by Alex White
“Boots? That you, girl?”
“Kin’s dead. They’re all dead down there.”
“But you’re not. We’re coming to pick you up.”
She thought about it, then shook her head no, as if anyone could see her.
“Where are you at?” Cordell sounded rock-solid for a guy flying through a field of debris.
“It doesn’t matter.” She reached down and yanked a lever marked with snaking yellow and black caution tape. Her ejector seat shot forward, shoving her out of the cockpit along with her survival package. Untethered as she was, the seat took off in one direction and her body went in another. A flashing beacon on her back pinged with a constant radio pulse.
“I see you, but so does the enemy, Bootsie. You need to shut that off.”
She didn’t care. She’d done her duty, and there was no home left to save. Part of her hoped the enemy would blast her tiny body out of the sky and end it all.
In ten seconds, she’d fall into the deep trance of a hibernation spell. “I guess it’s a race, then.”
After a pause, he replied, “You’re going to learn not to bet against the Capricious one of these days. Tag up is in thirty seconds.”
Boots blinked, the brig coming into focus. Her whole body ached from the battles of the past few days, and sleep had only made it worse, like she’d been beaten from head to toe. She’d fallen asleep with her arm above her head, and now her shoulder throbbed like it might snap off any second. On the other side of the divider, Nilah snored away like a saw blade. The racer had come in injured and drugged, and Boots hadn’t asked questions.
“Kin,” she whispered, hoarse.
“Yes, Lizzie?”
Cordell had been kind enough to leave him connected to the ship’s network, though Kinnard was segmented so he couldn’t access the Capricious’s files.
“I had a dream about you.”
“I need you to disambiguate. Me, the computer? Or me, the human model for this computer?”
“The real Kinnard.”
“Neither of us is fictitious, though I think I take your meaning. It’s been almost six months since you reported one of those. Would you like a whiskey?”
“Why would I want a …”
“You’ve reported eight dreams about Kinnard in the last four years. In each instance, you drank a whiskey before returning to bed.”
Boots sat up and massaged her shaky shoulder. “Yeah. That’s not a bad idea.”
“Actually, it is a bad idea. Any blood alcohol content during sleep disrupts—”
She stood and began pulling on her clothes in the darkness. “Thanks. Don’t care, Kin.”
“All right, Lizzie.” A short chime indicated Kinnard didn’t intend to say anything else.
Did computers get frustrated with people? She considered asking him, but the last thing she needed was an artificial guilt trip in Kinnard’s voice. Barefoot, she padded out into the hall, headed for the mess.
Cordell had promised her she could wander around at her leisure, though Boots had yet to test her privileges. The last thing she wanted was to run into Orna again, though she wouldn’t mind meeting Didier in the dim night cycle. There were worse things to look at. Maybe it was just the way he treated her, but no one had called her a lady in a long time. He was unconditionally friendly, which was a damned sight better than Cordell, whose friendliness was extremely conditional. Unlike the captain, Didier didn’t ask her for anything or try to order her around, or beg her to jump on the ship she’d never wanted to see again for the rest of her life.
Creeping downstairs, she spied a light inside the mess and smiled. Maybe she’d get her wish.
The warmth in her belly disappeared when she came upon Armin, clad in red velvet pajamas, seated at one of the tables. He froze, a spoonful of cold cereal midway between his bowl and his lips.
“Good evening,” said Boots, at a loss for what else to do.
He returned the spoon without finishing his bite and smacked his lips. “Well, it was.”
She rolled her eyes. “I guess I’d better be getting back to bed.”
He smiled like someone had pulled on the corners of his mouth. “Oh, please. Come eat some of our hard-earned food. Can I recommend some of Cookie’s Jordacan truffles? They cost a fortune.”
“There’s no call to be nasty.”
He pinched the air. “Miss Elsworth, I was this close to getting the captain into a real shipping contract before you showed up.”
Screw it. She walked across to the kitchen and began to dig around in the liquor cabinet. “That tells me you don’t know Cordell as well as you thought you did.”
“The Flemmlian ten-year whiskey is on the bottom shelf, near the back,” he called to her.
Her favorite whiskey. Boots straightened up and peered back at him.
He smirked. “You served on this ship for two years, ten months, and eleven days. That’s a total of thirty-one shore leaves. Each time you came back on, you declared a bottle of that swill. I’ve had access to all of the ship’s logs for a long time.”
“Right,” she said, “datamancy. Well, smart guy, say what you will, but you don’t know Cordell. You couldn’t make him go straight if you gave him two points with nothing in between.”
Armin tapped his bony chin. “Actually, I know Cordell very well … though I think he doesn’t know you.”
Boots narrowed her eyes, unsure of where he was going with this.
“He’s told me you’re a soldier, and that you’ll come around. I’d wager you don’t have one shred of integrity left in you, and according to the financial records I obtained off Kinnard, I’d be right.”
“You hacked him?” Anger burned in Boots’s cheeks. “You’ve got some nerve!”
“Relax. How do you think we found out about your farm on Hopper’s Hope? And don’t look at me like that. You sent our ship all over the galaxy searching for garbage. Now, I want you to pour yourself a drink and have a seat.”
