Fortune's Folly (Outer Bounds Book 2)

by Sara King

  Anna laughed at his regurgitated synopsis. “And do you know what the real Ebenezer Scrooge would have done, had he been tumbled around in time for a few months, getting his brains blown out and his arms and legs torn off by raving mobs?”

  Dobie looked curious. “No, Anna.”

  Anna grinned. “He would have capitalized on the fact that he knew an alien invasion was coming. He would have banked on the fact the Aashaanti aren’t all dead, and the Phage is still out there somewhere, and that someday soon, I’m going to have access to both.” She pulled out the handful of Quad’s swirling blue-black time-marbles that she had stolen from his room and started rolling them in her palm, listening to their little clinks as they touched each other. Grinning at her robot over them, she said, “When you know the future, Dobie, you can use it.”

  Doberman gave her a long, careful look. “One would think that a highly intelligent individual such as yourself, with a memory such as yours, would see herself die in thousands of gruesome ways by a world that hated her for what she was doing, and take an important lesson away from the experience.”

  “Oh, I did,” Anna said, amused. “I saw them all, and now I will avoid them all.” She tapped her skull. “Total recall, Dobie.”

  “Some,” Dobie said.

  Anna looked up from the marbles and frowned. “Huh?”

  “You saw some,” Doberman insisted. “It is impossible for you to have seen them all. There are an infinite number of universes and, as such, an infinite number of ways for you to die.”

  What a mood-killer. “Whatever,” Anna muttered. “I saw the important ones. There was some repetition, so I know the general gist, at the very least. Magali, Tatiana, Milar, Kestrel…basically everyone in that tent wanted me dead in some way or another. I just have to find work-arounds, that’s all. Pan and Quad, especially. When the time comes for them to try and kill me, I’ll have some nasty surprises for them.”

  Doberman gave her a long, hard look. “Anna, have you ever considered the idea that one day, you may not be as rational as you are now, and that, for your own survival, you should try making friends, rather than enemies?”

  “Not rational?” Anna snorted and tucked the time-marbles back into the special case she’d printed for them. “No.”

  “And yet, as a biological being, you are susceptible to natural growth cycles,” he insisted. “So, to further our study in classical literature, when lifetime decisions are made in the abundance of spring, when it comes time to plow the fields, the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”

  “Not when you can see the plow coming,” Anna retorted.

  Doberman decided to get to the point. “Ten years from now, when the Coalition armada lands, you may be more interested in spending time with the opposite sex than you will be looking after the best interests of Fortune.”

  Realizing what he was suggesting, Anna threw her head back and gave a full-throated laugh. Then, because the idea was so utterly ludicrous, she kept laughing until she ran out of air. When she finally caught her breath again, she gave Dobie a flat look. “That’ll never happen to me.”

  For one of the first times since she’d known him, Doberman smiled.

  CHAPTER 43: Daytona’s Engine Repair

  12th of June, 3006

  Silver City

  Fortune, Daytona 6 Cluster, Outer Bounds

  “Are you sure you wanna be taken to that tiny little shop on Aft Street?” Joel demanded. “There are better shops out there, Jeanne. I can think of at least three within a mile that would take better care of you.”

  “Daytona’s Engine Repair,” Jeanne repeated stubbornly. “Take me there or get out.”

  Joel rolled his eyes. Not only did most crappy shops on Fortune use the name of his illustrious mother on their signage as if that somehow made their inferior products gain that extra, much-needed legitimacy, but, upon finding out they were serving their namesake’s son, they usually wanted him to do something stupid, like sign their wall. Because yeah, as a wanted criminal, that’s exactly what he wanted to do—leave a trail for the authorities to follow.

  He nonetheless relayed the message to the driver of the wrecker, because he knew Jeanne would have no qualms with pressurizing the ship and blowing him out the airlock if he pissed her off.

  “So the guy who runs this small, unestablished place,” Joel said, as pointedly as he could, “he got a name?”

  “Daytona,” Jeanne said.

  Joel frowned. “Daytona is a girl’s—”

  Oh.

  Shit.

