym. He looks lethal.
Who are you, buddy? And how did you manage to saunter onto the Mahala? “You think he’s a High Empire spy?”
“He said the Rebellion sent him. There’s no reason to believe he wasn’t being truthful about that.”
My mind flashes back to the encounter. To the way he’d caught my knife out of the air. The way he’d grinned at me. The purr in his voice when he told me to call him if I wanted it back.
I stalk around his projection. Drops of blue blood bead on his palm. He cut himself when he caught my blade. Good. Resisting the urge to punch the hologram in the face, I focus on what Thel’s saying. “My translator was a split second slower than it usually is. You said he got it almost right. What am I missing?”
“Clever girl,” Thel chuckles approvingly. “He wasn’t speaking Ektona. He spoke Old Ektona. Four hundred years ago, the planetary council decided that the language was going to die if they didn’t do anything to prevent it. So, they simplified it. Our stranger spoke the more complicated form.”
“You’re saying he spoke a language that’s functionally extinct?”
“I don’t know if he speaks it fluently. But the ritual words of apology were flawless.”
Whoever this man is, he isn’t a scholar. Not with those muscles. His shoulders are broad. His shirt strains at the chest. His thighs are as big as tree trunks, and his pants mold them lovingly. His tight ass…
Thel clears his throat, and I yank my attention away from the stranger’s ass. “Good looking specimen,” my mentor comments.
“If you say so.” I fight to keep from blushing, and study the hologram again, this time with less drooling.
The man has the typical golden coloring of the Zorahn, but his head isn’t shaved. That’s rare, but not unheard of—we operate on the fringes of the High Empire, and many Zorahn here have eschewed the High Empire’s conventions.
His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his tattooed forearms. I bend down to study them. “The markings are unfamiliar,” I murmur. “You know what else is interesting? He doesn’t have any testing tattoos.” I straighten and stare at Thel. “How is that possible? Every Zorahn is tested every year, as soon as they come of age. It’s the one constant of the High Empire.”
Thel looks intrigued. “Maybe he grew up in the Rebellion?”
I give him a skeptical look. “What are the odds that someone who grew up in the Rebellion can speak fluent Old Ektona?”
Thel hauls himself out of the healing tank. “You’re right. Whoever this man is, he’s trouble. I’ll find out who he is.” He flicks his fingers, and the stranger vanishes. “That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
I look up, alerted by his sober tone. “Yes?” I ask warily.
“After we rob Docarro, I want to make a stop at Besep 3.” He notices my expression of confusion. “It’s near the Heca Exchange.”
I didn’t know where Besep 3 was, but that’s not why I’m puzzled. Though Thel makes noises about retirement, he’s still the captain of the Mahala. He doesn’t need to tell me where we’re going.
“Are we going to raid someone there?”
He shakes his head. “No. I have a son, Diana. We’ve been estranged for the last year, but before that, Zabek lived on the Mahala. He’s sent me a message. He’s stranded on Besep 3, and he wants my help getting out.”
“Of course.” I didn’t even know Thel had a son, let alone that they were estranged. “I’ll talk to the navigators and adjust our course.”
He fixes all ten eyes on me. “Before Zabek left, he used to be the second-in-command.”
Oh. Oh. Ice trickles down my spine. Thel’s son is coming back, a son that used to live on the Mahala. The crew has known Zabek for years; I’m new to my command. And after the disaster that was today, my professional reputation lies in tatters.
Am I being fired?
Thel saved Lisa and me from the Zorahn scientists. He gave us a home on the Mahala. He taught me everything he knows. He treats me like one of his family. For the first couple of months on board, I didn’t quite believe my good fortune. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.
And now it has.
Thel reads the expression on my face. “You have nothing to worry about,” he says. “Zabek does not want to be Captain of the Mahala, and even if he does, you are not being replaced. You’re my second-in-command. I picked you, Diana. I want you to know I have complete confidence in you.”
I hear Thel’s reassurance. Do I believe him? I don’t know.
All I know is that I still don’t understand why the Ekton pirate trained me. I don’t understand what he sees in me. Lisa Kwok, my fellow human, is far smarter than me. She’s genuinely nice. She smiles often. When we stop at the exchanges, she brings back presents for the people left to guard the ship. Everyone adores her.
Me? I can cheat at cards and throw knives at people, but I’m in a ship filled with pirates. My skills aren’t unique.
I don’t want to be replaced.
I have no illusions. It’s a hostile galaxy out there, and on my own, I won’t last ten minutes.
I murmur something about needing to get back to the bridge. There, I stare blankly at the stars drifting past us. The pirates aren’t a sentimental bunch. I haven’t been on board long enough to earn their loyalty. I need to prove to them that they’ll be better off with me as their leader, not Zabek.
