by M. D. Cooper
“We left before anything got delivered,” Fran said. “We’re going to have to figure something else out.”
“What do I do until then?”
“Take him into the garden room,” Cara said. “Use one of the planters with the dirt in it.”
Tim held the dog up by his armpits. Em grinned at him, tongue lolling.
Fran asked.
Lyssa repeated. She wasn’t sure what Fran meant by crewmember. Was she part of the crew? She was a passenger, at best, wasn’t she?
Neither Fran nor Cara spoke for several minutes, and Lyssa wondered if she should engage in conversation.
Lyssa said.
Fran laughed aloud,
Lyssa replied, wondering if she should say anything aloud to Cara to break the silence.
The autodoc returned an estimated wake time and Fran blinked at the display. She pointed at the monitor.
“He’s going to be all right.”
Cara craned her neck to look at the display. “That just says when the anesthesia’s going to wear off.”
“If he wasn’t going to get better, the autodoc wouldn’t bring him out of it.”
“You’re sure?”
Lyssa noted the fear in Cara’s voice.
Fran put a hand on her arm. Cara didn’t pull away.
“He’s going to be all right.”
“How long are any of us going to be all right?”
Fran gave her a smirk. “That’s life, girl.” She yawned and raised her arms to stretch.
Cara watched her as if she wanted to say something else, then mimicked the yawn instead.
“I guess I’m tired,” Cara said.
“Adrenaline burnout,” Fran said. She sighed. “There isn’t much we can do here. We need to burn, so you’re going to have to come back up to the command deck or strap-in back in your cabin.”
“I want to be on the command deck,” Cara said. “All of us should stay together.”
Fran gave her a long look, the implants in her green eyes flashing. “Your dad’s going to be fine,” she repeated. “Probably not any dumber than he was before.”
“He’s not dumb,” Cara said.
“Well, he makes dumb decisions.”
“That’s different.”
“Maybe,” Fran said. “I think it’s all the same in the end. We’ve got a big decision to make, and we need to make it without the benefit of his dumb input.”
“What’s that?” Cara said.
“Where are we going? We’ve got the same amount of fuel we had when we arrived. I didn’t have time to refuel.”
“I thought we were going to Ceres,” Cara asked.
“He said he didn’t want to go to Ceres.”
“He did?”
“That’s what Heartbridge is going to expect us to do. It’s the next logical port after the Protectorate.”
“Where would we go if we weren’t going to Ceres?”
Fran shrugged. “Back to Cruithne. High Terra. A couple other tiny points in the dark. Our options are limited.”
“We can’t go back to Cruithne,” Cara said.
“We’d have help on Cruithne.”
“Isn’t Heartbridge still there?”
“Yeah,” Fran said. It was obvious to Lyssa that Fran didn’t like being the one to make this decision.
“Do we have to leave here?” Cara asked.
“However Petral managed to trick the M1G, I don’t think we should stick around to test it. Those drones were acting on Heartbridge stop-travel orders. Once they figure out Petral’s not who they’re looking for, they’ll be after us again.”
Lyssa reached out over the Link and found Fred in the same place he had been before, waiting for her.
she said.
Lyssa said.
Fred said.
he asked.
Lyssa asked.
Fred asked.
Fred said. His voice swelled with a sickly emotion that was pathetic and furious all at once.
Lyssa said.
Fred didn’t answer immediately. Lyssa listened in on Cara and Fran and found them still debating various available courses. She found it amusing that Fran, for all her gruff demeanor, was almost deferring to the younger girl. Cara had impressed her in some way that Lyssa didn’t understand completely.
Fred said.
Lyssa asked.
Fred said.
Lyssa said.
Fred said.
Fred made a sound like a gasp.
He laughed sadly.
Lyssa said.
Fred said.
He grumbled, distracted by the idea of the game.
Lyssa closed her connection to the M1R network and turned her attention back to Fran and Cara.
she said.
The blond-haired woman started.
“Lyssa votes for Ceres,” Fran said.
Cara glanced at her unconscious father. “Is Dad going to be mad we left Petral?”
“I think Petral made her own decision. We’ll know soon enough. Come on. You can lay in the course. I need to check the engine.”
Cara’s eyes went wide. “Me?
Are you sure?”
“If you’re worried about it, ask Lyssa to help.”
“Will she?” Cara asked.
Fran said.
