Tears streamed down Min’s face as she returned to her ship, her body, and Eva squeezed her arm gently before leaving the girl to privately reintegrate with all the systems. It wasn’t as if Min was ever alone, not really, not unless she wanted to be.
At the end of their standard handshake greeting, Pink bumped Eva’s hip hard enough to make Eva stumble. “You’ve got more lives than all these damn cats combined,” Pink told her.
“And I’ve got you,” Eva said. “That’s like five extra lives, at least.”
Pink punched Eva’s arm and went to check on her med bay. Her grumbling was audible from the mess, as familiar and comforting to Eva as an old shirt.
The cats acted as if nothing had changed and they’d been there the whole time. Such was the way of cats, according to Min.
The scientists were dumped at the station with arrangements to get back to their colony ship, and promises to answer any questions they might have later about the disastrous archaeological expedition on Cavus or the Fridge incident on Pupillae. They smelled disappointed as they left, and not a little sour.
Mari escorted the hostages to what Min said was the same BOFA ship they’d run into way back on that Fridge planet a year earlier. Likely explained what had happened to the lab there, though Eva did wonder how Miles Erck had gotten out. Whether he’d made it out of the other base with that poor girl Emle was another story. She hoped it ended happily, one way or another. Emle didn’t deserve to be saddled with that jerk, in life or death.
Eva never did get to meet Schafer, though. That was heroes for you.
And so it was that Eva found herself, finally, walking the corridors of her ship, touching the panels and plates that were hers again, listening to the familiar old creaks and whines and hums of the black outside trying to get inside and failing. She had no idea what she would do now, beyond finding creative ways to make The Fridge sorry for existing, but she and her crew would figure it out together.
They always did. Okay, maybe not always, but from now on.
She opened the door to her room and was greeted by the smell of licorice and anise, with a hint of lavender. Vakar sat on her bed, palps twitching, and she almost regretted giving up the much more spacious cabin on El Cucullo.
“So,” he said, “I suppose now you can explain what you meant by a pants party?”
“I think it’s easier to show you,” she said with a grin, closing the door behind her.
Acknowledgments
I have so many people to acknowledge for helping, supporting and encouraging me that it seems almost inevitable that I’ll miss someone. If it feels like I’ve forgotten you, rest assured that it has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with sleep deprivation. I’ll remember you one day when I’m pooping or showering or trying to sleep, and I’ll feel absolutely mortified about the omission.
And so, in no particular order, a universe of thanks to:
Eric, my husband, the other pea in my pod, for doing laundry and washing dishes and singing to babies and all the other millions of little things that are actually much bigger than they appear. We’ll play Warcraft III again, eventually.
My agent Quressa Robinson, for believing in my characters and my story and my future, for patience and professionalism and knowing when and where to push, and for being the Slytherin to my Hufflepuff. Go Team World Domination!
My editors Tessa Woodward and David Pomerico, and everyone else at Harper Voyager, for taking a chance on me and my book, and for helping me mold it into the best version of itself. My space cats thank you!
My mother, Nayra, for spending hundreds of Sundays watching me hit people with swords, and hundreds more Sundays taking care of my children so I could write about fictional people hitting each other with swords. I know it was hard. I hope it was worth it.
Jay Wolf, for being literally the best. I can’t imagine what would have happened to this book if you weren’t there holding my hair while I vomited feelings all over the place. I’m still at the base of Space Smut Mountain, but someday I’ll reach the tip!
Matthew, Rick, Amalia, KC, Jeff and all my other TWB peeps, for your endless support and toilet reads and tear-absorbent shoulders and brioche. Without you, I would have given up a long time ago.
All my VP Twen-Tea (and beyond) comrades and instructors, for critiquing my work, for pushing me to query when I was still hesitating, and for encouraging me every single day. Go Cheese Weasels, ’til hell won’t have it!
My NaNoWriMo folks, for writing with me every Sunday afternoon, and more every November, and for raging with me about movies and anime and video games and life. Always be sprinting!
Jilly and the Brainery crew, for pushing me to turn a short story into a novel and then to fix what didn’t work, and for continuing to root for me long after.
My sister Laura, for getting my Casablanca references, and for sending me pictures of potential future bed-and-breakfast options so I have something to daydream about when the writing is too much.
My family-in-law and also in love, Aimee and Luis and Vanessa and Ashley and Erik, for being the best extended family I could ever dream of having, and for always making me feel welcome and loved and enough. (The Setzer is just for you, Ashley; I hope I did him justice.)
My dad, Keith, and stepmom, Jackie, for reading everything I write even if it’s not your cup of tea, for assuring me this will definitely be made into a movie someday, and for making all your friends buy this book. Apologies to their friends!
My siblings and stepsiblings, Tasha and Kirk and Jennifer and John, and all their extremely lovely spouses, for all the kind words conveyed in person and online. Your faith sustains me and humbles me.
My other friends and family, in person and online, for asking how my book is going and patiently listening to me ramble about it, for sharing my Facebook posts and Twitter threads, for continuing to invite me to parties even when I can never make it, and for all the other little things over the years that have kept us moving within each others’ orbits. You all keep me going in ways I can’t express.
