by R. M. Olson
He still found it slightly disconcerting how entirely average Masha appeared. Her face was pleasant and competent-looking, her skin an unremarkable brown, her shoulder-length hair pulled into a neat rat’s tail, buttoned shirt crisp and long pilot’s coat showing signs of wear. She’d been the one, a month and a half earlier, who’d broken them out of prison, promised them credits and a pardon in exchange for one simple government job.
And from the moment he’d met her, and noticed the glint of calculation hidden behind those calm, competent eyes, he’d known it was never going to be that simple.
One heist on the most dangerous weapons dealer in the system, a double-cross on the government, and two thousand people broken out of a prison planet later, he’d been proven completely right.
And he still had no idea what Masha really wanted with them.
“Tae.” Masha pulled up a chair next to Tae. “I assume you managed to hack into their database. Tell me what you found, please.”
“Hey Masha,” Jez drawled. “Haven’t seen you for the last three days. Thought maybe we’d got lucky and you’d died.”
Lev braced himself to grab for Jez’s arm in case she decided to try to punch Masha in the face again. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Tae doing the same thing.
“Tae?” prompted Masha pleasantly, ignoring the pilot completely.
“I—” Tae glanced between Jez and Masha and blew out a breath. “Here. I haven’t finished looking through it.”
Lev cast a quick warning glance at Jez, then leaned over the back of Tae’s chair, peering at the holoscreen. He scanned the information quickly, frowning. “So. It appears they weren’t lying. Correct me if I’m wrong, Masha, but we were completely wiped from every database in the system when we pulled the Vitali job. How can they set a contract on someone who doesn’t exist?”
“That,” Masha murmured, “is what I’ve spent the last three days trying to figure out. I’ve been studying every record we took from the prison. The information they had on Jez was surprisingly accurate, and included things I doubt would have been on the database in the first place, considering her—rather unconventional history. And it was less than two weeks from the time we broke into prison to the time we broke out again.”
Lev turned and raised an eyebrow at her. “So—”
“So, as we guessed, someone is looking for our pilot. And I believe she might be the impetus for whatever it was that happened back there.”
“Well, can’t say I blame them,” said Jez lazily. “I am pretty damn hot.”
Lev sighed. “Jez—”
He wasn’t entirely certain if she didn’t see the cold calculation behind Masha’s calm expression, or, more likely, she just didn’t care. Either way, between Jez’s unstoppable force and Masha’s immovable object, he wasn’t certain any of them would survive the impact.
“So,” he said at last. “The plan?”
“The plan, Lev, is the same. I have no intention of changing it when we don’t know what we’re up against. We’ll pick up supplies tomorrow, as scheduled, and then we’ll head back to deep space to shake any potential pursuit. Whoever it was who betrayed us in prison, they’re out now, and could make contact with anyone in the system. And if, as it appears, there’s a contract on Jez—I believe it continues to be in all of our best interest to get somewhere other ships will have trouble reaching us. Considering our ship is the only one I am aware of in the system with hyperdrive tech, that shouldn’t be difficult.”
“Those ships that attacked us today,” he said quietly. “We’re six hours’ flight from the nearest wormhole, off any major shipping line. They should never have been able to find us out here, no matter how high the contract was.”
Tae nodded. “They looked like smuggler ships, but I’ve never seen that kind of tech on a smuggler ship.” There was concern in his voice. Masha shot him a sharp glance.
“Nor have I. But I have seen that tech before.”
“Where?”
“As—part of my work,” she murmured. “Before I joined forces with the four of you.”
Lev studied her for a moment.
He’d gone through every record in every database to which he had access. And considering he’d been locked up for accessing highly-classified files, and considering he had a photographic memory, that was quite a number of records.
Masha was exactly who she’d told them she was—perfectly-clean record, attended university in Prasvishoni and gone straight from there to a low-level government job, gradually working her way up into higher positions through a combination of competence and people’s inherent desire to make this friendly woman’s life just a little easier.
And yet …
He shook his head.
It didn’t matter at present. Whatever Masha’s ultimate goal, she was probably right as to the best course of action for the time being.
Still—he couldn’t shake the faint unease that lurked under the instinctive draw of Masha’s calm charisma.
“Aunty Masha is a dirty plaguer!”
The door to the main deck slammed open, and a solidly-built six-year-old, with straw-coloured hair and a rebellious expression on his chubby face, burst through.
There was a badly-disguised snort of laughter from Jez. Lev sighed resignedly.
Apparently three days was the outside limit children could be around Jez without learning her particular brand of swearing.
“Jez?” The voice from the hallway was sharp and layered with menace.
Jez straightened, grinning. “Hey Tanya! Your kid’s a quick learner.”
Tanya stalked into the room, her expression promising murder and possible dismemberment. She looked somehow much more intimidating than her slender frame and wistful features should allow.
Still, she had married demolitions expert and mass-murderer Ysbel, so …
“Hello Uncle Lev.”
He looked down at the small hand slipped into his, and smiled despite himself.
“Hello Olya.”
“Did we get shot at this morning? Was mama shooting them back?” Olya’s eight-year-old face held its usual expression of determination mixed with slight skepticism.
