She stood up, grabbing her rig. She slung it over her back, felt it reach around to hug her, protective plates sliding into place down her front. The four actuator arms whined, spun, and then locked in place behind her. The rig’s HUD blinked into life, first the top right corner with power indicator, systems check, status of the actuators — lower left arm’s gonna need work, second elbow is sticking — and then the other corners blinked up. Top left, slots for status of a work crew she didn’t have. Bottom right, a blank pane blinked, then filled with some of the schematic details she’d been working on at the Tyche’s console. Bottom left, a series of comms and other systems details that were useless right now.
The HUD was reassuring for two reasons: because systems were green across the board, and because the visor that slipped over her face would hide it from view. The Republic had facial recognition everywhere. Spaceports. Public transit zones. Hell, even the damn toilets on these border worlds watched your face, scanned your irises, even checked your skin for blood flow changes that would indicate distress. While some of that was useful for good, law-abiding Republic Citizens, she was neither law-abiding nor a citizen. And she was about to get less law abiding.
• • •
“Hope,” said Nate’s voice. “How’s our status?”
“It’s good, Captain,” she said, as she looked at the docking control system on the Tyche’s landing pad. She was outside. On the platform. Hope wasn’t breathing good Arlington air on account of the visor’s airtight seal, but the illusion was good enough. Sun. Open space. Smoke.
Wait. Smoke?
She could see the smoke rising from the city in the distance — Nate was right, that wasn’t a happy thing.
“We’re still in lockdown,” he said.
“Working on it,” said Hope.
“How much longer?” he said.
She made a growl low in her throat, then coughed to cover it. “Captain?”
“Yes, Engineer.” No matter she wasn’t a proper Engineer anymore. He called her that because it’s what she did. But there was a smile in his voice as well, because he didn’t much like Guild titles or Guild rules.
“Do you find when you’re under a lot of pressure, you know, when things are really urgent? In those situations, do you find it helps to be interrupted and asked how things are going?” Hope pulled together a couple of programs, the rig’s actuators reaching out from behind her to grasp the housing of the docking control system. There was a whine, a series of pops, and rivets fell from the housing like metal rain. “Because I don’t find it helpful. I find it distracting, and I work slower when I’m distracted.” The actuators were moving fast, pulling away the housing, dropping the ceramic and metal to the ground at her feet. Inside, treasure: the glowing heart of the docking control system.
“Wait a second,” said Nate’s voice. “Where are you?”
“It’s better if you don’t know,” said Hope. The actuators reached into the systems in front her, and she initiated a new program. There was an old-style optical computer — border worlds always got hand-me-down tech — and one actuator snicked into place against the diagnostic port. The bottom left of her HUD lit up, that section of the display now showing her what the little machine was thinking. She could imagine that it was passionate about its one duty, which was hold onto the Tyche until I’m told to stop.
There was a trick to this. She could tell it to stop. That was the easy part. What she needed was to do was a) tell it to stop, b) for a specific period, c) without telling Dock Control, d) and then forget everything afterwards. She could rivet the control system back together, walk away without visible evidence, but the visible evidence wasn’t important. Digital thumbprints were likely to get them blockaded faster than a couple missing rivets.
“Are you … outside?”
Hope looked up at the Tyche’s rear. Big drives dark and cold. Docking bay open to atmosphere, their cargo inside, roped down like a rodeo bull. A little carbon scoring here and there from planet crashing so often. The Tyche’s smiling face painted on the hull. Hope always found the winking woman on the side held up in her mind’s eye to what the ship should look like if she were a person. She could imagine Nate up in the cockpit, looking outside. He wouldn’t be able to see her — ship was facing away from her — but that would just make matters worse. “No, Cap. I’m in Engineering. Where else would I be?”
“If you were outside,” said Nate over the comm, “you could be identified.” He didn’t say, and arrested.
“If I wasn’t wearing a helmet, that might be true,” she said. “In this hypothetical future you’ve invented where I left the ship on a Republic world, that is.”
“Your rig has codes, Hope,” he said. “It can be identified.”
She made a pfft sound. Then a happier one, as she got what she needed. If she suborned the comm controller, she could install a timer in that to talk to the clamp controller. Make it look like a fault. She got the rig to prepare the program then flicked it across the diagnostic interface and into the live system. “My suit is in Engineering with the rest of me.”
“No it’s not,” said Nate.
She turned the visor of her rig towards the Tyche. Watched as the docking clamps disengaged, clanking open across all three points of contact, and smiled to herself. The rig picked up fallen panels, two arms holding in place, one fitting rivets in the sockets. She watched it work, thinking, thirty seconds and we’re off this rock. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I’m in Engineering,” said Nate. “There is no Hope, and Hope’s rig is also not here.”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. “I had to pee,” she said, then cringed. That was lame. L. A. M. E.
“That was … is that the best you’ve got?”
