And the tattoo on my wrist, in detail and colors unlike any striviirc-na status tat.
I felt Kris’s eyes on me, all over me, wondering.
“I wanna sleep, so can you go away?” I gestured to his bunk.
“You know, you’ve been like this since the start and I just don’t get it.”
I was standing and didn’t know when I had. He still sat on my bunk, almost glaring up at me.
“Get what? I wanna sleep!”
“Being this way. Being this—defensive. Never wanting anyone around. Not even liking anybody around. You’re way worse than Cleary, at least he doesn’t act like he hates people.”
“What d’you want from me?”
“You’re not like any kid I ever knew growing up on Austro.”
His frustration was turning to suspicion. I was screwing up everything. Where was all the training Niko had given me? I could only find enough reserves to keep myself from killing something. Or running. What had Niko taught me if everything he’d ever told me was a lie? If all along he was taking kids from EarthHub and keeping them for pirates? For Falcone.
He made me want Aaian-na and everything that it was, and to think like them—just like Evan thought like a pirate.
I started to notice Kris’s eyes, boring into my own.
“Where do you go,” he asked, “when you shut down like that?”
“Get off my bunk.”
He didn’t move. He wanted to test me.
I grabbed his arm to shove him across to his side. He held on instead. We pushed at each other, both on our feet now. My hand shot up toward his chin.
He let go and stumbled, sitting abruptly on the bunk.
I would’ve broken his neck.
I thought he’d given up. But his leg shot out and tripped me. I slammed to the deck and he pounced on my chest. I twisted to toss him off but he set a knee in my gut, then shoved my arms back, holding my wrists down. He was bigger and I struggled.
“Get off!”
“You would’ve killed me! You were going to kill me!”
“Get off me!”
“What’s wrong with you?”
The lights overhead lanced down like laser pillars.
The deck smelled of cold steel. I felt it under my shoulders, the backs of my calves, the small of my spine. Through my clothes. Behind my skull.
His weight on my hips seemed to multiply. I couldn’t breathe.
“Off. Off.” The words barely came.
His shadow lay over me, with the light behind it.
He released me. I heard my breath in panicked gasps and felt the tears running down my temples and into my ears. The sound of the drives caved in, suddenly loud. The recycling air whispered through the vents.
Ice settled across my skin. I rolled to my side and pressed my cheek to the deck.
“Are you okay? Look, I’m sorry for jumping you.”
A jagged scratch marred the floor, as if someone long ago had raked his fingernails into it. As if he’d clawed with nails as hard as diamonds.
* * *
XXXIV.
Kris slept. One-third of the ship slept. I went walking.
I went to the jet wardroom and called up the secondary lights ten percent. Faint blue shone down. Shadows sat at the comps, like they sat all over this ship. They could go anywhere. At a glance, they could be anything.
I opened up one of the comps in the corner. My optics were already in my eyes. They saw a different world.
They caught the message sent by Otter to a general account Niko had set up for me, on Austro. I copied it to my holocube and retreated, yanking up all evidence of my passing as I went. I fell through the self-made exit of Mac’s comm ops, and wiped that access too. Maybe the comm officer saw a brief blurt in their numbers. They’d probably assume it was natural interference with the ship’s link—a solar flare, a comet. They wouldn’t know its origin. They wouldn’t trace it to this specific comp.
If EarthHub carriers had vulnerable ware for someone who knew them inside and out, then pirate ships could too.
Genghis Khan was a Komodo-class modified merchant vessel. Niko knew this. Otter knew it. Niko’s contacts had links to where some of the pirates bought their ware and weapons. Otter had told me so.
If Falcone was using black market ware to distort his sig so searching ships couldn’t track him, then he had to have got it from somewhere.
I popped in the holocube and opened the message Otter had sent. The comp wouldn’t keep it in memory if I didn’t save it to the main system.
Otter said he’d located Falcone’s tech supplier and he’d get back to me. No name. No location.
Dammit.
Maybe Niko sent him word. Maybe my report had made Niko draw back. Because Niko now knew that I knew pirates and symps were bedding down.
I glanced around the room. Too dark to see the walls clearly. Did Azarcon bug his own ship, more than the brig?
I closed down the comp and left, cutting the lights to black.
No, he couldn’t. What kind of loyalty would he get from half-rogue crew if they knew or suspected he spied on them? It didn’t fit what I’d seen of the man. He was harsh but he wasn’t that much of a fascist. If he could trust a jet like Dorr to command a fire team, possess a gun, or even walk these corridors, he wouldn’t bug the public places. Maybe more importantly, I doubted a jet like Dorr would be so loyal to someone who went too far on his rights. Dorr and some of the other jets, wild and half-criminal as they were, weren’t stupid. They’d know.
But Evan’s quarters… that I didn’t know.
I rubbed my eye with the heel of my hand.
My shift was asleep. The jets I passed in the corridor I barely knew on a personal level. They glanced at me but didn’t speak. The harsh white lighting didn’t flatter anybody, especially if you needed sleep. Voices from other corridors drifted around corners. The low grate of working levs filtered through the thrum of the drives. Cool air cycled relentlessly. The deck smelled faintly of disinfectant and shone slightly, pale gray and black scars that no amount of scrubbing would ever abolish. Someone had lately been cleaning.
