by Zen DiPietro
“Well, come in and help,” she chided him, holding the teapot out to him.
He took it obediently, and began filling teacups.
“When everyone here has had what they need, we can rotate another group in,” she said.
“That’s a good idea.” He was annoyed he hadn’t thought of it himself. Had he been planning to let people eat rations on the floor of the cargo bay?
Idiot.
All the Atalans were smiling. They were dirty and tired and ravenously hungry, but they were smiling at him and Nagali.
A fist squeezed his heart.
Nagali put her hand on his arm and smiled at him. She understood.
Where had this person come from, and where was the real Nagali Freeborn? The thought pushed him into action, filling cups, asking what he could get, and trying to see that needs got met.
When the next group of people had their fill, they gave heartfelt thanks and made way so the final group of refugees could eat. Omar had arrived to help, and Nagali had sent him away again with orders to use his charm to see if anyone needed particular attention, such as medical care. Thus far, the refugees remained shy and reticent, apparently unwilling to ask for more than they had in front of them.
As he and Nagali saw to the care and feeding of another group of refugees, he was struck again by how orderly and polite these people were. He’d have expected them to be eager, or desperate, or even pushy. They were anything but.
Finally, the last person had eaten his fill and Nagali shepherded the group out herself. “Now we’ll begin showers. I’m sure you would all like to clean up. You can return to where you were, and I’ll come get you when it’s your turn.”
“Go with them,” she murmured to Cabot. “I’m going to go through my things and see what clothes and personal items will be appropriate to share.”
Cabot blinked at her. Who was this person?
“There you go again, surprised that I’m not a monster.” She frowned at him, looking truly disappointed.
Cabot felt…bad.
He shook his head and focused on the task at hand. “After I get them settled, I’ll go to my quarters and see what I have to give. And I’ll see what Omar has.”
“Leave that to me,” she countered. “I know the right way to inspire maximum guilt in him.”
Well, at least she wasn’t acting like an entirely different person. If she was using her powers for good instead of evil, though, Cabot would give her a pass.
In his quarters, he went through his clothing. He packed light for travel, preferring to put the same few outfits repeatedly in the processor. It wasn’t like he needed an array of fashion. For now, he could manage with just one outfit and one pair of pajamas. He folded everything else and put it into a bag.
He wished he had a spare grooming kit. He’d only brought one. He shrugged, and put it into the bag with the clothes. If he didn’t get it back in the next day or so, he could go scruffy. If he found the chance to buy a few grooming kits, he’d do so.
What else? Food, clothing, grooming. What about boredom? He put two spare infoboards in the bag. No. He put his third one in the bag, too. All he really needed was a voicecom.
On second thought, he disabled the outgoing communication on all the boards. He hated having to do so, but he couldn’t risk the refugees tipping anyone off about their location. As soon as he could, he’d get them in touch with whomever they wanted to contact. He had to see to their short-term safety before he could help with long-term goals.
Right, then. He zipped the bag and slung it over his shoulder. In the corridor, Omar nearly bumped into him coming from the other direction.
“Hey, Cab. Where are you headed?”
Cabot’s comport alerted him to an incoming message. Perfect. “Actually, I need to get that call. Can you take these down to our guests and distribute them?” He held the bag out to Omar.
“Sure. No problem.” Omar gave him a light punch on the shoulder and went back the way he’d come.
Good. Cabot hadn’t been prepared to deal with gratitude for doing practically nothing. Omar was better suited to joke with the Atalans and put them at ease.
He moved quickly into his quarters to answer the call on the voicecom display. “Doony, good to hear from you. What can I do for you?”
“It’s what I can do for you,” Doony said dryly. “I saw your postings, and your unusual location.”
“Not at all unusual,” Cabot argued. “This is the perfect spot for some off-the-PAC-grid trading.”
“Right.” Doony’s weathered old face was knowing. “But you’re not an off-the-PAC-grid kind of guy, so what gives?”
“Just handling some business. An unusual deal. Are you in the area?”
“As fate would have it, yes. I’m docked at Cerberon while I reinforce some hot spots in my propulsion chamber. That’s not the kind of thing you want to play fast and loose with.”
Cabot added, “Not unless you have a death wish. How’s your progress?”
“Just waiting for the interior temperature to cool from the reinforcement. Then I’ll be ready to go. Won’t even have to set foot on that shithole below.”
“Hmm.” Cabot had known Doony long enough to ask a favor without giving too many details. “Think you could help me out, or are you on a deadline?”
“At my leisure right now. What do you need?”
“About half a ton of fresh food. High-nutrition stuff. Biogel and water reserves. Three dozen or so changes of casual clothes, free-size, unisex. Complete with shoes. About as many infoboards and click-clack games or other little entertainments. Three dozen roll-out portable beds. And no questions.”
Doony’s eyes narrowed, and he wore a shrewd look. “Where would I bring them?”
“Terceron. And be careful. Discreet. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Of course you will. And you’ll tell me what’s going on, too.” Doony gave him a hard look that would have had a lesser trader going weak in the knees. The old guy had some acid in him.