The last panel in place, the last rivet fired home, and she was running, rig jostling around her, breath loud in her ears. Damn, I need more cardio. Boots on the ramp up into the cargo bay. She turned her visor around to look outside. One last look at the spaceport, all ships still held in place. All except her ship, because the Tyche was born to fly. Born to be free. Hope looked out farther at the cityscape of Arlington. Where she could have been, for two days. If she hadn’t made mistakes, she too could fly. She could be free.
She slapped a hand against the door controls, and a red light spun in the top of the bay. An automated voice warned that the docking bay doors are closing, please stand clear. She looked around the bay, at the Republic cargo tied down, at the metal walls of the Tyche. Her ship. Her home. Probably for a long time. She didn’t like thinking too much about the future, because there was nothing but anxiety and more questions down that path, but she knew the Tyche was likely to be her home for maybe forever.
“It’s the best I’ve got,” she said over the comm. It was okay. They were okay. They would get off Arlington, away from the Republic standing on all their necks, and back into the freedom space. And that was the best thing for everyone.
Wasn’t it?
CHAPTER SIX
They were all afraid.
Grace was in the common area. These lifters were built to a spec, military design giving nothing away to comfort. But the Tyche wasn’t military anymore, and she’d had an overhaul. Or an underhaul. It wasn’t like the environment was built of lacquered wood, or even faux wood. The glass between them and the atmosphere outside as they climbed wasn’t diamond silicate, just an efficient polymer that sat a little on the dull side while still being strong. Not that dull would matter once atmosphere fell away. Out in the hard black, the heavens took most people’s breath away regardless of how you saw them.
She could always feel their awe, those who crawled up a gravity well for the first time. It was nice, that feeling, one of the few nice things she got from other people. It wasn’t what she was getting from the crew now.
The common area sat aft of the flight deck. In the flight deck, the captain—
Nate.
—and his Helm were side by side, coaxing the Tyche to rea
ch for the stars. There wasn’t a lot of chatter between them, all efficient, like they’d done this before. She could feel the confidence off them, but also the fear. That fear bled back into the common area. To where the thug October Kohl sat, strapped into his acceleration couch like an angry sack. Angry, because he was scared too. And that fear from him bounced around, off the captain, and his Helm, back to October again, and washed over her. Fear was like that; even normals sensed it on each other. It might have been the sweat smell. For Grace it was pure feeling, her nerves vibrating with it, making her heart beat faster, her breath quicken, her eyes widen. She was sure her face would have been pale, and she could feel her fingers gripping the arms of the acceleration couch like the claws of an eagle. She tried to relax, to take in what was around her. So: no faux wood. Just some acceleration couches, a small galley, some windows that looked outside. Airlock doors: one leading forward to the cockpit, one aft to the crew, cargo, and engineering areas of the ship. There was a table in the middle of this room, not military spec. It had been welded to the floor; to Grace’s eye the welds looked neat, efficient, practiced. Not military spec, but not a back-alley conversion: someone had put that table there because they cared what happened on the table. Which meant this was where the crew ate, if they ate together. Back when it was Empire Navy, this area would have been for crew briefing, downtime, and being both bored and terrified about the next mission.
Maybe the military and civilian lives weren’t so different.
If she focused, she could feel the fear of the Engineer behind and above them. Fear and excitement, because she’d done something she shouldn’t have, and got away with it. Grace would have to remember that, try and work out how to use it, once they got away from this rock with its Republic rot to the core of it. It had been a long time since Grace had been on a ship with someone else who was being hunted, and things like that could be useful. If the hammer hit the anvil, she could throw Hope to the wolves and run in the aftermath of the noise it would make in her wake. She’d done it before. It got easier each time, and it wasn’t like they didn’t deserve it. Each of them desperate, each running from a crime. Except Grace’s only crime had been being born, and she’d been running for as long as she’d known how.
Because she had her own fear, packed away inside. It wasn’t like she needed their fear like an extra side of gravy. But she got it anyway. She couldn’t help it.
The thug was watching her, his fear making him nasty. Or just bringing the nasty out. “First time in space, huh.” The steady 2.5Gs pushing at them flattened his face a little, making it uglier than it would otherwise have been. Grace was sure her own face would have been stretched or pulled. A near-solid G from Enia Alpha, plus the 1.5Gs from thrust, meant this was uncomfortable. If the fear hadn’t made her want to pee already the pressure on her bladder would have done the trick.
“No,” she said. “First time in space on a ship that’s about to explode, though.”
He gave a short, angry laugh. Angry, because he was afraid. “The Tyche won’t explode.” There was a yawning, creaking groan from the ship, the noise coming from the belly of it where their cargo sat. It was a groan of metal and ceramic stressed too many times, unhappy with its lot, ready to let go its grip and tumble them into the hard black. “Uh. That noise? Happens a lot.”
She laughed, the sound higher pitched than she would have liked. Time for some conversation. Time to get to know them. “So … you’re a deck hand?” Grace had to raise her voice a little, the massive roar of the fusion drives muted by the hull, but something of their power vibrated its way inside anyway.
Kohl looked at her like she was stupid. “No.”
“But—”
“Ship’s manifest says I’m a deck hand,” he said. “Ship’s manifest says our Engineer is ex-Guild. Ship’s manifest says you’re an Assessor. Way I see it, none of those things are true.”
