Rebel Stars 1: Outlaw (7 page)

"My thinking exactly." Rada rubbed a scuff on the corner of her device. "But it's also possible the pirates stole the
Piper
with the express purpose of hurting Jain."

Simm frowned. "Unlikely.
Piper
had some defenses, but nothing like Jain's
Ship With No Name
."

Lacking adequate gravity to throw herself despondently into a chair, Rada settled for flinging out her limbs and flopping on her back. She spun slowly, gazing up at the ceiling.

"If anything, this just opened up more questions. Could be Major was involved. Could be pirates. The e-sig you picked up, were there any other matches?"

"Nothing I would consider remotely probable. Bear in mind, however, that the databases are user-generated. Plenty of ships don't appear there."

She was approaching a wall. She drew her limbs trunkward, getting her feet under her to absorb the coming impact. "Could it be IRP? Payback for the
Rebel
?"

"We haven't had any problems with them since then," Simm said. "Besides, they'd have to know about Jain and her extremely recent and equally tenuous connection to us. It would be a highly convoluted scenario."

"Well, keep it in the back of your mind. For now, let's dig up everything we can on Ophelia Major. Check in with the cops regarding local pirate activity. Offer a bounty for anyone who can ID our e-sig."

Simm scratched the back of his head. "Alternately, we could quit."

Rada caught herself against the wall and swung about to stare at him. "Simm, she was
murdered
."

"We don't know that. We don't know her, either. We don't even know what she was going to tell us."

"All signs are it was pretty damned important! We haven't even been on the case for two days. If Toman wants to recall us, he can recall us. Until then, I want to get hold of the local cops and—"

Her device dinged. She blinked at it. "Speak of the devil." She glanced at Simm, then switched the feed to the receivers implanted in her ears.

Toman Benez's face appeared on her device, which indicated they had an eight-second lag. "Hey Rada. I don't have time for an extended chat. But I wanted to let you know I got your message. And I read it."

"What?" she said. "That was event of death only!"

For eight seconds, he fiddled with a second device. When her words finally reached him, he looked up and grinned. "So imagine how relieved I am to see you're alive! Listen, I'm sure you're busy, but if you're not in the middle of anything too sticky, can you swing by the Hive? I'd like to discuss our strategy in person. See you soon!"

He winked and blanked off.

Rada tethered the device to her leg. "Change of plans. We're headed to the Hive."

Simm raised his brows. "That was Toman, wasn't it?"

"Sure was. And when Toman Benez suggests you drop by for a chat, you strap in and punch it as hard as you can stand."

"Pirates?" Jons leaned from his bunk closer to the screen. "Where do you get
that
?"

"Because that ship is burning," Webber said. "And we're dodging."

"Could be what we're dodging is burning pieces of ship."

"This is what the mods were about. MacAdams and Taz, they're not electrical engineers. They're security. Marines."

The ship juked again. Jons rocked and swore, grabbing at his back. "Okay, well, if you frame it like that, it makes kind of a lot of sense. Except for the part where it's totally fucking crazy."

"It's only crazy to a sane person. Gomes is on the brink of losing everything. How cohesive do you think she is?"

On the screen, a spread of rockets leapt from the bow, engines igniting in silvery starbursts, and spiraled toward the flaming vessel. Sparks fired from the rear of the wounded ship. Four flashes of light signaled the death of one rocket after another. One went off beside the crippled ship, followed by a second. Rather than being torn to shreds, however, the ship simply went silent. No lights. No launches. No nothing. Just a cape of flames that was already dwindling to nothing.

"Pulsed out their power," Jons said.

Webber inched to the edge of his bed. "Can't be that simple. What about backups?"

"Judging by the way that thing defended itself? Full-on drone, baby. It's got its maneuvers, its defensive algorithms, but that's never going to stand up against a pirate who knows their way around a fight. Bet you two grand that's how Gomes' new crew is earning their keep."

Webber's head bobbed down; they were accelerating. Nothing too intense. On the screen, the disabled ship slowly drew nearer, continuing to coast on its momentum even as the
Fourth Down
moved to close.

"Gomes is more desperate than she's let on," Webber said. "Check it out. None of us are in on this, right?"