Starting with the raid on Neiptiun KZP-71.
4
Diana
It takes us a couple of weeks to make our way to Neiptiun KZP-71.
I know that colony ships are massive. I’ve read about them
in the Zorahn ThoughtVaults, and I’ve seen images and videos. But it isn’t until we get close that it sinks in how large it really is. The Mahala isn’t a small frigate—there are more than a dozen of us on board, our flight deck holds eight attack fliers, and our cargo hold can store the contents of two shuttle ships—but compared to the gargantuan colony ship in front of us, we’re no bigger than a fly.
Or a wasp. One that stings the crap out of Docarro.
Neiptiun is shaped like a bullet. It has two hundred levels. One hundred of those are residential—each level designed to house ten thousand people. The bottom levels house the engines and other mechanicals—artificial gravity, waste recycling, air conditioning, that kind of thing. Food is grown in the top levels, and that involves soil, water, nutrients, and solar energy. Or so I think. I’m not an expert.
If this were a real colony ship, there’d be up to a million people on board. Instead, this is a fortress guarded by a thousand heavily armed mercenaries. They have artillery. Fighter jets. They can seal off every level and drain the oxygen so we die of asphyxiation. They can fill the chambers with poisoned gas through the air vents.
Taking the station by force is out of the question.
Our plan involves subterfuge. The Mahala is going to be broadcasting Docarro codes. Our cover is that we’re corporate officers doing an inspection of the facility. Well, not me. Hani’vi, one of the crew, is a Highborn Zorahn woman. She’s going to pretend to be an accountant doing a surprise audit. The rest of the strike team will be disguised as her security detail.
Protocol dictates that as soon as we broadcast our codes, Neiptiun’s security team will communicate with Docarro’s head office to verify our credentials. No problem—Soren, Thel’s hacker genius, will intercept the transmission and flag us as legitimate. When we reach the vault, Soren’s podmate Axion will pick the lock.
The vault is in the lower part of the ship, on level 30, right above the engines. According to the schematics that Thel’s spies have brought us, there’s a heavily guarded flight deck on level 35, and another one on level 25. If things go wrong at any point, Soren will cut Neiptiun’s comms, and we’ll have to fight our way out.
Five levels. It won’t be easy. But billions of credits are on the line. Eighteen billion, nine hundred million, seven thousand, and thirty-five, to be precise.
If we succeed in robbing Neiptiun, it will be the biggest haul in Ekton pirate history. Maybe the biggest haul in the entire galaxy. The current record is two-point-five billion. Call me insane, but I want to beat it.
The strike team gathers in the bay. The six of us are not alone. Lisa is there, saying something to Hani’vi, a serious look on her face. Thel is there too, of course. I walk up to him. “This is it. The moment of truth.” I grin. “Truth and eighteen billion credits.” Adrenaline courses through me. I’m ready. We’ve been planning this operation for more than a month. We’ve gone over scenario after scenario. We’ve fought training battles in the simulator. We’ve done everything we can to prepare, and then some.
He doesn’t reply. He just pats my shoulder.
For a split second, I wonder at his silence, and then realization slams into me, and I curse myself for my thoughtlessness. Thel has been a pirate all his life. This is probably the first time he’s been forced to stay behind on a raid.
This fucking disease. I don’t care what he says. I don’t care how hard I have to push. When I get back, I’m going to look for a cure. If I have to kidnap a goddamn Zorahn scientist, then that’s what I’ll do, and I’ll feel no guilt about it. The scientists kidnapped Lisa and me. Turnabout is fair play.
I stand on tiptoe and put my arms around him. “Wish me luck, Thel,” I whisper.
He exhales and then forces a smile on his face. “Do me proud, Diana.”
Always.
I swallow back the emotion. It’s go-time. “Okay, everyone, listen up.” I look around at the strike team. Hani’vi looks nervous; she always does before the start of a raid. Once we dock on Neiptiun, she’ll be fine.
Maz Krr is fiddling with his weapon, twitchy and restless. Maz was a lieutenant in one of Zoraht’s biggest gangs when he tested positive for the Draekon mutation. He’d escaped en route to the prison planet. He’s been part of Thel’s crew for sixteen years. If he had any head for tactics, he’d be the second-in-command, but Maz is a shoot-first, think-later kind of guy.
Axion, our lock picker, has his visor down, so I can’t see how he’s doing. Soren sees me look at his podmate and gives me a reassuring nod.
Krep and Ganni are checking their weapons. The couple is Zorahn. Former Zoraken, former mercenaries, the two of them have seen it all, and are absolutely unflappable in a crisis. Good people to have at my back.
