by Zen DiPietro
She paced the wide room, shaking out her arms and legs. She needed a sparring partner. Based on the drills she’d run herself through, she expected she could kick some serious ass. But she needed to spar against someone with significant skill, and she’d need to make sure that person wouldn’t talk about it. So sparring would have to wait until she knew whom she could trust.
She picked up a towel and wiped a light sheen of sweat from her face and neck. She was tempted to do more target practice with her stinger. She’d found she enjoyed it. It was like a game, almost. Both her service weapon and the larger-yield training rifles had felt remarkably comfortable to hold.
Set to target-practice settings, the simulated bursts wouldn’t hurt anyone, but allowed officers to keep their skills honed. The holster-worn stinger, a requisite part of a security officer’s uniform, was a particularly lovely bit of technology. Heavy for its small size, it fit her hand like it belonged there.
Most often, a stinger’s directed electrical charge was used to incapacitate rather than harm. The PAC had strict protocols about how much force was appropriate in a given situation. With a subtle adjustment, though, a stinger’s output became a lethal charge, capable of stopping any living creature’s heart. The stinger also had an energy-generator mode, in the event of emergencies. A remarkably clever design, to fit so many useful features in one small package.
She felt better having thoroughly run herself through stinger targeting drills. The day before, she’d been certain she could use her weapon expertly, but had felt somewhat disconnected from it. Now, as she rested her hand on the holster just in front of her hip, it felt like it belonged with her. She added three knives to the belt, for later. This, too, made her feel better. More complete, as well as more prepared. The weight of the belt felt right, anchoring her into her place in life.
She returned the heavier-firepower rifle to its place and secured it before leaving the room, logging out as she went. She required all of her training rooms to keep tabs on who had used them and for how long. Not only was it good for accountability, but she could see which of her staff were stepping up and which were slacking off. She approved of her own exactingness, as if judging another individual entirely. In a way, she felt like she and the earlier version of herself were, in fact, different people. She hadn’t yet figured out how to merge that duality into a single identity.
Back in her office, she sat at her desk and opened her personnel files again. This time she went all the way back to OTS, digging into her academic and athletic performance class by class. The more she dug, the more intrigued she became. She had always come in second or third in her classes. Never first, and never fourth. During her four years of officer training school, she stayed in the top of the pack for her class, but never took any titles. Not even for knife-throwing.
She pushed back from her desk and ran her fingers over the short side of her hair. She’d developed a habit of that. She liked the soft, bristly feeling. The tactile sensation helped her get out of her head sometimes.
It was just that the more she found out, the more lost she felt. Every answer prompted more questions. What she really needed was someone she could trust. Someone she could work with. Nevitt was not an option. The woman clearly didn’t like her and might be the person behind all this. Wren and Arin were the next-best candidates. Arin could be very helpful, while Wren had less pull at the station, and no PAC access. She was a contractor, not an officer, which limited her usefulness. But although a legate security chief had plenty of reason for loyalty, a wife had even more. So Em was stuck between utility and fealty. She shook her head. No, her choice was clear.
“Hey, Em. You wanted to see me?” Wren still wore her work coveralls, with her pink hair up in a tight twist. The doors of Em’s security office whisked shut behind her.
Em stood from her seat at the desk. “Yes. Thanks for coming. I’m sure you’re ready to relax and have dinner, but I need your help.”
“I’ll do whatever I can.”
Em gestured to the couch, and seated herself after Wren sat. “Last night when you saw I’d been throwing a knife, you weren’t surprised. I’m curious if you know how good I am at throwing.”
Wren folded her hands over her knees. “Yes, I’ve seen you practice. Even make trick shots. You’re amazing.”
“See that mark on the wall?” She gestured to the spot she’d made. She pulled the three knives from her belt as she rose from the couch, whipping them at the wall in quick succession.
