Burndive

by Karin Lowachee

  “He was giving me a tour of the ship,” Ryan said. “Mr. Door.”

  Dorr looked at him closer, and laughed. “You’re cute. But don’t push it. I can’t be around all the time to save your sweet ass.”

  “Jet,” Sid said.

  “Or yours neither, Maroon. It’s a sweet ass too.”

  Sid stared. Ryan didn’t move, even though he wanted to quit this corridor and these jets and the sudden empty and echoing nature of their environment. Nobody loitered and if Dorr and Hartman decided to give them a hard time, he highly doubted Sanchez would come back to help.

  “I wouldn’t wander around here if I were you,” Hartman said. “Despite Daddy’s orders.”

  “No sense temptin’ the wildlife,” Dorr added, with his grin. He drifted closer to Sid.

  “We’re going to my quarters,” Sid said, and put a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “Now.”

  Ryan started off without encouragement, feeling his skin crawl as Dorr started to laugh. Sid was a solid presence at his back. They walked without hurrying, even as Dorr’s voice floated after them.

  “What, not even a kiss of gratitude? It would make my little life so complete!”

  They were a good distance away and about to turn the corner. He didn’t know what it was in him that couldn’t let things slide, but that last comment made him look back. Dorr and Hartman still stood where they’d left them, watching. Dorr with his predatory smile as if he’d only got rid of Sanchez so he could himself lay claim.

  “I only kiss with my fist,” Ryan cast into that long stretch of corridor between them.

  Sid’s fist closed around his collar.

  Dorr laughed, a bark of surprise. “That works for me too.”

  Sid shoved Ryan around the corner and shook him once before letting go.

  “Don’t encourage them, dammit.”

  “What’re they going to do?” He made his voice nonchalant. “They can’t touch me.”

  “No, but they can touch me. And I don’t fancy getting on their bad side because you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

  “You’re already on their bad side, Sid. You wear a different uniform. Worse yet, you’re a dirtsider.”

  “Damn pack animals.” It bothered Sid, all right, being treated as a second-class citizen. He didn’t have backup on a ship like this. “Jets evolved from Marines, don’t they know that?”

  “They wouldn’t care. And you know my father put you here so you can suffer.”

  Here on jetdeck. Here on the ship. Away from Mom Lau.

  Sid didn’t answer. Maybe he thought he deserved it.

  And maybe he did.

  Ryan said, “Are we really going to your quarters?” He didn’t want to bump into any more jets.

  Sid murmured, “Yes. Unless you want to go back to your father.”

  Sid knew which he’d prefer.

  By the time they got there Ryan was thoroughly lost. Too many twists and turns in gray corridors that only differed in their level of disrepair. Some passageways were coated with laser pulse scars and what appeared to be explosion damage. Hatches were destroyed altogether in some parts, the rooms inside half melted, half imploded.

  “They battled at Meridia,” Sid said. His tone was somber. “Pirates boarded her.”

  Ryan remembered the Send reports. But the ship must’ve been safe to travel, despite the look of the interior. Or else his father never would have brought him on board. He hoped.

  Unless his father was crazy, which was always a possibility.

  Inside Sid’s quarters he appropriated one of the bunks and stretched out, his limbs feeling drained of animation. Feedback from the leap, he wasn’t sure. He looked around from that vantage.

  “Are you supposed to hang your clothes in here and sleep outside?”

  Sid didn’t comment. The joke had too much truth in it. Six cots, only one dressed with sheets and blankets, piled three on either side in a narrow gray room—it would seem a miracle for six people to get around in here. No wonder jets were a little mad. The pillow smelled like it had been through ten cycles of detergent. He supposed that was better than it smelling like someone else’s hair.

  And where were the other five occupants? Empty bunks must’ve meant dead jets.

  He ran from that thought and watched as Sid dug around in his duffel. Sid pulled out his comp and opened it up, then sat on the opposite bunk and tapped at it.

  Ryan tucked his arms behind his head. “Can’t you give it a rest?”

