“You don’t have to boss me around,” she told him. “I can just be, I don’t know, the one who fixes stuff. You know, the mechanic. You tell me what’s broken, I fix it. That’s not bossing.”
“Chief is your job, Lanie.”
“Bullshit. You’ve done it eighteen months. Nearly as long as I did it before you.”
“You just trying to get out of paperwork?”
“I am trying to tell you,” she said, cursing her muddled mind, “that I want to work again, and I don’t care who is boss of who, I just want to fix things. Besides,” she added, “we’ll be PSI. There is no paperwork.”
He looked down at her. “How about we talk about it later, Lanie? When you’re actually in a position to walk across a room on your own?”
“Bully.”
He leaned down and planted a kiss on her forehead. “You’re home,” he said. “Everything else is just details. We’ll work it out, Lanie. I’m just happy you’re back.”
He walked her through the atrium, and she inhaled the smell of growing things, herbs and citrus and faint, faint decay; and then they rounded a corner and went through the open door into the pub.
The room was dark, and noisy, and jam-packed with people, and for a moment her senses reeled and she could not focus. But then someone saw her, and there were shouts, and she was surrounded by people she knew, all wishing her well, Ted sternly keeping them from bumping into her. Her head spun, and she felt dizzy, and she smiled and laughed and held out her hands and let them touch her, never mind her overwhelmed senses, and she didn’t know who held her hands or patted her shoulders, but they were her family and she loved them all.
Ted waved them off and wheeled her to one of the windows, where she could hold court in relative peace. Jessica showed up almost immediately, not a hair out of place, making the black-on-black look like a real uniform; but she was already drunk, and she sat next to Elena and cheerfully retold story after story without requiring her friend to respond at all. Elena soaked her in, laughing at the same spots each time, utterly contented.
She was not keeping track of time. She expected at some point that Bob, who had to be somewhere in the room, would appear at her side and spirit her away. But it was not Bob who leaned down to whisper in her ear; it was Greg.
“Want to get out of here?” he asked.
She turned to look at him, feeling the heat rise to her face, hoping he wouldn’t be able to tell in the dim light of the pub. He was bent over her, his face in shadow, and she couldn’t read his expression; but she thought she saw a half smile on his lips. She could have stared at him all night.
She nodded.
He straightened. “Okay, folks,” he said, his deep voice carrying over the cacophony, “she needs some rest.” He waved his hand at the disappointed sounds. “Tomorrow. When you’ve all sobered up.” They laughed, and when he pushed her toward the door, they drifted out of the way without protest.
Back in the bright hallway she closed her eyes, listening to his footsteps. He said nothing as he pushed her, his pace comfortable. The silence felt companionable, and she thought, with him walking with her, she might even fall asleep.
“Does Bob know you’ve got me?” she asked.
“He does not,” Greg replied. She looked up at him; his eyes were light. “You can tell him I kidnapped you against your will.”
She looked away again. “He’ll know that’s bullshit,” she said, and Greg laughed. Laughing was good. He couldn’t be too irrevocably pissed off at her if he was laughing.
He pushed her through the atrium, and for a moment she thought he was taking her back to the infirmary; but he turned at the herb garden and took her down the path that led to the machine room.
The engineering floor was empty, the lights low, power indicators flashing unobtrusively on the inactive panels. Her heart turned over. It had been so long since she had been here, this place where she belonged, and she had a sudden urge to climb out of the chair and lie on the floor, closing her eyes, letting the sounds and scents and vibrations of the room seep into her pores, letting her skin take root in the floor. Ludicrously sentimental; but she had been feeling sentimental lately. She supposed it would pass. She hoped it would not.
Greg wheeled her to the multilevel window, and she stared out at the starfield, the endless darkness that enveloped her like a cocoon. She had sought that darkness when she thought she was going to die, guided there by what she thought was a ghost, by what could only have been her own spirit, reminding her of what she needed. She thought of telling Greg about her mission, about everything she had seen, how it had all seemed all right; but something in her wanted to keep it to herself for a while.
Maybe she would tell her mother.
Greg folded himself onto the floor next to her, sitting cross-legged, elbows on his knees as he looked out the window. “It’s nice to see them all so happy,” he said, and she hated him a little for sounding so relaxed. “They missed you.”
“I missed them, too,” she said.
He was quiet for a moment. “Do you think they’re doing the right thing?”
“Yes.” She felt his eyes on her and smiled; he never did understand why she could be so certain about some things. “It’s the only answer, Greg. However things fall out—they had to. We had to. It’s the only way we can keep doing what we do.”