Boots did as he bade her, and the sweet spice of whiskey wafted into her nose as it burbled into her tumbler.
“Between Orna and I,” he began, “we can break any data source. Even Kin. I was surprised at some of the military capabilities he had …”
“Cordell acted like he hadn’t tried to crack Kin, and all this time …”
Armin shook his head. “I didn’t ask him for permission. It was so easy that it was a matter of procedure. Now, I don’t think you want to be complaining about our honesty when you fleeced us out of thousands of argents, do you? Our hacking Kinnard scarcely makes us even after what you’ve done.”
Her anger faltered. “A ripe mark is a ripe mark. A starship captain can’t afford to be gullible.”
“And a charlatan can’t get sloppy. You were so easy to track down. Your patterns on Gantry Station might not be apparent to everyone else, but they were a snap for me.” He folded his fingers. “However, I’d like to call a truce.”
Boots nearly snorted out her whiskey, but managed to stop herself. “Between me and you? But you enjoyed threatening to kill me so much.”
“Promises and plans, Ms. Elsworth, but never threats.” He smoothed back his hair. “No, I think the time for our spats is over. You see, you’ve brought two things of value. The first is the image of the Harrow. Thanks to you, I’ll learn where it completed its last verified jump.”
She gulped her drink. The idea of flying toward that dark ship, treasure or no, wasn’t a comfort. It’d certainly bring them back into contact with Mother. “Okay, well, uh … you’re welcome. What’s the second thing?”
“Your randomness.”
“What?”
“When you tried to steal that Midnight Runner, it fell outside of my predictions. If I’d even remotely predicted that, I would’ve shot you on the bridge. It was as though we were playing a game, and you moved your piece outside of the board. The substantial data I had on you suggested you’d never do such a thing.”
“Steal a ship to save my
own skin?”
Armin smiled, his teeth flashing in the bright lamplight of the galley greenhouse. “Not twenty years ago, you dressed the captain down for doing the exact same thing. You turned yourself in and faced disgrace. It’s hard to believe a core tenet could change that much.”
“You learn a lot in twenty years … a lot more when no one will give you a job because of a dishonorable discharge on your record and a lack of magic. I guess stealing a ship is the right thing to do from time to time.”
“So if you could go back and change your mind—stay with the captain—would you do it?”
Boots considered it. She thought back to walking down the ramp of the Capricious that awful day, her derelict order papers clutched in her hand and Cordell shouting at her back. There’d been a deep and abiding numbness in her bones that year—the year her planet fell apart. “Nah.”
Armin folded his fingers together and rested his chin atop them. “Fascinating. You know, I have to wonder if your arcana dystocia has something to do with your slight unpredictability.”
“Excuse me?”
“Magi work by magical assumption and occasional fiat. You don’t have those luxuries, and so the world that swirls around you becomes cloudier, difficult to aggregate. Your condition merits further study, to be certain.”
Boots pushed back from the table. “All right, buddy. If you’re going to start in with the ‘dull-fingered’ crap—”
“I would never call you such a thing.”
She paused.
Armin showed his palms. “I’m not asking you to join up with us out of the goodness of my heart, which is undoubtedly in short supply. You should stay because you can give me knowledge, and we can give you peace.”
“Peace? Is this some kind of religious thing?” That tickled her. “I don’t think god cares much for folk like me.”
“Not like that. Do you like wagers?”
“Too broke to gamble.”
He sat back. “No cash required. I wager that I know why you’re wandering around the decks in the middle of night cycle.”
“I’ll bite. Why?”
“You had another dream about Kinnard.”
Boots felt a fire well inside of her.
“I’m right, aren’t I? You’ve been logging them, and it never fails: within the week of making contact with Captain Lamarr, you report one to your computer. Then your system logs activity at all sorts of odd hours.”
“Listen, I don’t know what your game is, but—”
“My game is safety, Miss Elsworth. The captain wants us to chase down a ghost ship and insists you be around. I want you to be part of the crew, and not planning your next big ship-jacking. I want you to help with security, and in order to have that, I need you to be a team player.” He straightened his glasses. “Captain Lamarr is a good man, and that might be why he has trouble getting through to you. Allow me to speak your language: join us, and we’ll cut you in for an even share of the Harrow’s salvage … and, just maybe, you can find out why you keep having these dreams.”
“The captain put you up to this?”
“We’ve spoken on it, yes.”
Before she could decide, he added, “And also, this Mother character is going to kill us all before long. For a group with their resources, finding the crew manifest of the Capricious should be a snap. If we separate, our odds of survival go down, and make no mistake, I know odds better than anyone you’ll ever meet.”
She tongued the inside of her cheek as she thought it over. “Interesting … I figured you’d be happier with me dead.”
“Oh, I might. But I should also point out that your presence reduces the chance I’ll be shot first. So do we have a deal?”
He snatched up her whiskey bottle and tipped the neck slightly toward her. She clinked her tumbler against it.
“All right. Until we salvage the Harrow, consider me part of the crew.”
