by Natalie Grey
They were pretending to be Yofu, so it was Tafa who had guided the shuttle down, answering questions from air traffic control in her Yofu accent. She was dressed in blue coveralls that had a respectable number of grease stains on them. She had gotten them on a nearby station, where she’d had trouble convincing a bemused mechanic that she actually wanted the dirty uniform and would buy him a new and clean one. He had clearly thought she was crazy, but money was money, and she now had a uniform that looked well-worn, with a name stitched on the chest: Kila.
Once they had sat through the interminable landing pattern and finally gotten a bay, she vacated the pilot’s chair and began assembling her tools. A big mechanic’s bag, looking far too heavy for her small frame, was loaded with screwdrivers, welding tools, and some things Barnabas assumed were wrenches.
“You’re sure you don’t need to be closer?” she asked Shinigami anxiously.
“Quite sure,” Shinigami said, giving Barnabas a wink over Tafa’s head. She had tried to explain that her actual processing took place on the ship and that the location of her body really didn’t matter at all, but Tafa didn’t seem to believe it.
Barnabas crouched to examine the handles of the bag. The Yofu had double-thumbed hands, and so everything from their tools to the fastenings on their clothes was constructed slightly differently.
“How are you feeling?” he asked Tafa carefully. He didn’t look at her, and he kept his voice casual. He didn’t want to make her anxious.
She wasn’t fooled. She gave him a glare. “You mean, do I want to call it off? No. I don’t.”
“Just checking,” Barnabas said. And your implant is working well? he added silently.
Yes, just like it was on the ship. She gave him another glare and then sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, I’m just...” She swallowed.
“It’s normal to be nervous before a mission,” Barnabas told her gently. “For anyone, even when it’s not their first mission.”
“You don’t get nervous,” she said quietly.
“Not often—but I sometimes do. Gar can verify that.”
“He’s a robot,” Gar said amusedly. “He’s never been nervous in his life. But I get nervous all the time.”
Barnabas laughed. He wasn’t immune to worry, as others seemed to think he was. He had simply learned over the years to let his worry exist without overwhelming him, and he was careful to manage it through meditation and action rather than dwelling on it. Decades as a monk would do that to a person.
He suspected that Gar was much the same. The Luvendi were apparently very fond of meditating, viewing it as a cornerstone of their society. Even though Gar had left his home planet and did not think much of its limitations, he likely had the skills to control his worry before a mission.
“Besides,” said Shinigami, “say the Jotun police come up to you and say, ‘Hey, what are you doing here?’ We have a plan. You’ll say...” She raised her eyebrow and gestured for Tafa to go on.
Tafa had quite a flair for the dramatic, which they had discovered while planning the mission. She fluttered her hands slightly and widened her eyes. “I’m here for the repairs to the main circuits,” she said, sounding appropriately nervous. She dug around in her pockets, making a great show of looking for documentation, and pulled out several folded pieces of paper, which fluttered to the floor around her in a carefully-contrived and accidental-looking bit of clumsiness.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I know it’s here somewhere. Here’s my permit, here’s my landing clearance. I know I have my landing bay receipt somewhere. Just one moment—I’m so sorry—and here’s my licensing paperwork.” She handed it to Shinigami, her face shining with honesty. “As you can see, I’ve served many apprentice hours, and I’ve worked on Jotun circuitry before. There won’t be any problems. I think Mr.…” she “checked” her other paperwork, “Hilar will be very pleased with my work. You’ve subcontracted the very best.” She said the last words with the practiced smile of someone giving a sales pitch.
Barnabas and Gar were looking on with amusement while Shinigami puffed herself up and pretended to be part of the Jotun Senate’s police force.
“Miss, this permit is for a house. This is the Senate.”