Thwack, thwack, thwack. The knives nested tightly together, embedded side by side into the wall. Perfectly aligned, perfectly spaced. If she’d thrown the second or third the slightest bit off, it would have glanced off one of the others and clattered to the floor. Not a trick shot, by any means, but the sign of a master. “Can you go get those?” Em asked.
Wren shrugged, walked to the wall, and pulled the knives free. She seemed curious but unsurprised as she handed the knives to Em and returned to her seat.
“So you knew I could do that?”
“Yes,” Wren answered, looking increasingly puzzled.
“Did you know that my service record rates my knife throwing far below what I can actually do?”
Wren’s lips parted. “Um, no. Why would your record be wrong?”
“Exactly.” Clearly, she’d trusted Wren enough to expose her abilities. Which meant that either Em hadn’t been in on the downgrading of her skills, or she’d had faith in Wren. With few options left to her in the pursuit of the truth, she decided to embrace her apparent confidence in her wife.
Em leaned forward. “The reason I wanted to talk to you here is that I’m certain no one can hear us. I’ll need to start sweeping our quarters to make sure no one’s listening whenever we’ve been out. Anyway, the problem I’m coming up against is that my entire service record seems to be engineered to put me among the upper echelon of officers, but not make me a superstar. I’ve run myself through various tests, and my ratings are all significantly higher than what’s listed. It’s a systematic deception, and definitely not a mistake.”
Wren’s eyebrows pulled together. “Why underrate you?” Then she sat up straighter. “You don’t think this is related to your accident, do you?”
Smart woman. Em liked how quickly Wren had put the facts together. “I don’t know. But it seems highly suspicious.”
“Okay.” Wren rubbed the tips of her index fingers together absently as she mentally worked through it. “So what do we do?”
“I need to know who I can trust. Ideally, an officer who knew me before the accident. For as far back as possible. Trouble is, I have no idea who that would be.”
Realization lit Wren’s features, making the corners of her mouth lift. “You decided to trust me.”
“Yes. It seems I trusted you before, so it made you the best candidate.”
Wren’s smile dimmed slightly, but she nodded. “Right. Well, there’s Arin. He’s always been honest to a fault and I know you trusted him before.”
“I considered him. He’d be an ideal ally, but since he stands to gain in the event of my death, it gives him plenty of motive.”
“No.” Wren’s answer was immediate. “Not Arin. He’s too honorable. After what he grew up with, I know he’d never hurt an innocent person. The war on Atalus still haunts him, you know. He just wants to keep people safe.”
“What if I’m not, in fact, an innocent person? I might have a very shady background. Arin might have found out about it.”
Wren rolled her eyes. “That’s a line of reasoning you can just skip. There’s no way you’re involved in something nefarious.”
Em wasn’t convinced of that, but it was good to know that Wren felt certain.
“Arin would know if I’ve been downplaying my abilities. If I’ve been performing at a lower level than I’m capable of, that means I was in on the deception. That might be the place to start.”
Wren started to say something then paused, seeming to change her mind. �
�That seems reasonable. Can I do anything to help?”
“Actually, yes. Could you invite him to have dinner with us tonight? Maybe down on Deck One? Someplace we’ve gone before, to give an appearance of life as usual to anyone who happens to be watching.”
“Putting it that way creeps me out a little, but sure. Anything else?”
Em’s eyes tracked to the damage the knives had made. “Do you think you could repair that wall without anyone knowing about it?”
Wren brightened. “You bet. If you want to bring me back here after dinner I can get it patched up in no time.”
Em stood. “Thank you. I’m…it’s good to have someone I can trust.”
Wren rose to her feet, too. “I’m really glad you decided to trust me.”
She turned away from the intimacy in Wren’s expression, walking behind her desk and sitting. “I’ll just finish up here, and then I’ll meet you in our quarters to change for dinner. Hopefully Arin hasn’t eaten yet.”
