“Have you seen today’s news?” Lissa seemed more focused on her lunch than necessary—a fresh salad of mixed greens, beans, dried seaweed, noodles, strawberries, and bonito flakes.
She’d taken over maintenance of the hydroponic garden, since they no longer had a botanist—Karter often missed Dru.
Dru. She was gone now, too. Karter tried not to think about it, not to place blame before she even knew what had happened.
The scent of fresh bread had motivated Karter to roll out of her bunk earlier than planned. Ibis often baked in batches during the week, and this morning had been particularly productive. A large collection of goodies now crowded the kitchen counter: cinnamon cookies, rugelach, conchas, and a loaf of bread. Some were still warm.
Karter didn’t cook, but she knew enough to know that the variety and number of items here had taken more than a couple of hours to make. When does Ibis sleep? That was when Karter noticed the pot of steaming mushroom and potato curry that had been Lissa’s morning project.
“Thanks for the curry.” Karter’s own contributions to household upkeep consisted of kitchen cleanup and laundry. By the look of things, she was in for some work. She didn’t mind. Ibis had attempted to teach her to bake only once. The result had been an agreement that Karter would not touch cooking utensils ever again. She still discovered evidence from that disaster in the odd corner from time to time.
“I needed something useful to do with my anxiety,” Lissa said.
Karter pointed to the pile of baked goods. “You weren’t the only one, it seems.”
Lissa nodded. “Did you hear? About the news?”
Setting a bowl of mushroom masala on the table, Karter paused. The dish’s magnetic bottom connected with the tabletop, letting out a sharp, quiet click. She couldn’t shake the feeling that her day was about to go to shit. Heading back to the cabinets for a fork, she replied, “I prefer to wait until after 17:00. That way, I can have a tall drink to choke down the rage.”
“I’m serious.”
Glancing over her shoulder, Karter realized Lissa was, in fact, in earnest. Karter sighed. “All right. Hit me.”
Lissa addressed the ship’s ceiling. “Mirabilis, please access Terran Republic Four News. Dated today. Stories related to Loki’s Ring. Sort from most recent to oldest. Start with the newest. Play video. Audio level five.”
Although Mirabilis was new, its systems had been modified to use multiple stacking layers of narrow AI instead of a Quantum-Neuromorphic Hybrid system. Karter had reasons for this—not the least of which was that Mirabilis tended to operate inside the NIA and their starship needed to pass NIA regulations, such as they were.
The float screen appeared at an ideal angle for the only two people in the kitchen. Three synthetic news anchors—a man, a woman, and a nonbinary person—were seated at a long white desk. All had the mixed features of the average Terran Republic citizen. A chyron at the bottom of the screen listed the newscasters’ names and pronouns in small type. After Alaba Ojo finished her presentation, the gender-neutral anchor, Easton Ros, began to speak.
“Next, we have a breaking story from the L-39 system. Late last night, a live fire exchange occurred between a registered Terran Republic salvage vessel and a Norton Independent Alliance starship. It has been categorized as a diplomatic incident. Details are only slowly becoming available due to the L-39 travel moratorium. However, this station has been informed that the Terran Republic vessel, The Tempest, reportedly responded to an E-11 distress call. The origin and authenticity of the alleged distress call is unclear. However, Captain Amber Neely of NISS Narcissus has lodged an official complaint that the E-11 response was unwarranted. She claims to have already provided assistance.
“Due to the volatility of the situation, the names of the crew members involved and the incident’s precise coordinates are being withheld until authorities complete their investigation.
“L-39 and its artificial world, commonly known as Loki’s Ring, are restricted areas. Citizens are advised to stay well away.
“This is the first incident involving an NIA starship in nearly fifteen years. However, recent diplomatic relations between the Norton Independent Alliance and the Terran Republic of Worlds have been steadily deteriorating. A public statement from the Terran Republic Diplomatic Corps is scheduled for 15:30 today. An official representative from the Norton Independent Alliance could not be reached for comment.”
The video stopped playing at a particularly unfortunate moment for the male anchor, who’d been caught midblink.
Karter’s stomach did a queasy backflip. That man looks like I wish I felt right now—like I’d chugged half a bottle of Teagarden scotch. “I really don’t relish the diplomats’ jobs on this one.”
Lissa gave her a look.
