Lost Alliance (Dragonfire Station Books 1-3): A Galactic Empire series

by Zen DiPietro

  She fitted the first three fingers of her hand into the widely spaced holes. It made for a remarkably awkward hold. The Briveen were born with three long fingers on each hand, but after adolescence they had their short, weak arms removed and replaced with cybernetic limbs. As the only people in charted space that had evolved from reptiles, the Briveen had always been a particularly fascinating people to Em. Though adopting cybernetic limbs had catapulted their world forward in technology and standing, they maintained their caste system and a great many ancient rituals.

  “You like it,” the man observed, clearly pleased.

  “It’s wonderful,” she agreed. Normally she wouldn’t praise something she hoped to acquire, but there was no denying the magnificence of the piece.

  “I paid for it in bulk. Breaking it out by unit, plus your ten-percent markup, makes it five hundred and fifty cubics.”

  Suspicion stole over her. It was a ridiculous price. “It’s worth ten times that. Maybe more.” She set the knife carefully into the box. If he was offering a bribe of some sort, she’d been mistaken about him. Maybe she shouldn’t start trusting her instincts just yet after all.

  He shrugged. “Just my standard discount for you. I’m not going to lie and say it cost me more than it did.”

  He always sold to her at a paltry ten-percent markup? Was she involved in some under-the-table trade? She stood and stalked to the front of the counter, needing to do something with her sudden surge of energy.

  “Why sell to me so cheaply?” There was no way to know but to ask.

  He seemed puzzled. “I had to catalog it into my inventory. I know you’ll see that inventory report. If you saw that item and realized I hadn’t offered it to you, your feelings might have been hurt.”

  Her feelings? For Prelin’s sake, why would a Rescan trader give a flying flare about her feelings?

  He interrupted her thoughts. “Are you okay? Should I call the doctor?”

  She took a breath and smiled. “I’m fine, thanks. Just a little of the dizziness the doctor said I might have for a few days. It’s passed.” Better he think her not-quite-recovered than suspect anything close to the truth.

  “Would you like some tea?” he offered.

  “No, but thank you. Another time. I should get back to my rounds.”

  “Ah.” He nodded. “Of course. Shall I have the knife delivered to your quarters?”

  “I’ll pick it up after my shift, and transfer the cubics then, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course.” He stood and placed the box on the countertop, gesturing for her to lead the way out of his shop.

  At the doorway, she gave him a tiny bow. A slight dip of the head and shoulders, really. He was outside of the PAC hierarchy, but bowing still made for a polite sign of respect. He returned the gesture, but slightly more deeply. “It’s kind of you to give me such a bargain on so beautiful an artifact.” She figured a little flattery couldn’t hurt.

  He waved away her sentiment. “It’s nothing. As I’ve told you before, since you’ve been on the station I haven’t been robbed once. And you made sure that dreadful woman who attacked my accounts paid for it in kind. It’s more than worth it for me to give you incentive to remain on Dragonfire, rather than moving on to another post.”

  Ahh. That made her feel much better. His generosity did, in fact, have a self-serving purpose, despite being completely above-board. She trusted self-interest a lot more than simple kindness. “I hope all the merchants on Deck One feel as safe as you do.”

  “Oh, they do, without a doubt. Everyone appreciates your personal attention. Well. Except for the ones that were bad news, but you already chased all of those out of here.” He smiled at her knowingly, and she returned the smile as if she understood the reference.

  “Let me know if there’s anything you need.” She made a note to find out his name as soon as she got back to her office.

  “You bet, Chief. And let me know if there’s anything you need.” He walked back into his shop, chuckling at his joke.

  The workday passed quickly. After collecting her new knife, Em rode the lift up to Deck Five. With the box tucked under her arm, she contemplated the day’s activities. She’d discovered, with some surprise, that she could function just fine as security chief without her memory. Brannin had been correct, after all. Her instincts had proven reliable time after time, and she decided that if she leaned on them, no one should suspect she’d lost her memory.