My feet took me aft, to training deck where Shiva’s children temporarily lived.
Some of the kids were playing on the floor of the RRC, and at the simstation. Two jets stood at the doors, watching. I stopped between them and looked in.
At a glance there had to be about thirty kids, ages ranging from five to fifteen, though it was hard to be sure— malnourishment and fatigue both stunted and aged a body. Some of them bore the pale complexions of people too long aboard the dark parts of ships. One of the older youths stood by the window just staring out at the black as Macedon cut through on her patrol. I took another step in. The jets glanced at my tags but didn’t stop me. The younger children, primed to strangers, looked up at me with unsurprised eyes. Nothing more would ever truly surprise them. Even their fear lay so far deep beneath the surface it became only a flatness on their faces. They didn’t know me, I could do anything to them, but they didn’t care.
I sat at one of the round, black tables. Without hesitation one of the six- or seven-year-olds motored up to me and stood staring. Her coarse black hair frizzed from her head like a brush. Under her eyes were deep lines more deserving on an old woman.
She hit my leg. “You!” she accused.
“What is it?” I asked quietly. I held my hands out, palms up.
But she ran off, back to her group. The adolescents, some of them my age or more, looked my way with wary curiosity. None of them approached. The silence, even in the midst of play, sat hard. They were not used to being boisterous. Some of them did not interact, but sat apart, alone and looking. Just looking around them.
Then they all turned to the entrance like desperate flowers to the sun. I glanced over and saw the captain.
He wore no special insignia, unless you noticed the black stripes on black sleeves, and dressed exactly like the jets that flanked him. But the kids all went sti
ll. They knew authority even when it didn’t announce itself. They had learned to smell it.
He came in, already attuned to me, and walked over casually. Eyes followed him, as did the utter silence. He didn’t seem surprised that I was there.
I forced my hands to unclench.
“Private Musey,” he greeted.
I stood. “Captain.”
Azarcon pulled a chair loose from its clamps and set it beside mine, facing the children. He sat, gesturing for me to do the same. His towering height, now less imposing, seemed to cue the kids that it was all right to carry on. Quiet play filled the span of the rec center. The older kids still watched the captain.
“Slavepoint exists,” he said.
I realized my hands were clenched together again between my knees. I straightened back and let go.
“Yes, sir.” He knew about Slavepoint. He wasn’t a station kid. Or he knew pirates and their victims.
“With the help of strits and symps.”
“Yes, sir.” I wished one of the children would interrupt us. “So Evan says.”
Azarcon leaned forward on his elbows, hands clasped loosely in front of his knees, watching the children though I knew his focus was on me. His whole manner was considerably less intimidating than when he sat behind a desk—at least on the surface.
“You don’t believe him?” he said.
Shiva had been found consorting with a striviirc-na dreadnought. Little doubt in that. “I guess I do, sir. I guess I don’t like to think of the implications.”
Niko helping pirates. For guns. So he could war more with the Hub.
He was the Warboy.
This couldn’t be true.
“Yes, the implications are bad.” Azarcon’s black eyes slid to me, though he only tilted his head slightly. “It’s no wonder Falcone’s been so hard to track, if he’s got a strit hole to sink into.”
I hardly thought the captain of Macedon needed to be telling this to one of his jets.
“I read your report about your capture aboard Genghis Khan,” he said, shifting up to sit straight. He raked his hair back from his forehead, eyes on the children.
“Yes, sir?” Dread reared its head again, traveling from my gut to the back of my throat.
“I suppose you think I rode you hard since you came on board, that the Jet Instructors did too, who were operating under my orders.”
As if I would say yes. He didn’t wait for a reply.
“The flag on your file about Falcone got my interest. There aren’t many that deal with him, for that length of time, and get out to talk about it. You realize this?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So I had to ask why. It’s a suspicious case. You’re old enough that it could be something more than it is.”
I waited.
“He hasn’t shown his face for years. We suspect he’s disguised himself somehow, because he isn’t the type to squirrel himself away for very long periods of time. He’s vain. He likes to be on the edge. He likes to give EarthHub the finger.”
That was Falcone, all right. Taking me by the hand right on a station where deep-space carriers docked.
I looked at the captain. He knew the pirate, maybe even from more than reports. Something in his eyes—even when he looked at me, he wasn’t really looking at me.
Azarcon continued. “I know he’s been on suspended aging treatments since he was in his early thirties. But from what you describe he must have also had some kind of cellular surgery.”
“Yes, sir.” Only the bare words came out.
“I know this is hard for you, Musey. I know what you didn’t put in your report. Or what you never told SJI Laceste.”
I stared hard at the quietly playing children.
“That more than anything has convinced me you’re not one of his spies.”
I jerked, looked at him. “Sir. No, sir. I’m not!”
“I know.” His tone said calm down. The children looked over at us, paused.
“Sir, I would kill him if I had him in my sights.”
“I know. Let’s walk.” He stood.
I didn’t want to go anywhere with this man who seemed able to look through walls.
