Starbreaker

by Amanda Bouchet

  Shade jerked his hand back from his console like a whip had cracked down on his knuckles.

  I gaped at the now-silent communications board. I couldn’t believe it. That was some sloppy Dark Watch.

  Shade looked shocked also. He glanced at me, then over his shoulder at Frank. “What do you think?”

  “It’s a trick.” Frank sat down and started strapping in. “They’re trying to trip us up. We should go. Now.”

  “No.” I shook my head, disagreeing with him. “They’re being careless. Just listen to his voice. He’s already had it with this shit. He wants moving day to be over. Our intel was missing something, and he’s giving us an out.”

  Two blue lasers stared at me from Frank’s grim face as he clicked his harness into place. The snick of the latch punched into my raw nerves like a fist. “You can’t be sure of that.”

  “No, but it’s a good guess. Vote now,” I said, “or they’ll get suspicious.”

  Abruptly, Jax straightened from his turtle hunch. “Let’s do it.”

  Everyone else nodded, Frank just a half second behind.

  Shade opened the channel from our end. “Yeah. Echo Echo Charlie. Isn’t that what I said?”

  I held my breath, not moving a single muscle. Shade’s game face was incredible. Or his voice, in this case. Totally convincing. He had even me believing he was utterly calm and exactly where he belonged. I was so glad he was on my team now. I’d thought it before, but this time, the reality of it swamped me in a hot rush that raced through my blood.

  The voice came back, as fed-up as ever. “When the light turns green, dock on Platform 9, Slot 28. They’re waiting for you on Lower Z Level to repair those phasers that went out.”

  I slowly exhaled. We were in—but LZL was nearly the polar opposite of where we needed to go on the station. If we had to go to the very bottom level to maintain our cover, it would mean being on the Ewelock hub for longer than any of us wanted.

  Good thing I had a mechanic. I glanced at Shade. He could totally fix some phasers.

  “Got it.” Shade kept his response short and sweet and disconnected from our end.

  The signal light on Platform 9 turned green. He eased us through the plasma shield to the landing area.

  “When this is over and you’re flying out by yourself, you drop the second you can.” Shade glanced at me. “If the lower phasers are out, they can’t shoot you if you’re beneath them.”

  I nodded. Not getting blown up was high on my to-do list. Right up there with stealing a bunch of stuff without getting caught. If we had to fix the phasers, though, this idea didn’t help.

  I reached for the navigation controls as Shade located Slot 28. “Time for a blank slate.” If the Dark Watch somehow got its hands on the Queen Bee, we didn’t want anyone knowing where we’d been.

  “You’re one step ahead of everyone, aren’t you, sugar?” Shade said with a wink.

  “Cupcake, we already knew that.” I wiped the memory. Delete.

  A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Not a modest muffin, are you?”

  My lips twitched. I wiped the com device next. It looked like a new unit when I put it back in place. “I’m the big one with the nuts on top.”

  Shade grinned, his eyes laughing when they met mine. I grinned back, and right then, I was sure this crazy, ballsy plan could work.

  “Are you two talking in code or something?” Caeryssa asked from the back. “Now I’m hungry,” she grumbled.

  “Seriously. Focus,” Frank said.

  I settled back in my seat. “Just blowing off steam.” It was better than flipping out, which half of me still wanted to do as a traffic controller pointed us toward Landing Pad 28 with a flashing wand, backing up as we approached. Her Dark Watch uniform flapped hard against her body until Shade shut down the propulsion system and powered off. She pushed back her short blonde hair, turning to her next job without sparing us another glance.

  I unbuckled my harness and stood. Unlike Frank, I was a firm believer that sometimes the only way to move forward was with a smile. Now I would focus.

  Shade reached over and gave my wrist a quick squeeze. The faint ink still on my arm with the Queen Bee’s ignition codes disappeared under his big hand. I’d memorized the numbers now, along with the Nickleback coordinates. He looked at me hard before letting go. I nodded a silent promise to be careful. He nodded back the same vow and then popped the locks, exhaling a long steadying stream of air.

