The Disasters

by M. K. England

  Chime. Chime. Chime.

  “Fucking UGH!” I yell into the pillow, then lift my head. What in the hell possessed me to set an alarm? Why would I do such a thing? I was obviously delirious at the time. Five hours of sleep isn’t gonna last me. I swat at the tablet until it shuts up, then slump back onto the pillow. Whose sweat am I rolling around in right now? (Gross.) Who used to call this little box of a room their home? The thought brings a small pang of regret—whoever they were, they’re probably out of a job now. And I have their stuff, now that I think about it.

  Curiosity piqued, I pick my head back up and look around the room, the sleep fog lifting from my brain. I didn’t bother studying my surroundings before bed, just face-planted on the pillow and passed out as soon as I got back from the medbay. Now, all around me I see tiny touches left behind by the room’s previous inhabitant. The wall over the desk holds a magnetically mounted piece of abstract artwork, its neon colors the brightest point in the otherwise featureless room. I roll over and swing my legs off the bed, then pull open the top drawer of the nightstand.

  Ick.

  Boxers, all black with neon accents. Of all the things I imagined having to deal with while stealing a ship, some other person’s underwear didn’t even make the list. The bottom drawer contains three sets of identical all-black clothing, all of which smell of laundry soap. I unfold one of each; the pants are a size too big, but the shirt should be a decent fit. I’m not wild about wearing some rando’s clothing, but I was only able to bring one set with me, so I can’t complain.

  The only other notable thing in the room is a small photo tucked into the corner of the mirror over the refresher station. Five people of varying gender presentations, all with their arms thrown around one another, a puppy pile of smiling faces and rude gestures. They wear identical all-black clothing, like what I found in the nightstand, and they all have matching tattoos around their biceps. They’re young, none of them much older than the five of us. It has to be the crew. Or rather, the former crew.

  I pull the photo loose and look closer, running my thumb along the edge of the glossy paper. They don’t look like bad people. They look like a family. Why were they working for such an awful guy, hauling drugs around the galaxy? I guess everyone has their reasons, though I can’t imagine what theirs could be. Then again, I’m sure others would look at our crew and think, such nice kids, wonder where they all went wrong.

  Except Malik, maybe. Was he even surprised when my wanted notice came through?

  If I have to face my brother today, I’m at least going to be as clean and respectable as a wanted criminal can be. I tuck the photo back into the mirror frame and let myself into the hallway, making for the communal bathroom down the hall.

  Steam billows from one of the stalls, and when I step closer the heat radiates from it. Someone’s trying to burn their top layer of skin off, apparently. Maybe they also had the realization they were sleeping on someone else’s dirty sheets. I wish I could burn away the gross feeling that comes with having to ask my brother for help, but there’s nothing in the universe that can help me with that. The mere thought of seeing Malik’s face again puts knots in my shoulders and makes my heart race.

  I slip into the empty shower stall, then yank off my clothes, chucking them into a haphazard pile right outside the door. The shower has a digital readout where I can punch in my preferred shower settings, so much fancier than back home. It chimes happily, accepting my input and displaying a ten-second countdown to optimal shower temperature.

  The water comes slowly at first, then ramps smoothly up until it rains down over me in a steady stream. I close my eyes as the beep signals the incoming scrubber chems, and the dehumidifier dries me off at the after the last of the water trickles away, leaving my skin prickling and fresh. I really don’t want to put on yesterday’s clothes, now that I feel so clean. I’ll just walk back in boxers and put on the borrowed clothes when I get there. We’re going to be risking our lives together, so they can deal with a bit of skin.

  I crack the stall door open to grab my boxers, pull them on, and climb out of the shower—then find myself face to face with a freshly showered Rion, wearing a towel around his waist and a waterproof bandage wrapped tightly around his left shoulder. And nothing else. My eyes lock on a single drop of water slipping its way down Rion’s neck, sliding over chest and stomach until it disappears into the edge of the towel. My tongue darts out to moisten my lips, wishing for that drop of water to be—oh no, I’m staring.

