by Celia Kyle
Pursing his lips, he gives himself a little nod. “If that’s the case, I think we should get a new auxiliary battery for the engine core.”
“Has the one we have started to crap out?” I read his last maintenance reports just a few days ago, and everything seemed fine then. A new auxiliary battery at this moment in time seems like an overly cautious move, which isn’t exactly Montier’s style.
“A new auxiliary battery for a ship this size would be costly,” Solair speaks up, and it doesn’t take much to know he’s doing the ship’s accounting in his head as we speak. Despite a run of successful jobs these past few months, we’re not exactly swimming in it. “Do you really think that’s necessary?”
“Well, uh, not exactly necessary, but…” He trails off, and I notice him glancing at Varia. Solair picks up on it too, and he’s quick to give Montier the push that he needs.
“You can speak freely,” Solair says. “Varia knows what I know.”
“Well, we’ve been doing just fine with the one auxiliary battery that we have,” he starts to explain, “but I think having a spare is a good insurance policy. In the event we’re engaged in a firefight or for whatever reason we have our main engines go offline, we rely on the auxiliary batteries for power. We don’t want to be stranded in the middle of nowhere, especially considering we’re carrying more than a hundred of the IHC’s most wanted criminals. Besides, if there’s ever a need for it, I can take the extra battery and hook it up to the main engine core for a boost.”
He doesn’t say it outright, but it’s obvious what he means. He’s worried about the Queen having to make a run for it. If that happens, he wants to be ready. A new auxiliary battery will strain our coffers, but Montier is right. It’s better to be safe than sorry.
“Very well,” Solair says, reaching the same conclusion I have. “We’ll stop at Kyvos to get whatever supplies we’ll need and look for a new battery, too. Do you think that’ll be a problem, Grantian?”
“No, we should be able to get our hands on something,” I reply.
I’ve only been to Kyvos a couple of times, back when I was running with the Hael Hounds, but from what I remember, a lot of shady merchants are willing to do business… just as long as you have the money.
“It’s settled then,” Solair nods. “I’m going to pick a team, and we—”
“I’m going too,” Varia cuts him short.
“I’m sorry?”
“I’m going, and I’m taking a few of the women with me,” she continues without a moment’s hesitation. Determination is etched on her face, and she isn’t wavering. “I know it’s dangerous, and that we’re all wanted criminals, but we’re not going to sit inside the Ancestral Queen while you guys stick your neck out for us. We want to earn our keep. If it weren’t for us, you wouldn’t be in this mess of a situation.”
“Varia, I can’t let—”
“We are going,” she repeats, and I immediately know Solair’s going to cave. These women might be smaller and weaker than we are, but they balance it all out by being brave and obstinate. Whenever they want something, they go after it with all they have.
“Very well,” Solair sighs. Straightening his back, he glances at the map once more, a slight frown on his face. “Lokyer, set course for Kyvos.”
Chapter Seven
Lamira
I can hear voices arguing from within my shared quarters as I round the bend of the artfully burnished corridor of the Ancestral Queen—and none of them belong to my current roommates.
Curious, I creep up toward the portal with my back flush against the smooth, concave wall. I’m careful to keep my still-damp skin from making contact with the metal, but when I furtively peer through the door and see Varia and Marion standing between the bunks, I relax and just walk in normally.
“Hey, guys, what’s up?” My brow furrows in confusion as I take in their shabby dress. I’ve seen refugees from war zones who had more up-to-date clothing in better condition. “And why are you dressed like a couple of space hobos?”
“Hobos?” Marion puts her hands on her hips and scowls in mock anger. “I’ll have you know we’re supposed to be greaser girls.”
I look from her to Varia and then burst into laughter.
“What’s wrong with our disguises?” Varia looks down at herself with worry. “I think we pass muster.”
