“Problems?”
He gave me a tight-lipped smile. Right, he couldn’t talk about it to a lowlife like me; it was highly likely that I was a part of those problems. Time to change subject. “What brings you to Saturn’s moons?”
“We were in the system awaiting orders, so I thought we would take a look at some known hideouts to kill time.” His laugh came out perfectly civilized and utterly fake. “Believe me, I didn’t expect to see Starscream here.”
Liar. “Yeah, we uh— Me an’ Fran, well, y’know … we got distracted and fancied ourselves a bit of personal time.”
His chuckle darkened. “Two years is a record for your second-in-command. They don’t usually last more than a few cycles. Francisca must be a glutton for punishment.”
Because life on my rusted tugship, with me, must be some kind of wretched hell. “I have my charms.”
Bren snorted as though he knew me. He didn’t. He hadn’t known me for years.
“Are you going to let me in?” he asked. “Or is this all of Starscream I get to see?”
I led him straight down the catwalk to the bridge—no detours, no peeking through open doors. My brother’s warbird still loomed in the observation window, ready to strike should her commander give the order. “Twenty is lookin’ fine, Bren. What heat is she packin’?”
“The type of arsenal we used to dream about. She’s twitchy though. Over-sensitive with one hell of a bite if you don’t treat her right.”
“Must be tight in there. How big is your crew?”
“Fifteen hands.”
“You got any luxuries?”
“C’mon, she’s a raptor. They strip out anything nonessential. I bet you’ve got more comforts in this tug than I have over there.”
Point to me, asshole. I naturally gravitated toward my flight chair. Starscream’s bridge was my zone. I knew every switch, every curve, and every nuance of that space and could fly her blindfolded. Spotlessly maintained, besides the odd temperamental fuse, this was the only place on the ship where I couldn’t hide my military training, and didn’t want to.
“Welcome to my home.”
Bren nodded appreciatively. “She’s lookin’ good, for her age. Any upgrades?” Before I could answer, he tut-tutted and said, “Y’know, we ran a scan when we first spotted you, and the damnedest thing happened. Scans showed her as a tug, but the manufactured year didn’t match with her serial number.” His searching eyes turned dark, reminding me that I had a fleet commander on my ship and he hadn’t gotten that rank by looks alone. “Almost as though she’s not what she appears to be.”
“She’s a classic,” I lied, ignoring his accusation without missing a beat. How easily we both lied to the other.
The quiet stretched into an awkward silence while I waited for my brother to spill exactly why he’d invited himself onto my ship.
“Have you seen or heard anything of Dad?” The way he asked it, one might have assumed it was a normal, everyday, small talk kind of a question.
I parked my rear on the arm of the flight chair and trawled my attention over the flight controls. Starscream was holding steady, behaving exactly as she should and running sweet. When I’d bought her, I’d been down to my last credit and running on empty—
“Caleb-Joe?”
“Drop the Joe, okay.” I hated that fuckin’ name.
Brendan straightened and lifted his chin. “Well? Have you seen him?”
“Fuck no. Why would I see him? I’d jump half a dozen systems to stay away from him.” Why would he even ask me that?
“He tried to get in touch.”
The alcohol churned in my gut. I shifted and gripped the chair, focusing on the flight dash readings. “I don’t wanna hear it. I don’t care. He can do whatever the hell he wants so long as he does it far from me.”
“He asked if I knew how to reach you.”
I cut Brendan a sharp glare. “You spoke to him?”
“It’s been a long time.” Bren sighed and reached for the back of Fran’s flight chair.
“Not long enough.”
He admired the controls, probably searching for any switches that shouldn’t be there. If, hypothetically speaking, I were to install certain upgrades, I wouldn’t broadcast them on the flight dash.
I rolled my eyes behind his back. He knew I’d been an ace fleet captain; he should damn well have figured out that I would have made a better fixer. “When did he get out of rehab?”
“Two cycles ago.”
I hadn’t been sure since I deliberately hadn’t thought about our father for a long time. “So, his favorite son is a commander and he wants a piece of him?”