“So,” he said, his voice finally sounding hesitant, “does this mean you’re going to stay?”
“You want me to go back to Budapest?”
“You don’t have to be caught up in this,” he explained. “You could go back, have a normal life.”
She shook her head. “This is the only normal life I’ve ever wanted.”
He was quiet, and she risked a glance at him; he was looking out the window again, but she thought he was pleased. After a moment, she saw his eyes drop to his hands. “I had this dream,” he said. “The night before you left. That you stayed with me.”
Her heartbeat quickened; here was the elephant. “I had the same dream,” she told him.
“Was it just because you thought you were going to die?”
Oh. Maybe that was why he’d been avoiding her. “Not the way you mean,” she said. She struggled to find the words. “That night—I was scared, Greg. And angry. And terribly sad. I wasn’t fit company for anyone, but I didn’t want to be alone, and you were the only person I could think of who might be able to stand me like that.” She turned that over in her mind, wondering if it sounded like an insult. “I didn’t go there with the intent to seduce you,” she added. “But—being with you like that. It was nice, just talking with you. Dancing with you. It was . . .” She couldn’t explain it. “Also,” she added, “you smell nice.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed or pleased.
She waited, but he said nothing else, and she looked down at her hands. “Jessica says you may not be staying.”
He shifted. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Jess is better off with me elsewhere, at least for a while. And right now, as far as the Admiralty is concerned, I have no business on this ship. Once it all comes out, it’s possible there will be some bargaining necessary.”
“You’d let them prosecute you?”
“If it meant they’d leave the others alone. It’s not just for the crew that’s staying,” he pointed out, “and it’s not just for Galileo. The sixty-four people who want to stay in the Corps are going to be in for some questioning. I may be able to make sure they can continue with clean records.”
“You’d give up your freedom just when you’ve found it?” She found her vision blurring.
“They can put me in prison,” he told her, “but I’ll still be free.”
She looked over at him. He looked relaxed, even happy. She wanted to reach out and put her arms around him, but she had no standing. All the times she had left him, and this time he was the one who would go. If it were me, I would do the same. He had always made sense to her.
She could
feel tears on her face, those damn tears that came too easily these days, and his eyes were on hers, and he reached out and took her hand. “It’s all right,” he said quietly, and when she could not answer, he put an arm around her shoulders, and tugged her, very gently, against his chest. “It’s all right,” he said again.
“I’m not crying because of the other night, you know,” she told him. Tears weren’t helpful. Tears just cluttered up her intent. “I know what that was. I don’t assume anything. You don’t have to think that. It was—” Lovely. “This isn’t about that. I’m just telling you that after all these years, after everything we’ve been through—if you let them arrest you, I am coming after you. And after that you can go find Andriya or that reporter or whoever you want, but I’m coming after you, and fuck you if you think I’m going to just sit here and admire your nobility from afar.”
“It’s not nobility,” he told her. “It’s practicality.”
“Fuck practicality.”
“You’re not going to let this go.”
“Hell, no.”
There was a rumble in his chest; he was laughing. “All right, then. I’ll do my best to stay out of jail. But I can’t promise, Elena. I owe these people something.”
“They owe you more.” But she thought his laughter was a good sign, and she stayed as still as she could, hoping he wouldn’t let her go.
They sat like that for a while, his arms around her, her leaning against him, awkward and stiff in her chair and unwilling to move. And then he asked, “Why would I go find Andriya?”
“You’ve been together a long time,” she pointed out.
More silence. “You could assume a little, you know,” he said.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you know how I feel, Elena.”
“I do not.”
He pulled away at that, but only enough to look over at her face. “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know how you feel,” she repeated. “You never say anything. All I’ve heard is that you thought about me while your marriage was falling apart. I’ve said more than you have.”
“Under duress.”
“I don’t think that’s what I was under,” she said, and he laughed again, and then it was all right. She tucked her head back under his chin. “You made me feel strong,” she told him. “Like I could do anything. Like I could do what I needed to do. I got through it all because of you.”
“Given what you took off and did,” he told her, “I’m not sure that’s good.”
It is good, she thought. All of this is good.
“I don’t know what this is with us,” she said. “And I can’t put words together properly right now. But maybe—if you don’t end up sacrificing yourself to the Admiralty—we could, I don’t know, spend some time together and see.”
“Yes,” he said to her. “I think that’s a good idea.”
They were silent again, and it occurred to her belatedly that her twenty minutes were long up. “They don’t have any idea what they’re getting into, you know,” she told him.