Tafa widened her eyes even more. “No! No, it can’t be, because I followed the instructions very carefully. Ferdy wrote them down for me, see? Once you come out the east entrance of the docks, you turn left, and then you go three blocks, and then you turn right—oh, no. Oh, no, I turned left!” She sounded miserable. She grabbed for the papers, and Barnabas only just caught the quick motion of her hand that flung a bot onto the ground behind Shinigami. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. Do you know the way to Manrel Hilar’s house?”
“Good!” Shinigami said enthusiastically. She knelt and retrieved the tiny bot, who had been trying determinedly to find an entry point into the walls of the shuttle. “Come here, you. You’ll get to climb around all you want later.”
“It’s not sentient, you know,” Barnabas told her. “It worries me that you talk to them.”
She grinned at him. “Do you think I’m gathering my troops for a robot uprising?”
“I don’t know! I wouldn’t put it past you.”
“You’re wise not to,” she replied blandly. After this somewhat worrisome sentiment, she told Tafa, “And see? You’ll be fine. You’re a born actress.”
Tafa glowed with pleasure. She had retrieved the little bot and put it in her cuff pocket, and was now lifting a small processing core into the bag. The core had a remote wipe and self-destruct, which were contained nicely so that the core would not explode, and had multiple tools to attach to different pieces of the system. Tafa and Shinigami would work together to find offices with hidden data banks and would do all they could to get the data extracted and analyzed before they were noticed.
They were starting with Biset’s offices, which would not yet be closed off since his death had not been announced. Hopefully, searching his systems for mentions of the Infrastructure Revitalization Committee would provide a trail of clues they could follow.
Meanwhile, Shinigami and Gar would take one route to approach the Senate buildings, and Barnabas would take another. If Tafa got into trouble, they would be able to get her out quickly. Shinigami could even remotely pilot the shuttle to their location if necessary.
Barnabas was hoping it wouldn’t come to that, but he was glad to have a contingency plan.
Tafa finished packing the bag and stood. She hoisted it onto her shoulders like a backpack and nodded at the group.
“I’m going to go,” she told them. There was determination in her tone—but also excitement. “Meet back here in a couple of hours?”
“Sounds good.” Barnabas gave her a grin and a handshake.
They watched as she set off, a small figure making her way determinedly through the chaos of the docks. She had her part down well, even stopping a passing Yofu to ask him directions to Manrel Hilar’s house. The house was real, after all, as was the construction project, and Hilar was a notable figure in Hevarod. Her story would attract no suspicion.
“We’re good to go,” Barnabas said to Gar and Shinigami. “Let’s get into position. You two go first, so if they stop me, they’ll have less chance of getting you, too.”
“Good call.” Gar did a last check of his weapons and armor. “Ready?” he asked Shinigami.
“Ready.” She adjusted her own armor, all of it slim-fitting and easily mistaken for normal street clothes, and put her purse over one shoulder. Since they didn’t want to attract attention to the veritable arsenal she carried, she had put her guns in the purse. It made Barnabas laugh every time he saw it.
They walked away as he watched, and he gave a small smile.
Jeltor was going to be amused when they told him about this.
Chapter Six
Aliana made her way through the crush of Border Station 7 toward the docks that generally held less affluent merchants—in most cases, s
mugglers. She liked this area a lot more than the docks higher up, each with a nice, shiny ship in it, and each ship with its slimy captain.
If she were honest, she was worried she’d see her own ship there.
And Lawrence.
She ducked her head to blink away the tears in her eyes and collided with a man with blue eyes and short blond hair. Aliana was pretty tall, so she was looking slightly down, but from the amount of muscle he had, she knew at once that she had no desire to ever get in a fight with him.
So, out of sheer survival instinct, therefore, she fell all over herself to apologize: “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you. I wasn’t looking where I was going and—”
“Hey, whoa.” He gave a little laugh and rubbed his head, where a white scar showed near his hairline. “It was an accident. I’m not worried about it.”
“Oh.” She frowned at him suspiciously, but he certainly didn’t seem angry.
“You okay?” he asked. He peered at her, and she had the uncomfortable sense that he saw the tears.
