Derelict: Halcyone Space, Book 1 (14 page)

Outside the day shift would be in full swing. In here, the environmentals created a soft twilight. Ro stood up and stretched, looking around for Nomi in the quiet. She lay curled in the single bed that pulled out from a notch in the wall, her dark hair spiked up against the pillow, her face softened in sleep.

Ro exhaled. She owed her a thank you and probably more apologies, but didn't want to wake her. Working with live power or complex code didn't make Ro blink, but knowing what to say to a friend terrified her.

Rocking back and forth on her heels, Ro watched Nomi rest. Striking, sensual, and smart, Konomi Nakamura confused her. Ro looked down at her rumpled clothes and ran her fingers through sleep tangled hair. "I'm sorry. I'm not good friend material," she whispered, afraid to wake Nomi up even as part of her hoped the communications specialist would somehow hear her. "You deserve better."

She needed to check on the progress of the AI re-install and Nomi needed her sleep. Maybe Ro would figure out what to say to her later. For now, she retreated into the small head to try to clean up, at least enough so no one would stare as she moved through the busy corridors. She looked into the small mirror crammed into the compact bathroom. The commode doubled as a shower seat. Sheer waterproof curtains ran in a track along the ceiling and the floor drained and reclaimed the water. A shower would feel great, but Ro didn't have a change of clothes with her. She'd left everything on the ship.

Maybe Nomi would let her shower here later. Her cheeks blushed bright red in her reflection. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea.

Ro cleaned her face and swished some of Nomi's mouth rinse. Her hair tangled hopelessly. Without a brush, she had no way to properly braid it so she gathered it in a messy tail and tied it away from her face.

Her stomach gurgled as she stepped back into Nomi's living quarters. The last real meal she'd eaten was yesterday's breakfast, and it wasn't much of a meal. She looked back at Nomi and then towards the small galley kitchen. The plate she'd put together sat on the counter, wrapped in a clear seal with Ro's name written across it in an elegant script.

Taking the plate and leaving would be a poor thank you and an even poorer goodbye. Ro tiptoed to Nomi's bedside and looked down at her, marveling that she didn't wake up. If anyone loomed over Ro like that, she'd be up in a shot, ready to defend herself.

She hesitated for a moment before picking up Nomi's micro. Most people never bothered to disable the standard logons after enabling biometrics. It was a simple task to pair hers to Nomi's and exploit the little loophole using the peer-to-peer networking program she'd rebuilt and honed. Breaking into someone's personal computer was kind of stalkerish, but the tunneled line she installed would override the ghosting program and let Nomi always ping Ro directly.

She didn't know what scared her more — that she wanted Nomi to call or that she was completely rationalizing a hack.

Before now, Ro wouldn't think twice. If she needed access, she would take it.

Well, Nomi wanted to get to know her. This was part of the package. Grinning fiercely, she hacked into her friend's micro and added her phone-home utility. It would auto-run as soon as Nomi woke the micro. After a moment's hesitation, her stomach fluttering, Ro added a note.

She grabbed the food plate and slipped from Nomi's quarters feeling both acutely nauseated and exhilarated at the same time, her memory flashing to the first time she'd hacked past a security firewall. Somehow Nomi had figured a way past her own emotional ones. This must be what a computer felt like on the receiving end. The door closed behind her and Ro stood still, clutching the plate, feeling like an idiot.

Time to get to work.

Usually Micah liked the quiet of his plants, the soft whistle of the water pumps, and the gentle hiss of the rain, but today his restlessness drove him to pace the small work area.
He wouldn't even mind Jem's company. A good argument might clear his mind, give him a target for his uneasiness.

Piecing together a conspiracy from a few overheard bits of a conversation was a chancy business, but he knew his father all too well. If there was an angle to play or money to be made, his father would be in the center of it. Micah guessed he and Ro had more things in common than either of them probably wanted to admit.

Even though he was waiting for her, he still flinched when the door opened and Ro slipped inside his lab space. She flinched, too, nearly dropping the plate she carried.

Her expression immediately soured and she turned away from him, walking toward her desk.

"Glad to see you too," Micah said.

