by Zen DiPietro
“Yes, thank you.” He transferred one hot food tray to the table in front of her, then set the other in front of his place and sat.
He accepted a glass of pink wine from her, watching her to see if the color bothered her. Nagali hated brightly-colored food, and the blush-pink beverage might have been just enough to bother her. Either it didn’t reach the threshold or she was making a distinct effort to be tolerant, because she merely smiled and sipped the wine.
“Refreshing. What a pleasant indulgence, having wine on a business trip.”
“Indeed.” He sipped his own wine, which he found nice enough and not too sweet.
She held the stem of the glass in her long fingers, watching him. Apparently, she was not inclined to take charge of the conversation.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you more about this job we’re about to do.” He had woven an elaborate story, complete with small truths woven into an overall masterpiece of a cover story.
“I don’t care about the job.”
Gah! That woman! He’d put a lot of thought into that story.
“You don’t?”
She shook her head. “Of course not. I don’t care about the job or the pay. I told you. I want to prove to you I’m not the monster you think I am.”
“I assure you, I’ve never once thought of you as a monster.”
“A ripper, then.” Her tone turned bitter. “I’m not.”
“So your plan is to use your time with me to argue your case?”
“I’m well aware of the fact that nothing I say will change your mind. My plan is to prove to you with my actions that I’m not a ripper.”
He eyed their rapidly cooling food. “This job is your shot at redemption, then.”
“I guess that’s fair to say.”
“Why do you care, after eight years, what I think of you?”
“I always cared.” Her voice barely rose above the ambient hum of the ship.
“If that’s true, why not try to change my mind sooner?”
“Because that’s how long it took for you to be ready to reconsider.” Her eyes were knowing.
Something about her words rang true, but like the cover story he’d been ready to tell her, a hint of truth here only served to make a lie convincing. And he wasn’t convinced.
“I’m not ready to reconsider now, either.”
“Aren’t you?” Her eyes still had that knowing expression. “A year ago, you would have launched me out an airlock sooner than work with me. Yet you came to Dauntless and recruited me to help you make the deal on Briv.”
“I recruited Omar. You were part of that bargain. Like a crate of coil springs you have to take along with the cargo you really want.”
Instead of being offended, she laughed. “Try selling that lie to someone else. You could have refused me and hired someone else instead. But you knew I was the best person for the job, and you were no longer resentful enough to ignore that fact. That was my cue that, finally, it was time.”
She was too close to the truth. He felt distinctly uncomfortable. “Eight years is a long time to wait around, hoping to redeem yourself.”
Her lips curved in a smile that was somewhere between happy and sad. “From the moment I met you, I knew you were the only one who could ever match me. Eight years is nothing, as long as we’re both still alive.”
She meant it. The full force of Nagali’s sincerity was more than he was prepared to handle. He could withstand her sarcasm and seduction. But honesty was something else.
He looked down at his glass.
“It’s fine,” she said. “You don’t have to answer. Let’s change the subject. I’ve noticed that my brother seems to have become infatuated with Peregrine. What do you think of that?”
“I try not to. It’s none of my business.”
“He’s my brother, so it’s entirely my business.” She smiled in that malevolent black-widow way of hers.
“You said you’d behave yourself,” he warned.
She held her hands up, palms out, in a gesture of innocence. “I haven’t said a word. Not even to note what a sourpuss she is.”
“Sourpuss.” He stared at her.
“Never smiling, never laughing. She’s like an automaton. So dull.”
“There’s more to her than that. I don’t claim to know her well, but I sense she has great depth. Maybe that’s what interests Omar.”
“Or maybe it’s her biceps. He loves muscular women.” Nagali smirked. “Or maybe it’s just powerful women. He and Ditnya have been getting friendly lately.”
“Really? How is she? I didn’t have a chance to pay my respects last time I was on Dauntless Station. She was too busy.”
“The life of a crime boss is a demanding one,” Nagali noted.
“That’s a little harsh, isn’t it? Overseeing a mercenary station doesn’t make her a crime boss.” Cabot had always liked the woman. It took a person of real grit to be on top of her game in her seventies.
“No, but the crime does.” Nagali rolled a careless shoulder.
“Perhaps it’s not an incorrect assessment,” he admitted. “Though I prefer to think of her as a skilled businesswoman. After all, why put value judgments on her work?”
“I didn’t think I was. Crime is relative, and I meant it in terms of the PAC.”
“I suppose you’re right. So what’s this about Omar and Ditnya?”
Nagali finally picked up her chopsticks and stirred her food. “She seems to have taken a liking to him. But then, he can be charming, when he isn’t playing dumb. Sometimes even when he is playing dumb. They started socializing after a run-in I had with a deal that started to go south.”
“You? A deal gone bad? I’m shocked.” He smiled to soften the sarcasm.
“It wasn’t my fault. My associate was trying to pull a fast one. But it all worked out, and now Omar has a rather powerful friend.”
“Indeed. That’s interesting.” Cabot had a cordial enough relationship with Ditnya Caine, but they were not nearly close enough to be called friends. Such a friendship would be highly beneficial.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Nagali chewed a piece of fish, then swallowed. “I don’t know what this is, but it isn’t bad.”