“Yeah.” She hiked her bag up on her shoulder. “I’m fine. All fine.” He was still looking at her, seeing a lot more than she wanted him to see, so she cleared her throat decisively. “I have to go.”
“Hey.” He caught her arm as she ducked around him. It was a light touch, not meant to be intimidating, but she could tell how strong he was. And he had good reflexes, because she’d tried to keep her arm out of his reach. “Look, it’s not a big deal or anything, but if you’re in trouble—not now, I guess, but whenever—you can always look me up. I’m Magistrate… Never mind that. I’m Buster. Or ‘Bustamove,’ if you like nicknames.” His smile didn’t falter even under her flat stare. “Take care of yourself,” he said and disappeared into the crowd with her staring after him.
Aliana blinked, then shook herself. He seemed nice, but no one was just nice in this world—or, if they were, they were going to get taken advantage of and wind up dead in a ditch somewhere. Either way, she didn’t want anything to do with this guy.
She was still shaking her head as she approached the docking bay Zinqued had specified, 486A, and got her first look at the ship.
It wasn’t bad, as ships went. Something was painted on the side in flowing alien letters, with PALPARI printed beneath. She wondered if the two things even sounded vaguely the same. From what she’d heard of the Hieto language, it was filled with hisses and pops that a human mouth couldn’t precisely reproduce.
“Aliana.” Zinqued had appeared at the top of the gangway. “Glad to see you. Tik’ta kept telling me that you’d think better of it and not show up, but I told her you would.”
Aliana gave him a smile despite herself. She liked the way Tik’ta looked after her captain despite her obvious exasperation, and something about the two of them made her feel like this would be a nice, safe job.
Well, a job that wouldn’t make her run into Lawrence, anyway—and that was all she really cared about. From a few murmured words they’d exchanged, she guessed that they generally operated in a whole different sector, which was exactly the sort of thing Aliana was looking for in a job.
“Why did you think I’d come back if Tik’ta didn’t?” she asked Zinqued. Her new captain, she reminded herself. She shouldn’t call him by his name. Some aliens were really offended by poor etiquette.
“I know the look,” Zinqued said. He stepped back to let her into the ship. “It’s the same across all species.”
“What look?”
“Hunger.” Zinqued looked at her. “It doesn’t matter what it’s for. For some people it’s money, for others it’s a mate or power. You’re hungry for something, and this job can help you get it.”
Aliana said nothing for a moment. She was chewing over the thought in her head. Hungry. Was she hungry?
Yes. She had been screwed over, and she’d accepted defeat without even questioning it…until Zinqued came along and showed her that she had another choice. That she could get back what was hers and maybe have some revenge in the bargain.
Who was she kidding? The revenge was the main draw now. She wanted Lawrence to suffer. She wanted him to lose everything, and spend his days as broken down as she had been. She smiled at Zinqued.
“Yeah,” she agreed, “this job can get me what I want.”
“And what’s that?” he asked.
He seemed more curious than anything else, not exactly ordering her to tell him, so Aliana just smiled and gave a little shrug. “My business for now. I’ll tell you when we’ve stolen the Shinigami and you’re helping me steal the second ship.”
“Ah.” He seemed almost pleased by the way she played her cards close to the chest. “I will look forward to it, then. And you won’t be disappointed—we’ve been doing this for a long time. We know our way around these things.”
He had shown Aliana through several low passages as they spoke, and now he gestured to a small cabin. “This is yours.”
“I have it to myself?” Aliana was pleasantly surprised. She was alone on her bucket of bolts, but on every other ship she’d lived on, she’d shared her living quarters. Sometimes it hadn’t been so bad, of course. She hadn’t minded sharing that little cabin with—
James. Her throat seemed to close, and she blinked back tears all of a sudden. She’d been a mess since all of this had kicked off, it seemed like. Two weeks ago, she’d been content to spend her evenings getting drunk and starting bar fights, which to her ranked above crying alone in a tiny ship’s cabin.
