by Various
A leer stretched his mouth. “Man, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Damn girl. Never seen fatigues look so fine. And to think I almost forgot what a hot piece of tail you—”
The gurgle that came from Cottrell’s throat was intensely satisfying. Rion’s grip on his scruffy neck tightened, the pressure making his bloodshot eyes bulge. Anger had ignited so fast that she’d reacted before her brain had a chance to catch up.
Should have walked on by.
Usually she did. But that particular phrase . . .
She squeezed harder. “Anything else you want to say to me, Cottrell?” He shook his head. “I think the next time I walk in here—I dunno—a ‘Hey, Captain, how ya doing?’ will work just fine.”
“Sure, sure. Works fine,” he rasped, clearly stunned by her reaction.
Cottrell was all bark and no bite. Rion knew that, but . . .
Reckless, volatile, lashing out. . . . Rion had been accused of those things in the past, and rightly so. It had been a long time since she’d gotten this rattled, and it certainly wasn’t her usual routine to play the badass. But Cottrell had said the wrong set of words, words that instantly revived memories of another bar, another time, into her mind quicker than a flashbang grenade.
Dinner with Dad.
Mom refused to take her, as usual. But Jillian stepped up and offered. Jillian was fun and gorgeous and always game for anything, and Rion adored her. Her five-year-old heart was beating so fast when they entered the lounge, so excited and nervous to see her father again. . . .
But it wasn’t her dad who met them—it was that horrible lieutenant, drunk, eyes gleaming as he leered at Jillian and made those foul comments. Rion wasn’t sure what it all meant, but she knew it was bad. And when he turned his eyes on her and said she’d grow up to be a fine piece of tail . . . Jillian had lost it and struck the guy. Rion never knew fear like that before, when the lieutenant shoved her aunt against the wall, his forearm on her throat, pressing hard.
Too hard.
Then her father appeared like some avenging angel out of the ether. And—like her granddaddy was fond of saying—all hell broke loose.
“Cap,” Lessa said sharply under her breath, poking Rion in the rib. “Rion.”
Rion blinked, realizing she’d moved on from the bar and was now standing in front of Rouse’s table. And, of course, Rouse was watching her with his typical sage-like gaze. It was a look Rion knew well and one she found highly disconcerting.
Clearing her throat and giving the old man a tight smile, she slid into the booth as Rouse pulled his datapad over and made a few swipes before pushing it across the table. With a practiced eye, Rion examined the screen. “This the only image you have?”
He nodded. “It’s clearly a ship. What kind”—Rouse shrugged and sat back with a twinkle in his eye—“remains to be seen. Your job to find out, salvager, not mine. My price is forty thousand credits for the location and twenty-five percent of sale.”
Rouse tried, but he was a horrible negotiator. Rion’s attention returned to the blurry image on the screen. It could have easily been mistaken for one of the many jagged gray rocks jutting up from the snow, but to a trained eye, the lines were unmistakable. “Ten thousand and ten percent.”
Rouse held her gaze for a long moment, and Rion had to bite her tongue to keep from smiling. “Thirty and twenty,” he said, obviously enjoying himself.
She slid the datapad back. “The wreck is old, probably picked clean two decades ago. And depending on the location, it could cost more to get there than it’s worth, which means I need my credits. Offer stands at ten.” She rubbed her cheek and took some time to think, time she didn’t really need. “I would, however, be willing to cut you a deal on the sale end though. . . . Say, fifteen?”
“Ten thousand credits and fifteen percent.” He thought it over for a minute, then nodded slowly. “I do see your point. The location is quite a hike. . . . All right, Captain, we have a deal.”
Rion parked in the lot near the hangar bay where the Ace of Spades was docked, then hiked up a flight of stairs to catch the elevator to E-Level.