  “I want to see if your mother’s on ’cast.”

  “It’d be old. We rode a leap, remember?”

  A few hours for them, maybe a few days for Austro.

  Sid muttered, “I still want to check.”

  Ryan couldn’t see the screen but he heard the transcast. He pictured his mother caught in numerous camlights, maybe standing outside her office, or maybe it was a closed announcement in her office, without a live audience… but that wasn’t like her. She’d want a press conference out of it. She’d allow questions because to hide from them would seem suspicious. She’d cut them off when she’d had enough, with some indisputable excuse—she missed her son, she had to comm her husband, she had to limit her public time for security reasons (that would go over well, especially as the public would see her taking a risk to speak to them).

  “My priority right now,” he heard her say, “is my son’s safety. My husband feels the same way, that’s why Macedon came to Austro.”

  “Ms. Lau!” someone called out.

  So she probably ’casted in front of her outer office in the PA wing, with a phalanx of security and the press corps.

  “Ms. Lau, the captain didn’t stay for long on station. What did he say to you and Ryan? And has he returned to Chaos Station to continue the negotiations?”

  “One at a time, Greta. First, he was very concerned for our son, naturally. He spoke with Ryan, mostly about things that are rather private so I’d prefer not to divulge them here. Second, yes, he has returned to Chaos to continue the peace negotiations.”

  “Ms. Lau! Did he give any indication of how things are going? Are the strits agreeable?”

  “Well, I suppose they’re agreeable to some extent, considering they’re at the table. We didn’t really talk about it.”

  “But surely you must’ve had some feeling…?”

  “They’re in the early stages yet. Admiral Ashrafi, his staff, and the other diplomats there—not to mention my husband—would probably prefer it if I didn’t jump to conclusions on their behalf. It’s not really my place.”

  “Ms. Lau!”

  “Winton.”

  “How is Ryan? How long will he remain in the residence?”

  He watched Sid’s tight expression, the fixed eyes on the comp screen. Now his mother either lied outright or confessed he was no longer on station.

  If you’re good at this job, she’d said, you’ll never have to blatantly lie.

  “Ryan,” she said, “is quite safe at this moment and doing as well as can be expected. I have confidence in our security and my husband. The culprits will be caught.”

  Sid breathed out, audibly. A small, crooked smile creased the corners of his mouth. “Good woman,” he murmured.

  If the sniper thought he was still on station that might keep them occupied. Hopefully his mother would take her own security seriously too. That gnawed at him. It worried Sid too; he saw the thought playing in his bodyguard’s mind as Sid watched the archived ’cast.

  He wondered if the captain had counted on Mom Lau’s discretion—or savvy. He wondered if the captain saw this transcast or if he cared at all.

  “You should come look,” Sid said.

  “I can hear it fine.” He rolled over and stared at the featureless wall so he wouldn’t have to watch Sid as Sid watched his mother on the screen.

  Then he heard his name but it wasn’t some meedee asking a question. The segment must have scrolled to a live ’cast.

  Sid said, “Dammit.”

&n
bsp; Tyler Coe’s theatrical voice rang loud and clear from the comp speakers: “Yeah, I was there in the Dojo when Ryan Azarcon was shot at. I saw him dancing with a girl; I think she was dressed like a black cat.”

  Ryan tossed over and sat up, hitting his head on the bunk above. He swore and leaned out to the narrow aisle between bunk towers. Sid tilted it so they both could see the screen.

  Tyler sat in an interview chair, scrubbed, smooth-skinned, and clear-eyed. He said, “I saw Ryan Azarcon push that girl into the bolt.”

  The bunk seemed to sink a level.

  “Give me that,” Ryan said, tugging at the comp.

  “Wait.”

  “Give it to me, Sid!”

  “Wait a minute!” Sid shoved him one-handed, still intent on the ’cast.

  “That’s a big accusation,” the interviewer said. “How can you be sure in the midst of a flash house?”

