The Disasters

by M. K. England

  As soon as we’re settled, I power the ship all the way down and revel in the silence for a moment. No vibrations, no gunfire, no venting atmo, just the even breaths of a crew not panicking. How nice.

  A tinny knocking comes from far up the corridor. The comm crackles.

  “Please allow my people on board for an inspection.” The mechanic, I guess?

  “Yes, ma’am. On our way,” I say. Pays to be polite to people who might work with space murderers.

  I unbuckle my restraints and motion for the others to do the same, then lead them all to the entryway. My heart pounds, still half expecting this to turn into shooting and adrenaline all over again, but so far this has been the most peaceful landing we’ve had as a crew. Without me saying anything, the others grab their chem guns from their quarters and line up on each side of the foyer before the ramp, like a welcoming party. We may not be military, but we’re a damn good crew.

  Giving everyone a last glance with a smile I really, honestly try to wipe from my face, I call out, “Ramp coming down!” and hit the controls. The doors crack open, the ramp descends, and the rich smells of Valen’s vibrant flora mingle with the slightly stale recycled air of the Kick.

  Four people stand at the foot of the ramp: three in stained coveralls and one in a more clean-cut, nondescript uniform. Their hands rest casually on their sidearms, still holstered at their belts, as do ours. The lead guard gives me a once-over, then nods and comes up the ramp, extending a hand to me. I take it and give what I hope is a firm, confident shake.

  “Nax Hall. Welcome to the Swift Kick, sir. Thank you for having us.” I think belatedly that it might have been smarter to give a fake name, but it’s too late now. Malik probably told them to expect us anyway. And honestly, these people deal in unsavory types, and we’re probably the most savory of their clientele. Unsavory lite. Diet savory? I don’t know. Hopefully this won’t be one of those split-second decisions that comes back to bite me.

  Either way, the guy gives me a slight smile, like I’m an adorable child, but he returns my firm handshake and motions for the rest of his people to come aboard. They do, giving polite smiles to the rest of the crew. The head guy moves into the bridge area and pokes around while the rest of his group wanders through the back of the ship, presumably inspecting the guns, mess hall, and medbay.

  “I hope they aren’t planning to inspect our quarters, too,” I murmur with a glance at Rion. “I’m pretty sure there’s a pair of dirty boxers hanging from my desk chair.”

  Rion snorts a laugh, doing his best to smother a grin in his shoulder. “And what were you doing that they ended up there?”

  I blush and turn my eyes to the ceiling. Honestly, I just chucked them over my shoulder when I was getting changed, but now it sounds so much worse. Case watches our interaction closely, but she glances away as soon as I catch her looking.

  It feels oddly like we’re back in elementary school, all of us standing in neat rows waiting for teacher to let us go play at recess. The head guard returns to the entryway and waits for his crew with a pleasant, neutral expression. And he just . . . stands there. Silent. Unmoving.

  I cut my eyes to my right; Rion has his hands folded calmly in front of him, his serene diplomat mask in place. Across from me, Zee shifts her weight back and forth, restless. Probably wanting to get back out into fresh air again. Case is tense and unfocused, like she’s lost inside her own head. Asra taps away on her tablet, completely ignoring the situation, until her tab chimes a new message alert that feels horrifically loud in the awkward silence. I barely suppress a snort of laughter. Asra scowls down at the screen, though, then glances up at our guard.

  “Do you mind?” she asks, gesturing with her tab down the hall to her quarters.

  “Fine,” the guard says, then falls silent once more.

  Asra turns to me with the slightest roll of her eyes. “Be right back.”

  She slips away just as footsteps come echoing up the hallway. The rest of the guard’s crew trickle in to the foyer and bend their heads toward their supervisor with quick gestures toward other parts of the ship. After a brief, hushed conversation, they head down the ramp without another glance at us. The lead guy stops in front of me.

  “You’ll meet with Ms. Brenn now,” he says. “Follow me.”

  “Great!” I say, gesturing for the others to follow. “Just let us get Asra from—”

  Our guide turns, though, and holds up a hand.

