Suicide Run

by Nathan Lowell

  Natalya took a sip and placed the mug back on the surface with a quiet click. “Depends on who sees it and where it happens, I suppose,” Natalya said.

  “And who knew about the first one,” Zoya said.

  Natalya nodded. “That, too.”

  “I’d have expected there to be more gossip,” Zoya said.

  “Depends on who knows what and how fast things are moving here, I suppose.”

  “What? You think she hasn’t confronted Downs?”

  Natalya lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “Maybe it’s not Downs. We’re assuming based on a cryptic message.”

  Zoya lifted her coffee and blew across the top of the mug, her eyes narrowing. “Possible,” she said after a few heartbeats. “It’s more likely she hasn’t taken any action yet.”

  “What’s she waiting for?” Natalya said, more to herself than Zoya.

  “Maybe for us to get back.” Zoya shrugged and sipped her coffee. “Maybe she’ll tell us over dinner.”

  “What’s with the airlock?”

  “Maybe it’s a simple production problem. The first prototype had an airlock issue.”

  Natalya shot an incredulous look across the table.

  Zoya chuckled. “It could happen.” She paused and looked into her mug. “I’m pondering the different ways something unfortunate could happen in an airlock.”

  “Probably the easiest would be to jimmy the cycle control. You get in and punch the cycle button to open the outer door, but instead of cycling—poof,” Natalya said. “Out like the trash.”

  “Ouch.” Zoya winced.

  “Wouldn’t take that much,” Natalya said. “Somebody on the inside punching the eject buttons with a person in the lock.” She shrugged. “It’s almost impossible to protect against authorized execution of routine actions taken with bad intent.”

  Zoya tilted her mug up and drained it. “Shall we?”

  Natalya nodded and followed suit. She held up her thumb toward Sandra.

  “It’s on the house,” Sandra said with a smile and a wave. “See you at breakfast.” She paused for a beat before saying, “I’ll expect gossip then.”

  Natalya grinned and nodded. “If we have any by then, we’ll share.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  Natalya followed Zoya through the door and back down the passageway toward the ship. They stopped at the dock. Natalya eyed the lock’s control keys.

  Zoya glanced at her. “You worried?”

  “Notice anything odd?”

  Zoya frowned and examine the controls. “No override?”

  Natalya nodded. “If I were designing a station, I’d only have the overrides on a couple of carefully controlled locks.”

  “What if you didn’t need an override?” Zoya asked.

  “How would that work?”

  Zoya shrugged. “You get in, find the outer door closed and press the cycle button. Somebody comes along and keys the inner door while the cycle is running. Wouldn’t take much of a software change to read that as ‘eject’ and open the outer door.”

  Natalya felt her breath leave her in a rush. “Even simpler to change it back.”

  Zoya scratched her nose with an index finger. “Maybe not easier, but certainly no more difficult. Hiding your tracks after might be a little harder, but it would depend on your systems access. Maintenance activity is normally logged somewhere.” She nodded at the lock controls. “Feeling brave?”

  Natalya contemplated that notion for several long moments before keying the lock open. Both doors opened onto the hangar. She shrugged and stepped through into the docking bay. “This lock’s too exposed. Too much chance of error. It’ll need to be one that can’t space the wrong target.”

  “You think whoever’s doing this is that careful?”

  Natalya shrugged as she keyed the lock on the Peregrine. “I think they’ll want to keep the number of incidents down. Too many ‘accidents’ would give the game away. They’ve already had one. Two is coincidence. Three would be highly suspicious.” She shook her head. “No. If there’s another one, it won’t be on an obvious lock. It’ll be obscure.”

  “Like the prototype?”

  Natalya considered that as she stepped aboard her ship. “That would be my guess. Most likely while underway where it would happen quickly and without witnesses.”

  “How would that happen?” Zoya asked. “It’s not something you’re likely to test on a shakedown.”

  Natalya stopped in the passageway. “No, but it wouldn’t be too hard to jimmy the lock so that both doors open at once on some kind of timer or computer trigger.”