  “I saw what I saw. Maybe it was wrong”—his tone implied otherwise, of course—“but I’m just saying what I saw. I personally didn’t think Ryan was capable of that kind of selfishness—”

  But he was capable of another kind?

  “—but people do weird things when they’re under stress. I’d rather not believe it of him, to tell you the truth.”

  “Bastard liar!”

  All because of the scene in the polly cell. Or some pent up resentment. He’d always suspected Tyler had it in for him, despite the smiles and good humor.

  Flake.

  Downright publicity whore.

  “If Ryan pushed that girl into the bolt, then he’d have to have known from which direction it came. How is that possible?”

  The meedee’s name was Ben Salter. Ben had always been neutral toward Ryan and his family; he was Paulita Valencia’s star associate and Valencia was the most respected meedee in the Hub. At least there was that.

  But Tyler said, “I don’t know, maybe a first shot landed wide before the one that killed the girl. I’m just telling you what I saw. And I think the pollies should get all the information. I don’t think anyone else would really come forward with this, not on Austro anyway. I think the pollies have a right to know in order to help their investigation. Innocent people were killed that shift.” His voice wavered. His eyes watered.

  “You lying piece of shit!”

  “Ryan,” Sid said.

  “He’s saying I pushed that girl!”

  It wasn’t good. Not for him, not for his mother. Certainly not for his father, no matter how you angled it. A tragedy had occurred in the Dojo and it had been his fault in the first place. It was just one step further for people to believe he’d actively done something to cause a death.

  The screen split and the Send ’casted his previous statement, him in front of the cams with his carefully scripted words, delivered perfectly. Maybe too perfectly. Juxtaposed beside Tyler’s interview, it shed a different tint on his apparent honesty.

  He breathed in anger and the cool, dry air.

  Beneath his hands were the rough wrinkles of a well-worn blanket. Not the soft silk of a girl’s costume.

  Blood on the floor.

  “Give me the comp, Sid.”

  “Your mother will take care of it.”

  “It’ll sound better coming from me. It’s me he’s accusing.”

  “I don’t think you’re authorized to ’cast from this ship.”

  “Bugger it!”

  “You definitely won’t ’cast in that tone of voice. You’ll just give them ammo. Now calm down. It’s not irreversible.”

  “No, it’s slander, while I have to sit on my arse.”

  Sid said, “Ask your father.”

  Ryan got up and headed for the hatch.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To ask him!”

  “Ryan—”

  He yanked open the hatch and turned back, so abruptly Sid barely stopped from crashing into him.

  “He said I shoved that girl to her death. If my mother doesn’t get on the Send, like right now, then I’ll find a way to dispute it myself.”

  “She’ll do it. And you need to calm down. You can barely stand.”

  The edges of his sight blurred and blackened. Runoff from the leap and his drunken bout, he had no idea, but his grip on the hatch handle was the only thing keeping him upright. That and adrenaline.

  “Ryan, sit down before you collapse. What did you do to yourself before the leap, anyway?”

  He was tired. His joints ached. He wanted an injet of Silver but it was impossible on this ship. He didn’t even have any in his one bag. So he couldn’t zone. Ever again. It was one situational insult piled on top of the other.

  “Look,” Sid said, “maybe I can make a few comms once I’m authorized. To the Marines on Austro. I’m pretty sure we can get Tyler red-handed on something.” He smiled.

  Only Sid could look so innocent while proposing a premeditated bust.

  “You’d do that,” Ryan said. His nerves settled as Sid continued to smile at him.

  “Yeah, you need to ask?”

  He didn’t return the grin. He should still have had a right to defend himself but nobody in his life seemed to consider him capable. “Think you could get one of your Maureens to kill Tyler while they’re at it?”

  “Ryan.”

  “You think I’m joking?”

  Something beeped. It was coming from Sid’s chest. Sid looked down and pulled out his tags and tapped one. Apparently they’d configured them already, meanwhile he still didn’t have an outgoing link.

  “Corporal Sidney,” he said, in his Marine voice.

  “Bring Ryan back to quarters, please.”