“I’ll tell you what you can know without putting you in any crosshairs,” Cabot promised.
Doony considered, then shrugged. “Maybe that will do. Stand by. I’ll see how fast I can put this together and get moving in your direction. At least, I’m assuming time is an issue?”
“It’s not a non-issue,” Cabot allowed.
“Are you ever not evasive?” Doony demanded.
Cabot knew Doony well enough to know this was his brand of humor. “Maybe,” Cabot said, evasively.
Doony snorted. “I’ll get back to you.”
The screen went blank.
That was progress, at least. Once Doony arrived, Cabot could pick his brain about what he knew about business on Terceron. Who the bigger players were, who might be working in the slave trade. Doony had been around a very long time, and had ties to just about anyone who’d made a name for themselves in trading.
He checked the chronometer. He had another fifteen minutes before he was due to relieve Peregrine on the bridge, but he went early.
“Status?” he asked when he arrived and slipped into the copilot’s seat.
“No suspicious activity. No hostile actions. Nothing particular to report.” Her mouth was tight, but that was normal for her.
“No word from your colleagues?” he guessed.
“Not yet. But my people are weeks away. A message from that far will take a little longer. Plus, they’re handling some things of their own. Hawk’s the guy who has assets in places like this, not me. How are you faring at putting together some resources?”
“I’ve had a bit of luck. An old associate happens to be docked on Cerberon and will bring us supplies for our guests.”
For the first time since he’d entered, she turned her full attention on him. “What did you tell him?”
“Nothing. Don’t worry. Doony and I have a good working relationship. He won’t burn me for some short-term profit. Our working relationship is too valuable for that. Besi
des, he’s what you might call a friend.”
“I’m underwhelmed by that description.” Peregrine ran a hand over her long ponytail.
“In my line of work, we don’t get too precious about friendship. We mutually recognize that all friendships are worth a certain price. The upside of that, as far as you’re concerned, is that my relationship with Doony has a very high price. Probably higher than any other he has. We can count on him because it’s in his own interest not to burn me. That’s the beauty of being a businessperson.”
She didn’t look like she saw the beauty. “Fine. I take it you’re seeing to the refugees?”
“Yes. They’re fed for now, though that will last only a few hours and we’ll need to start over again. Once Doony arrives with fresh food, we can go with a more picnic-inspired approach, but for now, we’re using the mess hall.”
“Good. Why don’t you continue with that? I’ll do the next shift up here.”
Cabot understood. “You don’t want to deal with our guests.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s like I said before. I’m not someone that people typically find reassuring. Actually, most people find me intimidating, or even threatening. I don’t think that’s what those Atalans need.”
Cabot fought a brief battle with himself. He knew he shouldn’t say anything. But some devil within him made him really, really want to. “You could try smiling,” he suggested.
Long ago, he’d once attempted to convince Nagali that she didn’t need to do her hair before having breakfast. Peregrine now wore this same look.
It said that, clearly, he was an utter ignoramus.
“I smile.” Peregrine’s voice had an interesting note of defensiveness. “I smile when I feel like smiling. I just don’t smile for the purpose of pleasing others. I am perfectly capable of being polite, but my face is my own. If people can’t pay attention to my words because of what my face is doing, then that’s their problem.”
He’d apparently hit on a sore spot. “My mistake. Of course, you should do with your face what you like.”
“You’re damn right.” Her voice softened before she continued. “But I do recognize that my natural way of being is not particularly charming or disarming. So I leave that to those of you who are more capable.”
“We all have our own talents,” he agreed. “For example, if we need to scare the bejeezus out of someone, you’re perfect for that job.”
Her eyes brightened with her own brand of amusement. “Exactly. We all should work our own zones.”
“Sounds reasonable to me. I’ll check in with you if I have any news.”
“I’ll do the same.” She hesitated, then met his eyes again. He’d noticed before that she wasn’t much for eye contact. But her mouth curved into a tiny semblance of a smile. “Thanks for understanding.”
His own smile was large and genuine. He gave her a proper PAC bow of gratitude and respect. “Of course.”
He continued to smile as he went back down the corridor. Peregrine wasn’t easy to know, but Cabot was patient, and the reward was well worth the effort if the glimpse he’d just had was any indication.
THE NEXT MEALTIME happened sooner than expected. The malnourished Atalans had a hunger that a single meal couldn’t satisfy.
The second session of meals went more smoothly and quickly, since he, Nagali, and Omar had created a system of preparing and serving food.
By the time the second mealtime concluded, Nagali had gotten some good news.
“I heard from Romo,” she told Cabot and Omar in her quarters.
“I don’t know that name,” Cabot said.
“He’s her next future husband. At least he hopes so.” Omar grinned, pleased to irritate his sister.
It worked. Nagali rolled her eyes and swatted his shoulder. “He does have a certain fondness for me, but it is entirely one-sided, although useful. He’s Arpalo’s assistant, but not for much longer. He’s about to go out on his own. In fact, he was on his way to Cerberon to work a few deals so he could finally afford his own ship.”
She lifted her chin, looking smug. “I convinced him to detour to meet us here.”