  I did the same and hopped down, trying to release tension and move in the loose, relaxed way of a person who had every right to be here. I wasn’t sure I succeeded. The stolen uniform felt slippery and weird, and these boots were heavy and a size too big for my feet. Moreover, I’d never be comfortable with a gun openly strapped to my side. I hoped we wouldn’t have to use our Grayhawks, but we sure as hell weren’t leaving them behind.

  The others poured out after me, but Shade slipped into the back. A moment later, he emerged with a steel-gray oblong toolbox. We really were a Dark Watch maintenance team of five.

  I glanced from side to side as Shade closed the cruiser, hoping we could walk straight to the lifts and disappear. My eyes snagged on a woman staring out at us from a glassed-in side office, a frown making her squint through the window. I let my gaze skate away but kept her in my peripheral vision as we started moving.

  Uh-oh. She left the office and strode over to intercept us at a rapid, boot-pounding pace.

  I tried not to panic as she planted herself in front of us halfway to the elevator block and swept a quick inspection over the whole group. Her stark black uniform matched everyone else’s here, including ours, except for the red stripe across her chest pocket. She was a team captain of some sort. Landing dock security? Chief of Platform 9? Her scowl sent a wary vibration tingling up my spine.

  “Crew 32?” Blue eyes narrowed under thick blunt bangs that partially hid an amoeba-shaped birthmark sliding down her temple.

  “That’s right,” I answered.

  She looked beyond us toward the Queen Bee. “Where’s Bob?” Suspicion scrolled across her face like a computerized warning.

  Bob? How the hell should I know? “Grounded. Whole crew’s in the hospital.” I forced a twang into my voice to match the nasally thing I’d heard coming from Sector-7-born kids at the orphanage, some of them from Ewelock. “Food poisoning. Can you believe that? Bad luck. Anyhow, Bob sent us instead. Knew it was urgent to fix those LZL phasers. Gotta keep your bottoms up.”

  And that was that. We weren’t impersonating the maintenance crew anymore; we were replacing them. Adapt. Move forward. Don’t get caught.

  My fingernails bit into my palm, and I uncurled my fist, letting my hand dangle.

  “The phasers went out earlier.” She frowned. “No explanation for it.”

  “We’ll figure it out.” I gave a short nod, trying to end the conversation and hoping she might not pay attention if we went up the spacedock instead of down.

  The Ewelock security hub followed the same architectural pattern as any spacedock the Dark Watch had built during the last twenty-five years. Just more proof that the Overseer had zero imagination and that once he found a system that worked, he poured it in concrete across the galaxy. Or in this case, reinforced metal, huge clear panels, and massive firepower. Upper A to Z. Middle A to Z. Lower A to Z. Seventy-eight levels. Food storage units were always attached to Upper Levels A to O.

  I didn’t know Bob, but I knew how to pretend to fit in here, thanks to time spent on Starbase 12—the original three-tiered alphabet-model spacedock. The Overseer had required “his daughter” for plenty of official functions and paraded Mom and me out when it was convenient. On the starbase, it was Uncle Nate who’d shown me around, and I’d been granted a certain amount of freedom because of the secure location. Otherwise, Mom and I were only allowed some fancy shopping trips here and th
ere on Alpha Sambian, mainly to show our faces in public—a reminder to the galaxy that the Overseer was a generous family man, a model for everyone.

  A model who didn’t even let his kid go to school. People assumed I had a home tutor, but I didn’t. Mom taught me to read and write, and Uncle Nate brought us books. I didn’t set foot in a classroom or interact with other children until Starway 8 became my home.

  “But Bob…” The team captain’s eyes strayed to the entrance with the long line of waiting ships.

  “He’ll be up when he’s feeling better. Won’t be long now.”

  Her expression cleared somewhat. I must have been convincing.

  She glanced at Shade’s toolbox and waved us forward. “Follow me.” She walked us to the lifts, waited for one to open, and pushed the button to the bottom level herself. “You know the way once you’re down there?”

