Proxy: An Avalon Novella
Page 8
Resisting the urge to scold outright, Jeth smirked. “Look who’s talking, stomping around like that. You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.” Lizzie was the newest and least experienced member of the Malleus Shades. She was also Jeth’s baby sister.
Lizzie rolled her eyes. “Like I have anything to worry about with your aim.”
Celeste snorted.
Jeth glanced at the sentry he’d taken down with the stunner, trying to judge how long the shot had been. A good eighteen meters at least, helluva range for a stunner. “You’re absolutely right. No worries at all.”
A snide smile curled one side of Celeste’s lips. “Cocky much?”
“With good reason.”
“You’re bound to make a lucky shot every once in a while,” said Lizzie, brushing past him. “Law of averages.” She stepped over the fallen sentry to reach the security station control panel. As she placed her hands on the touch screen, the amused expression on her face turned serious. Her eyes, a pale shade of green, the same color as Jeth’s, fixed unblinkingly on the screen. She didn’t look like a child right now; more like a surgeon in the midst of a complex operation. Then she began to work her magic, her fingers flying over the screen as she overrode the locks on Docking Station 42, where the Montrose was moored.
Jeth watched, in awe of Lizzie’s abilities, which she’d undoubtedly inherited from their mother. She could talk to computers in ways he would never understand. That talent was the reason she’d started working jobs with the crew a few months ago, replacing their prior ops tech. Michael had been a solid tech, but Lizzie could run circles around him. When Michael got too old to pass as seventeen, Hammer insisted Lizzie join the crew, despite her age and Jeth’s protests. Jeth would’ve preferred that she do something more normal and a lot less dangerous, but Hammer’s word was law, at least to the Shades.
Ignoring the usual resentment such thoughts provoked, Jeth returned his focus to the terminal. Easy or not, more sentries could come along any second, not to mention passengers from the other ships. He took up position across from Celeste, who already kept watch.
A few moments later, Lizzie announced, “It’s done. Go get ’em, Jethro.”
Jeth shot her a withering look. Lizzie was the only one of his crew he let use his full name. Sibling right of annoyance. The rest of them liked to call him “Boss,” the name a semi-affectionate joke and only slightly more tolerable.
Jeth turned and headed up the docking bay tunnel and onto one of the moving walkways designed for those customers whose ships were docked farther down. He walked along the conveyor belt, a cool breeze from the acceleration ruffling his hair. Lizzie and Celeste followed behind him.
The numbers on the bulkhead doors counted up as they passed, lit up yellow for active docks with moored ships beyond them, red for empty ones. The tunnel seemed to stretch endlessly onward.
When Jeth spied bulkhead 42, he stepped off the walkway and approached it. Lizzie came up beside him. Jeth took in the expression on her face, her lips lifting into an eager smile and her eyes twinkling. He knew that look. Elizabeth Marie Seagrave was hooked on the job—the thrill of the steal, that rush at the possibility of getting caught, the flush of success at getting away with it.
A tiny spark of guilt threatened to ignite inside him at the knowledge that he’d played a part in turning his baby sister into a criminal, but he squelched it at once. What they were and what they did was necessary for survival. There wasn’t any room for morality. His folks were proof of that. They had never broken a law in their lives, and yet they’d ended up imprisoned and then executed by the ITA, the very regime they’d so faithfully served and obeyed.
“Move back,” he said, waving at Lizzie. He pressed a button on the control panel beside the bulkhead door, and it slid open with a mechanical groan. It seemed the maintenance in this place was as much in need of attention as the security.
The rear door of the ship itself opened a second later, and Jeth stepped inside onto a narrow walkway high above the Montrose’s massive cargo bay. The pungent stench of fermentation assaulted his nose. Below, hundreds of barrels of beer, wine, and other alcohols stamped with the Wellforth Corporation logo filled the cargo bay from the floor to the network of walkways crossing the ceiling.
Lizzie whistled from behind Jeth. “Bet this is worth a fortune.”
“Oh yeah,” said Celeste, closing the door behind them. “That’s why we waited those few extra days until it was loaded before stealing the ship. Hammer’s all about maximizing his profit.”
Jeth snickered. “Assuming he decides to sell all this and not keep it for himself. The real profit is the metadrive.”
Lizzie leaned over the nearest edge. “I don’t get it. Why would Wellforth go to all that trouble securing a metadrive for a ship like this just to transport alcohol? I figured they’d use it for something illegal.” She sniffed, then grimaced at the stench. “But that’s definitely alcohol.”