But I went with him, left the children. I had no choice. He took me to one of the smaller, secondary levs and up. I watched the light bar blink until the lev grated to a halt and the words “command crew deck” flashed across the panel. As the seconds passed, it became harder to breathe.
He led me out and down the corridor. Occasionally a uniform passed us and they nodded to the captain. We stopped outside a hatch at the end of the corridor. The number read 0001. Azarcon pulled his tags from his uniform and slid one of them into the lock, then went inside.
I stopped on the threshold. This was his quarters.
“Come in and shut the hatch, Private Musey.”
I swallowed with effort, stepped in just far enough not to block the hatch, and pulled it in. His quarters was larger than any I’d seen so far, but not luxurious. A small receiving area with a couple of cushioned chairs and a couch, all faux wood and deep blue fabric, occupied most of the main space, with a tiny corner of personal kitchen off to the side. A fastened screen stood to the right, which probably cordoned off his bed and bath facilities. On the walls were abstract paintings, colorful and thematically nongeometric. The effect was not the spartan space I had known in Falcone’s quarters.
“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the couch. He disappeared behind the screen.
I didn’t want to sit. I walked to the table in front of the couch, looked down. Objects sat scattered, what looked like miniature replications of ancient Earth structures. A couple pyramids and some sort of lion with a human’s face. Off to the side sat an iridescent image cube. Inside one of the six faces was a three-dimensional color pic of a dark-haired youth with rather large blue eyes and a shy smile. Beside him stood the captain, in civilian clothes. They were outside what looked like a restaurant door; slender red neon tubing hung in the wide window in writing I couldn’t read, overlaid in ghost patterns by a standard holoprog menu list. The captain’s arm hung around the boy’s neck in rough affection.
More images were buried in the cube, but I didn’t pick it up to look.
“That’s my son Ryan. He’s twelve years old now, not much younger than you.”
I glanced up quickly, clenched my hands behind me as he approached from behind the screen. I forced myself not to step back as he came close enough to hand over a holocube.
“Sir?” I didn’t move, to touch it or touch him. He towered over me, taller than Niko. Taller than Falcone. Younger-looking than both of them.
“It’s something I thought you might want to see.”
The air in the quarters smelled faintly of cooking spices. I glanced at the kitchen space—immaculately clean, all smooth, reflective surfaces—then back at him.
My heart started to run.
“You can use this comp.” He gestured to one on the couch’s side table.
I took the cube and moved to it. He sat on the couch, rested an arm along the back. I kept him in my peripherals and put the cube in, accessed it.
Mukudori’s symbol sprang across the display.
I looked at Azarcon, frozen.
“Dorr told me about the image disk you wear with your tags.” He gestured to my chest. “It’s all you have left of your parents, isn’t it?”
I had to swallow. “Yes, sir.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Sir, Mr. Mankar had them made for me.” It was uncomfortable to stand when he was sitting, so I eased onto the edge of one of the chairs, glanced at the comp.
“Mukudori’s homeport was Siqiniq, right? They had many archived files, including the ship and crew history. You might want to read it.”
I didn’t know what to say. Those files weren’t available to the general public, not even to survivors. They became station property when a ship died. He was a Hub captain so they wouldn’t deny him. I didn’t thin
k anybody could deny him, not when he wanted something. He had to want something, or why else would he bother?
I knew he was looking at me. I stared at the comp, so tense my head started to pound.
“You can take the holocube and go, Private Musey.”
I looked at him. “Sir?”
“You’re dismissed.”
What was the trick? He didn’t move, just gazed at me, calm.
A test. Evaluation, just like in training. “Sir… can I ask you something?”
“You just did. But go ahead.”
“Why did you get these files for me, sir? What do you know about Falcone?”
“Those are two questions. But good ones. What do I know about Falcone? Altogether too much, and not enough now to get him. Why did I obtain the files? Because a person should have his past, if it’s worth having. The part of your history that belongs on Mukudori… I think that’s worth having.”
I couldn’t see behind his eyes and he knew how not to answer a question. I hadn’t expected anything less, but had still hoped for more. Maybe he read that in me. Like Niko, he had the disconcerting ability to strip me with one look or word.
“You should know by now this isn’t Genghis Khan, Musey.”
I leaned over and extracted the cube from the comp. “I know, sir.”
“Do you? I admit I was harsh on you in the beginning. But I’ve followed your progress and been in constant contact with your commanding officers. You’re different from most of my crew. I don’t quite know why, but I’m sure it has to do with your year on the Khan. Falcone has that effect on people.”
“Even you, sir?” That fell out of my mouth on instinct. To get something out of him.
His eyes flickered. “Sometimes. But you and I are the lucky ones. Your friend Evan isn’t.”
Lucky? He knew enough about my past to know it wasn’t lucky.
And Evan. I’d almost forgotten. It allowed me to change the topic.
“Sir, Evan wants to sign on ship.”
The captain’s eyebrows arched. “What does he think he can do here?”
“Sir, he just doesn’t want to be left on a station.”
“Well, I want him to stay as long as he can help us locate Shiva’s outriders. The ones in brig, needless to say, aren’t talking much and I’m not inclined to torture them yet.”
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