She didn't respond.

"I have something you need to know."

Ro turned around and glared at him.

"Your father is conspiring with mine to use this ship."

She turned away, checking something on her micro.

"Hey! Did you just hear what I said?"

"Yes." Her voice was cold, distant.

Micah whirled toward the door. Fine. How could he ever have thought she would help him escape? "Whatever. He knows you're here working on the AI."

Ro didn't acknowledge him, but her body stiffened and Micah knew she was listening.

"Your father. He's manipulating you."

"How do you know?" she asked.

Swallowing a bitter laugh, he said, "I overheard them talking this morning before my father passed out in another of his famous alcoholic stupors."

She turned to face him, fatigue in the lines of her face and the slump of her shoulders. "What do you want from me? So you have father issues. Welcome to my world."

He did laugh this time. "You really are a piece of work. You're welcome," he said, nearly spitting out the words before heading for the door.

"It doesn't change anything, Rotherwood," she shouted.

He paused at the threshold. "You're right. So why bother with this?" He gestured at the ship around them. "Why not just walk away?"

"I can't."

"Well, that's the difference between you and me. I know a lost cause when I see one."

"Wait."

Micah stopped. He leaned against the door frame, his eyes closed.

"What do they want with the ship?"

"How the hell should I know?"

"They're smuggling something," Jem said.

Micah's eyelids snapped open. "What?" Jem stood in the corridor in front of him, glaring, his hands balled into fists.

"Shit," Ro said, nearly simultaneously.

"I can prove it. Here." Jem pulled out his micro and his fingers flew across the interface.

"You have less than two weeks. And then, no matter what, we need to move the cargo."

"And when will I get paid?"

Ro gasped, hearing her father's voice.

"You'll get yours. You just have to trust me."

"I'm not stupid, Senator."

"You just do your part and we'll both get what we want."

The playback was scratchy, but Micah had no problem identifying his father's famous most persuasive and dangerous tone.

"Don't you always?"

The recording cut out.

"How did you get this?" Micah asked, his voice a low rasp.

Ro kicked over the stool by her desk and stormed out of the room, pushing her way through Micah and Jem, stomping off toward the aft compartments. They followed Ro down the corridor.

Jem had to practically run to keep up with his longer strides, but Micah didn't slow down. Ro owed him answers and he was going to get them. They caught up with her at the open doorway to the aft starboard storage bay.

"What in the cosmos is going on?" Jem asked, a little out of breath.

Ro whirled on Micah, fury burning in her eyes. "What's he smuggling?"

"How should I know?"

"Your bittergreen?" she asked, ignoring his answer and barreling through the doorway. "How about I crack one of these seals and we see who shows up?" Grabbing a box off the nearest stack, she reached for a utility knife hanging off her belt.

"Shit, those are diplomatic seals," Micah said.

"Want to bet?" Ro smiled a fierce challenge at him.

Before he could answer, before he could reach her arm to stop her, she slashed underneath the face of the seal.

"Ro, stop! Wait!" Jem shouted, diving back into the hallway.

"Fuck!" Micah cringed, backing away from the stacked cargo, waiting for the wail of an alarm and the splash of a nano-dye packet. The small amount of distance he put between himself and the box wouldn't matter. The nano-particles were so small and so well aerosolized as to be practically invisible and impossible to fully remove. Ro stood up, directly in front of the box, laughing, as if daring the seal to react.

"Are you insane?" Micah said, wanting to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, but she was still gripping the knife, holding it high in the air like a threat. The seconds ticked by. "Wait …" Nothing happened. He shifted his gaze between Ro and the box. Nothing happened. "How the hell did you know?"

She stopped laughing and stepped back, flicked her knife closed, and slapped it back on her belt. "That they were forgeries? I didn't for sure until just now."

Micah swallowed hard and opened his mouth but no words came out.

"I thought it was worth the risk."

"To you, maybe," Micah said, stepping away from her as if she were as explosive as the seals.

"Jem, it's safe to come out now. The big, bad wolf is gone." She turned back to the unsealed carton. "Shall we see what our fathers are smuggling?"