  The Rescan trader’s name was Cabot Layne. It sounded like the name of a street, but it suited him somehow. His record wasn’t spotless, but no trader had an immaculate record. Most importantly, it looked like he ran a clean operation on Dragonfire. Numerous people had even filed reports about how helpful he’d been. He seemed an interesting character.

  Em discovered that Wren had not yet returned home, which gave her a moment of relief. She didn’t know quite how to handle coming home to a spouse, and didn’t think it was cowardly to be glad to avoid it for one day. The best way to handle a dicey situation was not to be in one, after all.

  Once inside their quarters, Em went straight to the closet and removed a heavy gray case. She’d found it the night before, and had enjoyed perusing the contents. She set it on the bed and sat next to it. A simple handprint unlocked it, and she opened the lid. Four rows of hinged trays folded out into one single layer of weaponry. She removed the Briveen knife from the plain box and wiped it down with a cloth before placing it into an empty slot. It looked quite nice between the medieval hunting dagger from Earth and the Bennite gentleman’s pocket knife. She admired the collection for a couple of minutes, then folded the trays in so that they were once again stacked. After securing the case in the closet, she considered her next move.

  Dinner seemed like a reasonable course of action, but did she cook? Only one way to find out. She went to the kitchenette and opened the cooler. She saw packets of meats, vegetables, and fruits, stacked neatly according to type and date. A few ready-made meal packets lay on the shelf below. She rolled out the third drawer and found it stocked with sauces and condiments, as well as some beverage additives.

  She closed the cooler and opened the pantry door. She recognized all the fresh fruits and vegetables inside, as well as the dry goods like sugar and flour. An impressive collection of spices sat to one side. But did she ever use any of them? None of the ingredients called “Cook me” to her. Maybe she didn’t cook. Or maybe she needed to start doing it for her brain to make the connections. Fine. What to try?

  She aimed for low-hanging fruit. Or pasta with cream sauce, as the ready-made packet said. She put the packet into the heat exchange, which recognized the label and made a soft click as it began the appropriate cooking cycle. In less than a minute, the heat-ex clicked again, and she pulled out the hot packet.

  Okay. Now what? She opened another door and found dishes. She unsealed the packet and emptied the steaming pasta and sauce into a serving bowl. But it looked awfully plain, lying there. Just some noodles. They needed protein.

  She grabbed a packet of chicken and opened it onto a cutting board. After chopping it into bite-sized pieces, she set the heat-ex for “grill.” While the chicken cooked, she sliced an onion and added it to a bowl with some butter. After the meat came out, smelling delicious, she set the heat-ex to sauté and waited on the onion. She added the chicken and onions to the pasta, stirring it all with a spoon, and felt pleased with herself. The aroma was wonderful, and her stomach growled. Maybe she hadn’t truly cooked, depending on one’s definition of the word, but she’d managed to put together a meal.

  With the dinner in the heat-ex to keep it hot until Wren got home, Em set the table with napkins, water, and chopsticks. Did Wren like something else to drink when she got home? Maybe some Sarkavian wine? She’d noted a few bottles of it. But so far she’d only seen Wren drink water, so she decided to stick with that.

  The knife slipped off the wet cutting board and started to fall off the counter. She caught it and noticed t
hat it wasn’t badly balanced, for a kitchen knife. She hefted it in her hand, measuring its quality in a way she hadn’t before. Quite good, actually. She turned from the counter, shifting her grip so that she held the knife by the blade. She took two steps and snapped her arm forward. The knife flew across the space and embedded itself half an inch into the wall. Hm. Interesting.

  She retrieved the knife, returned to her previous position, and threw again, aiming for the same spot. She pulled the knife from the wall and examined the marks. Only about three millimeters apart.

  She threw again, aiming for the space between the two marks. Perfect. She walked back to the kitchen with the knife in her hands, considering. She could throw a knife with the best of them. Literally. At any interplanetary contest, she’d be sure to place, if not win. But knife-throwing skills were not listed in her personnel file. They absolutely should be. Hm.