“I get it.” Karter took a bite of curry and swallowed. It tasted fantastic. She almost said something but decided the compliment would be rightly construed as an attempt to avoid the subject at hand. “We’re headed into a shitstorm.”
“NIA coverage of the incident is… interesting. It feels a bit unhinged.”
“Did you honestly expect otherwise?”
“The conspiracy theory crowd insists this was a planned incursion by the Terran Republic military, which they claim is led by shadow AGIs.” Lissa sighed.
“It is kind of their go-to explanation. Meteor hit a moon? An AGI did it. Shortage on sugar? An AGI sabotaged the supply chain. Seriously, this specter of an artificial person is one busy son of a bitch.”
“What are we going to do?”
Karter threw her hands up in the air. “No one else will help Gita. Not now. She’s fucked. No matter how I feel about her screwing over—”
Lissa’s brows pinched together. “That’s a little one-sided.”
Counting to five before continuing, Karter spoke with a tight jaw. “We both made mistakes.” Lissa waited expectantly. So Karter added, “Big mistakes.”
Lissa is right, you know.
“Thank you.”
“I won’t abandon her.” Now that Karter had had time to cool off—time to think—she saw the situation differently. I do owe Gita an apology. She was tired of replaying their last argument in her head. She missed her best friend. “No matter how either of us feels. It’d be wrong.”
“I wasn’t insinuating that we should.” Once again, Lissa stared at her plate before resuming her lunch. Silence stretched between them like a worn-out tether line.
Lissa swallowed and used her napkin. “We promised to drop Dr. Garcia home. How are we going to do that? Gita’s problems are bigger than a stalled shuttle now.”
Son of a bitch, Karter thought. Lissa’s right about that, too. I’m so not awake yet.
Replacing the napkin in her lap, Lissa went on. “Once we’re spotted—and you know we will be, given that every Terran Republic drone in the neutral sector is focused on those coordinates—the situation will escalate. Where do we go after we pick them up? Is there anywhere safe?”
These were, now that Karter thought about it, extremely good questions.
While the NIA was a loose conglomeration tipping toward chaos on a good day, the situation in L-39 was likely to unite them. It had happened before. Paranoia ran strong in its circles. Talk to any Nortonian about the Terran Republic, and they were likely to recite wide-eyed myths about evil bots running secret execution squads, hidden machine-hoarded wealth, and murdered children.
Artificial persons did play a role in the Terran Republic government. Artificial people certainly weren’t perfect. Human beings had created them, after all. But entities who espoused long-term, equitable policies—and also didn’t struggle with insecurity, corruption, misplaced loyalty, and power addiction—were handy.
The ethics surrounding artificial logic systems had kept university philosophy departments busy for centuries and would continue to do so for the foreseeable future. That said, it was certain that no artificial persons were involved in secret government murder plots. As one of the people occasionally involved in secret government plots, Karter was sure she would notice.
She sighed. The prospect of staring down the Terran Republic Navy wasn’t a rosy one. The regulatory committee for independent contractors was sure to hand out a painful reaming afterward. In fact, there was no angle to the situation ahead that wouldn’t result in wall-to-wall fuckery.
Dr. Garcia didn’t sign up for this, poor woman, Karter thought. “Do we know anyone who can take a passenger?”
“We do. The relevant questions are: Are they nearby? And do we trust them?”
“Put out the word. We need someone reliable.”
“And if I can’t find anyone?”
“Then we’ll sit down with the good doctor and discuss the options we do have. Either way, we’ll have a chat before we pick up Gita and the others.”
“And after?”
Karter shrugged. “Home is where they can’t tell you to fuck off when you show up on their doorstep with radioactive suitcases and a large laundry bag full of bad news.”
“Gita, Mandy, and Aoifa aren’t Chimera members.”
“What Mother doesn’t know won’t upset them. No one needs to leave the ship. No dock access or visas necessary. No visas, no need for security inspections or—”
Lissa cut her off with a raised eyebrow. “You’re proposing we sneak them into Chimera Station?”
“It’s not sneaking if they never leave the ship. Anyway, no one follows the rules to the letter. That’s sort of the point of a pirate port.”
Lissa tilted her head to the left and squinted at the ceiling. “Technically, that’s true.”
“See? Problem solved.”