"Can't be. I've played way too much poker with these guys to miss when they're bluffing. Nobody had a clue."

"There's no alarms. No announcements. She hasn't even turned on the seatbelt light. We're not supposed to know this is happening."

Jons poked his head from the side of his bunk and met his eyes. "Where are you headed with this?"

"Every one of us is in debt, right? Past the eyeballs and up to the scalp. Bet you anything her Plan B is that, if anyone figured her out, she'd buy them off." Webber pressed his palms together. "But what if we unionize?"

"Is that a fancy word for mutiny?"

"She just made us accessories to piracy. If she's going to expose us to that kind of risk? She'd better make it worth our while."

Jons tented his fingers over his nose, eyes hooded. "Or we shut this off. Pour ourselves a drink. And pretend we didn't see a damn thing."

"That sounds like a good way to stay stuck here for the rest of our lives. Getting put to use by someone who sees us as nothing more than human cogs. With nothing more to look forward to than the next time we can get drunk and, if we're really lucky, get in a fight with some other sailors." Webber swung his feet over the edge of the bunk, careful not to bonk his head on the ceiling. "I say we round up the others. Tell them what's up. And demand our cut of the action."

Jons laughed and ejected himself from his bunk. "When did you start believing there was a future, you son of a bitch? One condition: before we rally the troops, we stock up at the galley. No way I mutiny without a cup full of grog."

Their door was sealed—Webber was looking forward to Gomes' explanation for that one—but Jons delved into his device and went to work. Two minutes later, with the other ship filling half the screen, a cylindrical pod launched from the
Fourth
.

Webber tapped Jons on the shoulder. "See that?"

"Life raft," Jons said. "What do you want to bet Taz and MacAdams are on board? Ready to snatch up the loot?"

"Better move fast. While Gomes is alone."

Jons stuck his tongue between his teeth and resumed work. A minute later, the door slid open.

"Let's get them one by one," Webber said. "Will be easier to win them over."

Jons nodded. "Lara first. If we convince her, the others will fall like dominoes. While I work on her door—"

"I know." Webber saluted. "The grog."

The hallway was dark, quiet. He tiptoed to the galley, punched up an order of dark rum, and watched the thick, syrupy liquid pour into his plastic jug. Finished, he sealed its sippy lid and jogged toward Lara's quarters. The door was closed but opened to his touch. Inside, she stood with her feet planted shoulder-width, separated from Jons by three feet. She snapped to face Webber. Her expression froze.

"Oh no," she said. "You guys are serious."

He took a drink and thrust the jug Jons' way. "I don't like it any more than you. If you want to go back to bed, we'll pretend we were never here. But Gomes, she just put our future at risk. Our lives. Roll over, or come with us to the bridge—your choice."

"Way to make me sound like I'm a pussy if I say no." She stuck out her hand. "Give me that bottle."

Next was Harry. As their local fixer—a glorified diplomat—he saw which way the wind was blowing. He didn't even ask for a full explanation.

After that, they went to Deen. To Webber's surprise, the big man shook his head. "Guys, you're talking about
mutiny
. We signed a contract."

"Yeah," Jons said, "and Captain just flushed it down the tube. How can you stand behind someone who just made you an accessory?"

"Because either way, this is pure dirt. I choose to wash my hands." Deen crossed his thick arms. "I won't back you. But I won't get in your way, either."

Webber nodded. "Might want to lock your door until it blows over."

That left Vincent. Appreciative of logic, but highly contrarian. Webber readied three different arguments. When they sprung his door, he stood on the other side, amused.

"So," he said, twirling a knife. "Finally figured out what those mods are intended to hide? They're made of lead for a reason, you know."

"I'm just the one who welded them down," Webber said. "You with us? Or would you rather mock us from afar?"

"I'm assuming you saved me for last. Where's Deen?"

"Switzerland."

"Huh?"

"He's decided he's above both sides."

"That's because he doesn't understand that, when the revolution comes, standing back looks the same as standing with the enemy." Victor sighed and reached for the jug. "I'm with you on one condition: first, we negotiate. Gomes is no fool. We'd be wise to hear her reasons for her course of action before we fling her out the airlock."