  Joel swallowed hard. “So what, our little sweetheart’s working a part-time apprenticeship while she goes to school for mathematics or something?”

  “She’s a mechanic,” Jeanne said. “One of the best. And you’re going to treat her with respect.”

  Joel frowned. “That was respect.”

  “No,” Jeanne said, “that would have gotten a hyper-wrench in your right ear.”

  Sounded about right, considering the genetics the kid had to work with.

  “Okay,” Joel said, “so how’s this gonna work? I walk in, say, ‘Hey, my name’s Joel Triton, I’m your father, your mother wanted me to look after you because she just died in a crash, and by the way, she’s this ship now?’”

  “No,” Jeanne said, much too quickly. “Just pretend…” The ship hesitated. “Pretend I’m not here. And don’t you dare tell her you’re her father. You’re not her father. Until you prove otherwise, you’re just a sperm donor who left me in the desert to die.”

  Joel winced. “Is she cognizant of that?” Then, catching himself, he said, “Is she aware?”

  Jeanne’s voice hitched again. “No.”

  Joel cocked his head. “Does she know she had a twin?”

  “No,” Jeanne whispered, her voice barely a crackle on the waves. “She wanted to know about you, about how she was born, about your side of the family. I wouldn’t tell her. We…parted poorly. I haven’t talked to her in six months. Every time I called, she would hang up.”

  Clearly, there were a few things that needed to be worked out, preferably with a trained psychologist who specialized in sentient ships.

  “Hokay,” Joel said, clearing his throat. “So what you’re telling me is this kid doesn’t want to meet me?”

  “Oh,” Jeanne said, her voice breaking again. “No. She wanted to meet you more than anything else in the world. She just doesn’t want to ever see me again.”

  Joel flinched. The burdens of responsibility, of knowing he needed to be someone a young girl could look up to, began to suffocate him, and it was all Joel could do not to call the wrecker operator up and get him the hell outta there.

  Joel took a look at the map again, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “And she’s running her own shop at thirteen?”

  “She does everything herself,” Jeanne said, with obvious, painful pride. “From paperwork to chatting up customers to turning wrenches. Never needed her mom in her life. Not really.”

  Feeling a stab of guilt knowing that he was the one the girl wanted to meet whereas her mother, who so obviously loved her more than anything else, was utterly unwelcome in her life, he had to know… “So…uh…what did you two say to each other? When you, uh, parted?”

  Jeanne’s reaction was obvious despite her being a mass of metal—she might as well have stiffened like he’d hit her. “There’s something…special…about Daytona,” she said softly. “She wanted to know who her father was, ’cause she sure as hell didn’t get it from me.”

  Joel frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Jeanne was silent for a really long time. “Do you have anything you could’ve…passed on, Joel?”

  Joel squinted at Jeanne’s image on the viewscreen. “What, you mean like an STD? No.”

  “No, dammit,” Jeanne said. “Genetic. But…not. Something…dangerous. Scary.”

  Joel laughed uneasily. “Like what…a lethal gene? That Cobrani thing?”

  “No!” Jeanne snapp
ed. “You know what I’m asking. Stop fucking with me!”

  Blinking at the fury in her tone, Joel said, “Jeanne, I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You’ve never had another kid?” Jeanne demanded.

  Joel blinked. “No. I was pretty sure I was sterile. I mean, there were more than enough attempts, but…”

  “Do you think you were supposed to have a kid, Joel?” Jeanne insisted.

  Joel’s heart started to pound, starting to get freaked out. “She’s deformed, isn’t she?” Aanaho, he hadn’t even thought about that…

  There was a really long pause. Then, “Some would say that.” His heart sank even as she hesitated. “But it’s pretty obvious it’s something…else.” She watched him too closely. “Were you ever given any experimental drugs?”

  “Drugs?” Joel demanded. “I’ve never been sick in my life!”

  “And why is that?!” Jeanne snapped back, like he’d given her some sort of opening.

  Recognizing that predatory gleam in her eye, Joel realized he really needed to get to the crux of the issue before the mystery exploded in his face. “Okay, look. You’re gonna have to elucidate it for me, ’cause aside from the really tall gene—it runs in my family—I can’t think of anything weird that might be going on.”