Placing her silverware inside her bowl, Lissa then took her dishes to the recycler. “Of course, that doesn’t address the wailing scaly mammoth in the room.”
“I’m good with that.” Karter deposited her dirty dishes with Lissa’s and hit the Start button. “Scaly mammoths are so tedious, and they refuse to wipe their feet. Fuck ’em.”
“Will you be all right having Gita on board?”
“What makes you think I won’t be?”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Ibis spoke from the doorway leading to the crew quarters.
How long have they been standing there? thought Karter.
Lissa motioned to Ibis as if illustrating her point.
Sighing, Karter dropped into the nearest chair. “No drama. I promise.”
Ibis sat beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Say it again. And this time, make me believe you.”
“Asshole.” Karter pushed their hand away.
“Takes one to know one,” Ibis returned in a blasé tone.
Lissa’s voice was gentle. “You don’t have to admit fault to either of us. It’s not our fight. But you are going to have to apologize to Gita. You understand that?”
Karter picked at a nonexistent dirty spot on the table. “I know. I will.”
“Good,” Ibis said.
Slumping, Karter said, “I hate it when you two gang up on me like this.”
“We know, but you love us anyway.” Ibis looped an arm over her shoulders. “Let’s have some gin to take the sting out.”
“It’s only 12:30.” Lissa looked appalled.
“You’ve never heard of a martini lunch?” Ibis asked.
Lissa blinked. “What’s a martini?”
“What ancient vid did you steal that one from?” Karter added.
Ibis shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
“No, seriously. What’s a martini?”
“Rinse ice cubes in vermouth. Strain off the vermouth into a glass. Add gin, a dash of bitters, and an olive.” Ibis smiled at Lissa.
“You can have the gin,” Karter said. “It’s tea for me. I have too much to do.” She’d picked up a persistent iced tea habit from Ibis. At least I don’t drink it with a metric ton of sweetener like they do.
After a couple of rounds, Ibis wandered off to their cabin for some light reading. Lissa left to check on the autopilot and navigation systems, stepping aside for Dr. Garcia on the way out.
“Good afternoon, doctor,” Lissa said. “I hope you slept well? There’s curry available, if you’d like. If not, I’m sure Karter can find you something suitable.”
Dr. Garcia entered and inhaled deeply. “That smells wonderful.”
“Let me reheat it for you.” Karter pointed to the baked goods. “Help yourself to anything you want.”
Dr. Garcia picked up a cinnamon cookie. “You baked?”
Karter shook her head. “Not me. Ibis. Please, have at least three. This is almost a compulsion when they’re anxious. With the news situation as it is, we’re going to be buried in cookies, rolls, and cake if we don’t eat in a hurry.” She pushed the button on the fast oven.
“Is something wrong?”
“Eat first. Then we’ll talk.”
Taking a bite of cookie, Dr. Garcia slid onto the built-in bench at the table. She looked uneasy. “Thank you for rescuing me.”
“Like I said, don’t worry about it.” Karter placed the warm bowl of curry on the table in front of her. “How are you feeling?”
“Much better after the rest.”
“Good.”
Dr. Garcia dug into her lunch with enthusiasm. Karter decided to let her eat in peace. In the meantime, Karter fetched herself another cup of coffee and a cookie. She settled in across the table and waited until the doctor pushed her empty bowl away with a satisfied sigh.
“That was amazing.”
“I’ll tell Lissa you thought so—she’ll be pleased. Would you like some coffee? Or would you prefer tea? We have several kinds, even stimulant free.”
Dr. Garcia nodded. Karter demonstrated how to heat water for tea using the kitchen unit and pointed to where the tea was stored.
When her tea finished brewing, Dr. Garcia took a sip and pulled a face. “That’s… interesting.”
“Is something wrong?” Karter asked.
“It’s not bad. Just much stronger than I expected for mint tea.”
“Maybe because we grow our own mint.”
“I thought all mint was mint.”
“Not exactly,” Karter said. “Food replicator recipes are based on specific genetic varieties of plants. Live plants slowly mutate over time. It changes their flavor profiles. Replicated foods don’t. Depending upon the length of time elapsed between when the recipe was established and the age of the genetic strain, the taste can vary quite widely.”
“Oh.” Dr. Garcia blinked and took another sip. This time she seemed to savor it. “And this is true of all foods?”