Ace was a gorgeous ship. Seven years in the making, she was a sleek Mariner-class transport ship refitted with so many bells and whistles that it made her one of a kind. Rion had no idea what the crew did with their own credits, but everything she made went back into the next job and from there into Ace. Her pride and joy had an advanced passive-sensor array, a military-grade slipspace drive, two pivoting fusion engines on each wing, six thrusters, a sensor-baffling suite, and already souped-up nav and comm systems that Niko had worked his tech magic upon. There wasn’t much the ship needed anymore. Though, a smart AI would be nice. . . .
“You guys are never going to believe where we’re going!” Lessa called as she jogged up the ramp and into the cargo hold.
Rion crossed the hold and headed for the steps. Cade was sitting one story up on the catwalk, performing maintenance on the track system. He stopped working as Rion looked up at him. “Meeting in the mess in fifteen,” she told him. He gave her a curt nod and then returned to the job at hand.
That was Cade, all business. He was steady, reliable, and got the job done—the kind of man who didn’t say much, but when he did, you tended to listen. A former marine, he brought order and efficiency to their small crew and was often the voice of reason when Rion wanted to run full tilt and push their operation to the limits.
Fifteen minutes later, the crew was seated around the mess table and Rion laid it all out for them. They might piss and moan about the lack of R and R, but in the end they were like her—no one could resist a score.
“The ship we’re after is huge,” Rion said. “I’m guessing old freighter, possibly military. We won’t know until we get there, but if this thing hasn’t been picked over yet . . .”
“Money in the bank,” Young Niko said with a cocky grin, linking his slim fingers behind his head and leaning back in his chair. “Can’t beat that.”
Kip glanced at him with a confused frown. “Unless it’s military.” He looked up at Rion. “Right? I mean, the UNSC’s Salvage Directive states tha—”
“Yeah, we’re all familiar,” Lessa interrupted, rolling her eyes. “Report your find, claim your reward, and let their military salvage crew take over. Blah, blah, blah. The comical part is they think that way out here, we actually give a damn. Where was the UNSC when we needed them? They show up when it’s convenient for them and expect us to tremble at the might of Earth’s grand military.” She snorted and eased back down in her seat. “Not happening.”
“This is the Outer Colonies, Kip,” Niko added. “You know as well as the rest of us that they can’t and don’t control everything. Hell, they have a hard enough time keeping control of what’s left of the Inner Colonies these days. They should be glad we’re out there recovering their goods.”
Cade was leaning back in his chair, arms folded over his chest, observing the conversation in his usual stoic manner. He didn’t have the same outward disgust as Lessa and Niko, but he had his own set of conflicts when it came to the military and the war. He’d been honorably discharged from the Marines, but his return to civilian life hadn’t gone so well. There hadn’t been a home or a family to return to, only glass. Kilometers and kilometers of glass. . . .
Rion met his somber gaze. Once, they were like Lessa and Niko, but somewhere along the way, they’d moved beyond passionate debates on wars and politics and put their energy and loyalty into the only thing they could count on: themselves.
“The UNSC leaves most salvagers alone,” Rion told Kip, taking control of the conversation. “We’re not smugglers. We hunt tech, metals, and small arms, whether that be UNSC, Covenant, or civilian.” She’d had this conversation with Kip when she hired him, but maybe she hadn’t been completely clear. “We don’t bring large arms and WMDs to market. Any military group is more than welcome to come to the clearinghouse and buy back their wreckage. I know for a fact the UNSC keeps a buyer shack
ed up in New Tyne just for that purpose. Probably cheaper for them to buy at auction than to pay the costs of their own salvagers and scouts. . . . The point is, we get our fee either way. And if we find that wreck is military and there’s a data core or nuke onboard, you better believe I’ll report it.”
“It’s a good job, Kip,” Cade told him. “Stop worrying. Cap is fair and we make a decent living, better than most out here.”
“I did my research,” Kip replied. “Wouldn’t be here otherwise.” He shifted in his chair to study Rion, his lips twitching into a smile. “Good reputation. Eighty-five-percent success rate. Best salvage ship out there. . . . Not bad for a thirty-two-year-old military brat from Earth.”
“Suck-up,” Niko coughed into his hand.