“You will, once you get dirtied up a little bit.” I shake my head and chuckle. “Smearing a little soot on your cheeks only works in holovid flicks. Think about it, Varia. Does Ilya ever have fingernails this clean?” I grab Varia’s wrist and lift it up so I can show her the pristine nails she’s trying to pass off as greaser.
Marion sighs and exchanges glances with Varia. “She’s right, you know.”
“Why do you guys want to look like engine room girls, anyway?”
They both turn their gazes toward me and Varia looks a tad uncomfortable for some reason.
Marion speaks in her stead. “While Jax is a great cook, humans still need some things nutritionally that he may not be aware of. I was hoping to peruse the Kyvos marketplace and try to cover the bases, so to speak.”
“That makes sense, but is it a good idea to go down to an open port with bounties on your heads? Oh, wait—disguises. Duh.” I put my arms akimbo and take in their weak costumes. “It’s a good thing you ran into good ol’ practical-minded Lamira, then. Isn’t it? I’m going with you.”
“Absolutely not.” Varia crosses her arms over her chest, her gaze as firm as her tone. “Kyvos station hasn’t completely descended into barbarism, but it lies just outside the bleeding edge of League space. Technically, the only laws are whatever the owners choose to enforce.”
“That means the IHC won’t have authority, either.” I grin at her in triumph. “So there.”
Varia grits her teeth and visibly works to control her temper. She’s been getting better at that ever since she and Solair paired up. I guess they really do complement each other rather well. That makes me think about how I might complement Grantian for some reason, but I quickly dispel such thoughts before I get all worked up again.
“Lamira, this is no game. Yes, IHC Security won’t have a presence, but there are a lot of desperate people on Kyvos. A lot of folks get stranded there, either because they don’t have the necessary Visa to get to Alliance or IHC space, or because the ship they came in on is too badly damaged to go any further. Or they just plain can’t afford to go any further. Ten million creds a head is a lot of money. It literally could mean life or death for some of them.”
“I know, but you can’t just keep me cooped up here on this ship because it might be dangerous.” I sigh and put my hand on her shoulder. “I know you’re looking out for me and I appreciate it, but I’m not your child. I’m your best friend.”
Varia nods, patting my hand on her shoulder, but I can tell she’s not happy. I struggle to make myself useful by improving upon our disguises.
It all begins when I empty a bottle of engine oil on top of Varia’s head. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Relax, it washes out much easier than you’d expect, and your hair will feel great afterward. But for now, you look too glamorous.”
Marion laughs and rubs oil in her own hair. “She’s right, Varia. We’ve got to look like we don’t just work in the dirt. We live in it.”
It becomes a lighthearted game, the three of us finding new and creative ways to dirty each other up. By the time we’re finished, I’d be hard pressed to recognize myself, let alone Varia and Marion.
Varia, of course, can’t stop worrying about the girls. While she’s rubbing her hands together briskly to get filth caked into her fingerprints, she looks up at Marion. “How have the girls been holding up? I mean, ever since, uh…”
“Since that poor girl slipped into a coma?” Marion finishes for her. “Everyone’s worried about her, of course, but they trust you to look out for us, Varia.”
“Hey, Marion?” she turns her attention to me as
I finish lacing up worn shoes about a size too big. “When the woman was cognizant for a few moments, she screamed something about not wanting to go back to a place called Solace. Does that ring any bells with you?”
“Solace?” Marion blinks several times and shakes her head. “I can’t say it does.”
“None of us have ever heard of it, either.” Varia purses her lips and frowns, her eyes clouded with trouble. “But it’s obvious that wherever or whatever it is, she did not want to go back.”
“Wherever or whatever?” Varia turns toward Marion and arches an eyebrow.
“If you think about it, Solace could be a place, or it could be a ship. Or it could be a specific facility on a planet.” Varia shakes her head before rubbing the bridge of her now filthy nose. “God. We have enough to worry about right now without adding this new enigma to the mix.”