“Fish and chips. From what I gather, the partner of the owner of this ship has a fondness for it.” He picked up a long, thin piece of potato and tasted it. “Hm. Better than I expected.”
Nagali laughed. “You were hoping to give me an unsatisfactory meal?”
“I was trying for it, yes,” he admitted.
She lifted her glass to him. “Then here’s to the unsatisfactory meals we’ll be sharing on this journey.”
He chuckled as he touched his glass to hers.
Maybe they wouldn’t be that awful. The possibility didn’t bother him as much as it should have.
EVERY OTHER NIGHT, Cabot had an entirely inoffensive dinner with Nagali. It was just as well that he’d struck this bargain with her. Outside of their shifts at the helm, Peregrine and Omar were hard to find. Cabot suspected this was because they were together, behind closed doors. Their absence left Nagali his only option for company.
She was funny. He’d always known that. Her combination skill of observation and dry wit, coupled with an edge of snark, had no rival. She could be empathetic, when she chose to be. Even heroism was not unknown to her. Except through it all was a liberal swirl of stubbornness and caprice, which made her a perplexing, intriguing companion.
It had always been so with her. As each dinner led into the next, he dreaded them less and less. At times, he even enjoyed them.
“Do you remember the day we met?” she asked one night.
He did. But he said, “Hm. Remind me.”
“That crappy little cargo freighter. I was hopping a ride to the next system, and you were going planet to planet within the system.”
“Right,” he said, as if he’d only just remembered.
“I’d just gotten on board and confused my quarters for yours
and was trying to open your door. And…what was it you said?”
He pretended to mull, rubbing his chin. “Something about it not being your room, I think.”
She laughed—a deep, throaty sound. “You said, ‘Madam, if you were bunking in here with me, I’m sure I’d be aware of that. Perhaps you’re staying next door?’”
He smiled. He hadn’t thought of the first time they’d met in a long time, but he could remember her wide eyes, the way she smelled faintly of coconut, and her laugh. Which sounded exactly like it did now.
And on the dinners went, being entirely pleasant and enjoyable. She didn’t piss him off even once. After two weeks, if he recalled correctly, that had to be some kind of record.
Nearly three weeks after the voyage began, Cerberon first appeared on sensors. Cabot was in the cockpit. Or on the bridge. Whatever this oddly-sized space on the Outlaw was properly called.
When he tried to get sensor readings from the planet, he found he couldn’t. He could see it there, at the correct coordinates, but he couldn’t get the energy readings that should be readily evident. He couldn’t see any sign of communications availability. If he wanted to send a message, he wasn’t sure it would get through. There seemed to be some sort of dampening field around the small planet.
Bizarre. Though it explained why he had detected no readings from Cerberon. Just a little more than a day from their destination, they should have had access to the full complement of planetary data.
It was probably some sort of sensory-blocking phenomena, like an unusually large and dense cloud of cosmic dust or solar flares. No doubt the data would begin registering within hours.
Meanwhile, he had his final dinner with Nagali to attend. Oddly, he didn’t dread it. He’d seen little of Peregrine and Omar, and Nagali had been on her best behavior. He had forgotten how pleasant her company could be, when she wasn’t being obnoxious.
That didn’t mean he was going to ignore that the terms of their agreement had been generically for “the trip” and did not specify the return trip. As such, she could not claim rights to his time on the way back to Dragonfire.
On his way to the mess hall to prepare their meal, the comport on his belt signaled an incoming message. But rather than an audio message, he received only text.
Apologies for the late notice, but I’ve decided to go to bed early. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Unexpectedly, he was freed of his obligation. He waited to feel the weight lift off him, but he felt only the solitude of the evening ahead.
Not that his lack of relief meant he was sorry she’d cancelled. Of course not. He was far better off in his own company. He’d use the time far more beneficially by doing some work. Yes, this was a much better turn of events.
He ate alone in his quarters, scanning through the LTS listings. He put in a few lowball bids, but felt bored.
Bored. The man who always had more to do than he had time to do it in.
This was why he left cargo-hauling and other jobs that required long trips like this to people better suited to it. Cabot preferred his life on Dragonfire, where he always had a variety of pastimes available to him. A walk in the arboretum would be just about perfect right now.
There was no sense in pining for what he couldn’t have. Instead, he changed into his pajamas and, like Nagali claimed to have done, went to bed early.
“ANYTHING?” Cabot stood over Peregrine’s shoulder on the ship’s bridge. As soon as he’d woken and dressed, he’d gone there for an in-person update.
“No.” Peregrine looked serious, as usual.
Cabot suspected she might be a touch more grim than usual, but couldn’t be sure. “Have you found any reason for the interference?”
“I don’t believe it’s a natural phenomenon. Someone appears to be intentionally blocking communications, along with other data. This explains why my team has been unable to get a message to our contact.”
“Any idea why someone would do that?” he asked.
“Sure, plenty, and none of them good.”