Karter nodded. “I wouldn’t have known either, but we used to have a ship botanist who specialized in culinary plants.”
“Fascinating.”
After her second cup, Karter began. “About your return trip. Something has come up.”
“Yes?”
“There’s a distress call. We have to answer it. As a result, there might be a bit of a delay.”
“Oh.”
“Lissa is looking into transferring you to another ship—”
“But—” Dr. Garcia’s eyes went wide with apprehension.
“It would be someone we trust. No exceptions.”
“Oh. Good.”
“However there’s a chance—a small one, mind you—that we won’t be able to find anyone. If that’s the case, you’ll be getting home later than we promised.”
“That’s all right,” Dr. Garcia said. “If someone else needs help, you should do what you need to do.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“Could I get a message to my family?”
“Absolutely. I’ll make the arrangements.”
Ibis returned. Karter got up from the table as the two of them launched into a light discussion about particle physics. Halfway to the exit, Karter heard Lissa’s voice on the intership voice system.
“Karter? There’s something you need to see.”
“What is it?”
“I think we’re being shadowed.”
Karter glanced at the doctor. “That’s weird. Why? By whom?”
“I think you should take a look for yourself.”
Karter joined Lissa in Command. “Can you get a visual?”
Lissa gracefully executed a series of hand gestures, moving the float screen image into position. The likeness of surrounding space appeared to be empty of anything alarming.
“Okay, I give. Where is it?” Karter asked.
Pointing, Lissa said, “There.”
That’s when Karter finally spotted it, a dark shadow blocking the view of a few distant stars. “Shit.”
“Mirabilis, please magnify this area.” Lissa drew a circle around the shadow with her finger.
Karter gasped. “That’s a McMaster Starcruiser. One of the newer ones. The profile is unmistakable. Someone spent a tidy sum on that thing. That’s a nano-coated hull, too. They really don’t want to be seen. How’d you spot it?”
“Ship’s particle wake. I wasn’t certain at first, but I knew something didn’t look right. So I had a closer look. Called you the moment I knew it was a ship.”
“Who is it?”
“Mirabilis, identify unknown vessel.” Lissa indicated which one with an index finger.
The ship’s accent, Daithe via the Northern Continent, was a little too polished—too perfect. “It is registered as NISS Never-Never. Home port, Chimera Station. Manufactured in the Terran Republic by Leckie-McMaster Shipbuilding and Space Engineering. Starcruiser class. The current owner is listed as Tau, Chu & Lane ILC.”
Karter blinked. “They’re after the doctor.”
“How can you be sure?”
“What other reason could they have for tailing us?”
“I don’t know.”
At some point, the muscles between Karter’s shoulder blades had become tense. She stood up straighter and pulled her shoulders back in an attempt to stretch out the deep ache. “How long until they catch up to us?”
Mirabilis answered, “At present, they are maintaining their distance.”
Karter frowned. “But they are following us?”
“They are,” the AI confirmed.
“What do you want to do?” Lissa asked.
“Maybe nothing for now. They don’t appear to know that we’ve noticed them. Let’s not disabuse them of the idea.” Karter stared at the image. “Mirabilis, list Never-Never’s available weapons.”
“Insufficient data available.”
“Then guess,” Karter said.
Several lines of text appeared below the image. “These are the weapons recorded on the ship’s manifest from its last repair report. Again, this should not be considered an accurate or complete listing.”
Reading, Karter let out a long, low whistle. “End simulation. If Never-Never adjusts speed or alters course, I want to know immediately.”
“Yes, captain.”
“They can blow us out of space before we notice the missile is on the way,” Karter muttered.
“Not exactly.” Lissa’s brows drew together in a frown. “We’d have approximately fifteen seconds. Provided we aren’t all sleeping.”
“That’s it! We jump,” Karter said. “See if that shakes them.”
Lissa’s eyes narrowed. “They can follow our particle wake. If we used it to find them, they can use it to spot us.”
“We can’t let them slow us down. Gita’s in trouble.” Karter walked to the hatch. “Time to talk to the boss. The doctor is no longer safe with us. Thanks, Lissa.”
In the privacy of her cabin, Karter composed a message. It wasn’t long before her console signaled a secure connection. She ran her fingers through her hair in an attempt to appear more presentable, then opened the channel.
The older woman in the one quarter projection hadn’t changed much since the day they’d met on Chimera Station. Karter had been nine then and a stowaway.