An Announcement for Prime Deceptions
Want more Eva? Turn the page for a sneak peek at the next book in the series:
Prime Deceptions
Chapter 1
Kick the Puppies
Captain Eva Innocente ran through the snow, trying to ignore that her pants were on fire.
It wasn’t actually snow so much as white stuff that looked like piles of frozen water crystals, but was instead a highly flammable form of methane precipitating peacefully from the sky of the aptly named planet Kehma. She also wasn’t actually running, more of an aggressive hobble that wanted very badly to be a run, but her left gravboot was randomly malfunctioning and sticking her to the ground, so she kept having to send a deactivation command through her commlink to get moving again.
Her pants were definitely on fire, though, blue and magenta because of the methane. Her spacesuit protected her from burns, or she would have been more worried about it. And while it would have been funny to note that the fire started immediately after she lied to someone, right now she was focused on not getting shot by that person and his accomplices, who were chasing her.
Eva darted behind a pillar-like rock formation as a bolt of plasma seared past her head. She would have loved to get her own pistol out, but she needed both hands to carry the package she’d gone to Kehma to steal. Well, steal back, since it had been stolen in the first place. Regardless, she had no hands with which to defend herself, so she had to rely on others.
((Help,)) she pinged at Vakar, who was supposed to be providing cover fire. Her quennian partner was much faster than she was, given his functioning boots and longer, back-bending legs. She’d lost track of him in the snow, which was now falling as tiny blue flames as the bits stuck to her legs burned higher and brighter. The air around her shimmered with heat, and she was glad her nose was protected by the bubble of her isohelmet, because she was sure it smelled like spicy farts outside.
A shot tore through the air so fast it left a trail of blazing purple-blue, coming from in front of her instead of behind. Either she’d been flanked, or—
A second later, the sonic boom reached her, and Eva grinned. Unless the mercs had added sniper rifles to their arsenal, that was definitely Pink. And if her co-captain had arrived, that meant La Sirena Negra couldn’t be far behind.
Eva darted from behind her cover toward another rocky pillar, lurching forward and cagando en la mierda every time her gravboot stuck. The methane-fueled fire was up to her chest now, making visibility even more difficult. She shifted the device so most of its weight was on her right side; the damn thing was heavy, and bulky, and she hadn’t expected to be carrying it while running and being shot at. Another plasma bolt narrowly avoided her, sizzling against the rock as she ducked behind it. She thanked the Virgin these mercs weren’t better shots, though come to think of it, that was a little odd. People who got paid to shoot things to death tended to be pretty good at it, or they didn’t get paid for long. Unless they were herding her . . .
The click-whine of a rifle being armed next to her head made her freeze. As much as it was possible to freeze while on fire.
“Give back the cargo,” the merc said. His voice came through her translators as whiny despite his broad, jowly features and beady eyes.
“Wasn’t yours in the first place, mijo,” Eva said. Why hadn’t he shot her already?
“Who hired you?” he snarled, a line of drool falling into his collar. “How did you learn about this facility?”
Ah, information. The real currency of the cosmos.
“A little bird told me,” Eva said.
He pressed the muzzle of his rifle to the spot where her isohelmet met her suit. “Do not speak in idioms, human. Answer my questions or die.”
“Can’t answer questions if I’m dead, mijo,” Eva replied. “Nice rifle, by the way, you get that out of a catalogue with your parents’credit line?”
The merc made an angry horking sound. “I earned this, you hairless whelp. I’ve been a mercenary for longer than you’ve been alive.”
“And you haven’t retired yet? Qué lástima, you must not be very good at it.”
“Enough!” the truateg shouted. “You and your pack, playing at a profession you barely understand. It makes my testicles itch.”
Eva almost snarked at that, but something moved behind the merc: the palest of shadows, silent as snow.
“When I was your age,” the merc continued, “we had respect for our elders. For the mercenary code. You don’t even have a proper uniform!”
“Times change,” Eva said. “Oye, could you hold this for a second?”
She thrust the package at the merc, who grabbed it reflexively. His rifle swung away from her and she activated the present Vakar had gotten her for her last birthdate: a set of sonic knuckles that formed glowing gold rings around her fingers. Her first punch landed in the truateg’s gut, the second on his shoulder, and by the third Vakar had stepped up to wrench away the rifle and drop the merc with a blow to the back. Eva deactivated her knuckles and took the stolen package back, giving the half-conscious truateg an extra kick in the junk for good measure.
“Where are the others?” Eva asked.
“Gaining ground.” Vakar took the package from her, his shiny metal armor making him nearly invisible as it reflected all the whiteness around him. “We should complete our evacuation.”
“Did you sabotage their ship like I told you to?”
“I would have reached you sooner if I had not,” he replied. “Their navigation systems will be installing a false software update for the next half cycle at least.”
“Dios mio, that’s evil,” Eva said, grinning. “Vámanos, let’s get out of here before I turn into carne asada.”
((Location?)) she pinged at Min.
((Look up,)) came the pilot’s reply.