  “Just you,” he says. “The rest of you need to stay on the ship and get her ready for service.”

  I probably look like the greenest, wimpiest criminal in the world, because my eyes go wide like a frightened animal. “Uh, can I bring someone to advise the mechanic on the particular work we need done?”

  He considers me quietly for a moment, then nods. “One.” Then he retreats down the ramp to wait.

  “It needs to be Asra,” I say, trying to make it sound like a firm decision. Case would have been best for the mechanical details, but Asra’s the only one of us with any real experience on the other side of the law; hopefully she’ll know what to say and how to say it. Case struggles with the whole illegal thing on the best of days. And . . . okay, I still feel a little awkward around her. The kiss really threw me off, but she seems completely unaffected. She’s a mystery—high-strung, angry, anxious, but also totally confident in herself and her skills. Well, maybe that makes more sense than I thought.

  “Okay, y’all. While Asra and I are gone, can you get some things packed up? Med kit, extra clothes, anything on the ship you think might be useful. I don’t know if Malik is going to take us somewhere else, so we should be ready.”

  “Assuming he agrees to help us,” Case says with a raised eyebrow. I wince and shake my head.

  “Don’t even think it. I’m gonna go get Asra and make this deal. Be safe while we’re gone,” I say, bumping knuckles with Rion and Zee before I head for Asra’s quarters. Her door stands open, and a voice drifts out into the hallway from within—a deep male voice. I slow my pace and pause just beyond the doorway, listening.

  “—doesn’t have to be the end for you. If you call in a tip about the suspects, I’ll turn your entire trust fund over to you. And as much as it hurts me . . . we never have to see each other again, if you don’t wish it. I’ll parade you as the hero who stopped the Ellis Academy fugitives, tell the city how happy I am to know you’re safe, and it’ll all be over. You can even keep the ship, if you want—I’ve already ordered another.”

  I hold my breath as Asra’s tab dings with a down-loaded attachment. The voice—Jace’s voice, obviously—continues. “I don’t know which world you’ll be on when you receive this, as I sent ships to every colony world, so I’ve included a list of contacts for each. All you have to do is tell one of the contacts where to find the fugitives. You don’t even have to be involved. Just send a message, and it will all be done. I hope you see the mutual benefit in this situation.”

  Jace’s voice softens, cracks at the high end. “Everything I’ve ever done, I’ve done for you and your brother and sister. You want me out of your life? Fine. But if you don’t do this simple thing for me? I’ll be on the heels of you and your so-called friends every step of the way, along with Tiger Squadron, the GCC, and forces you haven’t even begun to tangle with yet.”

  A pause, then the voice comes through low and clearer, like Jace leaned in closer. “Let’s do this the easy way. Money and freedom, Mazneen. Just send a message, and it’s all yours. I love you.”

  Asra snorts. “Yeah, whatever you say, you miserable excuse for a—” and she trails off into Bengali, muttering angrily as she slams every drawer in her room. I guess that means she’s not planning to sell us out? But she could be angry because she feels conflicted, could still be considering—

  “I know you’re out there, Nax. You may as well come in.”

  Busted.

  I poke my head around the doorframe first, then lean my shoulder against it and clear my throat.
>
  “So. Planning to give us up?”

  Asra’s expression darkens, and she looks away. “You really think I would do a single thing to help that man? After everything you’ve seen? And he still thinks I don’t know about the Earth First plan, what he and his buddies are doing to the colonies. Didn’t even bother to warn me about it. Guess I don’t count as a loved one to be ‘spared.’ Not that I particularly want to be dragged back to whatever Earth First commune they’ve got set up for when they make their grand return.” She barks a harsh laugh.

  I scrub a hand over my face, dragging my fingers over two days of generous stubble and hair that badly needs some kind of product. I’m too tired for this shit.

  “I guess not, Asra, but you should tell the others about the message too, okay? You shouldn’t have to deal with this on your own. But for now, we have a deal to make. They said I could bring one person with me. I chose you.”