An attempted stowaway, that is.
Agatha Neumeyer was small, boyish, and pale. Today, she was dressed in a casual but tailored khaki shirt. There were no indications of her rank or position within government structure, but Karter was relatively certain that these days it could be categorized as upper-echelon spook. Aggie’s light brown hair was cropped short with long bangs that partially shadowed her severe gaze. Her face was lined with years of worry.
Don’t kid yourself. Government spooks don’t do anything so mundane as worry, Karter thought. Or do they merely do an excellent job of pretending they don’t? In truth, she’d never been sure. She hadn’t spent much personal time with her benefactor. That was how boarding school worked, generally. It’d taken decades to sort out her emotions about that.
“You look like shit.” Aggie’s gravelly voice was normally so sharp it seemed designed to cut. Today, it was almost gentle.
That made Karter uneasy. “Gee, thanks.” She knew Aggie hated it when she dragged things out, so Karter got to the point. “We have a complication.”
“How much more time do you need to find the doctor?”
“We picked her up on Chimera Station last night. She’s a little shaken but fine. The problem is that we’ve acquired a tag.”
“Get rid of it. I know you know how.”
“Come on, Aggie. Give me some credit. If I thought it was that easy, I wouldn’t be calling.”
“All right. Spill.”
Karter gave her most of the story. Most. She left out Gita’s name, the ship’s name, and her exact location. Which meant she limited it to getting a distress call from a friend. She hoped against hope that Aggie wouldn’t put together which distress call.
Aggie’s long stares never ceased to make her uncomfortable. Enduring that hard gaze reminded her of being caught stealing at fourteen. I’m fifty years old, for fuck’s sake. It was difficult to tell Aggie’s age with the quality of rejuvenation drugs these days. She could be as much as seventy-five years older and Karter would never know. On the other hand, she could’ve been only twenty years older with a lifetime of clandestine government assignments.
Plus a bathtub full of salt and vinegar every night as a beauty regimen, thought Karter. She liked Aggie. She knew she cared. She just wasn’t great at showing it.
Not unlike certain others we know.
“So, Gita called you.” Aggie spoke slowly for emphasis.
Karter’s face burned. She nodded.
“I wish I could say I was surprised.”
In another time and place, Aggie might have been labeled a cast-iron cunt. Karter was dead certain the woman’s moral character contained more twists than a drawer full of corkscrews. She’s a spook, after all. Yet Karter trusted her, if for no other reason than Aggie had never once left her to the big dark, no matter how chaotic things had gotten. This included the petty theft incident at fourteen. She wasn’t certain why Aggie was always there for her and had long ago resigned herself to not knowing.
Aggie glared at the ceiling. “Minor change of plans. After the alternative travel arrangements for the doctor have been deployed, you will go to the Radia Perlman Rehabilitation Center for Artificial Personalities on Easley Hub. There, you will pick up an old friend of Gita’s.”
The name of the treatment center gave Karter a sense of foreboding, though she couldn’t put a finger on why. “But Gita and her crew are on the drift—”
“You’re a smart woman,” Aggie said. “I’m certain it has occurred to you that it’s impossible for you to enter L-39 without negatively impacting tensions between the NIA and the Terran Republic. Your ship has a TRW registration. Or have you forgotten?”
Such a thing had of course occurred to Karter. She’d just decided to ignore it. “Sure. But if I don’t, Gita—”
“You two patched things up?”
Not yet. “Who are you sending to get her?”
“Someone both of us can trust. Someone with no public association with the Terran Republic, no matter how slender.”
That means someone from the NIA, Karter thought. Someone who can take the blame when things go sideways politically. She felt a little sorry for whoever was getting the job.
Aggie said, “Meanwhile, you will go to Easley Hub.”
“Hold on.” Karter’s heart jolted the instant her subconscious finally made the connection. “Gita used to work on Easley Hub.”
“Yeah.” Aggie’s gaze grew distant.
“The Radia Perlman Rehabilitation Center is a high-security medical facility for artificial persons with severe mental anomalies.”
Aggie nodded.
The only old friend of hers in treatment there is her youngest daughter. “You want me to spring Ezinne from a high-security facility?”
Again, Aggie nodded.
“Well, fuck.”
“Indeed.”