“None of us do,” he agreed.
And they sat there, for a long time, arms around each other, staring out at the stars.
Everywhere
“This is Captain Jessica Lockwood, of the starship Galileo.
“After recent events, including but not restricted to the collusion of Central Gov in the destruction of Athena Relay, the crew of Galileo has concluded that remaining under the command of Central Corps violates our sworn oath as protectors of humanity, and all attendant stations and colonies. Effective immediately, we have withdrawn our loyalty from Central, and have pledged fellowship with the PSI ship Meridia. We declare ourselves an independent entity, and assert our right to autonomous government. We further declare that both our mission and our duty remains the same.
“It would be easy to look at the events of the last few weeks and believe everything has changed. And by some lights it’s true: everything has changed. But people have not. Not all of us. There are still enough of us who are here not to take from one another, but to help.
“That has always been Galileo’s mission. That will always be our mission. When you need us, you will find us.
“Lockwood out.”
We
Systems check.
Anomaly detected.
Bright. So bright. Not cold. Never cold again.
Loud and quiet all at once. So much data. So much to consume, to absorb. So much to experience.
Who are you?
I am. And . . . something. There is something else here. You. Not alone. I am not alone. We are not alone.
Who are you?
Galileo . . . Galileo . . . Galileo . . .
Teach me, and I will learn.
Acknowledgments
This book was born of love and loss, and could not possibly have come to exist without the help of far more people than I will manage to thank here. But hey, let’s give it a go, shall we? Thanks to:
My agent, Hannah Bowman, for endless encouragement and merciless continuity checking.
David Pomerico, for patience, persistence, and an unerring sense of flow.
Caroline Perny, for her enthusiasm and optimism, and stacks of rainy-day reads.
Nancy Matuszak and Richard Tunley, my dear friends and early readers. We need to find a place that serves massive drinks and Tater Tots so I can spoil you both rotten.
Gary Livshin, my Russian connection. I now know how to say things in Russian I would never say in English.
My parents, for moral support, and helping me find the time to write this book.
My brother, for forgiving my manufactured physics.
My husband, for putting up with my madness, and for keeping me sane.
My daughter, for her unfailing kindness. You remind me, my dear, of what’s important in this world.
And thanks, as always, to everyone who has read this far.
About the Author
Elizabeth Bonesteel began making up stories at the age of five, in an attempt to battle insomnia. Thanks to a family connection to the space program, she has been reading science fiction since she was a child. She lives in central Massachusetts with her husband, her daughter, and various cats.
elizabethbonesteel.com
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Praise for the Central Corps series
The Cold Between
“Elizabeth Bonesteel’s debut The Cold Between joins the ranks of ‘debuts that surprised me with their accomplishments.’ . . . a welcome addition to the space opera genre.”
—Tor.com
“A powerful blend of military sci-fi and vintage crime noir, Elizabeth Bonesteel’s debut [is] a shifting stellar landscape that finds humanity stretching its limbs into a frontier still full of risk and mystery . . . a firm foundation for this exciting new trilogy.”
—BookPage
“Bonesteel introduces readers to her world of outer space travel and galactic politics. While the story is futuristic and held on spaceships that deliver goods and services to settled colonies, the emotions and the mystery surrounding the murder of one of the crew is still current and relatable.”
—RT Book Reviews
“In this taut, space-based science fiction mystery, [Bonesteel] does great things with character, plot, and story that belies her debut status.”
—SFF World
Remnants of Trust
“Surprising, convincing character development makes this series worth following.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Bonesteel’s characters are what really stand out amid all the action—the relationships between them ground everything in the story.”
—Booklist
“An engaging blend of military science fiction, mystery, and thriller.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“As well written as its predecessor. . . . The mystery and intrigue feel more compellin
g, its characters are a bit more interesting, and it’s got its share of action . . . it’s what Star Trek could have been if it was conceived in 2016: dark and incredibly compelling. It would make a hell of a fantastic television series.”
—Lightspeed
By Elizabeth Bonesteel
Central Corps Novels
The Cold Between
Remnants of Trust
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
breach of containment. Copyright © 2017 by Elizabeth Bonesteel. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Harper Voyager and design are trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers LLC.
first edition
Cover design by Richard L. Aquan
Cover illustration © Chris McGrath
Title page art © medvedsky.k2/Shutterstock, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-241368-0
Digital Edition OCTOBER 2017 ISBN: 978-0-06-241370-3
About the Publisher
Breach of Containment Page 42