He knelt so that he was at her eye level. “Yes on both counts.”
She tipped her head to one side, considering him, then nodded. “Good. My mama’s a pretty good shot. And she’s very good at blowing things up.”
“I would say that’s an understatement, Olya,” he said gravely.
“I will be one day, too. She said she’d teach me. Mamochka already taught me lots of things. And you promised you’d finish teaching me about black holes.”
He gave a small smile. “I did. But as I recall, you were supposed to be helping me clean the deck last time we had this conversation. I seem to recall doing the whole thing by myself while you watched and asked me questions.”
She grinned at him. “I was going to help. But then you got distracted, and you looked like you were enjoying yourself. Mamochka always says, don’t interrupt a person who’s enjoying themself, because life is short and enjoyment doesn’t last.”
Lev raised an eyebrow at her, smiling despite himself, but there was a faint, sick guilt in the pit of his stomach that never seemed to go away these days
Three days. That was how long it had been since they’d broken Olya and Misko and Tanya out of prison.
And five and a half years since he’d sent them there.
He hadn’t realized it at the time, of course, employed by the government, too caught up in his own misery to know or care who he was hurting. It had been an interesting intellectual exercise, that was all. Extract someone they’d told him was a rogue agent.
And so, he’d planned the extraction that snatched Ysbel from her home and sent Tanya and Olya and Misko to a harsh, remote prison planet at the far end of the system. And Ysbel still had no idea. None of them did.
“Olya?” he said quietly. “How are you doing?”
She frowned at him. �
�What do you mean?”
He gestured around, trying to smile. “This is a little different than what you’re used to. Are you settling in OK? Are your mama and mamochka doing alright?”
She tilted her head to one side, thinking.
“Yes,” she said at last. “I’m OK. It’s nice to not be locked up all the time. And it’s nice that we don’t have to worry about someone hitting us or hitting Mamochka if we don’t listen.”
There was something hard and cold in the pit of his stomach. “Did the guards used to hit you?” he asked gently. She nodded.
“Yes. One time one of them gave me a black eye. I was pretty little, and I didn’t know you weren’t allowed to cry when you got hurt, and I fell and hurt my knee. So he hit me. Mamochka tried to stop him, but she couldn’t.”
He nodded, trying not to let the sick feeling show on his face, because Olya was much more perceptive than she had any right to be. Still, growing up in a place where crying over a skinned knee could earn you a black eye, he supposed that was only to be expected.
At first, after he met Ysbel and realized what he’d done so many years ago, he’d thought that finding Ysbel’s family would somehow redeem him. And then he thought that maybe, if he managed to pull off the rescue attempt, that would clear his conscience.
But the thing was, of course, that nothing could redeem him. Nothing could change what he’d done. And at the very least, he owed Ysbel the truth. Because if she told him thank you one more time, if she gave him that look of a shared joke one more time, if she looked down at her wife and children and shot him a look of silent gratitude one more time, he thought he might actually throw up.
“Well,” he said at last. “No one here will hurt you if you cry.”
Olya frowned at him again, then shook her head decisively. “No. I never cry. Nor does Misko.”
Eight years old. Eight and six, and they never cried, and the thing was, he believed it.
He swallowed down something in his throat.
He’d tell Ysbel. Soon. She’d probably kill him, of course. But it couldn’t possibly be worse than being the reluctant recipient of her gratitude, of Olya’s hero-worship, of Tanya’s cautious friendship, as the guilt ate him from the inside out. He’d spent the last month and a half trying to convince himself that she didn’t need to ever know. But—well, at the end of the day, he owed her the truth.
He owed her that much, at least.
Ysbel took her hands off the guns regretfully and glanced around the small gunner’s tower. It had been a long time since she’d been on ship’s guns. Still, it was nice to know the skill didn’t go away.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, running her hand over her shaved head, and tapped her com.
“Tanya?”
“I’m fine, Ysbel. The children are fine too, before you ask.” There was the hint of a smile in her voice, and Ysbel sagged with relief.
She’d had them back for three days now, her wife, their daughter, their son, and still every time she called Tanya, she thought her heart might stop, and every time Tanya answered, the relief that coursed through her was almost enough to make her faint.
She shook her head wryly and made her way out of the cramped tower and down the ladder to the main deck.
Tanya was waiting at the door, with that wistful smile of hers. Ysbel smiled back, took her wife in her arms, and gave her a lingering kiss.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” she whispered. Tanya pulled back, eyes twinkling slightly.
“Ysbel. I’m not quite as fragile as all that, if you recall.”
“The children?”
“Already inside.”
Tanya put her arm around Ysbel’s waist and drew her into the room.
The others were there already. Misko had crossed over to where Tae was sitting and climbed onto his lap, and Tae was looking down at him fondly, and for once not scowling. That in and of itself was something of a surprise, especially since she was almost certain he hadn’t strapped in before Jez began her maneuvers. Olya had attached herself to Lev, as usual. And Jez sat in the centre of the room glaring daggers at the woman in the corner, who was dressed in a long pilot’s coat and wearing a pleasant smile with an edge to it that could shear steel.
