“Your father and I have discussed whether we should be responsible for paying off the full amount,” Mom said, “and the answer is no.”
Erick snorted. “I saw that coming.”
“We’ll pay on the loan each month, to ensure that’s done in a timely manner, but you’ll pay us each month, until we’ve paid it off.”
“In twenty years or so,” Leonidas grumbled.
“Your first payment is due in three weeks. I’ll attach a file with the details. I hope you’ve downloaded an accounting program and are keeping books for the Snapper.”
“Accounting?” Jelena looked at Erick, hoping engineers knew more about accounting than they did about butts. It involved numbers. Engineers liked numbers.
“I’ll help you find a free software program,” he offered.
Not exactly the way she’d hoped he would save the day.
“You may find the numbers daunting. I know we did. I suggest…” Mom looked at Leonidas, one hand groping in the air. Mom didn’t know what to suggest? That wasn’t comforting.
“You may want to find a way to try and make some extra money on the side,” Leonidas said.
“The way Beck did when he was first building up his sauce empire?” Mom asked.
“I doubt barbecuing skewers of meat on the ramp at the ship’s stops and asking for tips would pay off that loan quickly.”
“No, not the way Jelena cooks.”
“What?” Jelena protested, her indignation mostly based on the fact that Mom and Leonidas weren’t master chefs, either. Leonidas had a particular gift for burning things. Why would he cook something on a low setting when he could heat it more quickly on high?
Erick held a couple of fingers to his lips, the gesture not quite hiding the smirk there. Her predicament was improving his mood? Lovely.
“Maybe you can find some passengers to take on,” Mom said. “If nothing else, you could try a lemonade stand. Those were popular in some countries back on Old Earth.”
“Popular or profitable?” Leonidas asked.
“I’m sure one of those p-words was involved.” Mom waved a hand in dismissal. “We’re looking for a new assignment for you, Jelena, but feel free to hunt around on your own. It seems the Hierarchy Moons don’t export much. You may have to head down to the planet Macha. I hear they make mud.”
“Ceramics,” Leonidas said.
“That’s hardened mud, isn’t it? Anyway, keep us updated if you find something first so we don’t double book. Talk to you soon.”
The image of her parents disappeared, replaced by a copy of the invoice and how much Jelena would now be responsible for paying every month. Her eyes blurred before she even came to the part about interest. There was nothing about the potential of lemonade stands. How much did lemons cost? As a pilot and freighter captain, was she supposed to know such things?
“What do you want to do?” Erick asked.
“We’re not starting a lemonade stand. We are Starseers, wielders of great power and heirs to the Kirian rulers of old, rulers who almost took over the entire system centuries before the Sarellians did it.” She pointed at Erick’s nose. “Say nothing about my unicorn underwear. Which I am not, in case you were wondering, wearing.”
“I wasn’t. I was going to ask how powerful you felt while drinking out of a horse’s butt.”
“Croup,” she said slowly, pointing to the top of the mug. “We’re going to have to find you an online anatomy class.”
“Maybe I can take it at the same time you take the accounting class you now need.”
Jelena groaned. “Can’t we just do something to make piles of money? How hard can that be for people with our talents? Everyone on this ship has some kind of superhuman power. Except for Austin.”
“Should I point out that Austin is the one who came up with a solution that didn’t involve brutalizing starving people?”
“I’m not sure that’s true. I saw bleeding ears.” Jelena brought up a sys-net search, though she didn’t have any idea what to search for. How to make money? How to make money as a Starseer? How to sell an engineer for enough money to pay off one’s debts? She gave Erick a sweet smile.
“I should feel wary right now, correct?”
“Oh, definitely.”
“What are you thinking about? Taking on mercenary contracts or some other questionable venture?”
Jelena blinked. “I wasn’t, but I am now. That sounds more profitable than hunting for passengers on planets full of poor people. We could become mercenaries, couldn’t we? Temporarily, of course. We have a ship, weapons, and a crew with greater-than-average talents. What more could we need?”
“An army of a couple hundred people, as I understand it.”
“Surely, each one of us equals say… fifty average people,” Jelena said.
“I’m not sure where your arrogance comes from, considering your stepfather pummels you into the gym floor during sparring sessions on a regular basis.”
“He’s greater than average too.”
“No argument here.”
“How much do you think mercenaries make?” Jelena eyed the sys-net interface. At least she had something to research now.
“I don’t know, but I doubt you can look for jobs or gigs or whatever on public sys-net boards. You have to have contacts, and I’m sure you have to have job experience. A reputation for slaying sufficient numbers of enemies.”
Their faces sobered, as they both seemed to realize they had done precisely that less than an hour earlier, or at least assisted Lemaire in doing so. Erick shook his head, looking like he wanted to retract the comment.
“We have a resource on board.” Jelena tapped the controls, preparing the ship for takeoff. “I’ll get us into orbit and go talk to him.”
“Him? I assume you’re not thinking of Austin.” Erick frowned, apparently not liking the idea of going to Thor for advice.