  “Yeah. Not our first DWALSH.” Hopefully, no one but me noticed the irritation in my voice. No choice now: we were going in the wrong direction first.

  She stepped back, letting us go. I couldn’t tell if she was still suspicious. I wasn’t using a secret language or anything, but most people didn’t say things like LZL, keep your bottoms up, or DWALSH if they didn’t frequently live or work on Dark Watch alphabet-level security hubs.

  The doors closed, leaving us in the silent lift, although it seemed to me that I could hear every single one of our pulses beating frantically.

  “We have to go all the way down now, don’t we?” Caeryssa muttered.

  “It’s safest,” I answered, hoping there wasn’t a microphone in here. Even the all-controlling Dark Watch didn’t want to hear everyone’s random conversation in an elevator. The little camera in the back corner needed to keep seeing the tops of our heads until we got off where we were supposed to, though. “Bob’s friend with the bangs could be monitoring our progress from her office. And we should walk back up. Get between the inner and outer shells of the station.” The elevators would be pandemonium today, slow and crowded, but hardly anyone would actually be working or needing access to the cargo attachments.

  Frank groaned. “That’s a hell of a workout.”

  “You scared of some stairs, Frank?” I slid him a challenging look.

  “Not all of us get a hearty workout running for our lives every day like you do, Bailey.” His effort at humor scraped a thin layer off the coating of dread sticking to our group like rotten honey.

  Eight levels down and still in the docking areas, the lift opened. A Red Beam zipped past. I forced myself not to flinch, and the drone’s searching red eye swiveled toward the guy blocking the lift with an arm and waving his friends over.

  We all stood absolutely still, trying not to draw the drone’s attention. It locked on to the two young men moving toward the lift at a jog and then zoomed away to scan an incoming vessel.

  Time seemed to slow as we waited for them to get in the elevator. A saw buzzed. Sparks showered off a ship being repaired two landing pads over. The roar of the blowtorch scorched my ears as though it were right next to us, but at least it dulled the sound of my hammering heartbeat, the powerful thuds nearly deafening me.

  When the two others arrived, we backed up, making room for the trio juggling bags and boxes at the lift entrance. They barreled in together like an asteroid, all energy and impact. Nerves jumped in my throat. How long until another Red Beam flew by? DWALSHs were always crawling with them.

  My pulse echoed through all my hollow places and pounded out warnings. Close the doors. Move now. Finish this.

  One of the new recruits—because they were definitely that, complete with brand-new Dark Watch uniforms and pristine military-issued packs—glanced up at Jax as he balanced his belongings, using one knee to help. “Can you press Middle H for us? No hands.” He smiled, his pile of stuff teetering.

  Jax reached past the young man’s shoulder and pressed MH on his side of the lift. The scar on his cheek stretched as his jaw flexed.

  One of the others tilted his head back. Not too tall and a little scrawny, he seemed in awe of Jax. “Man, you’re huge. I’m glad I signed up.” All three nodded and grinned, as if simply joining the Dark Watch turned you into a badass heap of man like Jax.

  I forced even breaths in and out, reminding myself that these were kids, barely out of school and probably not yet understanding that they’d just sold their souls to a demon in a brown suit.

  “You guys part of the new crew?” The boy who’d stopped the elevator glanced at us over his shoulder. His open gaze zeroed in on me. I was in the middle. His bone structure and coloring reminded me of Miko’s. Instant fury rose up, because she was gone, and he was joining the man who’d killed her. “This is our first assignment.”

  No kidding. It was hard not to ask why he looked so proud to be a spanking new member of the arm of oppression that reached across the galaxy. Would he wake up one day and wonder why he was doing the dirty work of a totalitarian regime that had replaced democracy? Would he choose a new path and change his life? Or would that easy, boyish smile gradually twist into a sneer as power over others corrupted him?

  “Maintenance,” I said curtly.

  He seemed to expect more, but I didn’t feel like chatting.