Even three days from having been beaten within an inch of her life, the lanky pilot looked dangerous. But Masha didn’t seem worried in the slightest.
“Has Jez tried to kill Masha yet?” Ysbel whispered. Tanya shook her head slightly.
“Not yet.”
“And has Masha tried to shoot Jez?”
“I think that might be coming.”
“Ah. So I didn’t miss much, then.”
Tanya gave her a slight smile, and then turned back to the centre of the room.
“So,” Ysbel said. “Do we know who was trying to kill us?”
Jez turned and grinned at her. “Nope. Still trying to narrow it down. Kind of a big list, at this point.”
Lev was shaking his head slightly. “They seem to have had a contract on us. I still don’t know how. And with a ship like the Ungovernable—finding us would be difficult.”
“And even if they knew where we were somehow, why would they fire on us?” Masha murmured. “Usually contracts require the subjects be brought back for verification.”
“Well,” Jez drawled, leaning back in her chair, “guess you haven’t lived much if you have to wonder why people are firing on you. Me, I always wonder why they don’t.”
Masha studied her. “Perhaps you’re right, Jez,” she said, but there was a layer of meaning behind her words that Ysbel couldn’t read. “I suppose you are the person with the most expertise in that field, after all.” She straightened. “I suggest that we put an alert on the ship’s sensors in case we run into anyone else. And in the meantime, I’m sure there are things all of us should be doing.”
“Yep. Some of us don’t have the option of just sitting in our cabins for three days while everyone else runs the ship,” said Jez. Masha raised an eyebrow, but didn’t respond.
“Well,” said Lev, clearly trying to defuse the situation, “let’s get to work then. Jez, you want to run the diagnostics, see if anything was damaged?”
Jez grinned and got gingerly to her feet. Ysbel bit the inside of her lip, watching her. She could still remember the sick despair of three days previous, watching Tanya and her children being led away to certain death. The cocky, restless pilot had been almost killed saving them.
Ysbel owed her a debt she could never repay.
Jez tripped, stumbled, and swore colourfully. She glanced around the cabin, grinned at Olya, and said, “That’s how you swear, kid. You should practice. Never know when it’ll come in handy.” She winked over her shoulder at Ysbel and Tanya, then sauntered out of the room.
Ysbel shook her head. She owed the idiot a debt she could never repay, and also she wanted to strangle her at least three quarters of the time.
Tanya glared at the pilot’s retreating back. Ysbel drew her back gently. “It’s alright, my love. You get used to it.” She paused. “Or, you don’t get used to it, but you learn how to picture in your head things blowing up. That makes it a little easier.”
Tanya sighed, gave a rueful laugh, and turned to the children. “Alright Misko, Olya. Come on. You two are on mess-hall duty today, and breakfast needs cleaning up.”
“You dirty plaguer,” Misko muttered. Tanya’s face darkened.
Tae sighed as well and stood. “I’ll help. May as well, since apparently no matter where I go or what I do, whenever I get comfortable, Jez will decide to take us through an asteroid belt or pick a fight with three ships with Aro tech. Come on, Misko, let’s get in there before your mamochka decides to wash your mouth out with soap.”
“I will still wash your mouth out with soap,” said Tanya.
Misko gave a fair approximation of Tae’s signature glower. “I like soap. It tastes good.”
Ysbel chuckled to herself as the two children pulled Lev and
Tae out the door after them. Lev, possibly the most intelligent human being she’d ever met—even if he could be a complete idiot—and Tae, who was almost certainly the best hacker and techie in the system, bar none. And they were off to do the children’s dishes. Well, it was good for them. Possibly not for the children, but certainly for them.
“Those children are going to be spoiled rotten in two weeks’ time,” said Tanya, moving closer to Ysbel and nuzzling her head into her shoulder. Ysbel smiled and put her arms around her wife, pulling her close.
She tried to ignore the panic that still welled in her chest every time she touched her, the sick anger that still swirled through her brain every time she saw that familiar face, lined now with a faint hardness that hadn’t been there five years ago.
She had her family. They were back with her, and she wasn’t going to lose them ever again.
And yet …
And yet. Five years she’d lost. Five years of waking up alone, five years of prison, five years of wishing she were dead, of living only for revenge because that was all that was left to her. Five years of Tanya raising two children by herself in the middle of hell. Olya, the stubborn, determined, three-year-old was gone forever. And Misko, the tiny, solemn, chubby toddler. She had Misko the six-year-old hellion, but she’d lost her baby.
She clasped Tanya tighter, and squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that shouldn’t be there.
She should be happy. She owed it to them to be happy. And she was, she was desperately, exhaustingly, dizzyingly happy, but underneath the happiness there was a hole, a place that could never be filled up.
“Ysbel?” Tanya murmured questioningly, stirring against her shoulder. Ysbel swallowed hard and blinked quickly.
“What is it, my love?”
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” she whispered, pressing Tanya’s head gently back into her shoulder and kissing her hair.
Something inside her hurt at the lie. But it was a stupid truth; that even now, even clutching Tanya to her chest, even with her love for this woman who was her whole heart burning through her, there was a sense of loss so deep and so aching that it took her breath away.