“But Ezi is housed in the restricted ward. Indefinitely,” Karter said. “She can’t even get a day pass to leave the facility.”
The expression on Aggie’s face bordered on impatience. “Also correct. And that’s why I’m sending you.”
“Did I mention it’s a secure facility?” Karter’s heart was now beating hard against her breastbone. “Why do you want Ezi?”
Aggie replied, “Ezinne has expertise in a specific area that I urgently require. That’s all you need know.”
Karter tried to remember what Ezi’s specialization was but failed. “All right. When do I leave?”
“Now, if not sooner. The need is… pressing.”
Karter’s stomach did a queasy flip. She looked away. Gita isn’t going to like this.
The lopsided smile that appeared on Aggie’s face bordered on predatory. “You’ll be expected.”
“By whom?” Karter asked.
“Ezinne, of course.”
Blinking, Karter swallowed. Aggie’s that confident about getting a message into a secure mental health facility for artificial persons? She didn’t know why she was surprised. “I see.” The long pause that followed made her want to squirm.
“As for our doctor friend, I’ll see what I can arrange,” Aggie muttered, finally breaking the silence.
“Dr. Garcia would like to get a message to her family. Is that possible?”
“Certainly,” Aggie said. “Now. Send me any details you have on Gita’s situation. And Karter?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t do anything stupid. Not yet anyway.”
“I won’t.”
Aggie cut the connection without another word.
Karter informed the others of the new assignment during the evening meal. Then life on board Mirabilis went on per usual—with the added tension of their silent stalker. Karter focused on things that were within her control. That meant collecting information on Easley Hub in general and the Radia Perlman Rehabilitation Center specifically. She also let Lissa continue with the hunt for the doctor’s safe transport options. It might be nice to have alternatives, just in case.
Preparations for the new job were downright relaxing. However, nothing could stop Karter from worrying about what would happen when she saw Gita. When she wasn’t concentrating on Easley, she mentally formulated apology after apology. None seemed anywhere close to satisfactory, which only made her anxiety worse.
The next morning, Lissa informed her that she couldn’t find anyone willing to transport the doctor.
“We’re offering good credits! How is that possible? Is it because we aren’t providing the identity of the passenger?” Karter asked. “That’s never stopped anyone before.”
“Everyone’s headed to the border with L-39 to watch what happens. Apparently, everyone who’s anyone is going,” Lissa said.
Ibis glanced up from a bowl of nascent piecrust. “No one wants to miss out on the excitement. Not when they can sell images of the event.”
“Narcissus published the coordinates.” Karter felt her jaw tighten.
Lissa nodded. “Narcissus published the coordinates.”
“Fuck.” Karter closed her eyes and squeezed the coffee cup in her hands. It was ceramic-coated steel. Her fingers would break before the thing so much as bent.
“What do we do now?”
“Ibis, it looks like a good time to inventory our weapons and ammo,” Karter said. “We may need to make some noise to scare off our stalker.”
“Oh, hell yes!” Ibis made an enthusiastic gesture with their left fist that released a small cloud of flour into the air. “Things are finally getting interesting.”
“Not that interesting,” Karter said. “At least, not if I can help it.”
Ibis pouted.
“And the doctor?” Lissa asked.
“We’re waiting on Aggie.” Karter shrugged. “If that doesn’t work out, then we’ll drop the doctor on Easley Hub. It’s in the Terran Republic and on a main spaceway. We can find her a safe ride home from there. Any number of them.”
Ibis asked, “What’s to stop someone else from snatching her?”
“Fake identification and a disguise?” Karter sighed. “Aggie will come through.”
Ibis slid a plate on top of the bowl of raw piecrust and placed it in the refrigerator. “That needs to set for a while anyway.” They rinsed their hands and then left the kitchen lightly dusted with chickpea flour, presumably to start the inventory.
Thirty minutes later, a proximity alarm summoned Karter to Command. The ship dropped out of jump and suddenly tilted to the right. She slammed into the corridor bulkhead but somehow managed to stay on her feet.
“What the fuck was that?”
Mirabilis’s narrow AI replied, “Emergency course adjustment due to multiple obstacles.”
“What?”