He could imagine at least some of those possibilities. “Think your friend Arcy is okay?”
Her head jerked toward him. “I didn’t realize you knew his name. But I’ve never met him. He’s Hawk’s friend. From what I know of him, he’s a survivor. If anyone could be okay, it’d be him.”
“Good to hear.”
Her attention returned to the control panel.
He asked, “What’s our plan, then?”
“Same as before. We approach, dock, and find Arcy. I’ll leave the cover story to you, if you’re comfortable with that.”
“That’s why I’m here.” He smoothed the front of his shirt. “There’s no such thing as a cover story in business. All we need is a deal to arrange, and I came prepared.”
“The power converters and orellium in the cargo hold?” She didn’t look at him.
“I see you’ve inspected our cargo manifest.”
She looked at him long enough to raise a sardonic eyebrow. “I did, but more importantly, I went down to the hold and looked with my own eyes.”
He smiled. “There’s hope for you as a trader.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, in case I need to find a new job.”
Cabot was pretty sure that the dryness of her tone indicated Peregrine’s version of humor.
“What’s our ETA? I’ll make sure I’m at the controls when we arrive.”
“Two hours, twenty-eight minutes.”
When she said nothing more, he answered, “I’ll be here back to relieve you in two hours and eight minutes, then.”
She nodded once, frowning at the voicecom.
IN THE MESS HALL, he found Omar already brewing coffee and digging into a steaming tray of food.
“Morning.” Cabot plucked a packet of Rescan breakfast hash from the cooler and slid it into the heat-ex. The combination of starchy root vegetables and lean protein was his favorite first meal of the day, though he could never quite decide which setting of the heat exchange device was best for it. The grill setting left the food a tiny bit too crisp and smoky, while the steamer setting was perfect for the meat while leaving his vegetables a touch soggy.
Nothing beat cooking to order, but only luxury-liner ships had open heat sources for cooking.
He pushed the button for the grill setting and poured himself a cup of coffee while he waited. He’d have preferred Alturian tea, but coffee would do.
It wasn’t until Cabot sat across from Omar with his coffee and food tray that Omar finally answered, “Morning.”
“You’re up early, considering you had a late-night piloting.”
Omar took a long drink of his coffee. “Curious to see what happens next. Should be interesting.”
“Yes, I imagine it will be.” Cabot dug into his crisp vegetables.
They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, then Omar pushed his tray away and sat back with a sigh. “Should I ask about what’s going on with you and my sister?”
“Not unless you want me to ask about you and Peregrine.”
Omar nodded slowly. “Fair enough. No questions, then.”
“That’s probably wise,” Cabot agreed.
“Though I will say that I would not at all mind if she decided to go live with you on Dragonfire.”
Cabot laughed. “Nagali living and doing business on a PAC station? That seems about as likely as her deciding to attend the academy and become an officer.”
Omar snickered. “Yeah, well. You can’t count her out for anything.”
Cabot’s humor evaporated. Omar was right. Nagali’s crookedness was matched only by her unpredictability. He’d be unwise to count anything out when it came to her.
He changed the subject. “Do you know a guy named Arcy?”
Omar looked thoughtful. “Heard of him, but never met him. He’s a heavy-hitter, if what people say is true, but every time I’ve tried to meet him in person, he disappears. I’ve wondered if he’s just a myth.”
&n
bsp; “You mean a name people invoke without having any actual connection?” It was far from unusual for an eager businessperson to claim associations that might make them appear more important. Cabot had witnessed that plenty of times.
“Exactly.”
“I’ve only heard rumors myself, which is interesting. Whenever rumors are involved, you can expect most, if not all, of them to be false.”
“But the fact that people find it worthwhile to create them says something,” Omar pointed out. “That’s the interesting part. At any rate, Peregrine says one of her teammates actually knows the guy, so I’d put my money on him being real. I think this job is going to be very interesting.”
Cabot lifted his cup for another sip of coffee. “I’d say you’re right about that.”
PRECISELY TWO HOURS and eight minutes after leaving the bridge, Cabot returned to it. He assured Peregrine that this part of the job required him to appear alone, to establish his position as the owner of this ship and the leader of its crew.
Fortunately, he had a name and a reputation he might be able to use to his advantage. He didn’t want to explain Peregrine’s presence on the bridge, though, so he shooed her out as much as it was possible to shoo someone like her.
Then there he was, in proximity to the docking station above Cerberon.
It wasn’t a pretty planet. It was a black and gray hunk of rock no one wanted. The one thing it had in its favor was location and availability. Set just outside the PAC zone, it had proven to be an attractive location for a trading port. Though the term attractive had nothing to do with its looks or offerings.
Given that it had gravity and a small amount of atmosphere, it had been far cheaper to commandeer the small planet than it would have been to build a space station. Thus, Cerberon had been born—a ramshackle affair cobbled from scrap and just barely capable of supporting life. It had begun as a shanty one trader had built for himself, until another trader found it and began using it. In a rare example of cooperation, they’d worked together to create a waystation they could charge others to use. Now the pair ran Cerberon, and took fees from anyone docking there.