La Sirena Negra roared in, its dark hull obscured by the sticky methane snow coating the shields. Min brought the ship to a stop so that it hovered a meter above them, breaking some of the stone spires in the process. Eva and Vakar raced over to the emergency hatch, which opened to reveal a tight space with a ladder that slid down to meet them.
“You first,” Eva told Vakar. “Get that damn thing inside or we don’t get paid.”
He shifted the package to one side and began to climb awkwardly with his free claw. Just as Eva started to join him, her gravboot stuck to the ground again. This time, it refused to obey her mental command to deactivate, so she had to release the ladder and crouch down to examine the stubborn thing.
A bolt of plasma streaked past, followed by a gargling howl from the truateg. Coño carajo, Eva thought, staying low and frantically jabbing at the manual release on the outer sole of the boot. Still not responding.
“Worthless feces licker!” shouted one of the mercs. “Taste my vengeance!”
“Tastes like chicken!” Eva shouted back. Not that they knew what chicken was.
A sonic boom overhead told her Pink was providing cover fire, buying her a few plasma-free moments. The methane flames completely coated Eva now, but she still couldn’t get her damn gravboot free. With a frustrated groan, she activated her sonic knuckles again and punched the ground around her foot, breaking up the pale rock into gravel-sized pieces. There just needed to be enough left to trick the boots into sticking to them, instead of the solid parts underneath—
A searing pain in her thigh made Eva hiss and bite down hard. Somebody had finally hit her. Unfortunately, that meant her suit was compromised, so she didn’t have long before the methane flames worked their way in as well.
Eva punched the ground one last time, and finally her gravboot shifted. La Sirena Negra hovered above her, with Vakar now dangling upside down from the ladder as he reached his free claw out to her.
Grunting, Eva jumped awkwardly with her good leg and grabbed his arm with both hands. Shots sizzled through the snow around her as the ship shifted, her injury making her scream.
Vakar did the galaxy’s most insane sit-up and hoisted her into the emergency access, the hatch closing beneath her as soon as she was fully inside. He released her gently and she collapsed onto the floor, breathing heavily.
((Jump,)) Eva pinged at Min. The pilot’s response was nearly instant, the whine of the FTL drive preceding the stomach-wrenching sensation of artificial gravity compensating for sudden acceleration. Eva could picture Kehma receding behind them as they flew off into the black, toward the nearest Gate, a few hours away.
They’d made it. And they had the package they’d gone to retrieve, which meant they’d get paid. Despite the pain in her thigh, Eva felt cold with relief.
No, not just relief; also the fire extinguishers coating her in chemicals to stop her from burning up the ship. In moments, she was covered in pale blue gel, slippery as a dytryrc during mating season but no longer aflame.
Eva deactivated her isohelmet, which dropped a load of the gel into her black hair. Vakar retracted his helmet as well, releasing mingled smells of incense and licorice; he was worried about her.
“I’ll be fine,” she muttered to Vakar, tugging off her busted gravboot and throwing it against the hull. “But I’m definitely going to need a new pair of pants.”
Eva sat in the med bay, trying not to squirm as Pink’s mechanical eye scanned her for injuries beyond the shot to her thigh. Pink had already patched that with a quick-healing compound and numbing agent, and covered it with the usual self-adhesive bandages and a thick mesh designed to restrict movement. Other parts of Eva ached, from muscle to bone, but how many
of those complaints were new was debatable.
“You’ll live, again,” Pink said finally, sliding her eyepatch down. “You’re lucky they didn’t hit an artery.”
“I’d be luckier if they had missed entirely,” Eva grumbled.
Pink turned around and rummaged through one of the cabinets. “I’m not wasting the good nanites on you, so you have to take it easy for at least a week. Elevate the leg when you can, pain meds every six hours. And of course, you remember your buddy—” She pulled out a cane and handed it to Eva. Its height was adjustable, but they both knew it was already on the lowest setting for the ship’s second-shortest crew member.
“How can I forget good old Fuácata?” Eva muttered. “Anything else, Captain Jones?”
“I’m Dr. Jones right now, sass mouth,” Pink said. “We still need to have your weekly psych session later. But we should get everyone in the mess to chat, yeah?” She peeled her gloves off and tossed them in the recycler, then gave Eva her arm to help her off the exam chair.
Eva sent a ping to the rest of the crew as she hobbled down the corridor of La Sirena Negra to the mess room. The smell of espresso mingled with incense and anise; that meant Vakar was already there, he had made coffee for her, and he was worried but otherwise in a good mood.
“Look at you, smiling like a fool,” Pink said, elbowing Eva gently.
Eva scowled, but she couldn’t sustain it. Especially not when she saw Vakar waiting, out of his shiny Wraith armor for a change. His pangolin-like scales were freshly scrubbed, and his face palps angled toward her as she entered. The smell of anise shifted to licorice, making Pink groan and roll her eye.
“Are you well?” Vakar asked, his blue-gray eyes staring pointedly at her cane.
“Claro que sí, mi cielo,” Eva said. “This is temporary.”
“She has to rest,” Pink added, pursing her lips and giving Vakar a meaningful look that made him smell grassy, bashful.
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