by Alex White
“ETA, fifteen minutes,” came the pilot’s voice over the comm.
They passed into a storm and broke through the cloud cover over a rainy, windswept archipelago. Black rock emerged from white froth, bristling with nettled evergreens. Wisps of fog floated past like ghosts.
Boots sat up, peering closer to see if she could spot their destination. The other crew pressed up to the windows, as well.
“Dreary. This will be perfect for our evil lair,” said Nilah.
“It’s going to work. I see the wave farm,” said Boots.
They rounded a cliff and came in sight of thousands of translucent balls, each the size of a house. The inflatable structures stippled the waters off the shoreline to form a grid, each ball topped with pulsing red and green lights.
“Looks like it’s in pretty good shape,” said Orna.
“This is not how I pictured the end of my career,” said Cordell, rubbing his forehead.
“A cigarette will sort you out—” She started to say “sir,” then corrected it to “bud.”
Her former captain’s face went through a mix of emotion but finally settled upon approval. “Out with the old and in with the new, eh? I’m going to miss the respect.”
“Yeah, you’re just a regular guy now,” said Boots. “You’ll have to grow a personality if you want people to like you.”
She eagerly looked through the rain-spattered port windows to try and catch a glimpse of the new homestead. A few stone buildings—little more than cubes—jutted from the hillside in odd places like prairie dogs. A battered old flier sat before one of the buildings, slightly canted by a wounded landing strut.
Their ship circled the area once, and the familiar tension crept into Boots’s breast. Checo’s pilot was making certain nothing was amiss before taking them down. Had she gotten so accustomed to being ambushed?
They landed on the grassy hillside beside the flier, and Boots wondered how the contraption even got into the air. Scorch marks marred the exhaust ports along the thrusters, and it had so many scratches that probably wrecked the aerodynamics.
When Boots opened the hatch and put down the ramp, she breathed the biggest sigh of fresh, wet sea air, then stepped out into the rain. Between the spray of the ocean and the heavy precipitation, she was soaked beyond any help an umbrella could provide. The land felt good under her feet, if a little squishy.
Cool, blue light washed over her, and Cordell stepped down off the ramp, hoisting a shield over his head to stay dry. He patted his hair once to check it, then proceeded to offer shelter to Boots. She waved him away and started toward the flier, savoring the stretch of her leg muscles. It took everything she had not to throw her arms wide and spin in circles after being cooped up in the little ship.
The battered flier’s door creaked open, and a rectangular fellow in a suit unwedged himself from its interior, then hopped down onto the gravel staging pad. He landed with sure feet and unfolded a black umbrella, which spared everything above his shoulders from the moist environs.
He raised his hand in greeting and smiled wide. “Miss Elsworth!”
It rattled her to hear her name shouted so loud, but when she looked around, who the hell was going to hear him? She reached him and took his hand, finding a solid grip under his black leather glove. He was built the way she liked—thicker and softer, with an honest face and tousled hair—and the storm intensified the brassy green of his irises. There was a tightness to his coiffure that suggested a military past. Whoever this was, she was happy to see him.
“Delmer Zajíc. I’m Checo’s liaison in this sector. Call me Del.”
He reached up into his flier and pulled out a long, compostable box, wrapped in twine. “Before I forget, here’s your new arm.”
She took it, surprised at the light weight. “So this is the place, Del?”
“Alameini Wave Station Six, yep.” He nodded. “As of today, you’re the proud custodians of one ten-thousandth of the Enican Utilities Cooperative. Inspectors might come around every now and again, but you’re not likely to see many folks out here.” He said it like an advertisement, sweeping his hand over the sea of floating balls. “Checo purchased a lot of the basics for you with initial payouts from the trust, but you’ll probably want to make a lot of modifications.”
“We’re already moved in?” asked Cordell, catching up.