She’d hardly considered herself a military brat, but Rion didn’t bother enlightening him. Instead, she shrugged it off. “You trying to butter me up, rookie? Because flattery gets you extra rations.” She couldn’t fault him for looking her up; she’d done the same to him, though more extensively than he’d ever know.
“So what’s our destination?” Cade asked.
“Ectanus 45.” Rion leaned over and pressed the small, flat pad integrated into the center of the table’s surface. A holographic star map appeared. Rion began zooming in on the star system until a large blue planet came into focus. “We’ll bypass the planet. It’s uninhabited, so we’ll have no worries there. . . .” She turned the view slightly and stopped on the planet’s moon. “This is our target. Eiro. It’s tidally locked to the planet, but there’s a narrow twilight ring that supports a small settlement. Our target is approximately fifty-six kilometers away from the twilight ring on the dark side of the moon. Location couldn’t be better—too cold for habitation, but close enough to the ring that our winter gear should suffice. According to Rouse, the settlement has one communications satellite, two transport ships, and very little defense capability. As far as entering their airspace, we’re good. They won’t know we’re there, and we’ll have plenty of time to do our jobs.”
“That’s on the edge of the Inner Colonies, a border system. A long way off our usual route . . .” Cade said, thoughtfully, leaning forward in his chair, completely focused on the map. “You sure about this?”
Rion met with a pair of somber eyes, those of a man who had seen war and knew more than anyone the price of taking risks, of jumping systems, and of hunting salvage that others would fight and kill for. “Yeah, I’m sure. It’ll take a while, but it’ll be worth it.”
After a hard workout and an even harder sparring round with Cade, Rion hit the shower and then dressed in casual gear before returning to her quarters with a towel slung around her shoulders. Her muscles were weak and shaky. She’d pushed herself hard. Working out her demons. The usual.
Sitting down at her small desk, she stared off into nothing for a moment.
The demons were still there. Stronger than ever.
They’d left Venezian airspace and jumped an hour ago. And for the first time since seeing the grainy image on Rouse’s datapad, she allowed herself to consider yet again the possibility.
She ran her hands down her face and let out a weary sigh. How long was she going to keep doing this to herself? How long would she let the past haunt her?
Forever, it felt like.
She’d been searching for ghosts since she was six years old, since her grandfather had sat her down and told her that her father had been lost. That’s all. Just . . . lost. What did that mean exactly? What the hell did that mean? To a child those words had been utterly confounding. How many millions of families across the galaxy had been torn apart like hers? Father, mothers, sons, daughters. So many consumed by war, so many MIA and KIA, the list was unimaginable.
How did you bury a man who was lost? How did you grieve? Or move on?
Voices of her family, of her pediatrician and psychologist, echoed in her mind, putting terms and labels on her pain, like Childhood Traumatic Grief. PTSD. Anxiety.
How had she grieved?
She’d built an entire life and profession on the foundation of loss.
Salvager.
Rion shook her head and gave a tired laugh.
Salvager. Her whole life spent searching, pushing ever onward, jumping from system to system, planet to planet, one wreck after another. Looking for a ghost ship. Somewhere along the way it had become routine, the drive to find answers eventually muted by years and decades, until her job was simply a job, a way of life. . . .
It had been a while since she’d thought about him.
She pulled open her desk drawer and retrieved her favorite holostill, setting the flat chip on the table and turning it on.
And there he was.
That cocky grin on his face always made her smile. Even now, as a grown woman, he seemed larger than life. He’d been her hero, her protector, a rugged, capable kind of man, and a marine through and through.
With a heavy breath, Rion placed the image back in her desk. The data chip was there, too, containing all of the messages he’d sent home for her. Sometimes, when she really wanted to torture herself, she’d listen to them.
But she’d had enough for one day.
Eiro, Ectanus 45 System
The Ace of Spades settled into geosynchronous orbit above the dark side of Eiro. The twilight ring was just visible, a gray-blue haze outlining the moon’s circumference.
“Have you located our target, Less?”