  A little niggle of doubt teases at the back of my brain after hearing the message, but she’s still probably the best choice. We’ve trusted her this far, for better or worse. It’s too late to back out now. “Will you come?”

  Asra’s eyes soften, and her mouth uncurls from its twisted frown. She nods. Smiles, just a little.

  “I’m with you, Captain,” she says. “Give me a minute to calm down. I’ll be right there.”

  I let the door close on my way out and hope, yet again, that I’ve made the right call.

  Time to go make a deal with a criminal.

  I’m feeling less sure of this mechanic, and my brother, by the second.

  Our guide leads Asra and me out into the chilly Valen air and across the tarmac, past a collection of bizarre frankenships that completely suit my mental image of what a space murderer might call home. The ships look like they were once stock models of reasonably affordable commercial-line cargo haulers, but they were put under the knife young and never learned how to be civilized. Every possible part has been modified: engines definitely, shield lenses usually, whacked-out paint jobs required. Is this what the Kick will look like when this woman is done with her?

  “Murder chic,” Asra mutters under her breath, waggling her eyebrows. I cough hard to cover the laugh that bursts out of me, then wipe my eyes.

  “We need her to look different, but I’m not sure this is the aesthetic we’re going for.”

  “So we ask for what we want,” she replies with a quick, cautious glance at our guide. “We’re paying, so if you want a flashy, shiny pinup of a ship, then that’s what they’ll give us.”

  Paying. Shit. “We don’t have any money. How exactly are we supposed to pay?” I mutter, keeping an eye on our guide’s back. I will throw myself off the nearest tall building before I’ll ask Malik for money.

  My stomach sinks, twisting in on itself. We’re out of immediate danger now, but there are still so many ways that this whole thing could implode around us. I’ve never paid a bill in my life—now I’m supposed to negotiate getting our ship illegally stripped?

  “Actually . . .” Asra trails off.

  I look up sharply. There’s a weird note in her voice, a hesitation I’ve never heard before. Normally she’s so self-assured. I tip my head and study her, and she seems . . . defiant? Embarrassed? At the same time?

  “We should be fine on money for a while,” she says, like it’s a challenge. “I took the liberty of lifting some from Jace’s accounts right before we took off.”

  My mind screeches to a halt, and I stare at her. I don’t know what to think.

  “How much?” I ask, my tone as neutral as I can make it.

  Asra purses her lips, and her eyes narrow. She lifts her chin and says, “One hundred thousand credits.”

  I’m speechless. That’s a lot of money. A lot of damn money.

  I take a breath, then nod. Asra’s shoulders relax minutely.

  “Okay, on the one hand, yay for money, but on the other hand . . . maybe tell us next time, since we’re your accomplices and all. We share the blame. And it kind of brings Jace down on our backs even harder, doesn’t it?”

  Asra shrugs. “He’s going to be after us no matter what. We’ve publicly embarrassed him by stealing this ship and—sorry for this part—that bit I said over the comms on our way off al-Rihla probably had him spitting mad. He’ll do literally anything to save face. I guarantee his priority is making sure he’s still powerful and respected and comfortable once the colonies go down. Hell, he probably has people back on Earth airing out the giant house he left behind when he emigrated.”

  Asra’s mouth twists into something between a snarl and a sob for half a second, then the expression is gone. “You heard him on the recording. He has a trust fund for me somewhere that he won’t let me touch. I would have taken the money from there, but I’ve never been able to find the account.”

  She snorts. “I chose the amount deliberately. It should be enough to get the ship stripped and rebranded, with enough left over for a few loads of fuel and basic supplies, but that’s it. From there we’ll have to find work. Yes, I still stole it, and I know it’s wrong, but it’s money he earned by doing awful things, and it’s not like I cleaned out his accounts. I’m not him.”

  “Fair enough,” I say. “That makes everything easier on us, at any rate.”