  “I didn’t think the inner door could open against a vacuum,” Zoya said.

  “It can’t,” Natalya said stopping at the door to her stateroom. “But if the lock is pressurized before the key sequence triggers, there’s no vacuum inside so both doors can open and depressurize the whole ship.”

  Zoya’s eyes widened. “And no airtight hatch between the bridge and the lock on the new ship.”

  Natalya nodded at the cockpit just ahead of them at the end of the passageway. “None here, either.”

  “Design flaw?”

  Natalya pondered that for a moment. “I don’t know. It never occurred to me that it might be a problem until just this tick. Getting into the Peregrine’s systems to set that kind of booby-trap would be exceptionally difficult without the command override codes.” She paused, chewing on her bottom lip.

  “But not on the prototype,” Zoya finished the thought.

  “Probably not on Pittman’s yacht either,” Natalya said. “Wonder how much ‘routine maintenance’ she gets done here.”

  Zoya’s eyebrows shot up. “Maybe something we should ask her about?” She paused. “Are we being paranoid?”

  “It’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you,” Natalya said, a tiny smile flickering across her mouth. “The problem is that we still don’t know who—if anybody—is trying to set the project up for failure.”

  “True,” Zoya said. “All the evidence seems to be circumstantial at best.”

  “Yeah, but if it looks, quacks, and swims ...” she shrugged.

  Zoya nodded. “We better get a move on. It’s almost time.”

  “Still makes me nervous not knowing what Downs’s status is,” Natalya said. “You’d think there’d be more scuttlebutt if he’d been sacked.”

  “Maybe he hasn’t been.”

  “Yet,” Natalya said. “Which makes me think Pittman has a surprise in store for him.”

  Zoya snorted. “Or us.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about,” Natalya said.

  “We won’t know until we get there. Better get changed.” Zoya stepped into her stateroom and latched the door behind her with a click.

  Natalya sighed and considered what she’d wear. She closed her own door and pondered her wardrobe. She popped open her gravtrunk and pulled down a tab in the top, revealing a collection of weapons. “Accessories,” she said. “This calls for the proper accessories.”

  Chapter 23

  Pulaski Yards

  2366, May 13

  ALISON PITTMAN ANSWERED her own door with a sheepish grin. “Come in.” She stepped back to let them enter, then bolted the door behind them. Natalya noted the physical bolt and raised an eyebrow. Pittman shrugged. “I never really trust electronic locks,” she said.

  “Bitter experience?” Zoya asked.

  “Something like that,” she said and led them down a short corridor into a modestly sized living-dining room. Delicious smells wafted out of the kitchen. The space seemed spartan, as if she’d never moved in. “Dinner will be ready in a few ticks. I hope you like pasta.”

  “I’ll eat anything,” Natalya said. “Pasta sounds lovely and that sauce smells divine.”

  Zoya nodded. “It really does.”

  Pittman stood awkwardly in the middle of the room as if unsure about what to do with guests. “Make yourselves comfortable.” She gestured at the l
iving room. “Wine?” The question was almost an afterthought.

  “I’ll have some with dinner,” Zoya said.

  “Yeah, that’s fine with me, too,” Natalya said, lowering herself onto the nearest couch.

  Pittman nodded. “Let me just check the kitchen.” She scuttled through the door, disappearing into the next room.

  “She seems a bit rattled,” Zoya said, taking a seat beside Natalya.

  “Something’s not quite right here.”

  Pittman came out of the kitchen and settled across from them. “Well.” She examined her hands for a long moment. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking up. “You were right. I was wrong.”

  “You took a physical inventory?” Natalya asked.

  She nodded. “I tapped one of the dockworkers to help me.” She looked to where her fingers writhed in her lap and then forcibly flattened her hands on the tops of her thighs. “He knew what he was looking at and we ran a fresh inventory on the fixtures storage.” She shrugged. “There were a lot more units there than should have been. Worse, some of the crates were empty.”

  “You opened them?” Zoya asked.

  Pittman looked at her lap again. “He did. I didn’t know enough to look.”