Webber glanced at Jons. Jons winked. Webber sloshed the jug. "I'll drink to that."

They advanced toward the bridge. The doors were locked, but Jons parted them with the same trick he'd used to spring the others. Webber entered first. Gomes was alone. Eyes locked on the screens. Muttering into her comm. Brown face turned pale by the light of the displays. For a moment, Webber's confidence receded like a tide. On screen, the lifeboat was docked to the cargo ship's airlock.

"We need to talk," Webber said. "It's about you being a total asshole."

She whirled. Her cheeks twitched, gaze shifting past him to the others as they filtered through the door. "Vincent. After I plucked you out of the gutter?"

Vincent shrugged his bony shoulders. "Believe it or not, I am but a remora here. You're looking right past the shark."

A cloud crossed over her face. "Webber?"

"I might be dumb, but you're the one who hired me." Webber stalked forward, bottle in one hand, galley knife in the other. "Talk. Bleed. Your choice."

"It's not how it looks." She stood, palms raised. "When we made the delivery, I was going to announce a bonus."

"How generous," Jons said. "Is that our idiot pay kicking in?"

"Wait until you hear the numbers."

Harry cleared his throat. "Before we start dividing up this manna from heaven, might we discuss who we're currently robbing?"

"Nevedia," she said. "Next-gen meds. Tailored to knock down whatever mutations Jupiter's magnetic field induces in the locals' bacteria. So sizzling they wouldn't even trust the formula to Needles."

"
Nevedia?
" Harry said. "Third-largest drug manufacturer Nevedia? Top-forty fleet in the system Nevedia?"

"That's exactly why they were arrogant enough to cut out on the Lane. Speaking of cuts, you know what we're looking at? Fifteen grand."

Jons beetled his brows. "You knocked off a Nevedia cargo cruiser for fifteen grand?"

"Each," Lara said. "Dumbass."

A startled silence washed over the bridge. Webber lowered his knife. "How were you going to explain a 15K bonus?"

"With great difficulty," Gomes laughed. "Got lucky speculating on the tritium market. Something like that. Might have had to spread it over multiple deliveries."

"How much are
you
taking?"

"Well," she said. "I'm the captain. I knew what was happening. The rest of you would have had plausible deniability."

"How much?"

"You have to consider expenses. Your cut. The new recruits. Mods, materiel, bribes. Savings against potential damages to the ship. Adds up. The net's a lot slimmer than the gross."

Webber tightened his grip on the blade. "Don't make me ask a third time."

Gomes swallowed. "Six hundred."

"Grand?" Lara honked with laughter. "I'm guessing that's conservative, too."

"And you get fifteen. Each. All you have to do is keep your mouths shut."

Webber moved to rub his mouth, caught the gleam of the knife, and arrested his hand. Fifteen thousand. That was three months right there. Enough to get his head above water—for now. But after it was gone, he'd be right back where he started.

"Question," he said. "Is this a one-time thing?"

Gomes met his eyes. "Do you want it to be?"

Harry laughed in disbelief. "Might I remind you this is Nevedia? Who exactly was on board?"

"No one. Drone. Only potential casualties were Taz and MacAdams."

"And us," Jons muttered.

"And us." Webber stepped forward. "Taz and MacAdams, what are they getting?"

Gomes glanced at the screen. "Depends on expenses."

"Points on the net? Then what's what we get, too."

"Come on. You can't ask points for staying in your bunks and squeezing your eyes shut."

"We'll earn our points the same way they are. How much are they getting? Ten?"

"Fifteen," she said. "Each."

"Then we'll take ten. Each."

Gomes drew back her chin. "That leaves me with twenty. As
captain
."

He shrugged. "A lot better than twenty years in the brig after one of us decides being accessory isn't worth 15K."

"Eight," she growled. "Each. This is the only time I'll make the offer."

Webber glanced between the others.

"Drones only," Harry put in. "I'm not blowing a hole in anything with a crew. No amount of money is worth murder."

"Second," Lara said.

"And we discuss the targets in advance," Jons said. "Nevedia's not so crazy. They've barely got a presence Outside. Some of the others, you're talking suicide."