The idea that she might be part of their crew after all, even if it was merely necessity, filled Lyssa with a feeling she didn’t fully understand. It might have been the sense of purpose that obsessed Fred. She enjoyed the feeling even if she wasn’t sure what it meant for her future.
Lyssa said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
STELLAR DATE: 09.14.2981 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Mars 1 Guard Sector 985 Garrison
REGION: Mars 1 Ring, Mars Protectorate, InnerSol
Even the dumbest soldier had an air of superiority that irritated Cal Kraft, and Marsians were the worst. At least anyone born on Terra knew deep down ground-pounders were trash. Marsians all carried themselves as though they had somehow evolved past everyone else, even the dumbest M1G private first class.
He enjoyed making them salute him. He liked the brief look of confusion on the guards’ faces as they realized he was someone important but didn’t know why and quickly decided they should snap to attention and salute anyway.
That’s what Heartbridge’s money and influence bought. Even the stiffest-dick M1G sergeant had to salute when he approached. He did appreciate their cleanliness, which couldn’t have been easy in these ancient parts of the ring, where some sections were easily five hundred years old. He might as well have been walking the dungeons of a medieval castle, rubbed shiny by generations of filthy humans.
The supervising sergeant for the current shift in the detention center snapped a salute and nodded as Cal approached, flashing a grin indicating he enjoyed his work.
“You’re here for the operator, Mr. Kraft?” he asked.
Cal nodded. “Ms. Petral Dulan?”
“That’s her. Are you here for transport?”
“Not yet,” Cal said. “I want to interview her first. How long have you had her?”
The sergeant got a distant look as he checked his Link. “Fourteen hours, sir.”
“She had any sleep?”
“Not that we’ve seen. She’s just sitting in there.”
“Anything to eat?”
“Not yet.”
Cal raised an eyebrow. “Did you plan on feeding her? How does the M1G usually treat its prisoners?”
The sergeant shrugged. “We’re in the middle of a security lockdown, Mr. Kraft. Our barracks had a fire scare, the system AI is turning up anomalies all across the Ring and this woman took one of our mechanics hostage in order to take a joy ride in the garrison commander’s personal shuttle. She’ll eat when we get around to it.”
“I’m not questioning your methods,” Cal said. “I’m checking on what I have to work with here. Sounds like she’s going to be a bit hangry.”
The sergeant chuckled. “That one will bite your face off if you get too close. We’ve still got her shackled to the bunk.”
“You got the token to remove them?” Cal asked.
“That would be suicide.”
“What do you care?”
“I don’t need a dead civilian on my watch.”
“Fine,” Cal said. “How about I talk to her a bit and when I ask you to come unshackle, one of your people gives me the token. If something happens to me, it’s on me. Heartbridge has already established an inter-agency agreement with your local commander.”
The sergeant crossed his arms. “Since when did Heartbridge become an agency? You trying to tell me you could make me do what you want?”
Cal wasn’t going to tell the grizzled sergeant that he already had the control tokens for every security system in the detention center. But it was better to hang onto that information until he needed it. If he knew soldiers, they had so little real power that they liked to feel like they were exercising control over their narrow areas. This man was no different.
“I’m asking for your help,” Cal said. “I’d prefer to keep this at the lowest level possible. I’m here to get information out of her. If I can do that with a promise as simple as freeing her hands, I’d see that as getting off very cheap.”
“This one isn’t stupid,” the sergeant said.
“I wasn’t assuming she was.”
Cal inclined his head toward the door, indicating he was done discussing the matter. The sergeant gave a shrug as though he didn’t really care one way or the other. He turned to activate the cell’s lockdown control.
“If you need me in there, use the Link,” he said. “This door’s thick. I think it’s as old as the ring.”
“I’ll knock when I need out,” Cal said.
“Knock loud, that’s what I’m saying.”
“Right.”
The sergeant pulled the door open to reveal a three-meter-square cell with an alloy bunk against one wall and a combination toilet and sink facing. Evenly spaced lights in the ceiling filled the room with an unrelenting brilliance that probably made sleep impossible.
Petral Dulan sat with her elbows on her knees, her long black hair hiding her face. Her skin-tight outfit was torn along her legs and arms. She didn’t look at the door as it opened.
Cal stepped into the room and glanced back at the sergeant who gave him a half-salute before closing the door. The heavy locking bolts shuddered into place as the door sealed.