  After a too-long pause Natalya spoke. “So, Ms. Pittman? Pardon my asking, but what did you do before you got tapped for this job?”

  “Alison, please,” she said. “I was in charge of HR for High Tortuga Holding Company.” Her spine straightened and she stared straight ahead, looking somewhere between Natalya and Zoya but not looking at either. “I was very good at my job.”

  “I’m sure you were,” Zoya said. “Lots of work. Many people reporting to you. A critical role in the organization.”

  Pittman’s gaze jerked to Zoya. “That’s ... not the usual reaction.”

  Zoya chuckled. “My grandmother always said the company isn’t a company without the right people. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be in Toe-Hold space.”

  “It was a challenge. Finding the right people. People with the right skills and attitudes,” Pittman sighed. “Keeping all the balls in the air made me a pretty good juggler.”

  “Sounds like you enjoyed it,” Natalya said. “So why’d you take this position?”

  Pittman sighed and offered a shrug, looking around the room—anywhere but at Natalya. “I thought I was bored. It was a dead-end position. Head of the department and no more rungs to climb.”

  “You didn’t want to move up to one of the management slots?” Zoya asked.

  “That was a management slot. No place to go except into one of the chief slots—CEO, CFO—and those people weren’t going anywhere. My boss was the chief operating officer. I had about as much chance of replacing him as walking outside without a suit.”

  “Not even with the new divisions opening up?” Natalya asked.

  “All those slots are filled already. Have been for over a stanyer. I helped fill most of them.” Pittman looked down, seeming to notice her hands had started grappling with each other again. She pressed them palm down. “I was passed over.”

  A ting-ting-ting sounded from the kitchen and Pittman stood as if shot from a gun. “Dinner’s ready. Shall we dine?”

  “I think we better before I drool down my shirt,” Natalya said. “That smells wonderful.”

  Pittman gave a small smile and nodded at the table. “Just give me a moment to get it on the table.”

  “We can help,” Zoya said. They followed Pittman into the tidy kitchen and soon had a baked pasta dish, fresh bread, and a large bowl of salad positioned on the table. The requisite dishing out took only a few moments. Natalya and Zoya addressed the meal and left the obviously uncomfortable discussion for later.

  Natalya pushed back from the table slightly, a bit surprised that her plate and glass lay empty before her. She looked up with a grin. “That was wonderful, Alison. If you decide to give up this management thing, you have a real future as a chef.”

  Pittman grinned back. “I love cooking, but seldom have a good excuse. I think you’re the first people I’ve had to dinner since I got here.”

  “Why’s that?” Zoya asked.

  Pittman shrugged. “You know how it is. Bosses and help. When you’re the boss, you can’t get too friendly with your staff.”

  Natalya felt her eyebrows rise at that.

  Zoya nodded. “Never know when you might have to fire them.”

  Pittman’s head twitched just slightly to one side. “Well, no. It’s not that. It’s just difficult to maintain proper discipline with your friends.” She shrugged again. “I’m the director. Everybody here reports to me and I wouldn’t want to put them—or me—in a difficult position.”

  “Doesn’t that apply to us?” Natalya asked.

  Pittman pursed her lips. “You’re contractors. Not on my org chart.” She sighed. “And I owed you an apology.”

  Zoya finished scraping the last of the pasta off her plate and pushed it toward the middle of the table. “Well, Alison, anytime you want to cook for us, feel free. That was unbelievable.”

  “You two don’t eat well on that ship?”

  Natalya glanced at Zoya. “We eat fine, but it’s mostly ready-to-eat freezer food. Zoya’s a pretty good cook when we’re not underway and can take the time.”

  Zoya grinned. “Natalya’s not so bad either. It’s just when we’re underway, there’s always something more important than fixing a meal.”

  Pittman nodded and offered a smile. “I don’t cook like this for just myself, either.” She paused, casting her gaze across the table. “If we’re done here, would anybody care for dessert? I’ve a bit of cheesecake and fresh strawberries.”