  “You’re up!” I say, wrenching my gaze back up to his face. My skin feels electric, charged by the proximity, every hair standing on edge. “Good to see you on your feet. Uh, how are you feeling?” Eyes up, Hall, keep it together.

  Rion’s smile is a slow, liquid thing that slides onto his mouth with ease. “A little put out that you all chose rooms without me, you arse, but fine otherwise. Still hurts like hell, of course, and it’s stiff, but Zee does good work.” His eyes flick down my body, then back up to my mouth. “And you?”

  Case chooses that point to wander in, see us standing there talking in our boxers and towel, roll her eyes, and climb into the shower. “Don’t mind me,” she says as the shower beeps its acknowledgment of her input. Her shirt flies over the stall and lands on the floor outside, and the sound of raining water starts a second later.

  I blush, a wash of heat flooding my body down to the tips of my fingers. Apparently we aren’t going to be a particularly modest sort of crew. I may not survive this. My brain is bouncing between soft curves and hard lines and I really need to get out of here.

  “I’m glad to see you up and around, Rion. Really. And hey, if the bedroom we left you is really that bad, you can have mine. I owe you.”

  Rion bumps his good shoulder against mine, the tiny brush of skin-on-skin contact sending a pulse of awareness through my body. Then he heads for the door. “You don’t owe me shit, mate. But you better believe I’m taking your room if it’s better!”

  I chuckle and follow him out, my dirty clothes wadded up in my arms. And if my gaze wanders a bit as I walk? Hey, we might die soon, so why not? I couldn’t ask for a better distraction from the thing I am absolutely not thinking about (Malik’s judging stare, his hard scowl and folded arms). New topic, new topic . . .

  I pop my door open and chuck the clothes into the corner, then poke my head back into the hallway and point Rion to the door next to mine. “That’s the empty one. Think it’ll meet your high standards, posh boy?”

  The door to the bathroom bangs open again before he can reply, and a waterlogged Case bustles out, fully dressed and rubbing at her hair with a towel.

  “That was fast,” Rion says, eyebrow raised.

  “My umuni is an air force officer and Mamá is always running late to everything. I was trained to shower fast from birth.” She hits the door controls and chucks the wet towel in ahead of her. “Come on, boys, let’s get moving. We’ve got a galaxy to save.”

  Her words have the desired effect. We have to go. No matter how much I stall, this is happening, and the sooner we get it over with, the sooner we can help people. I get changed in less than a minute, and take another minute to get my head together. My stomach roils, and it feels like I have a thousand-pound weight sitting on my chest, but it’s been two years. Maybe it won’t be so bad. We’ve both changed a lot.

  Or maybe it’ll be a disaster and this will be the last thing I ever do.

  No point. Get moving. Out the door, into the hallway. I step up into the bridge and nod to Zee, the only other person there, then lower myself into the pilot’s seat. There’s a lot I could say right now, but none of it is good or helpful, so I start preflight checks and bite my tongue, pushing through the nervous jitters the pilot’s seat brings.

  “For what it’s worth, Nax, I’m sorry,” Zee says, her voice soft. “Are you okay?”

  Damn it. I close my eyes and breathe.

  “I know we have to do this. It’s our best option. I just hope this does
n’t blow up in our faces.”

  She reaches forward and squeezes my shoulder. “I’ve got your back, no matter what. We’ll get through. And I’m sorry I had to force the issue of your brother. I wouldn’t have if I thought we had any other option.”

  The corner of my mouth tugs up in a grim smile. “Yeah. I know.”

  Doesn’t stop me from being bitter about it.

  Case arrives next, dropping into the navigator’s seat and instantly switching into Focused Case Mode. “Preflights will be done in two minutes. The others are right behind me.”

  As if summoned, Rion and Asra barrel through the door and buckle themselves in, breathing heavy, like they raced here. We’re all feeling the urgency, now that we’ve had a bit of sleep and a shot of adrenaline. I steady my shaking hands on the controls, then look over my shoulder.

  “We ready?”

  Four affirmatives. It’s time. I take one last look at Serenity, luminous and vivid against the star-dotted blackness, and send them a mental middle finger.