  Beyond the last of the ships looms a four-story building with a cavernous mouth gaping toward us. It’s big enough that I bet they bring the ships inside on mag coils to do the actual work. I figured we’d be walking in through the giant ship-sized double doors, but the guard veers off, leading us to a smaller door flanked by barred and tinted windows. A faded, rusty sign on the door reads MAIN OFFICE. Asra raises her eyebrows and mouths “murder chic” again, and this time I can’t hold back a snort of laughter. Our escort glances over his shoulder but doesn’t comment.

  “Thanks for coming with me, Asra,” I murmur, nudging her elbow with mine. I can’t imagine myself walking into Brenn’s office, a seventeen-year-old kid who knows more about fixing cows than fixing ships, trying to talk on her level. She’d probably laugh me right out of her garage.

  The door creaks horrifically as one of the door guards pulls it open for us. It’s surprisingly nice inside, though. Compared to the outside, this place is almost homey. Warm colors, worn but comfortable-looking furniture, and a reception desk. I smile at the receptionist, a young russet-skinned guy who can’t be much older than me, and try to channel some of Rion’s charm.

  “Good afternoon!” I say. “Or morning. Or whatever it is on this planet right now.” Off to a strong start, right?

  “Almost dinnertime,” he says with a grin. “You can go right in—Brenn was able to clear some time to meet with you.”

  He stands and motions for Asra and me to follow him down a narrow hallway.

  “A word of advice,” he mutters over his shoulder. “Wipe that grin off your face before you see her. You give her that pretty smile, and she’ll take you for every credit you got no matter who your brother is. Serious face, yeah?”

  I wince at the mention of my brother but wrestle my features into something more neutral.

  “Thanks. Appreciate it.” Serious face. I can do that. I discreetly wipe my palms on the sides of my pants and wiggle my fingers to get my nerves out. Please, please don’t let me screw this up.

  At the end of the hall, the man knocks twice on a door marked THE CHOPPER and pokes his head in. After a brief word, he winks and heads back into the main reception area, whistling an off-key tune.

  “You gonna come in or what?” a stern, twangy voice calls from the office.

  I glance at Asra, take a breath, and stroll in as casually as I can.

  The office is exactly what I expected. Junk parts everywhere, fluid stains on everything, a diagram of a Ford S528 projected on the wall, and a recessed terminal built into the desk. Then, there’s Brenn herself.

  She is tiny, but tiny in the way that vicious little dogs are tiny, and looks about as likely to chew my hand off. She can’t be mo
re than five feet tall, and I’d guess even less than that. Her slight figure makes it hard to judge her age. Maybe mid-twenties? Her skin is incredibly light, with freckles peeking out from under the rolled-up sleeves of her coveralls. She sits in her high-backed chair with her arms folded, one ankle resting on the opposite knee.

  “Sit,” she says, and I do. Immediately. I’ll admit it—I’m intimidated as hell. This whole act she has going on? It’s working. Asra sits in the chair next to mine, much more composed. I’ll bet she’s not intimidated.

  Brenn looks me over with raised eyebrow. “So, you’re Malik’s troublemaker little brother. You two are practically identical.”

  “Only in looks,” I snap, then bite my tongue. It’s really not going to help our case if I piss her off.

  She clucks her tongue once with a little shake of her head. “He’s missed you, you know.”

  I barely suppress a derisive snort. If he wanted to see me so bad, maybe he shouldn’t have stormed off into space in a hissy fit and abandoned me. I shift in my seat, feeling like I’m fifteen years old and in the back of my ammi’s cop car all over again. Brenn gestures toward me as if to say, “Well, get on with it,” so I swallow and fall back on drilled politeness.

  “Thank you for seeing us,” I say, picking at the lint on my pants. “Our ship, the Swift Kick, needs some rebranding work, and Malik said you were the person to see.”

  “Model?” she asks. She doesn’t move when she speaks. It’s kind of unsettling.

  “She’s a Honda Breakbolt Mark III,” Asra says, smoothly jumping into the conversation. “She’s been lifted, so she’ll need a full rebrand from the inside out. Transmitters, DR codes, paint job, and external scarring at the least, plus anything else you find in your inspection that could allow the ship to be connected back.”