“Yessir,” Del replied, slurring the two words into one like an old ranch hand. “I even hung up a bunch of ‘trespassers will be shot’ signs to keep things nice and cozy. I don’t expect you’ll see a lot of trouble.” He held up his hand for the crew filtering out of the ship, affecting the cadence of a tour guide. “Excuse me! If you’ll all just gather around, I can hand out the keys and get you out of the rain.”
The others huddled in, and he passed out the keys to all the buildings in the area: one for Malik and Aisha, one for Nilah and Orna, one for Boots, and one for Cordell. Each group grabbed their IDs and shambled for their assigned domicile.
“Miss Elsworth,” said Del, offering a small crystal key on a chain. “You’ve got the custodial suite.”
From the outside, the building was a hunk of urmurex sporting a verdant coat of moss along its sides. It couldn’t have been younger than a hundred years, but the windows were intact and no cracks marred its surface, so the foundation was probably strong.
She gasped upon opening the door to find tasteful wood paneling, a crackling fireplace, a well-stocked bar, and a dozen pieces of stunning hardwood furniture. Projectors spun a blanket of stars across the ceiling, and the scent of fresh-baked bread tickled her nose.
“Checo suggested you’d feel more at home if I whipped up a little something,” said Del. “I hope you don’t mind a snack? I brought truffle butter from the mainland.”
Boots had to laugh at the ridiculous level of service. “Do you come with the place, too, Del?”
He scratched the back of his neck and blushed. “Ha, yeah, well… I guess it’s a bit of overkill, baking bread.”
Boots pointed to the table, where a bottle of wine glinted in the firelight, nestled into a basket beside a corkscrew and four glasses. “Unless we’re on a date, this is overkill, yes.”
His guileless grin was so damned disarming. “Yeah, yeah. It’s just, I was hoping to impress you. I asked Checo for this assignment.”
She tensed up, instantly suspicious. “Why would you want to do that?”
“Because I wanted to meet the dull-finger who toppled a god.”
“Hey, buddy! You can’t just call me—”
“Relax,” he said, waggling his fingers. “Takes one to know one. I just wanted to talk to you because, well… it’s personal for me.”
Her anger dissipated, leaving only numb confusion. “You’ve got…”
“Arcana dystocia, yeah.”
“I’ve, um… never met someone else with it, er, in person.”
“I have,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. With his arms tight at his sides, he really was a lump. “I did some group therapy for a bit on Taitu, but they can be a dismal bunch.”
“Yeah. I joined some communities on the Link forever ago, but I couldn’t handle the gloom. How long have you been with Checo?”
“Two years? I was part of Yearlinger Military Intelligence before that, and my career had dead-ended.”
Boots crossed her arms. “Let me guess: they were ‘concerned’ about your ability to conduct fieldwork.”
Del nodded, as if in acquiescence.
“Yeah. They were ‘concerned’ about my ability to be a pilot. Seems like we get a lot of ‘concern,’ don’t we?”
“When you brought back the Harrow,” he said, “things changed for me. I always felt like I could do something big, but there wasn’t much proof. You gave that to me.”
“Hey, we’ve only got proof that I’m cool. You still might suck.” She chucked him on the shoulder and immediately regretted her urge to give his lovely, lovely arm a squeeze.
He lo
cked eyes on hers, and her heart skipped a beat. “I’m serious. It was amazing to watch it all play out.”
“I can’t say I’ve ever thought of it that way,” said Boots, resting her hands on her hips. “I just killed some people who needed killing.”
He regarded her a few more moments, and she noted a hint of appreciation in his gaze. Maybe he was cute, but she was still underground. It wouldn’t do to have liaisons with the liaison.
“Hey, look, bud…” she began. “It’s been a long flight, and I’d like to get settled in. Got to familiarize myself with all my new junk.”
“Oh, yeah! Right,” he said, handing her a crystal. “Here’s a new AI. You can name it whatever. We weren’t sure about bringing yours from your estate on Hopper’s Hope.”
Boots shrugged. “It’s for the best. AI has probably been hacked to hell and back by now.” She looked him over. The poor fellow’s suit was soaked through below his broad shoulders, and it would’ve been kind to offer him a towel. It wasn’t like anything was going to happen, and she didn’t want to be rude.