Bren’s knuckles whitened as he clutched Fran’s chair tighter. On another day, when I wasn’t already juggling multiple fuck-ups, I’d have considered apologizing. As it was, I absorbed the guilt the way I always had; it almost felt comforting, like old times.
“What did you come here for, huh? To rub my nose in it?” I jerked my head at the warbird framed by my observation window like a goddamn trophy showing off my brother’s excellence. “So you could go back to your crew and tell them how fucked up my sorry little life is? How your little brother’s such a joke?”
Bren glared over his shoulder, but his grip had loosened. “That’s not tr—”
“Dad then? He looks you up so you want to drag me back in to play happy family and then leave me there?”
Bren paled. “I would never …” He trailed off, lowering his head, shoulders slouching, burdened by the memories we shared. Then he retrieved his stalwart composure and lifted his chin.
I looked into my older brother’s eyes, at the enduring defiance in his face. Always so proud, so willing to step in and save the day no matter the cost. He was a genuine hero. He’d been my hero until he’d fucked off to fleet academy, leaving me to deal with the consequences. I’d followed two long years later. Two years I’d never forget. It had been a long time ago, but another ten years, twenty, fifty wouldn’t be long enough to ever forgive my own goddamn brother for leaving me alone to fend off our sick fuck of a father.
“Him, I can sorta understand. He’s ill.” I don’t know why I said what I did next—a combination of alcohol and stress maybe—but whatever the reason, I said it and meant it. “You? I rarely forgive and I don’t forget. Ever. So say what you gotta say and leave.”
He reached a trembling hand up and ran his fingers through his slicked-back hair. “Damn, I didn’t want this.”
“Welcome to my world.”
“Shit, okay, I’m sticking my neck out just being here with you.” He puffed out a sigh and looked me over, as though assessing whether I could handle whatever he was about to say. I smiled a fake smile, just to irk him.
He must have remembered I was his brother and not just another bottom feeder, because his hardened fleet glare softened, and he looked at me in that knowing way he used to when we would both be crouched under the dining room table, praying to whatever god that would listen that he didn’t find us this time.
“I could lose my job over this,” he said.
“Oh, gee, my heart bleeds.”
“For fuck’s sake, Cale. Would you just grow up and drop the mouthy bullshit for five seconds? I know you. Your BS doesn’t work on me. I don’t know what cargo you picked up in Calisto—I don’t want to know—but whatever it is, you need to ditch it fast. The second you left that port, a high-level system-wide alert went up with your name all over it.”
Fran chose that moment to enter the bridge. She hung back, near the door, thumbs tucked in her flight suit pockets. “How high?”
“Commander and above. I wasn’t meant to be back in the system for another few days. They sent it out without realizing I’d get eyes on it, and then redacted it, but it was genuine and from high up in fleet. They’re gunning for you.”
Fran tried desperately hard to catch my eye, but I ignored her, glaring hard at my brother’s suddenly gaunt face. A sheen of sweat glistened near his hairline. Hi
s perfect exterior was slipping. He wasn’t fucking with me. The alert couldn’t be because of the guns. The trail was clean; I’d personally made sure of that. The synth then? Why would fleet want my balls over a synth stowaway? Chitec, yes, but fleet? She was proving to be more of a hassle than she was worth. I should toss her out the airlock and be done with her—if I can find her.
Fran lunged whippet-quick between Bren and me, sprawled into her flight chair, and flicked Starscream out of idle so damn fast we’d barely blinked.
“Commander Shepperd,” she said, fumbling for a spare comms unit. She found one and handed it over her shoulder. “Please contact your warbird and tell it to put its dick away, or it had better be prepared to use it.”
I stumbled forward, braced my hands on the dash, and peered through the observation window at the raptor class warbird, its wings bristling with cannons. Considering those bitches were already glowing, they were preparing to fire.
Bren swore and started speaking rapidly into the comms. “Twenty, do you read? Are you aware that you’re preparing to fire? Twenty? Come in, Twenty. This is Commander Shepperd. Power down immediately.”
