Calculated Risk

by Zen DiPietro

  Blackthorn felt different than the last time he’d visited. As Cabot walked through its corridors, he didn’t sense the usual atmosphere of lively enthusiasm, whether it be for diplomacy, commerce, or scientific advances. Instead, he felt almost like a malignant presence had latched onto the station, forcing people away from the boardwalk and away from pleasant endeavors.

  People he passed didn’t smile or bow or pay him much mind at all, actually. They were too preoccupied to bother with him.

  Frightened, no doubt, by the war that had broken out, only a matter of days away from them. In a mere handful of days, the fastest of ships could break from Zankarti and arrive at Blackthorn.

  That put them on a frontier, of sorts, with danger practically knocking on their door.

  He’d hoped to see a more celebratory mood, since the PAC had blasted Barony out of the Zankarti system. PAC ships still patrolled the region, making the actual danger to Blackthorn an unlikely possibility, at least for the moment. But nobody was celebrating.

  Instead, the Barony war had become real to these people, who could no longer deny that things were as bad as people said.

  Cabot sorely missed the positive attitudes and relatively cheerful hard work. Those qualities had been what had drawn him to settling down at Dragonfire Station.

  When he entered the shop, Jim Iwo’s smile was no less welcoming than it had always been.

  “Cabot! What a welcome surprise.” Jim stepped close and offered his forearm for a Rescan elbow-grasping greeting though Jim was human.

  “It’s good to see you, Jim, though not so good to see Blackthorn looking this depressed.”

  Jim’s smile dimmed. “The mood has been on a steady decline, and when PAC command announced the battle with Barony in the Zankarti system, the mood took a nosedive. Even people who were determined to be optimistic have gone pale and tense.”

  Jim gestured to a pair of wingback chairs he had on display. “Care to sit?”

  “Sure. I’ll be careful not to affect the sale value.”

  Jim shook his head. “Nobody’s buying. My sales aren’t even covering my space rental right now.”

  “How long can you hang in if you’re not making any money?” Cabot asked, concerned.

  “Oh, I’ve got my savings. The way I figure it, the one small thing I can do to help the PAC is to continue life as usual—providing people with a place to buy furnishings and gifts. I’ve focused on higher-end goods in recent years, but I’m bringing in more basic, budget-minded options now. People are more interested in those. I can manage for a good year or more before I need to close up shop.”

  A pang of worry hit Cabot in the chest. “I hate to hear that, both for you and for Blackthorn. Let me know if things get hard, okay? You can fall back on me.”

  Jim smiled, looking tired. “Thank you. That means a lot. And the same goes for you. If things go wrong on Dragonfire, you can always come here.”

  “That’s kind of you, but I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “So what brings you to Blackthorn?” Jim folded his hands in his lap and leaned back into his chair, looking glad for a chance to take a rest.

  Cabot debated on how much to tell Jim. He was a trustworthy man, no doubt about it, with good principles, but he was far from having any PAC clearance. “Would it surprise you to know that I was there, in the Zankarti system, when it all went down?”

  Jim’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t look shocked. “That’s certainly interesting to hear. But what does this have to do with me?”

  Cabot smiled. “I like how quick you are on the uptake. Always have. I’m telling you this because, in a roundabout way, Ditnya Caine is involved in current events, and I need to find her as soon as possible. For the safety of the PAC.”

  “And you think someone like me, who refuses any goods with a dubious history and never does business with shady characters, would know something about Overseer Caine?”

  “You may stay away from it all, but I know you’re aware of more than you let on. That’s just good business. Between you and me, we know a whole lot of people in the trade, and surely someone knows something. Ditnya Caine can’t just meander the galaxy without being noticed.”

  Jim chewed his bottom lip. “How long are you going to be around?”

  “Depends on how long you think you need.”

  Jim smiled wryly. “Give me two days. If I can’t find anything out in that time, it means I’m not going to find anything out.”

  “I owe you one,” Cabot said.