  Natalya felt her eyes widening. “Where’d you get fresh strawberries?”

  “Grew them. The hydroponics team on station here does wonders. They’re not the same as grown in dirt under direct radiation, but they’re not bad.”

  “I haven’t had strawberries since we left Port Newmar,” Zoya said.

  Pittman tilted her head to one side. “You were on Port Newmar?”

  Zoya seemed to freeze for a moment. “You didn’t know?” she asked.

  “Why would I?” Pittman asked.

  Natalya nudged Zoya’s arm. “Looks like we’re rubbing the fleet off you.”

  “I figured you’d have run a background check on us,” Zoya said with a grimace at Natalya.

  Pittman sat back in her seat. “I thought Dorion had.” She pursed her lips. “I probably should have. It would have been the first thing I’d have done in my old job.” She looked at Zoya. “What would I have found?”

  “Nothing too incriminating, I hope,” Zoya said. “You mentioned strawberries?”

  Pittman laughed. “I did. Come help me dish up.” She stood and gathered surplus plates and cutlery with their help.

  Once settled again over tea and cheesecake, Pittman looked at Zoya. “So, you never answered. You were at the academy?”

  Zoya nodded at Natalya. “We were roommates.”

  “You stayed together after?” Pittman’s eyes widened. “That’s rather unusual, isn’t it?”

  “She had a ship. I didn’t.” Zoya grinned at Natalya.

  “You could have had a ship anytime you wanted,” Natalya said. “Your grandfather would have had one built for you.”

  Zoya’s lips twitched like she was hiding a smile behind the movement. “Probably. It’s worked out all right.”

  “You two aren’t a couple?” Pittman asked.

  Natalya shook her head. “Roommates at the academy. We left Port Newmar in a hurry and never looked back.”

  Pittman sat back in her chair, lounging with one forearm on the table. She looked back and forth between them for a few heartbeats. “There’s a story there.”

  “Yes.” Natalya met her gaze. “There’s a story there.”

  Pittman gave a small nod. “Maybe someday you’ll be able to share it. I love a good story.”

  “We’ll have lots of stories to s
hare by the time this project is done, I think,” Natalya said.

  Pittman looked at Zoya. “So, you come from money but you’re bumming around in an antique?”

  “Money?” Zoya asked.

  “Your grandfather would have built a ship for you? I know how much ships cost. That’s a pretty generous grandfather.”

  Zoya took a moment to slide a slice of strawberry into her mouth before replying. “Well, he probably wouldn’t have had it built just for me. It would’ve been something the company needed and he’d’ve let me captain.”

  “The company?” Pittman asked.

  “Usoko Mining. They supply Manchester over in Margary, among others,” Zoya said.

  Pittman’s eyes widened. “You’re that Usoko?”

  “Well, no. I’m not but that’s my grandfather, yes.” Zoya placed another strawberry on her tongue and sighed.

  Pittman looked at Natalya with her eyebrows raised.

  Natalya nodded. “Yes. That’s her.”

  “Are you a secret heiress, too?” Pittman asked.

  Natalya scoffed. “Hardly. I’m not sure where my father is at the moment. Somewhere out here in the Toe-Holds.” She paused. “Now that I think of it, I haven’t heard from him since before—well, for a very long time. I hope he’s all right.”

  “Is that normal? Having him disappear for long periods?” Pittman asked.

  “Perfectly. When I was growing up, he’d sometimes take off for months at a time. Generally, he’d stay in touch with my mother. She’s an engineering officer somewhere up in the High Line. Toe-Holds don’t really appeal to her.”

  “It’s been stanyers, hasn’t it?” Zoya said. “Have you heard from him since Port Newmar?”

  Natalya shrugged. “No, but—honestly—that’s just like him. He’s probably up to his armpits in some engineering job. Either for himself or somebody else. I’m pretty sure I could reach out to him if I needed to.”

  “Inky?” Zoya asked.

  Natalya nodded.

  “You two are something else,” Pittman said. “Now I want to run you both through a background check just to see what you’re not telling me.” She grinned.