“Are the comms working?” I asked Fran as I dropped into my seat and locked myself in.
Bren prattled on, trying to get through to the raptor.
“Yes. They’re either playing chicken with us,” she said as she engaged the blast screen, blocking the real-time view through the observation window and replacing it with a holographic display that only made the warbird look more threatening by bringing it inside the bridge with us, “to see what we’re packin’, or they mean to blow us to bits with their commander on board.”
Bren continued to bark into the comms while on the screen, a multitude of warnings declared we were about to be blasted into the afterlife. Fuck. Maybe I should have signed up for the life-ever-after program, because Starscream could not win a fight with a raptor. We were good, but not that good.
“Then let’s show them what happens when you fuck with a fixer.” I reached under my flight chair, flicked the cover off a hidden button, and placed my forefinger over the ID pad. A throbbing alarm sounded. Starscream shivered. Two hidden panels opened above our flight chairs, revealing additional targeting screens. While the ship shuddered, numerous panels peeled off her exterior, revealing our own array of don’t-fuck-with-me weapons.
“What are you doing?” Tremors riddled my brother’s voice. “You can’t mean to fire on them?”
“I didn’t start this.”
“They won’t fire. They can’t. It’d be mutiny.”
“Not if you’re the only one who didn’t get the all-Shepperds-must-die memo.” I punched the high-maneuvering thrusters into action, giving Starscream the kind of turn-on-a-dime reflexes that would likely be our best chance out of this.
Bren turned and headed for the door.
“Hey,” I barked. “Sit your ass down.”
“The shuttle—”
“Already purged. You’re stuck with us, Commander.” I took a grain of satisfaction from seeing the fear on his face. “Buckle up and enjoy the inflight entertainment.”
Chapter Nine: #1001
I’d heard it all from the other side of the bridge door. Fran had caught me listening in, but instead of revealing my presence to her captain, she’d taken up a position across the catwalk to listen alongside me. Her eyes never left mine though—challenging, wary, and not a single trace of fear. Where Captain Shepperd’s dataprint overflowed with the usual life junk, sprinkled with a generous helping of criminal activity, Francisca Olga Franco didn’t have half as many entries in her twenty-six years. She was either incredibly intelligent and knew exactly how to keep her data hidden, or she was dull. Given how Captain Shepperd deferred to her judgment, I assumed the former was true.
Fran pressed a finger to her lips, raked her gaze from my head to my feet, and slipped through the door, onto the bridge.
She could have betrayed my presence, but she hadn’t. I only had a few moments to consider what that meant before a multitude of alarms sounded and the ship’s engines changed pitch, grumbling louder and harder as though she’d gained power. The commander’s voice held a note of panic, but Fran’s and Shepperd’s were smooth and controlled.
I slipped in through the door and settled into the chair behind Fran’s.
“Bren, may I introduce you to our recent acquisition.” Captain Shepperd fixed his gaze over his shoulder at me. “Number One Thousand And One.”
His eyes accused me. Did he think I had something to do with the warbird?
“She’s firing!” Fran announced. Her hands moved in a flurry over the flight controls and the holo-screen bloomed red.
“Brace!” Captain Shepperd barked. His brother dropped into the opposite flight chair a moment before the world shifted sideways and Starscream lived up to her name; she screamed, or rather the metal and shields did, as if she were coming apart at the seams.
“Son of a bitch!” Shepperd snarled. “Shields holding, but I’m not hanging around with my thumb up my ass while they keep taking potshots at me. Dropping chasers. On three. Two. One.” On-screen, sparkling red dots blasted outward. “Punch it.”
Fran engaged something that kicked me back into the chair and pinned me there for three breathless seconds. Then we were jerked forward, my insides pushing against my ribs.
“They’re following,” Fran announced.
“Of course they are.”
Beside me, Commander Shepperd was digging his blunt fingernails into the torn leather of his flight chair. His face matched the white of his uniform. He stared wide-eyed at the screen.
