by Zen DiPietro
That meant she should already have everything she needed to figure it out.
Okay, her head. Putting it to the ground. What if he meant electrical grounding? As in, using what was in her head to complete a circuit, through which current could flow.
So what the hell would that mean? The original implant was gone, leaving behind only the damage it had caused. The new implant Brak had given her worked differently. Did Krazinski know that she no longer had the implant Blackout had given her? If he didn’t, his clue was useless.
She could talk to Brak and see if she had any ideas, since she had much more intimate knowledge of the technology. Fallon had no choice, really, if she wanted to pursue this angle. Brak had the data from the research station as well as her own expertise.
What other angles could Fallon work? She sent her chair into a spin and watched her office become a swirl of motion. She closed her eyes.
Without Krazinski, she was left with Colb. As her chair slowed to a stop, she reoriented herself toward the security vaults across the room. Priyanomine made the storage as tamper-proof and durable as possible. And within one compartment lay the splitter Ross had given her.
She could have used it. She could already know everything Colb knew.
If Blackout had ordered her to do that, before all this had happened, she would have. Now she had to weigh morality versus reality. Had she made a mistake in not using what was available to her?
But all this had started because someone had developed technology acknowledged by all PAC members to be wrong. One person’s decision could change the outcomes of billions of lives. Could reshape history.
Which left her with only one question: How could she shape it back the way it was supposed to be?
Hoping Brak could help her find some of the answers she needed, Fallon asked her to come up to her office. It was a long shot, but she couldn’t afford to overlook any possibilities.
“I’m sorry. There’s nothing left of the original implant, and no way to simulate its activity.” Brak lifted a shoulder in contrition, though she had nothing to be sorry for. “The implant I gave you is entirely different. If you’re supposed to somehow use the device you had, that’s just not possible.”
Fallon smelled the vinegar scent of Brak’s regret. If she’d had any lingering wisps of doubt about Brak’s loyalty, that would have ended them. Briveen couldn’t fake their emotive aromas. Some with great self-control could suppress them somewhat, but they couldn’t manufacture a scent they didn’t feel. Just as they were excellent lie detectors, they were terrible liars.
“I thought as much.” Fallon reclined into the sofa cushions. “I’ll have to hope that isn’t the key I need.”
“I could manufacture an implant like it, modeled on the research from the lab. Theoretically.”
Fallon didn’t have to think about it. “No. Bringing more stuff like that into existence is the opposite of what we’re trying to do. Besides, I could never ask that of you.”
“Good. I’m not sure I could have actually brought myself to do it.”
“I’m glad we won’t need to find out,” Fallon agreed. “Do you have any ideas what else ‘put your head to the ground’ could mean?”
“There’s an old saying on Briv.” Brak executed a series of words, growls, and tonal sounds that Fallon could never hope to reproduce. “Roughly translated, it means, ‘She who keeps her head near the ground, can best protect her eggs.’ It’s generally used to caution a young person to be patient.”
“Hm.” Fallon thought it over. “It’s possible that Krazinski was telling me to be patient and wait for my opportunity. Or that I need to stay in place and protect what’s in front of me.”
“Either would seem to make sense. But which would it be?”
“I don’t know. It could be neither. I’ll have to keep looking.” Fallon rubbed her fingers over the short side of her hair.
“I’ll help with whatever I can,” Brak said.
Fallon started to thank her, but her voicecom display made a sharp sound that she’d only ever heard during practice drills. But no drills were scheduled. She and Brak locked eyes, then rushed to the display on her desk.
Admiral Sokolov, Commanding General of the PAC, appeared on the screen. He looked like a kindly yet regal grandfather with his steely hair and gentle gaze.
“Citizens of the Planetary Alliance Cooperative, and friends. Today I must inform you that our government has been the recipient of a terrorist threat that we deemed highly credible. Do not be alarmed by this. We are strong, and always prepared to protect every station and every planet within our alliance.
“Once we verified the threat as credible, we immediately instituted the necessary protocols to ensure our collective safety. Jamestown has been vacated and temporarily disabled, so that no combatant may use it for their own purpose.” His kindly face showed no worry, and his voice was as warm and smooth as a hundred-year-old Sarkavian brandy.
“Do not be alarmed. This is a protocol that keeps PAC command and the entire cooperative safe and strong. Anyone who attempts to attack us, I can assure you, will not succeed. As always, if you have any personal concerns, please contact your local representative, who is already aware of the situation, and your concerns will be addressed.” He paused, smiled, and said, “We are already on the trail of these terrorists, and will bring them to justice. Even a mere threat to the PAC will not go unanswered. Good day, my friends and family.”
The message ended. Brak clacked her teeth in agitation. “That guy’s so smooth, I could almost believe him.”
“Me too.” Fallon understood why command had been forced to issue a statement. Any day, someone might notice that something was wrong at Jamestown. She only hoped that Sokolov’s statement fended off panic.
“Do you think local representatives were already contacted?” Brak asked.
“No. Maybe leaders of PAC bases. Major installations. Everyone else will be expected to play along and say that yes, of course they’re well aware, and there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Funny government you have,” Brak said.