I put my hand on her shoulder and squeeze in what I hope is a comforting manner. “I know what you mean. Ever since I heard her mention Solace, I can’t help but wonder if it’s got anything to do with what happened to us. Maybe we were on our way to this Solace, or on our way away from it?” Varia nods but seems unconvinced. “Or maybe it was the delusional rantings of a woman brought too quickly out of cryosleep and had no way of knowing what’s real and what’s a dream. There’s no way to be sure with so little to go on.”
She grins, her teeth startlingly bright while framed by her dirty face. “Come on, let’s stop thinking about this for a bit and go join the boarding party. I can’t wait to see how Solair reacts when he sees us like this.”
We head down to the cargo hold, which also functions as the main egress and ingress to the Queen. Several of the people we pass in the corridor frown in confusion, which I think means our disguises are working, for now.
“Remember, ladies.” Varia takes us each in with her gaze, eyes fierce below her greasy bangs. “It’s important that we don’t act like fugitives. No sneaking around or acting scared. We march right through the port like we belong there because that’s what greaser girls would do.”
“I’m so ready for this.” I can’t help smiling. There’s something liberating about being covered in dirt. It’s been said that the galaxy is superficial, that appearances are vitally important to success. Women especially seem to be under a lot of pressure to look good all the time, and right now that’s the furthest thing from our minds. We can just be, and I guess I’ve always kind of envied the greaser girls for that aspect of their vocation.
I don’t envy the stereotypes they have to put up with—for example, all greaser girls are not masculine types who prefer sleeping with women—but I do find pretending to be one for a while something easy and natural, like putting on old shoes. They might be worn out and shabby looking, but they sure are comfortable.
When we get down to the cargo hold, Solair, Kintar, and Grantian are all clustered in a group next to several empty hover sleds. We stride right up to them, and while they look in our direction, it’s obvious that they don’t recognize us.
Even Grantian peers in my direction without so much as a glimmer of recognition. I think his nostrils flare, as if he’s offended by the aroma of engine oil, but then he’s back to speaking with Solair.
Varia and I exchange glances, trying not to laugh. They have no idea it’s us.
“Excuse me, captain?” Varia speaks in a low, deep tone, disguising her voice. “When are we to depart?”
“Ah…” Solair grins nervously as he tries to recall this “unknown” greaser girl’s name. “That is, we will be touching down on the moon of Kyvos soon, but we are awaiting several more of your number before we depart.”
“I see. And who are we waiting for?’
Solair blinks several times and then clears his throat. “Well, my mate Varia will be…”
We all burst into laughter, nearly falling over ourselves. It takes Solair several more seconds to realize what’s going on, and then he too begins to roar with mirth.
“Am I missing the joke?” Grantian peers between us, but he only gets the glinting dawn of recognition in his big gold eyes when I blow him a kiss. “Astounding. I had no idea.”
The lights flash on the bulkheads as the Queen settles down for a landing on the rocky terrain, the pre-recorded touchdown notification is drowned out by our enthused laughter.
Chapter Eight
Grantian
Lamira, Varia, and Marion certainly did a bang-up job disguising themselves as greaser girls. Despite now being accustomed to the scent of his mate, Solair didn’t even recognize Varia, and I didn’t realize it was her until they started laughing.
Good gods, sometimes Lamira is just too much. I don’t know how I’m going to go about it, but the desire to kiss her is nearly frantic within me, rising to a fever pitch. I just want to know what I already so strongly suspect. To discover whether she feels the same. I’m desperate to know.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen. I never thought I’d see the day when a warrior mercenary such as me would turn into a lovesick fool over a tiny, human female. Never in my life have I been unable to control the pull of my emotions, and that change alone in me is starting me to make me question any doubts I had about the Precursor myth.
Although Lamira, Varia, and Marion are all nearly unrecognizable in their greaser getups, I’m still worried they’ll draw unwanted attention to our group. Humans aren’t common on the outskirts of League space, as they typically stick close to IHC territory unless they’ve been sold or captured as slaves or indentured servants. This is especially true of females. A male or two might not raise much suspicion, but three females with a group of Kilgari? I’m not feeling very good about this.