“I’m an Assessor,” she said. “It’s what I do.” And I’m assessing you right now. “I know the stuff that’s valuable. The things that are—”
“I know how to lift heavy shit,” said Kohl. “Doesn’t make me a deck hand.”
Okay. “What is it you do?” Grace closed her eyes for a moment. Don’t feel their fear. Don’t be their fear. Let it wash over you like the endless tides of space. It is nothing. She opened her eyes again. “I mean, aside from lifting shit that is heavy. There are loaders for that kind of thing.”
“That there are,” he agreed.
The silence sat between them for a while. “And?” she prompted.
“And,” said the thug, “when the captain figures you need to know what I’m here for, you’ll know.”
His fear was ebbing away. Which was not a usual thing. This man might have been many things — a deck hand, some kind of enforcer, maybe even a passable card player — but he wasn’t scared by the ship taking off. No. He’d been scared by not knowing her, and now he thought he did.
She could work with that.
• • •
Grace didn’t have long to wait for more fear. More anxiety. From the cockpit, she heard the chatter of the comm.
“Tyche, this is the Republic Navy destroyer Torrington. We have you exiting a lawful lockdown of Arlington space port. Please cease thrust and prepare to be boarded.”
Grace’s head jerked towards the cockpit. She wanted to shout something, maybe run! or we need to leave, just leave, but it wouldn’t help. The Navy would be waiting for them at a blockade somewhere else. And it would be worse, because they wouldn’t be leaving a lockdown; they’d have refused a boarding order from the Navy.
“Torrington, this is Tyche.” Grace could hear the Helm’s voice — El — as calm, professional. She knew this music. “Our ship was released from the lockdown. We are carrying cargo on spec for the Republic Navy, destination Absalom Delta. Transmitting flight plan.”
There was a pause. “Tyche, this is Torrington actual. Lieutenant Evans sends his regards. Please cease thrust and prepare to be boarded.”
“Well, fuck,” said Nate. Grace could feel what sounded like tension and relief warring in his tone. Like this was good and bad at once. If only he knew how bad. “I guess we best cease thrust and prepare to be boarded. Hope, you listening?”
“I’m listening,” she said. No relief there, just pure tension.
“You going to be okay?” The Tyche’s acceleration was easing off, the ship rotating in space as the Torrington negotiated docking protocols. Artificial gravity from the deck below made this feel like a gentle rollercoaster. Like it was something fun, and something she shouldn’t be afraid of.
“You said probably,” said Hope. Her voice cracked a little. “That they probably weren’t after me.”
Kohl chuckled, the sound nasty. He turned his head towards the ceiling as he spoke, as if Hope were the ship itself. “You fucking criminals, all the same. You want a free ride on the system, the same system that’s looking after us, putting people back on top again, and—”
“Secure your mouth,” said Nate, standing at the airlock leading to the flight deck. “It’s making noises again.”
Kohl gave him a glare, looked like he would finish a series of thoughts verbally that would lead to uncomfortable words and possible violence. Grace could tell the man was picking at an old wound, something that bothered him right to his core, and right here might well be the hill he would die on. Because outside their ship was the Torrington, and the Torrington was Navy, and Navy meant the law, and the law meant Hope would be put in a box and taken somewhere to mine salt until she died.
At least if they caught Grace they’d kill her quick.
Neither fate was a great one, and some quick mental math showed that if this was the time she threw Hope to the wolves to buy an escape, it wouldn’t work. First, because if the Republic found one criminal on board, they’d look for another. Second, because Hope was the one who knew how the engines worked, and on a ship that made horrible sounds as it was taking off, that was a
prize asset.
Putting your neck out was not a thing that was sensible, but it could make friends. And she needed these people to like her, right until she found another ride somewhere else. She cleared her throat before Kohl could start on his road to the nuclear option, and said, “I’ve got an idea.”
Kohl and the captain both looked surprised as they looked at her. Nate spoke first. “We can’t cut them down with that fancy sword of yours—”
“She’s got a sword?” said Kohl. Something about him said interested/fascinated/challenged, and none of those were good, but they were problems for another time.
“You updated the manifest yet?” said Grace.
“Uh, no,” said Nate. “You know. Time. Breaking the lockdown occupied my thoughts. You understand.”
“I understand,” said Grace. “Here’s what we’ll do.”
“Wait,” said Nate. “Why does everyone but me try and give orders on my ship?”
“Because in this particular circumstance,” said Grace, “I have done this before. We don’t have much time.”
“You’ve got about a minute and a half,” said El’s voice, from ahead of them.
“Then listen,” said Grace, “and be amazed.”
• • •
The clang as the Torrington coupled with the Tyche rang through the hull like a bell. Grace looked out from Engineering at the gangway below, metal looking back at her. Nothing out of place, nothing to worry about. Good. She turned back to Engineering, took in the cowls of the drives to the sides of the room, the empty acceleration couch where Hope should have been, and felt the warm glow of the reactor above her.
Tyche's Flight (Tyche's Journey Book 1) Page 5