  It seemed to take Jeanne forever to respond to that. Then, finally, “Are you…human, Joel?”

  Joel’s heart gave a startled leap. “Uh. Yes?”

  “What about your mom?” Jeanne insisted. “She was super famous.”

  “She was an archaeologist,” Joel snapped. “She made a few cool discoveries.”

  “Yeah, but she was a legend,” Jeanne returned. “She did all sorts of things you’d think weren’t possible. How long did she live? They said she even helped bring down Emperor Giu Xi Triton, and that was like a hundred and forty years ago. Was she human?”

  “What the hell kind of question is—” Joel had had hundreds of people over his lifetime alternately praise or denounce his illustrious mother and her legendary exploits, but never once had anyone asked if she was actually human. Joel had to catch himself before he could blurt something that would get him electrocuted.

  “I have no reason to surmise she was anything but human,” Joel said, cautious. “She’s probably dead—I haven’t talked to her in decades.”

  “What about your dad?” Jeanne countered, much too quickly. “Why is your last name Triton, Joel?”

  Joel frowned, because he’d often wondered that himself. It had certainly gotten him plenty of funny looks in the service, and when they’d measured his reaction times in flight school, some of the instructors had insisted on getting him tested as a cyborg for ‘security purposes.’ “Mom said my dad was the son of Emperor Giu Xi Triton, and he died in the war, before I was born. Saved my mom’s life—both our lives—so she named me after him. He was a Triton, which was just a glorified cyborg. Which means he was human, before you ask.”

  “But you were one of the first children born on Fortune?” Jeanne demanded, on some sort of rampage, now. “Before it was even a colony?”

  “Well…” Joel frowned. Nobody had really made much of a big deal about that, but timeline-wise, he probably was. He only remembered playing with a couple other kids—one just a baby, really—before his mother moved them away real suddenly. “Yeah, I guess so. Why are you asking?”

  Ship-Jeanne gave him a very long look via the cockpit cam, then, “You’ll see. If she decides to show you.”

  That pissed him off. “Now what kind of fatuous excrement is that?!” Joel demanded. “She’s my daughter. I have a right to know what I’m being accused of—”

  A voice over the intercom interrupted with, “Heya bud, we’re hitting that scrapyard in Silver City right now. You sure you want me to put it down here? This place ain’t got the best reputation. It’s run by a freaking thirteen-year-old girl…”

  “You put us down or I’ll put you down!” Joel roared, then slapped off the comm. To Jeanne, he jabbed a finger at her image and snapped, “You need to tell me what’s going on. Like right now.”

  “It’s not my place,” Jeanne retorted. “If you don’t know what’s going on, then you’re just as useless to her as I was!” She sounded almost despondent.

  “Hey now,” Joel lowered his voice to a calmer tone. “Jeanne. I can help.”

  “Believe me,” a tearful Jeanne said from the ship’s screen, “if you don’t know what I’m talking about, you can’t help, Joel.”

  “How am I supposed to argue with that?!” Joel cried. “You’re not giving me anything to refute!”

  “There’s nothing to refute!” Jeanne snapped back. “She’s your child, and she’s different, that’s all you need to know!”

  The finality of that sentence ruffled Joel’s feathers, but he’d also been around enough women to know when it was time to leave a matter for another time, like when he was whispering sweet nothings into her ear…

  …except, with Jeanne, that was never going to happen again. “Huh,” Joel said, considering how he was going to put the moves on a ship.

  “There you go, dude,” the wrecker driver said. “And seriously, take a chill-pill, man. Just sayin’ this place is like estrogen central, you know, in case you wanted someone with more experience.” Then the ship shook as the bigger ship’s clamps released them and Jeanne settled to the ground with a jolt. Then there was a roar all around them as the wrecker lifted off and left them stranded in the scrapyard.

  “Oh God!” Jeanne cried suddenly. “Joel, she’s coming! What do I do?” She sounded like a panicked teenager. “Joel, I’m scared. What if she…sees me?”