When the Command hatch slid open, she saw that Lissa had already pulled up a projection of their location. It depicted starships of differing shapes and sizes crowding the border between NIA territory and the L-39 system. The public comm channel was total pandemonium, jammed with requests for assistance, complaints about ships blocking access to sunlight, requests for oxygen and water, several for fuel, and multiple collisions. In a number of instances, the crashes had been on purpose—an ill-conceived attempt at bullying another starship. Lissa turned down the speaker volume.
Karter didn’t think she’d seen anything on this scale since the day a valuable deposit of unknown alien technology was discovered on a moon orbiting an NIA planet called Salern. It had been a shitshow. At least Never-Never will have a hell of a time keeping tabs on us in all this, Karter thought. I hope.
“I have a message for you, captain,” the narrow AI said. “It’s from Aggie.”
“Read it.”
“Moonchild will contact you for transfer. As for the other matter, you have three days.”
Karter blinked. “That’s it?”
“There is a verification code. It warns that we should not proceed with the transfer until the return code is confirmed.”
“As if.” Blowing air out of her cheeks, Karter put her hands on her hips. “Just great. How long are we supposed to wait—”
An indicator light on the pilot’s console blinked, signaling a request for an open ship-to-ship message channel.
Lissa frowned. “It’s from an NIA-registered ship. Moonchild.”
“Well, we’re in the middle of a fucking enormous cluster of NIA-registered ships,” Karter muttered. “Open it up.”
“Is this Captain Cuplin?” The voice on the other end sounded young and feminine. The accent was an amalgamation of several planets across the NIA.
Space born. Karter took a place at the copilot’s station and briefly scanned the scant communication protocols file that’d been forwarded before answering. “Speaking.”
“This is Moonchild. We’re here for the package. A mutual friend sent us.”
“And that mutual friend’s name?”
“Agatha.” This was followed with a number and letter sequence. It matched the one that Aggie had sent.
“All right,” Karter said. “When will you be ready to receive the package?”
Moonchild replied, “We are prepared to dock with your ship.”
“You want to attempt docking in the middle of all of this?” Karter asked, waving her arms in a motion that included the hundreds of ships around them. “You do know there’s an uninvited third party out there?”
“That does complicate matters.”
“Lucky for you, I have an idea,” Karter said. “Your exact location?”
“We’re on your port side.” Moonchild gave the coordinates.
“Good.” Karter found them on the projection. They were close—only a few hundred meters off Mirabilis’s port bow. Perfect. “Have you ever heard of something called a shell game?”
“Is this something I should’ve heard of?”
Karter explained the plan. Moonchild’s captain, whoever they were, seemed almost amused.
Ten minutes later, Dr. Garcia was dressed in an environment suit and waiting in the cargo area. The woman was staring at an open cargo pod with a dubious expression. “Are you sure this is going to work?”
“Piece of pie,” Ibis said.
Karter blinked. The erroneous expression brought up a memory. The recollection was a blunted ache now, as opposed to the sharp cut it’d once been.
A confused expression coalesced on the doctor’s face.
Bending, Karter inspected the inside of the pod. “They mean cake.” It was clean and smelled faintly of coffee. There are worse things. She secured a couple of extra oxygen canisters inside, as well as a soft pouch containing water and other supplies—including a med kit.
As the doctor took in these preparations, her face acquired a greenish tinge. “How long will I be in that thing?” To her credit, the tremor in her voice was barely noticeable.
“You won’t need any of this stuff, but I’m loath to send anyone off into the black without some extra margin.” Karter straightened. “Old habits die hard.”
“You’ll be out there for thirty minutes,” Ibis said. “Max. By the way, I packed you a light. It’s in your thigh pocket. Took the liberty of sending along a parcel of cookies, bread, and pie. You can eat what you like, but save some for Moonchild. My momma said guests should never arrive empty-handed.”
Before Dr. Garcia could concern herself with the implications, Karter added, “They’re joking.”
“Oh.”
“I never joke about food. If you do need a snack, choose the less crumbly stuff. There won’t be any gravity in there, and breathing crumbs is not fun. It’ll kill you, in fact. The food is here.” Ibis pointed to a bag strapped to one wall. “You’ll also find a couple of audiobooks on your suit computer, just in case you get bored. Entertainment vids and music, too. I sent along some of my favorites.”
“Hopefully, you like acid bounce metal and space synth pop.” Karter shook her head in chagrin. “New country swing is the worst.”
“Really?” Dr. Garcia asked.