“Hey, your world is a PAC member too, even though you maintain your own planetary government. Most of the time, PAC procedure works. But in times of crisis, a few corners get cut here and there.”
Fallon watched as messages for her began to roll in. They started as a trickle, then became a stream. “I see my work is cut out for me for the rest of the day.”
Brak chuckled. “I’ll let you get started. I have my own work to do.”
“What are you working on now?”
“A pair of cybernetic legs. Farming accident.”
Fallon cringed. “You’re a good person, Brak.”
After Brak left, she indulged herself in a sigh of resignation before answering the first message.
Fallon made a station-wide announcement to reassure everyone, and thought she did a damn good job of it. She even tied in the “training drill” that had locked the station down, explaining it as an abundance of caution and preparedness. She continued responding to messages. Mostly, people just wanted to be reassured. Each time she talked to someone, she felt their tension ease.
Not that people weren’t still worried. They’d have to be idiots not to be concerned about their government disabling its own headquarters and moving to a secret location. But near-panic ebbed to reasonable levels of worry. No doubt the same scenario was playing out in thousands of locations across the PAC zone.
Those other locations weren’t Fallon’s problem, though. She squeezed a meeting with Avian Unit, Ross, and Hesta into her schedule.
In her office she told them, “I think we’re at the point that we need to let Arin know everything that’s going on. I see no benefit in continuing to keep him innocent of our plans.”
Unanimous agreement. Good.
“Per PAC protocol, I will increase training drills, both for security staff, officers, and residents of the station. People would find it odd if I di
dn’t.”
More agreement.
“Am I missing anything?” She looked from one face to the next.
“Any thoughts on finding Colb?” Hesta asked.
“It’s a big universe,” Hawk said.
“He won’t return to Zerellus,” Peregrine added. “He’ll be looking for someplace where he can disappear.”
“Yeah. He’s not going to leave any trail for us.” Fallon wished it could be as easy as tracking him down. “We have to talk to Krazinski. He has the bigger picture in all this. That might tell us what Colb needs and where he might go.”
Hawk scratched at his beard as he thought. “I’m hoping he doesn’t have many allies left, after command cleaned house at Jamestown. That he’s on the run, alone.”
They agreed that until they found Krazinski, their priorities would be protecting Dragonfire, staying aware of what was going on in the PAC zone, and looking for their traitor.
“I’m glad Krazinski seems to be on our side,” Ross said.
“You did have a hard time with the idea of his guilt.” Maybe Fallon should have given his doubts more weight. She had to wonder how that might have changed their actions and their current situation.
“Yeah. It never made sense to me. I hope he’s for real.” Ross kept his hands folded in his lap.
“We all do.” Raptor nodded.
The room went quiet. It seemed they had exhausted all of their discussion topics. “Let me know if you notice anything unusual going on. If morale on Dragonfire takes a turn for the worse, I’ll deputize the four of you and put you to work.” Fallon smiled pleasantly at her team.
And that effectively cleared the room. Except for Hesta, who left at a much more leisurely pace, looking amused.
Fallon took an evening stroll around the station. If people saw her unstressed and going about life as usual, they’d do the same. Command officers always set the tone for those who depended on them.
She didn’t return to her quarters until well into the night. She’d missed her chance to check in on Wren. By now, she would be sleeping. Fallon would check on her first thing in the morning.
After a long, steamy shower, she dried off and wrapped a towel around herself, then began drying her hair. Leaning forward, she called out, “You can quit hiding and come in here.”
“Aw. How did you know?”
She turned to watch Raptor come into her bedroom. “I suspected you’d show up tonight, so I was listening extra hard.”
“And I thought I was being extra quiet,” he teased as he pulled her close and mussed her hair.
“Stop that. I just got it all smoothed out.”
“It’s going to get messed up when you sleep on it anyway. Besides, it’s cute when your hair’s all wild.”
“Are you sleeping over?” she asked.
“Am I invited?”
“Yes.” She’d been hoping he’d show up. She’d considered going to his quarters, but she needed to remain in her own, in case someone came looking for her.
“Then yes.”
“I’ll be asleep as soon as I stop moving, so you should go ahead and shower.” She pointed to the necessary, as if he didn’t know where it was.
He tugged on her towel. “If you’re on a timer, how about we make better use of the minutes you have left and I can shower while you’re sleeping?”
His suggestive smile made her grin.
“Deal.”
A minor emergency with a hazardous spill in Docking Bay Five messed up Fallon’s entire morning schedule. She tried contacting Wren via the voicecom twice, but failed to connect with her.
She spent the entire day playing catch-up. At the end of it, she tracked Wren down in person. She’d put off checking in with her for too long. She checked the mechanics’ shop, since she’d finished her shift on Deck One, but when Wren wasn’t there, Fallon headed up to general crew quarters.
The doors to Wren’s quarters opened before Fallon could touch the chime. She pulled her hand back. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize you were going out. I won’t keep you.”
Based on Wren’s attire, Fallon guessed Wren had a date.