  She wondered if she had other skills not listed in her file. She’d start investigating that tomorrow. Actually, it sounded fun. A thrill of enthusiasm buzzed in her abdomen. Discovering herself on her own, rather than being told by a computer or some other person, sounded like an exciting change.

  The doors opened and Wren stepped into the quarters. She smiled at Em. “You cooked. It smells really good. Chicken?” She shrugged out of a greasy lab coat and turned it so that she held it by the clean inner side.

  “Chicken and pasta.”

  Wren’s smile broadened. “The ready-made doctor at work, huh? Nice.” She started toward the necessary.

  “Ready-made doctor?” Em busied herself with washing up the cutting board and knives.

  “Nickname. You were always good at doctoring prepared packets into something much better. I’m glad to see you at it. Especially today.” Wren smiled cheekily. “I’m starved.”

  “I don’t cook from scratch?” Em asked.

  Wren paused in the doorway to the bedroom, looking over her shoulder. “Not often. I mean, you can, but you like starting off with something. You always said it gave you more ideas than raw ingredients.”

  Wren’s gaze caught on the mark on the wall and she turned back around to face Em. “Knife practice?”

  “Uh. Yeah. It just seemed…” She trailed off, not knowing how to explain.

  Wren laughed. “I just repaired the wall from last time the other day. Seriously, we need to put up a board for you to throw at. Every time I suggest it, you promise it won’t happen again. Then it does.” She shook her head with amusement. “I’ll just get cleaned up. Should only take me a few minutes.”

  Five minutes later they sat at the table. Wren had changed into lounge clothes, but Em still wore her uniform. She didn’t see a reason to change, though she’d removed her belt and secured her weapon. She felt perfectly comfortable. She did sense that she should make conversation, though, so she decided to ask about Wren’s day. Seemed like a safe subject.

  “How was work?” She spread a napkin over her lap.

  “Busy. Had to refit a personal cruiser that had burned hard all the way here from the Terran system. They made it in three weeks and fried their engines in the process. Three weeks! Crazy, even for a high-end cruiser like theirs. I have no idea what they were in such a hurry for, but it was definitely a very expensive hurry.”

  Em wondered if she knew much about mechanics. She cast her thoughts toward engines and repairs, but failed to pull up much beyond schematics and basics. Nope. Engineering and mechanics were clearly not her thing. No talking shop about Wren’s work, then.

  Wren dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “What about your day? Everything go okay? Or maybe it didn’t, and that was why you were throwing knives in our home?” She sent Em a teasing look.

  “It was fine. Met Cabot Layne. And Arin. Several of my staff. Nevitt was just as you described.” She pinched a piece of pasta between her chopsticks.

  “Did anything seem familiar?”

  Still chewing, Em shook her head. She swallowed. “I remember skills. My job. Knife throwing.” She smirked. “But nothing about myself, or my relationships with people.”

  “Nothing at all?” Wren made a valiant attempt to cover her disappointment, but failed.

  “No. I’m sorry.”

  Wren smiled brightly. “We’ll figure it out. Don’t worry.” She took a hearty bite of her dinner.

  Em appreciated Wren’s optimism. She could tell that Wren wanted to be supportive and not add to Em’s worries with her own feelings. Em wondered if she should start to trust Wren. Maybe share her discoveries, such as the aberrant knife skills. Wren could be a big help in sorting things out. But Em wasn’t sure yet. She needed to wait a little longer.

  She didn’t know what else to say, so she took a bite of pasta and chicken. The creamy sauce slid over her tongue with the perfect texture and flavor. Maybe that was why she preferred to start with packets. She couldn’t imagine being able to do better on her own.

  After dinner, Wren helped clean up. It felt almost companionable. Almost comfortable. Em imagined her life might have been quite nice before her knock on the head. She felt bad for Wren. It had to be hard on her, but she didn’t let on. She seemed brave and stalwart, qualities which Em admired. It made sense to her that she wouldn’t pick a fussy, fragile mate.