“If you’d like—” she started.
“I should go,” he interrupted. “I’m sorry. What were you going to say?”
Boots smiled, dying inside. “See you!”
It was better that she didn’t flirt. She’d always been the type to blow things up, and that included relationships.
After he left, she plopped down in a chair, enjoying the feel of its fur lining under her remaining arm. The place was tasteful, but she was still far too much of a slob to live there. That’d been part of the problem with her farm mansion, too—it hadn’t felt like hers. The rustic aesthetic of her new little house was on point, but the quality was way too high. She’d be happy eating ration bars and Insto for the rest of her days.
Boots stood up and opened her rucksack, dumping the contents onto the couch: a few soaked-through outfits and Kinnard’s crystal cube. She’d reconstituted him on Origin but never got Nilah or Orna to build him another speaker cage. They’d all been busy trying to figure out what they were going to do with their lives.
“Why don’t you hang out here for a while, Kin? Just rest, huh?” She set his cube in the center of her mantel, the place of honor. “We’ll get you another voice, soon.”
“Hello, neighbor,” Cordell sang in a falsetto, dancing through the door. Boots recognized the tune—an oldie from Arca. “Can you lend me some of your sugar?”
“That song is about sex. Get out,” Boots groaned.
The man was in rare form, and despite her annoyed protestations, carried the song through the first verse with gusto. Just as he reached the crescendo, he stopped and said, “This is your big plan, huh? We all live in an energy farming commune?”
“Steady income. Low risk. Zero visibility. If we stay out of the limelight, Checo chops the invoice for countersurveillance way down.” She gestured toward the window, where sheets of rain ruffled the treetops. “Besides, it’s pretty in a weird kind of way. How was your place? Nice?”
“It ain’t a starship, Bootsie, but it almost feels like a home. Though, to be honest…” He opened her cabinet and pulled out a bundle of forks, still wrapped in plastic with a price tag stuck to one side. “It’s a bit like living in someone else’s hotel room.”
Boots chortled. “Yeah. I think ol’ Delmer was trying to make it look nice. We’ve probably got some unpacking to do.”
“That’s our guy, then? Checo’s liaison? What did you think?”
She pursed her lips. “I’m, uh… looking forward to working with him.”
Cordell cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “Uh-oh. I know that look.”
“I’ll do what I want, neighbor,” she said, rising and fetching a tumbler from the bar service. It looked clean enough, so she fished out a bottle of Flemmlian Ten and filled the glass. “You aren’t my captain. You aren’t my paycheck. You’re just some guy trespassing in my house.”
After a moment, she added, “Feels good, right?”
He leaned against the bar, and she poured a glass for him before sliding it over.
“Honestly, I’m not sure,” he said. “There’s nothing like being an officer.”
She regarded him for a long time, searching the rifts of his unfamiliar face for any trace of his real thoughts. He joked so often that she wondered if she’d ever know the real Cordell.
“Are you going to be able to handle this?” she asked. “Lying low? Just living?”
He took a long pull, then watched the liquid swirl around his glass. From what she knew, he’d always been a part of a regimented life—the military and then a ship. He set down the tumbler, and his shoulders rocked with a snort.
“I guess we’ll just see, Bootsie.”
That afternoon, Boots made her way down the long and winding path to the transformer substation. The structure was rooted to a set of rocks overlooking the tumultuous sea, and she thought she’d spotted an observation deck while they were landing.
Her raincoat was a boon, and she was certainly glad for the layer of protection against the harsh, cold water, but moisture still wicked into every crevice.
Boots shoved the door aside and blundered in, locking the howling squall outside. She shucked her wet coat and, to her surprise, found a mostly dry T-shirt underneath. She’d have to get better at cinching her colonist gear, but she was impressed.
Beyond, conversion tanks hummed away, transforming the raw power of the sea into refined magic. The liquid fuel wasn’t as good as eidolon crystal, but it worked for supplementary applications, and they didn’t need much to survive. Somewhere in the tangle of machinery, metal clanged and Nilah cursed.