Especially since our culture is known to be matriarchal in nature. No one would ever believe us to be slavers.
My apprehension is further compounded by the IHC bulletins about the women aboard our ship. I’ve seen a few more of the broadcasts, each of them highlighting a different female. In all of them, the women are labeled domestic terrorists and cited as armed and dangerous. That last fact alone confirms to me that the IHC is lying, as not one of the women we now have in our charge was found to have a single weapon on their person—not even one of those tiny devices females often use to sharpen their fingernails. We hadn’t found any weapons aboard the Frontier while scuttling her before her demise. If any were on board, they were well secured.
Once Swipt has dropped the Queen down onto one of the landing pads close to the market, I look to Lamira as we wait for the hatch to open. My heart skips traitorously as she glances back at me. She’s beautiful, even dressed in a dingy, shapeless gray jumpsuit that was loaned to her from one of the engine crew and reworked by Marion to fit her lush curves. The creamy softness of her skin has been obscured by layers of grease and dirt, and her hair is pulled back in a low ponytail at the nape of her neck with oily tendrils framing the fine bones of her dirtied face.
Late last night, I saw the IHC bulletin dedicated to her profile while watching my holovid player. I’d paused the broadcast and leaned in, scrutinizing the photo carefully to commit her face to memory. It’s already been burned there for days, but having the ability to gaze upon it longer than a passing moment was a small pleasure I barely felt myself privileged enough to enjoy—or readily wanted to admit.
The bulletin said she was wanted for domestic terrorism for planning and carrying out a litany of crimes—from the attack on the IHC colony of Kaleth to selling information on cruise liners crossing the Badlands to the Reapers. I barked out a laugh upon reading it. Anyone who’d spoken to Lamira for even a minute would know she’s not capable of hurting anything, much less being a domestic terrorist.
She looks nothing like that photo now, but I still can’t shake the worry that someone will gaze upon her a little too long and figure out her identity. If that happens, I know exactly how this situation will shake out. Even though the mating bond hasn’t yet been confirmed, my instincts to protect her will go into overdrive and I’ll do someth
ing violent to defend her that I definitely won’t regret, attract unwanted attention, and then we’ll have to escape by the skin of our teeth.
I really hope that’s not how this ends.
Upon departing the Queen, Solair turns to address me.
“Grantian, you’ll escort Varia and the girls to the market. Montier and I need to find some power cells he says we absolutely require, and he needs my cred stick. It’s not that I don’t trust them to go off on their own, but…”
“You don’t trust anyone else?”
“You got it. Also, I’ve seen you fight on many occasions, so if anything goes down, you’re their best hope of making it back to the ship in one piece. Stay on comms. Let me know if anyone seems a little too interested.” He glances at Varia but doesn’t move to embrace her. Better that they appear as colleagues only. Human women are commodities on the outer planets and some males revel in fighting over them.
“Copy that. I’m not too worried, but I’ll be vigilant.”
We part ways without any further hesitation. I watch as Solair and Montier head to the mechanic section of the port before facing the girls. I give them a briefing on what to expect here and advise them to inform me immediately if they catch anyone starting at them for too long.
All three agree and then fall into step beside me, Lamira closest of all. The sweet scent of her invades my nose even over that of the engine fluids and grease, putting me on high alert. All I know is that her safety is of the utmost importance to me.
Together, we make our way deeper into the port. The docking station is quickly replaced by various market stalls, peddling wares to appeal to every sort of traveler. Some are filled to bursting with clothing of all varieties, like Zefronn stoles or robes from Krath. Some are dedicated completely to various types of meat, hanging from hooks with all limbs and appendages and eyes that are open but no longer see. Others still are filled with scores of vegetables and fruit, colorful and piled so high it’s a wonder they don’t come crashing down.