“That’s a big ole affirmative, Captain. I have temp readings too. You guys ready for this?”
Niko swiveled in his comm chair, his knees bent, and his feet tucked under his bottom. “You mean ready to have my balls frozen off? Um. No. Not really.”
Cade grunted in agreement. “Here, here.”
“Fifty below zero.”
“Woo. Hoo,” Niko responded as dully as he could.
“It’s a balmy seventy-five and blustery in the ring,” Lessa added, ignoring Niko.
“Less and I will set her down,” Rion told them. “The rest of you head to the locker room and suit up.”
Lessa swiveled in her chair to face Niko as he got up. “Don’t forget your earmuffs, little brother.” She laughed as he shot a rude gesture behind his back. When he was gone, she returned to the job at hand. “Winds are looking bad down there.”
From her position at main, Rion monitored their progress as Ace broke atmo, keeping an eye on Lessa as the young woman navigated the ship. Lessa was learning and improving with every mission, and soon Rion would be able to rely on her more often. “Adjust thrusters and keep us on target the best you can.”
The closer they came to the surface, the more Ace was pushed around.
A kilometer out, things calmed down and the ship settled, but they’d been moved off target by two klicks.
“Sorry, boss.”
“Winds were rough. You did fine. Correct your course and get us back on track.”
Lessa plugged in coordinates and then rose slightly in her seat to get a better look at the landscape and the wreckage below. “It’s pretty, isn’t it, the snow? The wreckage sure blends in.”
As they descended, Rion got a nice view of the bow, which jutted out of the snow at a thirty-five-degree angle. Small pockets of ice and snow had built up all over the hull, stuck in the angles and lines of the ship’s design.
Ace’s reverse thrusters engaged and they eased down next to the solemn metal giant, its hull filling the viewport as they descended. An icy shiver ran down Rion’s spine as the telltale emblem of wingtips appeared, rising up from the clinging ice and snow. There was no mistaking even a portion of that symbol. United Nations Space Command.
Not his ship.
The lines are all wrong. . . .
Lessa had gone silent. The chatter from the guys down in the locker room had stopped; no doubt Niko had turned on the bulletin board so they could see the feed.
War had touched all their lives. They’d all experienced loss. They all had scars. . . .
/> Looking back, Rion realized how strange and surreal war could be to a child. Confusing. Chaotic. Frustrating. And her family had always tried to make life appear as normal as possible, pretending everything was going to be “all right.”
Her young mind had known it wasn’t all right. Her father being lost wasn’t all right. Entire colonies being glassed wasn’t all right.
Rion’s anger and conflict had begun at such an early age. Hating the military because they refused to share information about her father, yet feeling pride in her father and all the soldiers out there fighting, the absolute dogged determination of her race to survive.
Looking at this wreckage now made Rion realize she hadn’t really reconciled anything from her past. Like carrion creatures, they were about to pick clean this beautiful old warship. There was some guilt in that. And yet this was all she had—the war was over and people had to make a living. But sometimes, some days, she wasn’t sure of right from wrong anymore.
Her chest felt tight. Another dark smudge, another karmic tally mark.
“Sixty seconds,” Lessa said.
Rion moved her hands in a familiar pattern over her control panel. “Landing gear engaged.”
“Captain?”
It was Cade’s deep voice.
As Lessa went through shutdown procedures, Rion transferred control of Ace to her wrist comm. “Yeah, Cade,” she answered, getting up and following Lessa from the bridge.
“How do you want to play this?” He cleared his throat. “If there are casualties.”
Lessa stopped on the stairs, hands on the railing, and glanced over her shoulder. Rion was struck by how young Lessa seemed in that moment. She didn’t look twenty-two, but more like a little girl, one who’d seen her share of casualties and didn’t want to see more.
Despite the fact that they were salvagers, they rarely found remains. On the few occasions they had, it wasn’t on a mass scale. There was no procedure or protocol for it. And yet, she was the captain. Her crew would look to her to do the right thing.
“We’ll take a look around, see what we’ve got, and go from there.”