Chapter Nine
Planetfall
And so, contract signed, Boots found herself in an old, sweaty spacesuit, buffing out slinger scorch marks on the outer hull. It was backbreaking labor, the process of Armin “breaking her in” after years of slovenly civvy life.
She could handle it. She’d certainly seen worse. For her first posting, she’d been stationed on the plains in the civil air patrol, a place she’d lovingly dubbed “spider country.” Passing a few days buffing and grinding burrs off the ship wasn’t so bad.
On the third day, she was standing among the stars, working on a particularly arduous patch of twisted hull, when the ship made a gentle bank for approach. The gray sphere of Carré rose into her view.
This was the site of her country’s surrender negotiations, where Arca ceased to be.
“Hey, Boots,” came Cordell’s voice on her radio.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, what?”
“Yes, Captain?”
Calling Cordell “Captain” was the only part of ship life that alarmed her. On the one hand, his rank on her tongue was an old, familiar dish, cooked at home by those she loved. On the other hand, most of those people were dead.
“Capricious docks within the hour. Button him up and come to the ready room.”
“Yes, sir.”
Boots did what she could to get temporary covers over the burned-out spell punctures, but Cordell would project a shield across the belly during reentry. His amplified magic could stop military-grade slingers, so a little atmosphere wouldn’t matter much. Once preparations were complete, she closed the airlock and stripped out of her spacesuit.
When she got to the ready room (which was what they called the mess when they wanted to do mission briefings), she found the entire crew assembled and waiting. Cordell leaned against a wall, while Orna, Malik, Aisha, Didier, and Nilah remained seated around the tables. Armin cocked an eyebrow.
“Could you be any slower?”
Boots choked on an unsaid retort, clearing her throat. “Had to change, sir.”
The first mate sneered. “Did you need a shower, too? I believe the captain gave you an order to get in here. Leave the suit on next time and get in here when we tell you.”
Boots knew the first mate routine all too well: Armin needed to be the bad guy so Cordell wasn’t hated. It was a classic out of the military playbook, so Boots played along … though she considered asking if she should still take time to close the airlock or just leave it open.
“Absolutely, sir,” she replied, and took her seat.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Cordell began, pushing off the wall. “As you know, we’re about to dock at Carré for repairs. However, I have some news: for reasons known only to her, Miss Nilah Brio has graciously offered to pay for our substantial fees. She has not asked for recompense, and none of your shares will suffer from our sudden expenses.”
A hushed gasp went through the room as all eyes fell on Nilah, who gave an embarrassed little sigh. Didier whooped.
Cordell continued, “That being said, she’s going to need to get access to her funds, and she can’t do it from the ship. The bounty on her still calls for her safe return, but I’m concerned that hunters will ignore that. They’re not known for being … subtle.”
He crossed his arms. “To that end, I’m assembling an away team to escort her to her bank, where she’ll transfer the money to us. Then, Nilah’s time with us is at an end. She’ll be disembarking at the palace of Duke Thiollier, who will conduct her to Taitu and the waiting arms of Lang Autosport so she can finish her season.”
Boots glanced over at Nilah, wondering what that look was on her face. It could’ve been shame, or some regret of some kind.
“Miss Brio sought out Boots for answers, and we may happen across some of those in our future travels. We will continue to share information with Miss Brio via the Link after she’s safe with the duke,” said Cordell, “and indirectly coordinate with the authorities if need be. It falls on all of you to protect her until then. If something happens to her, our shares all get a lot sm
aller.”
“The duke is an old friend of mine,” said Nilah. “Perhaps I could arrange for your crew to be guests?”
Another gasp went up, and all eyes fell on Cordell, who shook his head in disappointment. “Y’all are some sorry folks. Are you telling me there’s somewhere in the galaxy more comfortable than your sweet bunks?”
Boots refrained from commenting alongside the rest of the clucking crew. Being planetside near the high-profile bounty was an unpleasant thought at best.
“All right, then,” said Cordell. “I guess it’s shore leave. Crew, prepare for landing. We dock at Saison Shipyards. And Nilah, I hope you won’t try to escape on the surface.”
Nilah narrowed her eyes and affixed him with a stare.
Cordell showed her his palms, as though surrendering. “I’m saying that we’re trying to deliver you in the safest possible way. Any escape attempt on your part could create dangers to your health. Stick with the people who know escort duty.”
“I still don’t understand why you won’t dock at the palace,” said Nilah. “The mechanics there are top-notch.”
“I got my own guys, and not everything on this ship is strictly legal,” said Cordell. “Let’s just leave it at that.”
Before Boots could leave, the captain stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Miss Elsworth, I’ve got a question needs answering.”
“Yes, Captain?”
“The miner’s family that sold you the picture, the one that started all this trouble … They’re from here, aren’t they?”
“Yes, sir—way up north, near the poles.”
“Have they got any more of his effects?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“When we land, I want you to take Didier and find out. He’s got a chit with ten thousand argents on it. I want you to buy anything else from that estate you can find.”
Boots thought about the long ride she’d have to share with Didier and inhaled sharply. She’d played it pretty cool with him, kept it professional, and she worried about that mask slipping.
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, and Boots?”
She paused.
“Can you at least pretend to be unhappy? It’s killing me to be this right.”