  Seeing the tall, lithe form crossing the yard towards them, wiping her hands with a greasy rag as she eyed the ship with professional confidence, Joel’s world snapped into focus. “Just hold on!” Joel cried. He went to the bathroom to check the mirror. He started hastily running his hands through his hair and straightening his clothes, thoroughly aware that he hadn’t managed to shower since the crash.

  “Joel, what the fuck are you doing?!” Jeanne screamed at him.

  “I want to look presentable!” Joel cried, continuing to rake his hands through his hair. His heart was pounding wildly as he tried to figure out what he was going to do.

  “This isn’t a date,” Jeanne snapped. “It’s my daughter, and if you so much as look at her sideways, I’m going to burn you alive, Joel.”

  Joel stopped sniffing a pit, insulted. “You said she was fourteen! Jeez, Jeanne, what do you take me for, a criminal?” Then he winced, realizing that was probably a bad comparison.

  “She’s thirteen, and I take you for a playboy womanizer with a responsibility avoidance complex and dubious moral bearing.”

  Well. She nailed that one.

  Joel cleared his throat. “Okay, but hitting on a daughter is a little bit more than ‘dubious’ moral bearing. I’d file that under ‘disgusting letch.’”

  There was a very long, very pointed pause.

  “And she’s a minor!” Joel cried, glaring at the camera.

  Another long pause.

  “Ugh.” Disgusted, Joel left the bathroom and went to stand beside the hatch. He straightened his shirt again, his hands hot and sweaty. In tugging it down over his lamentably narrow frame, he noticed a mustard stain on his shirt and, cursing, he hastily started trying to scratch it away.

  An inquisitive knock came from the other side of the hatch.

  “She’s here!” Jeanne cried. “Joel, she’s here! Are you gonna open the door?”

  Joel’s heart was hammering. “You are just as capable of opening the door as I am!”

  “I can’t!” Jeanne cried. “She might notice!”

  Joel grimaced. Then, when the tentative knock came again, he steeled himself and slapped the button to open the hatch.

  The spitting image of Jeanne—except taller, more willowy—stood there on the ramp. She was dressed in utilitarian, grease-stained clothes, more
or less completely unadorned except for the silvery piece of metal around her left bicep. She blinked up at him in bewilderment only a moment, then, immediately, her face darkened. “Who the fuck are you?”

  Well, she seemed to have her mother’s way with words.

  Joel nervously stuck out his hand. “Joel Triton.”

  The girl—his daughter, he had to keep reminding himself—continued to give him a wary look with the biggest, deepest, greenest eyes he’d ever seen, eyes that had definitely come from her mother. Definitely going to be a heartthrob for some besotted young man sometime in the future. The very distant future. “Where’s my mom?” she demanded, looking at him as if he were responsible. “Why’s her ship a wreck?”

  Joel winced. He’d been hoping to save that one for later. “Hey, uh, my name’s Joel, and I was transporting some bags of illicit vendibles—”

  “You already told me your name, asshole,” she snapped at him. “Where’s my mom?”

  Aaaaaaand there was the problem. “Uh, well, your mom’s uh…” He scratched the back of his neck. All around him, he could feel Jeanne holding her breath.

  Daytona’s beautiful eyes went wide. “She’s dead.”

  “No!” Joel cried, reaching out in horror. Then, as the teenager’s brow furrowed in confusion, he quickly said, “She’s just…different.”

  “She crashed, didn’t she?” the girl breathed. Tears were beginning to form in her eyes. “Aanaho, I never even called her! Is she okay? She’s paralyzed, isn’t she? Is she going to be okay?” The desperation in his daughter’s eyes seared into Joel’s chest like a laser beam, made all that much more horrible by his own part in her mother’s death.

  “She’s…kind of…okay…” Joel began, stumbling over how to say it.

  The girl stiffened. “Can she talk?” she whispered. “Is she in a coma?”

  “Well, no,” Joel managed. “She…” He swallowed, remembering how Jeanne wanted to keep her condition a secret. “She’s nearby.”

  The girl broke into a sob. “You have her body in back somewhere, don’t you?”

  Joe froze, because he did, indeed, have Jeanne Ivory’s body in stasis in the belly of the ship. “I, uh…”