A shudder rocked the ship, throwing me against my harness.
“You can’t w-win this,” the commander stammered. “If she engages hard-tipped missiles, there won’t be anything left large enough to send home.”
Fran and the captain ignored him. They worked in unison, hands darting over the flight controls almost too fast to track. They traded orders and voiced actions. Fran worked the stick, steering the ship. I couldn’t feel Starscream’s whiplash-like darting, but on the screen, the humble tug out-maneuvered the warbird at every turn. The captain and his second tore through strafing fire and double-bluffed the fleet raptor. It was only when the commander stared at me, eyes narrowed, that I realized something was showing on my face that shouldn’t have been there: a smile. Such a simple thing. I shut it away and set my lips into their usual line. The commander frowned and tore his gaze away.
“Take her into the belt. We’ll lose them in the debris,” Captain Shepperd said.
“Already on it,” Fran replied.
“Be on it quicker.”
Starscream twitched, alarms shrieked, and her engines bellowed. I clutched my chair and checked Captain Shepperd’s face.
“Fuck,” he snapped. “There goes your Christmas bonus.”
The blast screen rolled up, revealing a black ocean tightly peppered with flotsam—the debris belt, a junkyard for salvage and waste.
“This is insane,” the commander mumbled. “You can’t hide your heat, Caleb-Joe.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. We already have. As far as Twenty knows, we’ve vanished. They’d be insane to follow us in here and risk scratching their shiny paint.”
“All you’ll accomplish in here is getting us tangled up in wrecks. You’ll be lucky to salvage Starscream from this rat’s nest.”
“What would you suggest?” Shepperd leaned forward and squinted into the sea of rocks, mangled metal, and partially stripped ships.
“Hail Twenty and tell them whatever they want to hear.”
“Brother, they didn’t listen to you, their own commander. They sure ain’t gonna listen to me.” Shepperd unclipped himself from his seat and leaned over the dash, bringing his face up to the observation window. “There’s a route. You see it?”
“Yup.” Fran planted her boots on the dash, gripped the stick, and chewed on her lip. “Watch for Twenty.”
/> Shepperd straightened. He flicked his attention from one screen to another, to the controls, and back, constantly moving, correcting, and adjusting various controls while Fran eased the ship into a swathe of debris.
“Fire in here,” the commander growled, “and any of those floaters could turn into missiles.”
“Shut the fuck up and grow a pair,” Shepperd replied.
“This is reckless. Your ego is going to kill us.”
Shepperd whirled. “Stay quiet or get off my bridge.”
A muscle fluttered in the commander’s jaw. He glared back at his brother, then unbuckled himself from his seat and left the bridge.
“Good riddance,” Fran muttered.
Shepperd’s gaze settled on me just for a few seconds before moving back to the observation screen. He blamed me for this. I didn’t know how I could have incited a fleet warbird to attack, but clearly Captain Shepherd believed it.
Fran maneuvered Starscream as though the ship were a precision tool and not a rear-heavy tug, and weaved us through islands of debris. She made an impressive pilot.
“Idle her here.” Shepperd pointed. “Behind this gutted freighter. They’ll never find us tucked in close against that wreck. Cut the engines. Cut everything but the stabilizers.”
“We’ll lose grav.”
“Do it.”
Starscream’s engines rumbled, shuddered, and then wound down until all I could hear was the ticking of hot metal and the latent whine of the gravity core. Once that sound died away, gravity went with it, and I became weightless. My hood lifted, my hands and arms too. Anything not tied down drifted upward.
“This is gonna take some cleaning up,” the captain muttered, pulling himself down into his seat and strapping in.
“Where’s the raptor?” I asked, my voice too loud in the near silence of the bridge.
He gritted his teeth. His cheek twitched. “Loitering outside the belt.”
Fran had tucked Starscream in so close to the wrecked freighter that all I could see through the window was an endless stretch of mangled hull spewing wires and piping as though something huge had ripped its guts out and left it here to die. The commander’s raptor would never find us.
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