“If I ever need something annoying built, I will definitely go to Austin. For mercenaries…” Jelena thought of how Thor had mentioned traveling in this section of the system before and how he had numerous contacts. She could easily see former imperial officers turning mercenary. “I think Thor might be the best resource we have aboard.”
“Only because we have a supremely limited number of resources.”
“Mom did give me permission to hire more people. Maybe some of Thor’s old contacts would like a job.”
“More people like Thorian on board? Wouldn’t that be a delight.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Thor.”
“He’s broody.”
“So is Masika.”
“And he’s arrogant.”
“He was royalty. Royalty is supposed to be arrogant.”
Not to mention that he was good at everything and had some justification for arrogance.
“Are emperors and their families royal?” Erick asked. “I thought that was just kings and queens.”
“You also thought a horse’s butt was located above his tail, so I’m not relying on you as a resource.”
“But you’ll rely on Thor? Wonderful.” Erick gazed at the view screen as they lifted off, the gray clouds and drizzle matching his mood.
Chapter 3
Jelena found Thor in the back corner of the cargo hold, near the entrance to engineering and the workshop. He’d scrounged a few mats for a makeshift gym, though he didn’t have any equipment for it yet. That didn’t seem to bother him. When she walked up to him, he had his shirt off and was doing a handstand, his brown hair dangling down to brush the mat. His forearms quivered, and he lowered his chin to the ground, then pushed himself back up, lean muscles flexing. He wasn’t big and brawny like Leonidas, but lithe and strong like a gymnast. He did several more handstand pushups before dropping his legs to the mat, standing, and meeting her eyes.
She hadn’t seen him shirtless before and wouldn’t have minded admiring the show, but since he was looking at her, she would have felt strange about scrutinizing him. Besides, she did
n’t want him to think she was attracted to him. And double besides, someone who couldn’t harden her heart—and had no desire to do so—shouldn’t develop romantic feelings for someone who had killed people before her eyes.
Thor’s eyebrows twitched upward, and she flushed, remembering that he had some chasadski Starseer talents, talents that were considered ignoble or were outright forbidden by traditional Starseer teaching. Among those talents was his ability to read her thoughts, even though she’d learned long ago to protect them from other Starseers. Apparently, he knew “back doors” into protected minds.
“This is why I came to you,” she said brightly, hoping to distract him from reading her thoughts now. She waved at his bare chest, but almost forgot what she’d meant to say as she noticed a few scars there that she hadn’t expected. She wasn’t sure why—he had recent ones on his temple and cheek from his crash on Upsilon Seven. Most of these looked like blazer burns, but one set of faded white lines had been delivered by claws. And had a knife or sword done that one on his side? She’d assumed the training he’d endured over the last ten years, with Starseers and imperial loyalists trying to turn him into a man capable of leading armies, had been for practice and not quite so… injury provoking.
“To goggle at my chest?” Thor asked.
She flushed deeper. Damn it, she’d told herself not to look. “I’m not goggling. I’m looking for someone who knows all about mercenaries. And those scars make you thugly enough that you could be that someone.”
“Thugly?” This time, only one eyebrow twitched upward.
She was glad he didn’t sound offended, because that wasn’t what she’d meant to say. He wasn’t thugly. He was quite—well, he was normal. Fine. That was all. Nothing out of the ordinary. And why was she all flustered about this?
“We need to make some money,” she blurted. Yes, a change of topic was what was needed. Or a redirection to the correct topic. The one that had brought her back here.
“You want to make a career change from running freight to killing people for a living?”
“No, of course not.”
“That’s what mercenaries do.”
She opened her mouth, ready to protest and say they’d be special kinds of mercenaries, but he stepped closer to her, and the words got stuck on her tongue. His pushup workout must have been going on for a while because sweat gleamed on his forehead and his shoulders.
He grabbed his shirt off a crate next to her, then stepped back.
Jelena cleared her throat, glad for the space. It was easier to focus with more space.
“I was imagining that we’d be the kinds of mercenaries that rescue people rather than killing people,” she said.
“People generally hire mercenaries to fight wars or guard their resources. Rescue missions aren’t typical.”
“That’s good because we’re atypical people.”
“I won’t argue that.” Thor pulled his shirt over his head.
“I’m going to be mature and not take that as an insult.”
“You left food and bandages behind for the people who tried to rob us.”
Er, he’d noticed that? She’d thought she had been surreptitious when she’d left ration bars and quick-meals behind at the docks, hopefully for the injured thieves to find.
“So?” Jelena crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to feel bad about trying to help people, especially when she’d inadvertently assisted someone in harming those people.
“So you don’t have the heart to be a mercenary.”
“Look, I didn’t come down here for an assessment of my organs. I was just wondering if you have any connections who might know about jobs that are out there. They don’t have to be mercenary jobs, just opportunities for people with our unique skill sets to make some extra money.”
Austin walked out of engineering, whistling to himself as he carried a box covered with gauges and dials and antennae. “Captain,” he said cheerfully, spotting her. “Mind if I set up the ghostometer in NavCom?”
“Yes. Why?” She glowered at Thor, anticipating a comment about her people’s “unique skill sets.”