  “No,” Jim denied. “If you can help return the PAC to how things should be, I’ll still owe you one.”

  “I’m doing my best.”

  “How did you get mixed up in this stuff, anyway?” Jim peered at him, curious.

  “It’s so convoluted I barely remember anymore.” Cabot chuckled. “I seem to remember a woman who wasn’t what she seemed, pulling me into her web of intrigue.”

  “Ahh. I’ve known one or two of that type, myself.”

  “Not like this.” Cabot didn’t want to get into a bragging contest about who knew the most troublesome people, but he was certain Jim didn’t have a woman like Fallon among his close companions.

  “You might be surprised. I’ve known ambassadors, admirals, and runaways. Why, once, I even knew a Briveen who—” he broke off. “Well, that’s not my story to tell. But I assure you, it was impressive.”

  “I’m sure it was. But nothing like this woman, who can not only kill you thirty-two different ways with her eyes closed, but also—” he cut himself off just as abruptly as Jim had. “Well, if I told you, she might have to kill you.”

  Jim laughed, finally sounding like his old self. “Let’s not do that, then.”

  “Agreed. So, with that out of the way, what do you say to getting some lunch?”

  “Let me see if I can spare the time.” Jim looked to his left, then to his right, checking his empty store. “Sure, let’s go.”

  After a pleasant lunch with Jim, Cabot investigated who else was on Blackthorn and tracked down every single person. He offered them generous bribes for any leads he could substantiate. So far, no one had given him any useful information, but he was hopeful. Money had a way of motivating people.

  Late in the evening, he finally made it back to his room, exhausted.

  He hadn’t expected a sleeping Nagali to be curled up on his bed, clad in a surprisingly modest and girlish nightgown, but there she was.

  He tucked a blanket around her bare feet, then noticed the infoboard on the side table beside her.

  Tried to wait up for you, but too tired. Might have come up with something. Will see you tomorrow. I hope you had some luck. Don’t wake me up or I’ll poison your tea. Love, Nagali.

  He laughed, but quietly, to avoid waking her.

  Cabot awoke to Nagali’s face hovering above him.

  Nagali was a beautiful woman, even on her worst days, but waking up to anyone’s eyes inches from him would have been startling.

  “Ahh!” Cabot gasped.

  Nagali cackled like a loon. “Remember when I used to do that?”

  “Vividly.”

  She lay back down next to him and snuggled against his side. “It’s like the old days.”

  Somehow, it really was. “Except for the war and us chasing down Ditnya Caine.”

  “Details,” she scoffed. “It was always sort of like that. Business is a war of opposing forces and elements that are constantly changing. And if we weren’t hunting her, we were hunting someone else, or a deal, or a supplier. It’s all just a variation on the same game.”

  “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. I still have this feeling that everything that was good is slipping away, though.” He hadn’t meant to say that. His sadness over the PAC’s losses went deep, and he didn’t expect her to understand.

  “At least we’re old,” she said, sounding philosophical. “If things get really bad, then so what, because we’ll be dead soon anyway.”

 
; He covered his face with his hand. “Maybe you’re old. I plan to live another forty or fifty years.”

  “Not in the shape you’re in. You can’t even run fifty meters without getting out of breath. If you want to see decades more, you’d better start exercising.”

  “It’s already on my to-do list,” he admitted.

  “Well, good.” She reached over and patted his cheek, accidentally poking him in the eye in the process.

  “Ow!”

  “What happened?”

  “You poked me in the eye!” He pressed his hand to it.

  “Did I?” She sat up on her knees and leaned over him. “Let me see.”

  “No, you’ll decide to poke the other one to make them match.” He warded her off with his other arm.

  She sat back. “Yeah. That sounds like something I’d do.”

  He laughed, and she joined in. The louder he laughed, the more she cackled, until they were both howling to the point of tears.

  And it wasn’t just from his poked eye, either.

  “Why do I even like you?” he wondered. “You’re terrible.”