When Petral didn’t look up at him, Cal walked three steps and leaned against the wall opposite her, crossing his arms. He glanced down at the toilet and wrinkled his nose at the stained bowl.
“Hello,” he said finally. “Do you know who I am?”
Petral lifted her head to look at him through her hair. Her piercing blue eyes looked as hard as sapphires. At first, he thought she was purposely hiding her face for some effect, then noticed the cuffs holding her hands together between her knees. A silver cable ran to an eyelet on the edge of the bunk. He wondered if she could reach the toilet with the restraint.
“Some asshole,” she said. “Should I know you?”
“We met at Cruithne. I was with Riggs Zanda.”
“I meet a lot of people.”
“I think you’ve known both Riggs Zanda and Ngoba Starl for a long time.”
“Zanda’s dead,” Petral said, her voice flat.
“I know. I was sorry to hear that. My understanding is that he was killed by Andy Sykes, captain of the ship that just left after you were arrested.”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“You know Captain Sykes, though?”
“I was a passenger.”
“So why’d you go to all the trouble to steal a shuttle so you could drop off Sykes’ daughter, then apparently allow yourself to get arrested by the Protectorate?”
Petral didn’t look at him but she seemed more still than before.
“I have to say, the minefield you laid here on the Ring is impressive. I’ve never been married, but I was excited to learn I had a wife waiting here for me. Apparently, I already owe her most of my income? Some ancient laws you seem to have dredged up.”
The woman before him chuckled.
“You think it’s funny,” Cal said. “You don’t know how you’re playing with my emotions, Ms. Dulan. Maybe all this time I’ve just been looking for a good person to share my life with?”
She didn’t look up again, which was starting to annoy Cal. He wanted to see if she was smiling or grimacing at him. He didn’t like not being able to see her face.
He clenched a fist and released it, flexing his fingers. He glanced at the door. There didn’t appear to be any surveillance in the room but he didn’t suppose it mattered. They wouldn’t have let him in the room if they had been worried about what would happen to Dulan.
As he looked at his knuckles, he tried to decide what she might respond to best. She didn’t seem like the type to flinch at a little pain. What was interesting to him, after learning everything he could about her, was that someone so apparently self-interes
ted would go to the trouble to deliver a girl back to her family. That wasn’t something he had expected to find.
“Cal Kraft,” Petral said in a low voice.
“What’s that?” he said, still looking at his hand, remembering the last time he’d beat someone to death with his fists.
“Born on a Mercury mining rig to a thirteen-year-old mother and only kept alive for organ stock.”
Cal’s throat went dry. He looked past his hand to Petral. One blue eye stared at him through her mess of black hair.
“I almost didn’t believe the story about you getting tossed out an airlock with five other kids, each of you with different parts of an EV suit—and you tore the helmet off a kid to survive. That’s rough.” Petral nodded. “That was a rough story. What kind of man does an experience like that create?”
Cal wrinkled his nose again. The acid reek from the toilet seemed caught in his nostrils. He stretched his neck and smiled. She was good. He didn’t know how she had come across that information unless she had crawled through the network of old Mercury Free Rig 401-Z itself, still floating out there full of corpses as he’d left it. He’d always hoped it would have fallen into Sol by now.
“That’s a great story, Mara. You know any others?”
“Special Support Operations in the Jovian Combine. I thought that was a funny word for a bureaucracy to use. Support. Supporting what? I heard someone call you a Genocider and that seemed even more strange. Who puts genocide on their to-do list? I had to work backward through a whole bunch of manifests for lost ships, lost deep space outposts. It was the insurance claims that finally gave it up. A company called Star Cargo made a claim for two thousand lost EV suits. Who the hell does that?”
“Maybe a lost merchant shipment,” Cal said, keeping his voice even.
“No. That’s the action of someone who thinks they’re being clever but really just puts a fat neon sign on the mass grave they just dug. So I go back through company records for Star Cargo and who do I find but a SolGov attaché by the name of Kraft. I’d love to hear your side of the story.”
As she had been speaking, Cal had felt himself in the airlock again, thrashing against other bodies, the long hiss of the outside door unsealing. He had spent hours learning to control his heart rate in the face of that memory but something about hearing someone else say the words held control just out of reach. His forehead beaded with sweat. Memories from Star Cargo didn’t come close to those two minutes in the airlock, the turning point of his entire life.