Wren’s cheeks pinkened. She made blushing a very pretty thing. “No, it’s okay. I’m early anyway. Do you want to come in for a minute?”
“I won’t hold you up. I just wanted to check on you. Make sure you’re okay with all that’s been going on lately.”
Wren laughed, but it was a little high-pitched and uncomfortable sounding. Not at all her usual confident self. “Actually, I’ve been a little on edge. But I’m sure things will be fine. Of course they will.” She smiled gamely.
“I’m sorry all this has rattled you. You’re not the only one. Fortunately, most people on the station are trying to take it all in stride.”
Wren’s smile became more genuine. “People who live on space stations are a sturdy bunch. We’ll be fine.”
“If you ever need anything, you know you can call me anytime.”
“I know. Thank you.”
The conversation lagged for a moment too long. “Well, have a good evening. I should get going.”
As she strode away, Fallon tried to shake off the awkward encounter. She’d only meant to make sure Wren was doing okay. She hadn’t meant to make her uncomfortable. It seemed that Wren wasn’t as breezy about seeing Fallon and dating someone else as she’d thought she’d be.
Fallon had almost made it back to her quarters when her comport alerted her. A call from the captain. Hesta. Whatever.
She hurried through the doors and took the call in private.
“Fallon here.”
“Chief, I was wondering if you’d like to join me for a drink.”
Fallon stared dumbly at the screen. She shook herself and quickly said, “Yes. Of course. That will be an interesting first.”
Hesta smiled wryly. “I know. Work with me here. I’m breaking old habits.”
“Difficult and honorable work,” Fallon said. “When and where?” She didn’t know whether Hesta was thinking of a night out, or a personal tête-à-tête.
“The pub. Twenty minutes?”
“I’ll be there.” Fallon wondered what a night out with Hesta Nevitt would be like.
She was about to find out.
7
Fallon had to hand it to the people of Dragonfire Station. They faced a terrorist situation unlike anything they’d seen in history, along with an uncertain future. And now their previously antisocial captain sat in the bar, sipping a startlingly dark-green beverage.
And yet people simply carried on with their lives. They’d continued doing their jobs as scheduled, and no major freak-outs had been reported. All things considered, Dragonfire Station’s people kept their shit together nicely. Fallon was proud of them.
“Zerellian ale,” she said to the bartender as she passed by on her way to Hesta’s table. Then she stopped and turned back. “Actually. What’s that the captain’s drinking?”
“Cordovan whisky,” the captain called loudly, causing a few heads to turn.
“Give me a Cordovan whisky,” Fallon told him.
“Instead of the ale?” he asked.
“In addition to.” She joined Hesta at her table. “Your invitation was a pleasant surprise.”
Hesta toasted her with the whisky. “You know what? I’m aiming at being surprising lately.”
“I have to admit, I find that deeply intriguing. Say more.”
Hesta laughed. Again, heads turned, but people only glanced at the captain before returning to their own conversations, smiling.
Fallon could practically feel the mood of the place lifting. If the captain was in the pub, laughing and having a good time, things couldn’t be too bad, right?
Hesta might be a genius.
Fallon’s drinks arrived, and she toasted Hesta with her own whisky. “To the most puzzling person I’ve ever had the pleasure to serve under.”
She tossed back the whisky and felt a roar of fire race down her throat, into her
chest, and quite possibly begin to burn her alive from the inside out.
“A fan of Cordovan whisky?” Hesta asked as she took a swig of her own.
“First time trying it,” Fallon admitted, attempting to seem unaffected by the liquid fire that seemed intent on consuming her.
“First lesson—don’t down it.” Hesta looked like she was trying not to laugh.
“Lesson learned.” Fallon took a drink of her ale. It had its own kick rather than being soothing, but she figured the more alcohol she had, and the sooner she had it, the less she’d care about her burning throat and sinuses.
“To what do I owe the honor?” she asked Hesta. “You could have invited anyone.”
“I invited you.”
“That’s not an answer,” Fallon pointed out. “Since I already knew that.”
“It’s the answer you’re getting.” Hesta’s eyes crinkled in amusement.
“All right.”
They watched each other. Challenging. Measuring.
“You’ve gone quiet.” Hesta sipped her whisky.
“Just waiting for you to start the conversation.”
“I thought I had.”
“No, those were only the preliminary ground rules.”
Hesta laughed again. It was a rich, warm sound. “I should know better than to try to go toe-to-toe with someone in your line of work. Fine. Truth is, I want us to get to know one another better. Nothing more. So in the interest of doing so, you can ask me any question. I’ll give you a truthful answer.”
“Now that’s an opening salvo.” Fallon folded her napkin in a geometric pattern as she considered. “A lot of pressure though. I need to think of a good one.” She took her time, considering her options. Finally she made her decision. “Okay. What kind of name is Hesta?”
“I give you access to any detail, and that’s what you ask?”
“Yep.”
Hesta shook her head in amused puzzlement. “You’re an odd one. But okay. It’s a family name. Comes up among the girls every three or four generations. It’s a variation of the name Hester, which is an ancient Earth name, and means ‘star.’”