  He turned back around, looking a little cowed and awkward. After a moment, he and his buddies laughed about something they’d done down on Ewelock the night before, a last hurrah before active duty. Apparently, twins were involved, which was frankly too much information for a crowded elevator.

  MH flashed on the upper screen, the lift stopped, and the doors opened.

  The three new recruits mumbled goodbyes without looking back at us and quickly exited, still laughing and bumping shoulders with each other. Shade was the only one who managed to mumble a goodbye back. I was too busy wanting to bash their heads together.

  We hit Lower Z without meeting anyone else, which was a small miracle considering the moving-day bustle.

  As the lift stopped, Shade leaned close to my ear and murmured, “You weren’t very friendly to those kids.”

  “They’re not my friends,” I answered.

  The doors opened, and I leaned cautiously forward, checking the corridor up and down for a Red Beam. No security drones in sight. I stepped into the deserted hallway, not surprised that Lower Z was dead. The last level of each alphabet tier was mainly used to house the big systems for that section. I could hear the low hum of the air and water recycling units that took up most of the level, along with the cluster of phasers that protected the bottom of the spacedock.

  “But don’t you think they might remember the tall grumpy lady in the lift?” Shade asked, following me down the corridor along with the others.

  “We’re on a DWALSH,” I said. “It’s better to intimidate than be friendly. Friendly is what stands out. Pretty soon, they’ll know to expect to be scared and bullied, and then they’ll start doing the same to the next group of kids just so they can stop getting picked on themselves.”

  “That doesn’t sound like you.” Shade looked at me as though he suspected possible body snatching. “And that’s a pretty grim outlook.”

  “The galaxy’s a pretty grim place.” I waved my hand to the right when we came to a choice of corridors. Then—because now guilt was stabbing at me like a tiny little ice pick—I muttered, “They chose this life.”

  Besides, what did he want me to do? Give them a rousing Join the rebellion speech when we were trying to blend in?

  “Not everyone has the luxury of choice,” Shade said.

  “Luxury?” I asked, incredulous. “Is that what I live in? You always have a choice.”

  If my goal was to shut him up, it worked. Shade didn’t say another word.

  Regret clawed at my chest. I wanted to stop and apologize, but we didn’t have time for that.

  “You know where you’re going, right?” Frank a
sked. They’d been following me, but we weren’t exactly on the level for which we’d studied floor plans and exits. Or they had. I could walk this place blind.

  “We’re about to come up on the phaser control room. There’s no bypassing it if we want to get to this level’s cargo spine exit.” And from there, the stairs.

  Everyone on this crew was used to simply accepting that I knew certain things about military structures, especially security hubs, which all followed the same design pattern. Jax mostly understood why. So did Shade now, but I could still see the questions spinning in his eyes. Sure, I’d spent time on Starbase 12 as a kid, but Shade probably hadn’t expected me to be this familiar with the inside of a DWALSH.

  “Look sharp,” I whispered before we turned the next corner. “Bound to be people here.”

  A series of windows stretched down the corridor on our left, the slightly darkened room behind them filled with floor-to-ceiling monitors that lent a greenish glow to everything around us. A row of podlike chairs faced the monitors, and I knew they had built-in directional and firing controls linked to the LZL phasers. The massive weapons pointed out at different angles from the rounded base of the station. The chairs were unoccupied, and the screens all showed error messages. Only four soldiers milled about when there were chairs for a dozen. Another moving day win—plus the guns weren’t working. The soldiers spotted us the second we turned the corner, and I’d bet good money that Bangs on Platform 9 told them we were coming.

  I hadn’t truly thought we’d make it to the stairwell without having to deal with anyone more dangerous than those kids in the elevator. I’d just…hoped. At least we weren’t outnumbered.

  Having no choice but to forge ahead, I stopped and popped my head into the room when we reached the entrance. “I hear your guns are out.”

  A woman left the group by the monitors and walked over. “The damn things stopped working a few hours ago. The system just went blank. Never happened before.”

  “Yeah. Weird,” I agreed. Were we really going to have to fix these phasers? That would be counterproductive in all ways.