  His father. Just what he needed.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He’s making me live with him. In that little space. Can you believe it?”

  Sid frowned. The tags weren’t disconnected yet.

  Oh.

  His father’s voice said, “I assume he’s on his way.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Then Sid shut off the tags and put a hand on Ryan’s shoulder to steer him out of the room. “Let’s make a deal. I take care of Tyler and you learn to keep your mouth shut. For both our sakes.”

  The walk back had decidedly less interruptions. Maybe Mr. Captain had warned his jets this time (come to think of it, maybe he’d authorized the previous harassment). Or maybe it was because they were fifteen minutes from a leap. The corridors were clear. Sid took him back up to the command crew deck and deposited him in the captain’s quarters, then beat a retreat.

  It was nice to have friends.

  The captain, in his black uniform and standing by the hatch, said, “Do I have to strap you in again?”

  He asked it as if it were a common occurrence. Or maybe he thought that one time had set a precedent.

  Ryan said, “No.”

  “We’ll come out near Chaos Station. I’ll comm you then.”

  “You don’t have to. I’ve leaped—sober—before.”

  “I’ll comm you when we come out of the leap.”

  Ryan sighed. “Did you see the Send?”

  Your son’s been accused of murder. Depraved indifference at the very least. Don’t you care?

  “Yes, I saw it.”

  He didn’t seem overly worried. Or worried at all.

  Ryan said, “Well, can I say something about it?”

  “Go ahead. But make it quick.”

  “I mean on the Send.”

  The captain opened the hatch. “No you may not.”

  “He accused me of pushing that girl into the cross fire!”

  “Tyler Coe.”

  “Yeah, Tyler Coe!”

  “Consider the source. Don’t worry about it. Go put yourself in bed and I’ll comm you.”

  “I’m not going to let that weed say all that shit about me. I can’t believe you’d want him to.”

  The captain leaned a hand in the middle of the hatch. “I don’t want him to, but I’m not worried about it. Your mother is capable.”


  “So am I.”

  “Ryan, you should already know that if you address every tabloid rumor you’ll spend the rest of your life defending yourself. Pick your battles—and your opponents. Only deal with the worthy ones.”

  “Thanks for the advice. Too bad I didn’t ask for it.”

  “Parental prerogative. Now I really have to go.”

  Ryan bit the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, you do that.”

  The man left without a glance.

  It was cold.

  And he could do nothing but lie down on that bed, bundled in like a child. He stared at the ceiling and waited for the ship to move.

  His fingers tapped the sheets. Repeatedly.

  The second leap was far softer than the first. Or maybe the difference was in his sobriety. He still blacked out, which was normal for a stationer who had ridden maybe four leaps in his entire life, but at least he didn’t wake up with the urge to toss, although he awoke with a headache and the feeling he was forgetting something. Which he probably had. Surface amnesia was common.

  The drives were damn noisy. Big growling giant

  He’d kept one arm free so at least he was able to undo the straps himself once the all clear sounded (a beep from the walls and a woman’s voice), and sat up on the bed smoothing the hair from his eyes. His limbs felt gooey and unreliable, so he just sat there. After a while he thought to check his watch. Forty-five minutes had passed with him just sitting. He’d totally zoned out without touching a bit of Silver.

  Leaps, some people said, were addictive.

  But the initial hit was harder and the consequences rougher. He wanted Silver.

  The bedside table beeped. The sound went right to his brain like a spike. He leaned over and saw a red dot alit on a back panel. Underneath it flashed “private incoming.” So he poked the dot like he would on a comp icon.

  It still beeped and seemed to get shriller. Or that was just his tolerance level depleting at a rapid rate.

  “Dammit!” He slapped the flashing words. The red dot clicked to green. He said, “What?”

  A pause. Then his father said, “Are you cognizant?”

  “I have a headache. What’s with your damn comm anyway? It doesn’t work like normal consoles.”

  “It’s an intercom, not a comp console. Relax. We won’t dock for another half hour but I want you dressed by then. Eat something light.”