Boots wound under conduits and past ductwork as she searched for her friend. She found her sitting at the base of one of the tanks with its guts in pieces and an array of tools scattered around.
“I figured you’d be getting settled in,” said Boots.
“I am,” she replied. “This is how I work off stress.”
“Through maintenance? I guess we should’ve bought the Prism after all.”
Nilah tossed her spanner aside. “I said I wanted to work off stress, not work myself to death. How we ever flew in that thing is beyond me. What brings you here?”
“I came to watch the sunset,” said Boots, jerking a thumb toward the control room. “A little bird told me this was the spot.”
“I’m not sure the sun has ever graced our wet little landmass.”
“I reviewed the meteorological data before I signed us up. Come on, kid,” she said, then turned and climbed out through the machines. Nilah followed after.
When they opened the door to the control room, they found a single workstation and a panoramic window through which they could see every harvester ball in the network. The orbs swayed silently on the waves, their green and red lights alternating in the sparkling flurries of rain.
They stood before the vista, surveying their new domain, and Boots looked to Nilah to find her brow knit with concern.
“Still worried about the quiet life?”
“Yeah,” she replied.
“You’ll get used to it.”
“The road to the nearest colony looks fun,” muttered Nilah. “Lots of curves. Deadly cliffs and stuff.”
“I can never tell if you’re being serious.”
Nilah wrinkled her nose. “I kind of am, love. That road needs an exotic car on it.”
The most distant cloud began to warm, gently at first, before being wreathed by solar fire.
“There we go,” said Boots.
Another set of clouds began to glow as the sun dipped below the storm, glinting at them from the horizon like a slice of pure orichalcum. Golden lines etched the bottom of the thunderheads as they brushed curtains of rain across the sea.
“Wow,” said Nilah. “Okay.”
The light was warm on Boots’s face, and she closed her eyes. “Yeah.”
Nilah took her new hand, and Boots winced as it lightly clinked. “How about
you? Are you really going to be happy like this?”
“Yeah. Paid a high price to see it,” said Boots.
“Would you change… um… anything we did?”
Boots took a long breath and let it out, letting the water transfix her once more. Beams of sun caught the waves, causing them to glow with an inner, foamy light. The orbs followed suit, their milky coatings coming alive like paper lanterns.
“I want you to remember something: this colony is here because of us. Everyone that’s breathing, is breathing because of us. Every star in the sky is ours now.”
“So you wouldn’t change anything?”
She regarded her friend and threw an arm around her shoulder. “Yeah. I would’ve had some other jerks rescue the galaxy… but that’s just not how it worked out, kid.”
“It’s weird, not waking up to, like, Henrick Witts every day.” Nilah’s shoulders fell under her grip. “I’m not sure I know what to do anymore.”
“Yeah, but that’s the gift.”
They watched until the sun fell below the water, and soon, the others joined them in the control room, bringing the drinks and snacks Del had left for them. A bitter wind pushed aside the clouds, and under the winking stars, the green borealis of Enica danced into the morning hours.
Acknowledgments
This has always been my lifelong dream, and I can’t believe you’re holding it in your hands. Acknowledgments are so hard to write, because I can’t begin to plumb the depths of my gratitude, but I’ll try.
As I bring my epic space opera trilogy to a close, I must concede that the Salvagers were, in fact, salvaged. When I first met with editor Brit Hvide in November 2016, she had already sent my agent and me a kind rejection letter. We happened to be attending World Fantasy Con together in Columbus, Ohio, and she was hanging out at the bar—as were we all.
Connor, my agent, pointed her out, and I asked for a critique. After all, when else can you get a free beta read from a big-deal New York editor?
Connor set up a meeting for the next day, and I proceeded to not sleep at all. When I arrived for lunch, I was pretending to be a composed professional. She, on the other hand, sported a biker jacket, unflappable confidence, and the disturbing ability to see right through people.