“I doubt it. He’s a late-night kind of guy when he’s on day shift. Mostly, we need to hope he doesn’t have a date. There aren’t too many single men on Dragonfire, so your legate rarely eats alone.”
Hm. Well, that was useful to know.
Arin proved to be surprisingly good company. Em and Wren enjoyed dinner with him at a cross-cultural fusion restaurant, then went to the Tea Leaf afterward. Em was surprised to find a Bennite fermented nut milk tea on the menuboard, and promptly ordered one due to how odd it sounded. Not only did it taste delicious in an oddly earthy way, it had reputed brain health benefits, including improved memory. Em considered making it her new favorite drink.
Wren laughed at her when she ordered a second cup. Apparently it was already a favorite. Well, at least that was another point in favor of trusting her instincts.
They kept the conversation light, but every so often Em found an opportunity to ask Arin a question that she hoped would give some insight into his character. He was easygoing, quick to laugh, and modest. Whenever she tried to direct him into talking about his accomplishments, he downplayed them. He’d graduated first in his class at OTS and his file had a commendation from none other than Admiral Ito, the oldest officer of the PAC military. Em wondered how he’d earned that, but when she asked, Arin seemed embarrassed. Wren changed the subject.
The three of them got a great many hellos and smiles of acknowledgement throughout the evening. It seemed they were all well liked, which Em supposed was a good thing.
Em studied the dregs of her tea while Wren told Arin about a tricky manifold coupling she’d wrangled with that day. Em only half listened, thinking about the old soothsayers who pretended to predict the future by the sediment left behind from someone’s tea. Em had no tendencies toward superstition. All she saw were wet bits of leaves and a cup that needed cleaning.
“Finally I got the cover back on and it was good as new,” Wren said with a chipper lilt to her voice.
Arin chuckled. “I think I would have given up long before and just ordered a new one.”
“That’s why you’re security and I’m a mechanic,” she replied. “Only the truly exceptional can work in my shop.”
Em smiled vaguely when they glanced at her to include her in the conversation. She remained unconvinced about Arin’s loyalty. They’d accomplished nothing but a pleasant evening, and that sure wasn’t going to fill the blank space in her head.
She tipped her cup back onto the saucer and picked up the menuboard, putting the drinks on her account. “Arin, would you mind coming to our quarters? I’d like to talk to you about something in a quieter spot.”
“Yeah, you bet. It is pretty noisy here.” He pushed back from the table and stood, and she and Wren followed him out of the parlor.
Up on Deck Five, they sat in the small, cozy living area that already seemed homey to Em. She’d made sure to do a security sweep in the quarters, ensuring their privacy from any recording devices. She’d repeat that practice regularly, and show Wren how to do it as well.
As she filled glasses with water in the kitchenette and carried them to Arin and Wren, she thought about how to start the conversation. The other two sat in the living area, she on the couch and he on Em’s favorite chair. Arin was saying something that Em couldn’t quite hear. Something about a recent date, from the sound of it.
As soon as Em sat next to Wren, Arin took the initiative. “I know what you want to talk about, and I don’t blame you. I’m sorry the investigation is taking so long, but I’ve been trying to track down some details. Right now, I still can’t tell you precisely what happened to your shuttle. I’m getting close, though.”
“What do you know?” Em asked.
Arin nudged his water glass with his forefinger, then sank back into the chair with a sigh. His hands rested at his sides and his knees and feet were wide in a casual posture. Em saw no tension in him at all, only mild frustration.
“The accident happened because of a malfunctioning coil pack in an auxiliary generator. As you know, when a shuttle is in operation, the failsafe sends test pulses to the auxiliary systems periodically, to ensure proper functioning. One of those test pulses overloaded the coil pack, causing a circuit board to blow. Unfortunately it happened to be the particular circuit board that controlled navigation, and it caused the shuttle to ram itself into the station while the inertial dampeners were fluctuating. If you’d been farther out in space, the system would have had time to right itself. Cracking into Dragonfire like that was some damn bad luck.”