  God, we’re really doing this.

  I turn to Case and smile, though my mind is an endless replay of crashing, bleeding, alarms, and I can hardly breathe, but I have to hold it together.

  I have to do this.

  “All right. Let’s go see my brother.”

  Fourteen

  I MAKE THE RUN UP to the jump point and hit the target speed, and the A-drive engages at Case’s command. The rumble of the engines drops in pitch, the sound stretching as we pierce the fabric of the universe—hover in the empty black void for a maddeningly long moment—then pop out the other side.

  It’s unsettling; we went from looking at one blank field of stars to a different one, but all the stars are in different places. New constellations, new reference points—and a new planet, blue-green and bright in the distance, watched over by an unfamiliar and distant sun. I throttle up to cruising speed, taking us out of the arrival zone and closer to the planet, its blotchy colors resolving into continents and oceans as we approach. As soon as we cross into Valen-controlled space, Asra takes control of the ship’s comm system from her tab and punches in the comm code I gave her. The repeated tone of a tight beam call sounds in the bridge, over and over, each repetition adding to the crushing pressure in my chest. I’m not ready, I’m not ready, I don’t want to do this, I—

  A click, then the faint hiss of an open line.

  “Hall here,” a voice says with a note of wariness. Malik.

  God.

  I’m silent for a long moment. My grip on the controls tightens to a strangle. I bite the inside of my cheek.

  “Is there anyone there?” Malik says with an edge of irritation.

  “Yeah.” The word bursts out, overly loud from being withheld. “Yeah. Hear me out before you hang up.”

  A clatter comes from the other end of the line, then a door slam. “Nax?” he whispers.

  My throat closes up, and I have to force the words out. “Yeah. Listen . . .”

  God, this is mortifying.

  “I . . . need help.”

  A gust of breath on the other side of the line. “Are you trying to get caught?” he hisses. “They’ve been questioning me twice per day since the station went dark. They’re watching me.”

  I grit my teeth. I really wish the others weren’t here to listen to this.

  “Well, you weren’t exactly my first choice, Malik, but this was our only option. Everything they’ve told you about us has been a lie. Some bad shit is going down, and we need a place to refuel or we’re really screwed right now. Can you please just give me a break and help us?”

  A long silence. In my mind, I can see him covering his face with one hand and shaking his head like he always used to do, every time I screwed something up.

  “I’m transmitting you coordinates to a mechanic shop a friend of mine runs,” he finally says. “It’s outside the city limits, and her radar-jamming net should keep you from being noticed. Fly dark, all nonessential systems off, and approach low and from the far side of the city.”

  “I know how to fly, I’m not a—”

  “Enough,” he cuts me off. “I hope you have money, because you’re going to need to get that ship stripped down while you’re there. There’s no way she’s going to let you sit that stolen ship on her lot as is.”

  “We’ll take care of it,” I say, my tone clipped and bitter.

  “Good,” he replies. “I’m still at work. I’ll come meet you as soon as I can. Don’t go anywhere or do anything until then.”

  With a quiet double beep, the transmission ends.

  I slam my hand down on the console with a frustrated growl. The shock of pain radiates through my hand and up my arm, but I don’t give a shit, because it feels like I’ve torn open a badly healed gash in my chest. My cheeks burn with shame and embarrassment and all the ugly things between Malik and me, somehow made worse by the fact that he’s actually helping us. Yet another thing where I’m a mess and he has to clean up after me, hating me all the while. He ditched me after the last time. Who’s to say whether he’ll actually follow through this time?

  “We have the coordinates,” Case says, unusually subdued. She swipes two fingers over her display, and the course slides over to my HUD, layered over the other data splashed across the viewport. I grab the throttle control and edge us onto the highlighted route, my hands and feet doing the work automatically while my brain stews in a mess of boiling resentment and anxiety.

  “It’s good that your brother has this mechanic contact,” Rion says from behind me. “I was worried we were going to have to figure out how to land and sneak out of the spaceport.”