  She grinned. “Because I know I’m terrible, and I don’t mind that you know it, either. And you dig that about me.”

  It was true.

  He sighed, rubbing his eye, which began to feel better. “I guess we should check in with Omar.”

  “Do we have to? If he’d come up with something, he’d have said so. Besides, if he’s not working on it, he’s probably with that Peregrine woman.”

  He’d never asked her about her brother’s relationship. “What do you think about the two of them?”

  She turned to put her feet on the floor, putting her back to him. “I guess it’s okay, if he’s happy. Seems like a weird choice for him, though.”

  “Imagine someone like that as an in-law, though.”

  She stood and turned to look at him, eyes wide with suddenly imagined possibilities. “You’re right! I didn’t think of it that way. I should work on pushing those two closer together!”

  She stalked off to the kitchenette like a soldier going to war.

  “I’ll take a shower.” In the necessary, Cabot quietly but gleefully laughed at the bomb he’d chucked Omar’s way.

  “Cabot.”

  He wasn’t a fan of being interrupted in the shower. He was even less of a fan of being interrupted by a black ops officer.

  Peeking over the top of the shower, he peered out at Fallon. With no other options but to work with what he had, he gave her his shopkeeper’s benign smile. “What can I do for you, Chief?”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly and he hoped she didn’t take his words for a double entendre. He hadn’t intended them that way.

  “We got something. Meet us at Docking Bay 9 as soon as possible.”

  “Okay. You could have just told Nagali to tell me.”

  She frowned. “I don’t trust that woman.”

  “That’s wise. I can be dressed and on the move in five minutes.”

  She nodded, making an unnerving amount of eye contact. “See you there.”

  They were underway before Cabot could even find out what new information they’d received.

  He, Nagali, and Omar met with Fallon and her team, along with Rigby, in the basic but comfortable meeting room on the Nefarious. Fallon didn’t seem to have much interest in decorating, but at least the chairs had adjustable backs and padded seats.

  He’d almost forgotten about Rigby aboard Blackthorn. Had Fallon been teaching her things about taking down a government? He hoped so.

  “Ditnya’s gone to Sato,” Fallon said without preamble as soon as they were all seated.

  “Sato?” That was about the last place Cabot would have expected.

  “She’s contracted a hospi-ship named the Kuponya and is going to rendezvous with it there.”

  “What could she want with a hospi-ship?” Nagali wondered.

  At the same time, Omar asked, “How did you discover this?”

  Fallon looked to Nagali. “We don’t know.” Then she shifted her gaze to Omar. “We can’t say.”

  Brother and sister sighed in irritation.

  “But,” Fallon continued, “since Sato is in your home star system, I’m authorized to offer you a per diem rate for joining us and assisting us while there.”

  Brother and sister brightened.

  They were so much more alike than they’d ever admit.

  “I take it we’re already underway?” Nagali asked.

  Cabot wondered if she’d be annoyed at Fallon’s presumption that they’d take the job. Or pretend to be annoyed. Or do something else completely unanticipated.

  “We are,” Peregrine said, speaking for the first time since entering the room.

  “What’s the per diem rate?” Nagali pressed.

  Peregrine said, “A thousand cubics a day, each.”

  “Two thousand,” Nagali declared.

  “One thousand.

  Nagali frowned. “Eighteen hundred.”

  “A thousand.”

  “Fifteen hundred.”

  “Nine hundred.” Peregrine’s voice somehow grew frostier each time she spoke.

  “That is not how you bargain,” Nagali sputtered.

  “Maybe it’s not how you bargain,” Hawk said. “But it is how we bargain.”

  Nagali had never been a graceful loser. She huffed, crossed her arms, and looked like a petulant child, but said no more.

  She would probably do something, at some point, to get even. Though whether that would be some little prank or a terrible betrayal, Cabot didn’t know.

  “Any theories?” Cabot asked, to get the conversation back on track.