Wren’s expression had sharpened. This was her area of expertise, after all. “Why did the coil pack fail? That only happens when there’s a factory defect or the coil pack has far exceeded its use life. And there’s no way any part of any of Dragonfire’s ships has gone out of spec. I personally make sure my team keeps those birds in factory-issued shape.”
Arin nodded. “That’s what I found out. So I’ve been tracking down that shipment of coil packs. Or trying to. It was easy to get the lot number from the shuttle’s maintenance files, but I’ve had a hard time getting the shipment details. The manufacturing company was in the middle of a merger, and both companies have claimed that the other was the one responsible. I don’t care about that, but it’s all about the liability to them. So far I haven’t been able to figure out that shipment’s path from manufacture to the shuttle.”
Wren huffed out an annoyed sound. “I want another look at that shuttle, and the coil pack.”
Arin’s gaze bounced from Wren to Em. “It’s a bit tricky. I’m leading the investigation to avoid any conflict of interest. Normally you’re the first person I’d ask about this kind of thing but I didn’t want to put either of you in an awkward position.”
Em would rather have someone she knew to be on her side squinting at the mechanics of the event. “I’ll sign off on it. I trust Wren.”
Arin nodded and leaned forward to sip his water. He’d probably expected that, but Wren had frozen in place with her gaze fixed on Em. She looked…touched. Yes, that’s what it was. Wren reached over and wrapped her hand around Em’s, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting go.
Double points for her, then. Not only had she gained an insider in the investigation, she’d managed to please her wife. Em gave Wren a sly smirk, and Wren’s expression shifted to barely repressed glee.
“Should I leave you two alone?” Arin hadn’t missed the byplay between them. Good thing, too, since he was her legate and she expected him to be able to pick up on things like that.
She shook her head and Wren laughed. “Just a sort of inside joke,” Wren assured him.
Close enough. Arin didn’t need to know how reserved she’d been with Wren up to this point.
“Anyway,” Em said, steering the conversation back, “have you decided on your finding? Does it seem purely accidental?”
Arin’s face smoothed out, businesslike again. “I haven’t turned up anything that suggests sabotage. I haven’t conclusively ruled it out, but it does seem
like simply a malfunctioning piece of equipment.” He fell silent, studying her. “You suspect otherwise, don’t you? Why?”
Well, hell, he could read her, even when she was trying to be inscrutable. She hadn’t anticipated that. He must know her very well indeed. “Probably just paranoia, given the state of my memory,” she hedged.
“That would make sense, but I feel like there’s more to it.”
He had good instincts, too. She might have chosen her legate too well. But then, if he’d had some part in engineering the crash, he’d have reason to suspect that she would consider foul play. How could she test his loyalty?
“The truth is, without my memories, I’m just not entirely sure who I can and can’t trust.” She held her palms upward and spread her fingers in a gesture of earnestness.
He rubbed his hand over his cheek, looking thoughtful. “Yeah, I can’t imagine what that’s like. What can I do to help?”
“You seem to know me well. Who did I have questions about before the accident?” In other words, whom might she have suspected to be up to something?
His gaze floated upward toward the ceiling. “Nevitt’s hostility toward you never completely added up. You understood her initial reaction to your appointment as security chief, but after you proved yourself, you expected her to thaw out.” He paused, apparently plumbing the depths of his memory. “There are several traders who come here on a regular basis that you have us watch extra hard. There are a couple officers you keep an eye on because of incidents in their past, but it’s nothing to do with you personally.” He shrugged, out of answers.
This was getting her nowhere. He was too good at his job for her to get at his intentions with anything but a full frontal assault. She decided to go with the element of surprise. She stood, and with a quick motion, grabbed the three knives from her belt, throwing them in quick succession at the wall.
Arin stood slowly, his mouth slightly open. Wren watched with interest.
“Go check those out,” Em told him.