  I press my lips together and shake my head. After the past few days, my skin still prickles with danger sense. We can’t seem to go anywhere or do anything without something terrible happening. The fact that this is going without a hitch so far is making me more nervous instead of less. The last thing I need is to wreck this ship on my brother’s doorstep. I’d never live it down.

  “I don’t even know what he’s doing with a contact like that. He’s always been the precious one who did everything right and never got in trouble. Now he’s hanging with a mechanic who’s willing to doctor a stolen ship? Doesn’t make any sense.”

  Zee hums her agreement. “Can you look anything up about this mechanic, Asra?”

  “We just crossed into Valen’s net range. I’m looking now.” Asra taps at her tab for a few moments, then hums in interest. “According to at least one source I trust, this woman is very good at what she does, and very good at being discreet. She’s also selective about who she’ll work with. If I’m reading between the lines right, she deals exclusively in illegal modifications, but only if she deigns to work with you. I’m hoping that means she’s got some personal code of ethics, because I’d rather not share a dock with space murderers. But you never know.”

  “A fair concern, especially considering our pursuers,” Zee says. I almost laugh—wouldn’t it be ironic for us to roll up in our stolen ship, only to have Jace and his Tiger Squadron buddies hanging out in the next bay? I shake off the image, weaving us into the pattern of light space traffic in orbit around Valen.

  “We’re about to make our final approach. Knowing our luck, we can’t guarantee there’s not about to be some major bad turbulence here, so check your restraints,” I say, wiping my palms on my pants. Our last landing nearly killed us. I really need to not screw this up. Especially with Malik watching.

  “Quit being such a downer, Nax,” Rion says. He claps a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Just chill out and let things go well for once. I could use a few moments without bowel-shaking doses of adrenaline and fear, okay? I’m trying to enjoy this one. Don’t be a buzzkill.”

  I give a weak chuckle and lean back, letting my hand rest gently on the stick as I guide us down into the atmosphere and angle for the coordinates for the mechanic’s shop. Deliberately landing instead of crashing means we actually get a view of the planet’s surf
ace on the way down, bathed in the golden light of its sun. Lush trees, abundant flowing water, and plant life in colors that are close to Earth, but not quite close enough to look completely natural. It’s like someone ran the whole planet through a color filter and shifted everything toward the blue end of the spectrum. This planet is a changer, but it’s good enough to almost pass for Earth in some places. The European Space Union really lucked out; the terraforming tech was new at the time and the whole thing could have failed horribly.

  Instead, they got this: wide-open fields between low, rolling mountains, about as close to my part of North Carolina as you can get outside of Earth. The sight out the viewport tugs at my heart. Of course Malik would end up somewhere so much like home. Figures. The planet’s land masses are only about 60 percent habitable, unlike al-Rihla, which is close to 90, but what they do have is definitely worth the trip.

  Asra and Zee have their noses pressed against the starboard-side viewport, watching the terrain rush past. I grin, catching Case’s eye and nodding in their direction. “Like what you see?” I ask them, taking us closer to the waving treetops for their benefit.

  “Always wanted to take a vacation here,” Asra mutters, going up on her tiptoes to see more below. It’s kind of adorable.

  Case hums her agreement and keeps one eye out the window as she monitors our progress. “Wish I had my camera equipment. Would love to take some photos here sometime. Al-Rihla, too, on those red sand beaches.”

  “You do photography?” Zee asks without looking away from the view.

  “Sometimes. I’m not any good at it, but it’s relaxing.”

  I never would have guessed that about her, but in a way it makes sense. Even she has to have some hobbies that don’t include school. And I bet she’s far better at it than she thinks.

  After a moment, the forest gives way to a sweeping open plain of dry brown grasses, then to scattered buildings and a few small outlying settlements. I pull back on the throttle as we approach, not wanting to come in too hot and appear threatening, sticking tight to the vector Malik sent us. A hulking building comes into view, perched on the far outskirts of a sizable city; our destination. I shift power from the engines to the mag coils as soon as we’re over their iron-inlaid runway, then set us gently down in a yellow-painted ground-landing zone, guided by a two-person ground crew. No raised landing pads anywhere in sight. Less conspicuous, I guess.