Micah struggled between curiosity and a deep loathing to get tangled up in anything his father plotted. He should have just left earlier when he had the chance, but he'd let Ro reel him back in. How had this gotten so complicated? A few days ago, the ship was his, and his biggest problem was getting his plants to seed. A theoretical problem. A safe problem, at least until he solved it.

He took several reluctant steps closer to Ro and the opened carton. Jem pushed past him and leaned over, staring, his eyes so wide, the whites showed all around the dark brown.

All the mirth and defiance drained out of her. She stepped back, giving Micah room to see.

His pulse pounding and his mouth dry, Micah looked inside. Rows of plasma rifles lay nestled in multi-gee cushions, neatly packed under a fake diplomatic seal. The room tilted around him. Micah had to lean against Jem to avoid crashing to the floor. "Seal it back. Now."

"What's your problem? What part of counterfeit did you not understand?" Ro asked.

"You have less than two weeks. And then, no matter what, we need to move the cargo."
His father's angry words reverberated through his mind. The assignment to Tresthame was at best a cover. Maybe that's where these weapons were bound. It didn't matter. The clock was ticking. "You have to put everything back the way it was."

When Ro didn't move, Micah knelt next to the carton and pulled the cover closed. He only hoped that she hadn't damaged the seal too badly. Maybe they could shift this carton to the bottom of a stack.

"What are you doing?" Ro demanded.

"Hiding our tracks, you idiot! If you can't get this ship to fly, my father is going to try to get these guns delivered sometime before we leave for Tresthame — probably as part of our housing cargo and within the next two weeks."

"Ro, what did you drag me into?" Jem's voice shook. He retreated to the relative safety of the doorway and disappeared.

"I didn't know anything about the guns! I swear!" Ro whirled on Micah. "Do you think my father does?"

"Does it matter?"

She stared at him for a long moment. "No, not really. Here, let me." She smoothed down the counterfeit seal. It stuck and the edges of the carton disappeared where it had been opened. "Quality work."

"My father doesn't do sloppy." He wasn't even a sloppy drunk. Micah covered his face with his hands, wondering what his mother would think if she were alive to see this.

"Come on," Ro said, dropping a hand on Micah's shoulder. "You're right. We need to put this away."

Micah flinched away from Ro's touch. "I got it. Go deal with Jem."

***

Jerking her hand back, Ro glanced at the empty doorway. Jem was gone. "Shit." Would he tell anyone? Where the hell would he go? "Rotherwood — we're not done with this," she said, as she spun from the cargo bay and down the corridor after Jem.

She raced to the outer umbilical, hoping to head him off from returning to Daedalus, but either he'd had too much of a head start, or he was still on the ship. For all their sakes, she hoped it was the latter.

Where was Jem? She eyed all the sealed doors and potential hiding spaces on the ship and frowned. A physical search would take way too long. What if the senator or her father decided to check on their cargo and found them here? Ro jogged back to Micah's workroom. She snatched her micro. Asking Daedalus would only give her Jem's ghost, but there wasn't a programmer in the Hub or beyond who didn't add a back door to their code.

She figured Jem had to know that, which meant he wasn't really hiding from her.

"Jem," she called softly at the entry to the bridge. "We need to talk."

The room was bathed in darkness, but Ro didn't bother to turn up the lights. She stepped in and let the door close behind her. "I swear I didn't know." Well, she'd known about the cargo and even figured her father was involved somehow, but she wouldn't ever have pegged him as a gun-runner. It smacked of politics and the only politics her dad cared about were the politics of his own paranoid self-interest.

"I can't do this," Jem said, his voice floating toward her from somewhere to her right.

"I'm sorry." She should never have involved him. He was just a kid, no matter how bright. "Go home, Jem. Forget you were ever here."

"It's not that easy, Ro."

The suspicions her father schooled her in from the time she was a child lit a fire deep inside. What did Jem want from her? He was the one with options and with a future. "Sure it is. You stand up, you walk out, and you go back to your perfect little life."

A strange choking sound rose up from the darkness. It took her a few seconds to realize Jem was crying. "Look, I said I was sorry. You did great work."