To distract herself, she asked Zinqued, “So what’s different about this ship?”
He had been turning to leave, but he looked back at her with interest. He cocked his head to the side, not quite sure what she meant.
“Not…” Aliana pointed at the floor. “The Palpari?”
He seemed to find this very funny. “Close enough.” He pronounced it in Hieto and she picked out some similar sounds, but knew she’d never be able to pull it off.
“Right. Not this ship, the one you’re trying to steal? You said you’ve tried before.” Aliana dumped her bag out on the bed and began pulling drawers open and putting shirts and coveralls inside. “Never met a ship thief who had it bad for a specific ship. Kind of thought you guys were opportunists.”
“I was.” Zinqued sounded almost grumpy. “You have to see this ship to understand it,” he added, and she realized he wasn’t grumpy about being called a thief or an opportunist. He was grumpy about having the weakness of wanting a specific ship.
She fought the urge to laugh.
“It’s a beautiful ship,” he continued, and his gaze was distant. He leaned in the doorway, almost a human gesture. “The lines, the way it moves, its weapons...”
“You know they aren’t going to give you more Federation missiles,” Aliana pointed out.
“The ability to shoot them is enough. People are always coming up with new things. With that ship, I can get whatever I need.” He was completely confident. “And with you on board, we’ll be able to get it. You knew about the Rangers. You can figure out the ship’s weaknesses.”
A normal person, Aliana thought, would admit they didn’t know much about Rangers and didn’t think the ships had weaknesses.
She’d never been one to let trivial things like facts stand in the way of her goals, though. She’d done a lot of things she had been told she couldn’t do, after all, and she wasn’t about to go back to being a scared little kid who let other people tell her what was and wasn’t possible.
So she nodded. “Yeah,” she said, and she meant it. She wasn’t bullshitting him. She was promising that no matter how impossible it seemed, she’d get the job done.
Right now, she was wondering why it seemed so simple to believe it when it came to someone else’s goals but not her own.
She’d think about that later. She nodded to him and he left, clearly pleased. She kept unpacking, humming to herself. This ship wasn’t bad. A lot of people complained about ships, but Aliana liked them.
There wasn’t too much space, everything had its purpose, and it kept her from getting complacent—waking up to the same thing day in and day out.
She was still humming when there was a rap on the door. She looked around to see Tik’ta there.
“Hey,” Aliana said. She was a bit wary. She knew that Tik’ta wasn’t exactly glad that Aliana had signed on.
“Hello,” Tik’ta said. She looked around the small room. “May I come in?”
Fitting two people in here was going to be awkward, but Aliana wanted to be polite—and she was curious. She stepped back a little. “Sure.”
Tik’ta came in and closed the door behind her. She seemed a bit nervous, and she clasped her hands and swayed a little before speaking. “I have been looking up the culture of your people so that I can explain the captain’s interest in the Shinigami.”
Aliana frowned and leaned against the back wall, bracing her foot and crossing her arms. She wasn’t aware that this was really a cultural thing—Zinqued certainly hadn’t mentioned it.
“I believe the proper way to describe this,” Tik’ta said, still awkwardly formal, “is that the Shinigami is the captain’s ‘white whale.’” She paused, seemingly to be waiting for something.
The phrase meant nothing to Aliana. “What’s a white whale?” she said finally. “Other than, you know…a white whale.” She scratched her head.
“It is a reference to something that is pursued obsessively,” Tik’ta explained. She sounded agitated now, as if she had hoped that Aliana would have had a different reaction. “I was given to understand that humans would understand this reference. It is in your dictionaries. A librarian at the archives told me—”
“I’m gonna stop you right there. Librarians are not exactly…” Aliana considered, “normal,” she finished. “They like to think that everyone should know everything.” She snorted in derision. “Me, I think if you’ve got something to say, you should just say it straight out, not try to talk about— What is a white whale, though?”