“You know the plan. The mercenaries on Neiptiun think we’re a visiting Docarro audit team. Hani’vi, you know what to do. The rest of us will be masquerading as her private security team. Once again, visors down, no open comms. With any luck, we’ll be in and out of there and into a wormhole before they discover they’ve been robbed. Anyone have any questions? Nope? Okay, let’s go.”
“Something’s wrong.” Our shuttle is almost at Neiptiun when Soren’s voice sounds in my ear. “You’re close enough that I can run a sweep for sentients, and so I did.”
“And?”
“According to my readings, there’s no one there. No mercenaries. No refugees. The ship is abandoned.”
Fuck. “They knew we were coming?” Even if they did, why would they evacuate? That doesn’t make any sense. It’d be much easier for them to blow us out of the sky. “Are they gone?” A grim thought strikes me. “Or are they dead?”
“I don’t know,” Soren replies. “I can’t hack into their visual feeds until you get on board and patch me in, you know that.”
I do know that.
Anxiety prickles at me. I look around the small shuttle. The strike team is staring at me, waiting for me to make a decision about what to do next.
I don’t care about putting my life in danger, but I don’t want to lead my team into an ambush. There’s a small part of me that’s tempted to comm Thel and ask him what I should do, but then I remember Zabek, and resolve hardens my spine.
I’m the second-in-command of the Mahala. I’m in charge of this strike team. This decision needs to be mine, and mine alone.
The mercenaries Docarro hired were trained, battle-hardened soldiers. Something either killed them all, took them prisoner, or terrified them enough that they fled.
I make up my mind. “There’s a possibility that something’s interfering with Soren’s sensors. We go in. Everyone, high alert.”
Our caution is unwarranted. There’s no one on board the colony ship. No soldiers, no corpses. They’ve just vanished into thin air.
I don’t like this. Not one little bit.
I plug Soren’s gadget into a port. Less than five minutes later, the sound of his swearing fills my ears. I let him freak out for a full minute and then cut him off. “Soren, calm down and explain.”
“There’s a gap,” he says, his voice vibrating with frustration. “Three hours ago, everything was normal. I have readings from every floor. The mercenaries were patrolling the levels, sending and receiving comms, boasting about the size of their…” His voice trails off.
“Penises?” I ask wryly. “You can say it. I have heard the word before.”
“Yes.” Soren sounds embarrassed. “Sorry about that, Chief Officer. I thought humans don’t discuss sex. Two hours ago, their comms went dead. Something jammed their signals. There are no readings for an hour and a half.”
Something—someone—jammed our signals a week ago. The handsome, mysterious man with no testing tattoos. Coincidence? Or something more sinister?
“To the vault,” I order. I have a very bad feeling about this.
The vault is open. It’s almost empty—it’s pretty clear that someone’s robbed it already. This morning, there were eighteen billion credits here. Now, not even a tenth
of that.
Don’t get me wrong. A billion credits is one hell of a haul. But it’s not what we came for. It’s not the record.
I’ve failed.
I stew in my rage all the way back to the Mahala. “Find out who did this,” I bark at Soren as soon as the shuttle door swings open and the ramp slides to the ground. “Find out who took our money.” I don’t understand technology very well—there was no electricity in the cabin I grew up in, let alone a computer—but Soren is a genius. Given enough time, he’ll figure it out.
“Yes, Chief Officer.”
I turn to Thel, who’s leaning heavily on his walking stick, and activate the cone of silence in my armor. “It’s either the stranger, or you have a traitor in your spy network.”
“I hope it’s the former,” he says soberly. “I don’t mind losing the money, but the person who sent me the information on Docarro is family to me.”
“You don’t mind losing eighteen billion credits? That’s not a very pirate-like thing to say, Thel.”
He shrugs. “I don’t have to conform to anyone’s expectations, my dear. Come. Let’s have a drink while Soren hunts for the thief. Lisa brought back a bottle of Vabrian the last time she was at the Ciras Exchange, and she’s willing to share.”
Vabrian is booze, and it’s not the cheap stuff. It’s smooth, creamy, with a hint of nuttiness. I could drink it all day long.
“Why am I celebrating?” I ask bluntly. “This was a disaster.”
Thel shakes his head. “You’re so young, Diana. So full of fire and passion. When you’ve done this for as long as I have, you’ll realize that a mission without casualties is never a disaster.” He looks down at me. “Our team faced no danger, and we walked away with a billion credits. Seems like a good deal to me.”
He’s sugarcoating it. I’ve heard stories of Thel’s exploits. Before the autoimmune disease spread, my mentor wouldn’t have taken this lying down. He’d have found the person who stole from him, and he would have made him regret the day he went up against the Ekton pirate.