“Does he have information?” Cabot asked.
“Probably not. But he’ll help me. And we’re looking for reinforcements, yes?”
“Yes,” Cabot agreed. “I’m not sure how we’ll use him, but it’s good we’ll have another person on our side.”
“Too bad he’s not as useful as a sharpshooter or an assassin. That would be a lot handier,” Omar pointed out.
“And what help have you turned up?” she demanded. “So far, I see nothing from you. Maybe because you have no friends because of your poor attitude and unpleasant smell?”
Instead of being provoked, Omar laughed. “I have as many friends as you do, and I didn’t have to seduce any of them. Be patient a few more hours. Someone will come through for me.”
Nagali’s hands went to her hips and she scoffed. “I do not have to seduce anyone. They only think they’ve been seduced. Now that’s a real skill. Unlike the way you go out and getting rip-roaring drunk with people. Where’s the finesse?”
Omar grinned. “You’re just jealous you can’t drink much without getting all happy and singing show tunes.”
Nagali made a sound of annoyance in the back of her throat. “How dare you! I hate show tunes!” She shook her finger at him and strode off toward the mess hall.
She’d been working nonstop, and Cabot was impressed by her selflessness and the compassion she showed their guests. It was a side of her he hadn’t seen before.
“Think she’s really mad?” Omar asked.
“Nope. It just amuses her to pretend.” Cabot had started to notice certain behavior patterns as more than just capriciousness, but as a calculated effort to appear so.
More and more, he’d begun to suspect that Nagali was far more complicated than he’d ever suspected. And how was that possible, when they’d been married for ten years?
“You’re finally starting to get her, aren’t you?” Omar’s frank expression reminded Cabot of how Omar used the same tactics of misdirection to make people mistake his easygoing nature for buffoonery, which caused them to fail to notice how sharp he was.
Hm.
“Is that even possible?” Cabot was only half kidding. The other half of him wondered if he was beginning to understand something about her that he’d never realized.
Omar shrugged. “Even I’m not sure. I think I’ll go grab a couple hours of sleep, unless there’s something else that needs doing.”
“Nah, get some sleep. Actually, when you get up, can you check on Peregrine? She’ll at least need a break for food and such. She’s not the machine she pretends to be, though I understand her reason for not personally looking after our guests.”
Omar said, “She probably told you part of it, but there’s more. She’s complicated.”
Cabot nodded slowly. “Yeah. Aren’t we all?”
Omar smiled. Not his big goofy grin, but a sly one that said he understood Cabot’s subtext. “Exactly.”
“You’ll check on her, then?” Cabot prompted.
“Sure thing,” Omar said as he turned. Which, from Omar, either meant I sure will or You’re an idiot.
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS LATER, Doony Kirk had joined them on the Outlaw, along with Romo, who, as far as anyone knew, had no last name.
The Atalans were delighted with the abundance of fresh food, changes of clothing, and entertainments. A few had emerged as leaders of their group, and had taken over much of their own organization and caretaking.
Space had become a significant issue. Cabot’s associates had agreed that doubling up on quarters was the right thing to do, but it put Cabot in a tricky position. Peregrine refused to share quarters with Nagali, which left either Cabot or Omar to room with Peregrine. Omar was the natural choice, since the two of them already spent so much time together. But that left Cabot sharing a room with Nagali—an experience that interested hi
m about as much as a spacewalk without a spacesuit.
Okay, well, maybe it wouldn’t be quite as bad as that, especially since Nagali had shown such sensitivity lately.
But that was Nagali’s thing; lulling a person into a sense of security, and then springing all kinds of batshit-crazy on them.
Yet the alternative would be Cabot sharing quarters with Peregrine, which didn’t seem like a fantastic experience, either.
There are times in a man’s life where he just has to deal with the ugly, or the evil, or the downright unpleasant. And so Cabot stared down the barrel at evil, and agreed to room with Nagali.
Omar had finally convinced Peregrine to let him keep watch on their situation for a while, and Doony and Romo had retired to their shared space—Cabot’s former quarters—so they could rest after their journeys to rendezvous. Once everyone awoke, fresh and ready to brainstorm some plans of action, they could finally make some progress.
They needed to ensure no one would be coming after the Atalans aboard the ship, then find out where the imprisoned Atalans were and how they could free them. They needed to somehow also find Peregrine’s asset, Arcy.
Sure. That was all.
Meanwhile, Cabot would be sleeping in the bunk beneath Nagali Freeborn, his sworn enemy and former wife.
She playfully hung her head over the edge of the bed to peer down at him. Her shiny black hair dangled in the space between them. “It’s like old times, isn’t it? Other than the bunk beds.” She smiled. “It’s nice. Goodnight.”
She disappeared from view and slapped the light panel, plunging them into darkness.
He tried to sigh quietly, so as not to disturb her.
6
When he woke, Nagali had already left, leaving her bunk neatly made. How had she done that with him asleep in the bottom bunk? The only clues of her presence left in her wake were a scarlet robe hung over the edge of her bunk and the faint scent of strawberries. Her signature scent.