  “No. This makes no sense to us, either. We’re working on it.” Raptor finally spoke up.

  Of Fallon’s teammates, Cabot knew Raptor and Hawk the least. Maybe this would provide an opportunity to remedy that. Raptor’s medical skills had come as a big surprise, and Cabot wondered what other abilities these people had that he hadn’t guessed at.

  At least he was traveling with highly capable people.

  “We’ll arrive at Sato in a week. While it would be great to catch up to Ditnya on the way, that’s statistically unlikely to the point of being impossible. Hopefully by the time we get there, we’ll have an idea of what she’s up to.” Fallon looked from person to person as she talked.

  “We’ll keep you apprised of any new information as we get it. I encourage each of you to continue reaching out to your contacts to see if there’s any hint of what she’s up to. Any questions?” she asked.

  Cabot spoke up. “I’m capable of taking a duty shift at the helm, if you like. Though, to be honest, Rigby has much better skills than I do.”

  “Rigby will be training with me, so we’ll have the shifts handled, but thank you, Cabot. It’s a kind offer.”

  He suspected she didn’t want to entrust her big, fancy ship to him, and truthfully, he didn’t blame her. He had a pretty good handle on piloting the Outlaw, but the Nefarious was a brutish war fighter of a ship, and in a completely different class.

  Fallon looked around, but no one asked additional questions. “Dismissed, then. Let me know if you get any leads, even a weak one. Or if you just have an idea. We’re nowhere with this one, so far.”

  As Cabot walked back to his quarters, he tuned out Nagali’s complaints about refusing to bargain their per diem rate. Instead, he wondered why Ditnya would want a hospi-ship, and why she would rendezvous with it in the Rescissitan system. Was it just the most convenient location, or was there more to it?

  It made no sense.

  He needed to find some answers.

  10

  As they approached the Rescissitan system, Cabot’s thoughts kept returning to a single word.

  Home.

  Like many star systems, it went by a collective name that was the same as the first planet inhabited by people. It got confusing sometimes, in that a person from Sato was both a Satonian and a Rescan, but being from
the planet Rescissitan, Cabot was only Rescan. To confuse things further, people sometimes referred to the region as the Rescan system, after the people who inhabited it.

  Sometimes he missed his home system. There was something indescribable about being in the place that seemed to be embedded into his bones. A place with a unique landscape that looked prettier to him than any others in the universe, and smells that were far more appealing.

  He hadn’t visited in four years. The number surprised him, once he’d added it up. How had so much time passed away while he lived on Dragonfire?

  A birthplace home was one thing, he supposed, while a home chosen because it spoke to him of a life he wanted was something else entirely. He felt connected to them both, but differently.

  He watched Sato loom closer then become too large to see. The station came into view and he watched as they approached it to dock.

  “Here we go again,” he said to himself, feeling as old as Nagali had accused him of being, just that morning.

  The nice thing about being on his home turf was that if something was going on, Cabot would be able to find out what.

  Inexplicably—or perhaps inevitably—Nagali continued to wear her Zankarti silver and purple curve-hugging bodysuit.

  “What?” she asked when she arrived at the airlock to join the rest of them and noticed some prolonged gazes.

  Rigby spoke up. “I’m puzzled as to why you wish to appear as a Zankarti official.”

  “First off, you need to knock off that prim way of speaking,” Nagali said. “You’ll get your ass kicked here for that kind of thing. And secondly, I have no interest in looking like an official. No one here will recognize this outfit, and it’s not only comfortable but I look amazing in it.” She ran her hands down her sides and over her hips.

  Rigby frowned. “There’s something displeasing about my speech?”

  Nagali rolled her eyes. “Yes. You should say, ‘What’s wrong with how I talk?’ or something like that. You’re going to stick out, and sticking out isn’t good.”

  Nagali jabbed a finger at Fallon. “Follow that one’s lead. She’s good. If she’d taken a different path, she’d have made a good trader.”