“Not everybody wants a metadrive for illegal activities,” said Celeste. “Just the people who buy them off Hammer.”
Jeth shook his head as he headed across the walkway to the nearest door. “Not true. At least not in this case. Hammer told me this ship is on its way to Rosmoor. And that is illegal.”
“Oh,” Lizzie said, following after him. Then, a moment later, “Why’s it illegal again?”
Jeth sighed. Without looking back, he said, “Because the ITA placed an embargo on Rosmoor a couple of years ago. Confederation-aligned vessels like this one aren’t allowed to trade with them.”
Rosmoor was one of the few Independent planets. Although Confederated planets were self-governed, they had to adhere to regulations on issues like human rights and war treaties as well as pay taxes to the ITA in return for lower rates when using metagates or purchasing metadrives. Being Independent didn’t automatically make a planet an enemy, but Rosmoor had clearly pissed off the ITA somehow. With the embargo, Rosmoor was just barely surviving today, at the mercy of the few other Independent planets willing to trade with it or those Confederation merchants willing to risk illegal shipments of price-gouged goods.
“Still, they could’ve picked a ship with more flair,” said Celeste, trailing behind.
“Too right,” Jeth muttered. The Montrose looked to have the speed and maneuverability of a beached whale. Usually, one of the best parts of stealing a spaceship was getting to pilot something new and flashy. But not this clunky, bloated thing. Just think about the money, Jeth reminded himself. That’s what matters.
They were almost done, although the hardest part lay before them. They had to unmoor the Montrose and fly it away from the station without drawing the attention of passing patrols. A difficult task with a ship this large and cumbersome. A welcome thrill of excitement shot down Jeth’s spine.
Once in the living quarters, he turned right onto a flight of stairs that ended at the entrance to the bridge. The lights brightened automatically as he stepped inside, giving him full view of the cockpit at the front and the row of control panels lining the walls.
Lizzie stepped past him, heading for the nav station on the right. “I’ll have us ready to launch in a minute.”
Jeth nodded, his gaze fixed on the front windows that looked out onto open space. That restless feeling burst anew inside him. For one insane moment, he considered just jumping right then and there into open space, making a run for it instead of handing the ship over to Hammer. Jeth wanted to fly away into that vast stretch of unknown, to see how far he could go, what new places he could find. There were plenty of them still out there, he was sure. His parents had been space surveyors for the ITA, and he’d inherited their wanderlust. It was like a constant vibration inside him that refused to be stilled. He wanted to live a life where no one told him what to do and where adventure and new discoveries waited around every turn.
But all the stupidity of such an idea occurred to him at once: This wasn’t an explorer ship. Not enough food and water capacity and way too noticea
ble. All it had going for it was the new metadrive.
No, when he sailed away into that black unknown, it would be on his own ship, Avalon, the same one his parents had flown for so many years. Just as soon as I have enough money to buy her back from Hammer. He was almost there. A couple more jobs like this one, and he’d finally have her back.
Brightened by the prospect, Jeth tucked the stunner into his belt as Celeste made her way to the pilot’s chair. She and Jeth took turns flying the ships they hijacked. She was definitely getting the short end on this one.
Jeth was about to take the copilot’s chair when the door to the ready room across from the nav station slid open and a man stepped out.
The first thing Jeth noticed was the .45-caliber Mirage handgun he was carrying, the barrel pointed at Jeth. The man wore gray fatigue pants and a fitted black jacket. His outfit was completely inconspicuous, all except for the shiny silver badge with a star and eagle emblem hung at his belt. The badge of an ITA Special Agent.
Jeth blew out a breath at the sight of it.
And here comes interesting.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo by Krystal Arnett Photography
Mindee Arnett is the author of one other book for teens, The Nightmare Affair. She lives on a horse farm in Ohio with her husband, two kids, a couple of dogs, and an inappropriate number of cats. Her dream home, though, is aboard a spaceship. You can find her online at www.mindeearnett.com.
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COPYRIGHT
Balzer + Bray is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
Copyright © 2013 by Mindee Arnett
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks.
EPub Edition © 2013
ISBN 978-0-06-226918-8
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FIRST EDITION
EPub Edition © NOVEMBER 2013 ISBN: 9780062269188
Cover art © Josh Dutra
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