  “So what did you think of Cabot?” Wren asked when they’d retired to the couch.

  “I liked him. Which surprised me. He wasn’t what I expected.” Em told her about the knife she’d bought.

  “Ahh, another for the collection. You’ll need a second case soon.” Wren’s smile was fond and indulgent. “I’ve always thought we should have Cabot over for dinner. But you always say it would blur the line too much between personal and professional.”

  “Hm.” That would have been her exact response if Wren had asked. “I suppose we could always meet him somewhere for dinner. Being out in public wouldn’t cross the line.”

  “That sounds perfect. We’ll have to do that. I’ve always liked Cabot. And he has the best stories.”

  That made Em wonder. “What do we usually do with our off-duty time? For recreation, or whatever.”

  Wren picked up a throw pillow and hugged it to her chest, fiddling absently with the short fringe along the side. “You don’t do a lot of recreation. Not enough, anyway. You work long hours, and love exercise. You seem to really enjoy pushing your body to exhaustion. I’ve never understood it. Your devotion to target practice and sparring seems almost freakish sometimes.” Wren grinned to soften her words. “But when I can get you to just relax, we like walking the concourse and visiting with other people. We have Arin and others over for dinner, and they invite us in return. We play card games like two-ten-jack. We go to almost all of the traveling entertainments and exhibits. But then most people here do.”

  Wren fell silent, her eyes unfocused and thinking. “Oh! Whenever we get a couple days off together we go to Sarkan. Visit my family, hit the beaches. You love the beach. Especially if there are water sports involved. Though sometimes we go inland to the countryside and just enjoy the sunshine and fresh air.”

  It did sound nice. Em felt perfectly at ease on the station, but real sunshine and breezes particularly appealed to her.

  “What about my family?” Em asked. “I didn’t see any listed in my file.”

  Wren’s face saddened, which looked odd on her. “You don’t have any, other than some cousins you’re not close with. There was an earthquake, and they were hiking…”

  “I see.” It seemed a shame that she didn’t have family, but she did have in-laws, so maybe she’d made herself a new family.

  “I’m sorry.” Wren’s pale blue eyes seemed to wash out even more.

  Em shrugged. “Can’t miss what I don’t remember.”

  “That might be even sadder. Especially if you never get your memories back. I can remind you of all the things we’ve done together. But if you lose your memories of your family, they will just be gone, like they never existed.”

  Put that way, it did seem p
retty terrible. Em frowned. Which was worse? Missing what you had, or not knowing that you ever had it? She wasn’t sure.

  Wren broke into her thoughts. “You must be tired. Why don’t you go shower and change?”

  It was an obvious subject-changer, but Em didn’t point it out. Wren was trying to help. “Sure. That sounds good.”

  She stood and Wren tilted her head to one side, studying her. “I’m getting used to your new hairstyle already. I think it actually suits you really well.”

  “Thanks. I do too.”

  Which was odd, since she didn’t even know who she was.

  2

  Translucid Chapter 2

  Em exhaled slowly, taking stock of the training room. After she’d done her usual check-ins and reports, she’d locked herself into one of her designated areas on Deck Four for security drills. So far, she’d found she had superior reflexes, exceptional strength for body size, and beyond-superior skills in targeting. She already knew she could run for both speed and distance, having tested her endurance earlier that morning. She also knew she had extraordinary knife-throwing skills. The throwing target in the training room had proven just how sharp her ability was. Exceptional. More than.

  All of these abilities were underreported in her personnel file. It was possible that she might have improved in one or two areas and her record had not yet been updated to reflect that, but this systematic downgrading of her skills was something else. But what?

  Either she had misled the PAC about what she could really do, or someone was trying to hide her expertise. Since no PAC officer would do less than their best, she needed to figure out who would want to make her appear less exceptional. Oh, her records set her in the upper echelons of security officers, and her work history was spotless, but her true skills would mark her as a standout.

  So why make her appear to be less than she was? And had she participated in this subterfuge, or was she the victim of it?