“To see if any pilots ever died in there,” Austin said. “Wouldn’t you feel uncomfortable being all alone in NavCom if the spirits of past pilots were in there, and if they were feeling vengeful for the unkind manners in which they died? The dead are often jealous of the living, you know. They could haunt you or use their powers to fiddle with the gauges while we’re in the middle of a tense battle.”
“I…” Jelena rubbed the back of her head. What would a good captain do at this point? Tell him to beat it? Let him run his equipment?
“What happens if you detect ghost activity?” Thor asked, sounding more curious than mocking. He couldn’t believe in such things, could he?
“We’ll have to have an expert come on board to host a cleansing,” Austin said.
“Is that expensive?”
“I’m not sure. Last time, someone in my sys-net ghost-hunting group did it for me for free. I fixed his thrust bike for him.”
“Sounds like a good deal.”
For the kid with the thrust bike, sure.
Thor looked at Jelena again, smiling faintly. “Maybe ghost cleansings would be a good line of work for a crew with unique skills to get into.”
“Captain?” Austin looked back and forth between them, clutching his machine earnestly.
“You can set it up somewhere out of the way up there. Just don’t bother Alfie. She’s still recovering from your other machine.” Jelena frowned sternly at him.
“I wanted to give her earplugs, but I didn’t think she’d let me.” Austin smiled, hugged his machine, and trotted off. “You won’t regret this, Captain,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll make sure NavCom is safe for—oomph!” He tripped over the hatchway lip as he headed into the corridor.
Fortunately, or maybe that was unfortunately, he did not drop and break his machine.
“I’m already regretting it,” Jelena murmured.
Thor headed in the same direction at a more sedate speed that didn’t involve tripping. Jelena watched his back, her shoulders slumping. He hadn’t said he’d help. He probably thought her whole idea was foolish and that she should start that ramp-side lemonade stand.
I’ll check with my contacts, he told her silently without looking back.
Jelena lifted her chin, her heart also lifting. Thank you, Thor!
He turned at the intersection, heading toward his cabin.
Er, wait, she added, a thought coming to her. You meant about opportunities for special mercenaries, right? Not for, uh, ghost cleansings. Because I don’t think I could fake giving a cleansing as easily as I could fake being a mercenary.
I’ll see what jobs are out there, came his dry response. Desperate captains can’t be picky.
“Solar hells,” Jelena grumbled.
She had better look up the prices of lemons out here.
• • • • •
After the Snapper reached Macha’s orbit, Jelena headed to the cabin that doubled as the galley and the mess hall. She wanted to lean over Thor’s shoulder while he contacted whatever underworld gangsters or mercenaries or former imperial henchmen he knew, but he might not appreciate that. He hadn’t seemed that enthused by her gaping at his scars. Were boys supposed to hurry to put their shirts on when girls walked in? Erick would have shamelessly flexed all of his skinny muscles if Masika had walked in while he was exercising. Not that Jelena had caught him exercising often when Leonidas wasn’t around to enforce mandatory crew self-defense and fitness hour. Or, in Leonidas’s case, three hours.
The smell of fresh paint and the clinking of a brush in a bucket greeted Jelena before she stepped into the mess hall. She almost tripped over the four-person table. It had been unclamped from the deck and pushed to one side of the cabin—the side with the hatchway.
“Huh.” Jelena peered under the table. “I didn’t realize that could be moved.”
�
�Probably because it hasn’t been done in fifty years, and the fasteners were rusted to the deck.” Masika, paint smudging her gray fatigue bottoms as well as the backs of her hands, was painting the wall above the freezer and refrigerator. She waved a brush in greeting.
“Not a problem for a painter with super strength?”
“Nope.”
Jelena stepped more fully into the cabin. Two of the walls only held a base layer, so they weren’t that exciting, and the refrigerator wall was in the process of being painted sky blue. The third wall now displayed a beautiful mural of snowy mountains covered with evergreen trees, their boughs laden with snow. A frigid blue river flowed through the center of the picture, its edges lined with ice that looked so real Jelena believed she could break it underfoot and fall in.
“That’s brilliant. And all the white is a great idea. It looks so much brighter in here. Bigger.” Jelena spread her arms to demonstrate how close in the walls were.
Masika shrugged and made a noise that sounded like, “Enh.”
Jelena clamped down on her tongue to keep from teasing her about her perfectionist streak. Early on, Masika had shared the story of her past, about how she’d sought out the Stellacor biotech corporation after being raped on her university campus. She’d wanted to be stronger, and she’d wanted to be able to take care of herself, and they’d been promising a treatment that could give people that. The tradeoff had been offering herself up as a human guinea pig and losing some of her dexterity and fine motor skills to gain greater strength, speed, and the ability to heal more quickly than normal. More than that, they’d made her sign an agreement to stay and work for them for years—and to be worked on by them for years. Only after Jelena had somewhat inadvertently kidnapped her had Masika given in to what she considered a selfish moment and decided to fake her death and stay on the Snapper instead of going back to her employers. She deserved respect and kindness, Jelena vowed, not teasing.
Angle of Truth Page 3