Karter held up an index finger. “One word: yodeling.”
Dr. Garcia blinked. Karter could practically see her thought bubble. Are they serious?
“Johnny Cash does not swing or yodel.” Ibis mock-glared.
“And Johnny Cash isn’t new country swing,” Karter said.
Ibis rolled their eyes. “Don’t you listen to her. I packed the relaxing stuff. Symphonic. There’s no room for speed dancing inside there.”
“Ah. Thank you?” Dr. Garcia still seemed unsettled.
“I promise you won’t be inside long enough to need any of that.” Karter gave Ibis some side-eye. “The pod is temperature controlled, even if it doesn’t have gravity.” So were the other two. However, Karter specifically didn’t mention that if the ship searching for her scanned all three units, they’d most likely target the one with the life-form inside. In particular, she didn’t want to use the word target in this context. It didn’t bring up good images to take with you when your future involved huddling inside of a motorless box with no controls, no comms, and no windows.
Ibis asked, “Did you take the space-sickness pills? They say the automatic suction system kicks in almost before you toss your cookies, but it can’t suck out the smell. Trust me. I speak from experience.”
Nodding, Dr. Garcia closed her eyes while Ibis secured her suit helmet.
“Just think about the stories you’ll have to tell your family and friends when you get home.” Ibis snapped the last of the helmet clamps and motioned for the doctor to activate the external speaker.
Dr. Garcia gave them a weak smile. “It’s not often that a particle scientist goes for a ride in a padded cargo box.”
“Exactly.” Ibis stepped back.
Karter couldn’t help but think, Not one that isn’t a coffin anyway. “Got everything?”
“I do.” In an attempt to look brave, Dr. Garcia straightened her spine and squared her shoulders—something Karter knew she wouldn’t be able to do for the next thirty minutes. “Thank you, Miss—”
“Just call me Karter.”
Dr. Garcia nodded. “Karter. Ibis. Thank you. Lissa, too.”
“No problem,” Ibis said with a wide grin. “Saving particle physicists from pirates is kind of what we do.”
On our good days, thought Karter.
Dr. Garcia joined in the banter like a reluctant swimmer toeing a murky pond on an alien planet. “It happens often enough that it’s a profession?”
“We even have a union.” Ibis motioned to the top of the opening in the cargo pod. “Watch your head now.”
Stooping, Dr. Garcia entered the pod and arranged herself on the floor with her back to the far wall. Ibis buckled her in. The interior was big enough for the doctor to stretch out her legs. It was good that she was short. The soles of her feet were inches from the opening. As she sat there peering up at them, Karter struggled to find something comforting to say.
She settled for: “You’re going to be home safe before you know it. I promise.”
Nodding, Dr. Garcia waved goodbye.
Ibis returned the wave before picking up the crate lid and holding it in place so that Karter could seal it.
“Don’t you think you overdid it a bit?” Karter asked.
Ibis shrugged. “Maybe. But I wanted her to have enough distractions that she wouldn’t remember she’s floating inside a big glowing target in the middle of what might end up being a clusterfuck of solar system proportions. At least it’s a whole bunch of stupid fucks who can’t aim for shit.”
“Fair enough.”
Karter went back to Command while Ibis took care of launching the pods. Karter messaged the correct cargo unit’s identification information to Moonchild and waited to see what would happen next. No one nearby appeared to notice. Better yet, there was no reaction from Never-Never. Ten minutes in, one of the empty crates smashed into a third ship. She winced. They all looked on in tense silence, praying that the doctor’s crate wouldn’t do the same. Karter didn’t think she took a full breath until the box vanished inside Moonchild’s hold twenty-five minutes later. Not long after that, they received a message indicating that Dr. Garcia had arrived unharmed. Then Moonchild carefully made its way out of the roiling mob.
As the starship shrank into the distance, Karter felt a sense of overwhelming relief. Then she realized her armpits were soaked.
“Captain, you wanted a report of Never-Never’s course,” the narrow AI said. “There is no change.”
“They aren’t following Moonchild?” Karter asked.
“They don’t appear to be.”
Thank the gods, Karter thought. “Chart a course for Easley Hub.”
“Fast or long route?” the narrow AI asked.
Karter calculated how much time they were likely to use up parked at the border waiting for clearance to enter Republic space. “As fast as fucking possible.”