by R. M. Olson
He glowered at her for a moment, the hatred emanating from him thick enough she could almost reach out and touch it.
“Fine,” he snapped. “I’ll watch tonight. And I’ll watch you every damn night, until I can prove what you’re doing. And then—” he broke off, with a small, unpleasant smile. “Well. Grigory needs me, but he doesn’t actually need a pilot.”
She leaned back in her chair. The adrenalin pounding through her brain was as good as alcohol, and her whole body was light with it. “Guess we’d better get started, then.”
She held out her com to the gambling chip in the centre of the table and let the credits click over. The woman she was playing against did the same. Then Fyodor pulled out a bag of gambling tokens and dumped them on the table, spreading them out between them and turning them over, one by one.
“There. You can see these are regular tokens. I brought them myself, in case you fixed the tokens at the table.”
She put on a slightly-offended look.
As if she was that much of an amateur.
“Jez,” he said, still watching her with narrowed eyes. “Here’s the thing. I respect Grigory. The people who work for me, they respect me. And when they respect me, I take care of them. I make sure they don’t have problems. I make their lives run just a little easier. And when I need a favour from them? Well, what’s a favour between friends?” He gave a small shrug. “You’re a smart kid, Jez. I want to help you, I really do. But the way you’re behaving, I can’t. Think about that, alright?”
Jez kept her most innocent smile on her face. “Yep. I see what you’re saying.” She paused a moment, waiting for the first hint of satisfaction on his face, before she drawled, “And if I ever feel like being respectful, you bastard, you’ll be the first one I tell about it.”
His expression hardened abruptly. “I think—”
“Hey,” she said, spreading her hands. “We playing, or not?”
His eyebrows lowered, but slowly, he flipped the tokens over and spread them, then drew. She took a long, satisfied breath and drew as well, her fingers tingling with adrenalin.
The token she’d palmed was smooth against her hand.
And he hadn’t even noticed.
She played three rounds with each of them before the evening was over. She could feel their eyes on her as she scooped up the betting chip. She shot them all a toothy grin.
“Look, better luck next time, OK? I played as slow as I could, figured you’d catch on.”
No one said anything, but there was flat death in their stares. She gave them a wink, pocketed the chip, and strolled out of the gambling hall. When she glanced over her shoulder, they were still staring at her.
But she was pretty damn sure they weren’t going to kill her now, not until they figured out how she was cheating them. And— She patted the chip in her pocket, a warm satisfaction flowing over her.
And she could probably cheat them out of a hell of a lot more credits before they caught on, honestly.
Really, distracting these idiots for Tae and Ivan looked to be maybe the most enjoyable job she’d had in a very long time.
CHAPTER TEN
TAE CROUCHED BEHIND a low partition in the small dining hall. It was dark now, the lights extinguished, the busy room empty.
Except for himself and Ivan, of course.
Ivan leaned over to him. “Only time of day when no one’s in here. Between 600 standard and about 1200 standard. And since 1100 standard happens to be when the gambling hall opens, with Jez wreaking havoc at the tables, I assume most of the boyeviki’s attention will be focused there.”
Tae shot him a quick grin, then stood carefully, glancing around the room.
“There. The register,” whispered Ivan.
The register stood behind the bar across the room, a long expanse of open space between them and it. And even though he’d spoofed the cameras, and even though there was no one in the room, it was clearly visible from the outside hallway.
Cautiously he crept out from behind the partition and edged his way along the wall, keeping in the shadows. He could hear Ivan’s soft footsteps behind him.
There were other footsteps, quick and sharp, from outside in the corridor, and he froze, hardly daring to breathe.
They passed, and he moved again, as quickly as possible without making noise.
More footsteps. He froze again.
Again they passed, and again he let out a breath. They were so close to the bar, and if they could just get behind it—
He glanced around again, and made a quick dash across the last of the open space, ducking down behind the bar. A moment later, Ivan joined him.
“We’ll have to hurry,” Ivan said. His face was tense. “I just got a notice on my com. Sounds like they’re opening early today.” He turned towards the bar and started pulling open drawers. Tae did the same.
There was nothing in the first drawer he checked, and an old, dusty bottle of alcohol that looked like it probably cost more than a standard long-haul ship in the second. Then—
“Found something,” he whispered, scooping up the handful of chips. He dumped then into a pile on the floor, then started feeding them one at a time into his com. “What are we looking for?”
Ivan glanced over his shoulder. He’d found a pile of chips as well, and had them cupped carefully in his hand.
“There would be four columns, all numbers,” he said. “Not sure what it would say at the top.” His voice was tight with strain.
Tae gave a short nod. The chip he was holding looked to be a list of staff and their work times. Not bad information to have, at any rate, and he set his com to copy it, then pulled it out and tried another.
“Anything you find that might be useful, copy it,” he whispered. “I set up a spoof file on your com—as long as you save it there, they’ll have a hard time finding it even if they check you.”
Ivan shot him a quick, tense grin.
Tae shoved four chips into his com in rapid succession. None of them were what he wanted—lists of supplies, a register for how much alcohol the ship had purchased in the last twenty days, a ledger for the day’s purchases, a payroll. He copied all of them, because you never knew what would come in handy, and he certainly couldn’t memorize everything at a glance like Lev could.
The thought of Lev made worry once again twist in his stomach, but this was not the time to worry about the mental and emotional wellbeing of his friend, considering one slip-up would end with both he and Ivan dead.
“Got it,” Ivan whispered in satisfaction. He tapped his com quickly to copy the file. “I’ll send it to your com as soon as we’re—”
He froze suddenly, and Tae followed his lead.
The footsteps that had come down the hallway, that he’d heard from the corner of his brain and ignored, had turned into the room now.
He exchanged glances with Ivan. As silently as possible, he scooped up the handful of chips he’d spread out on the floor. Carefully, barely daring to breathe, he pulled open the drawer and carefully, he lowered the chips inside.
Ivan pulled the chip he’d been copying free of his com and started to do the same.
The footsteps were coming closer. They weren’t running, and from the slow, steady tread of them, whoever it was hadn’t noticed anything wrong. So that, at least, was a relief. But—
The lights in the dark room flooded on, and he and Ivan were suddenly completely illuminated.
They stared at each other, panic on both their faces.
The footsteps resumed their pace towards the bar, and Ivan managed a wry grimace, but Tae could see the fear behind his eyes.
Tae brought up his com, biting his lip, and tapped something in. The holoscreen popped up, and he began typing rapidly.
He’d gotten into the system to spoof the cameras, and he didn’t really have time for anything else, but maybe, since he was far enough in already—The footsteps were almost there, and he could almost feel Ivan’s tension—There!
; The lights in the back corner of the room flickered off.
The footsteps slowed.
“What the hell?” a woman’s voice muttered, and the footsteps paused a moment, then started off in the direction of the extinguished lights.
Ivan grabbed his arm and gestured with his head for Tae to follow. Tae nodded, and they crept out from behind the bar, inching their way around the tables towards the exit.
In the back, a short woman dressed in a server’s uniform had pulled a chair around and was standing on it under the lights, peering up at them.
Maybe—
He tripped, and his foot bumped one of the chairs. It wasn’t a loud noise, but it was enough that the woman turned, just as Ivan pulled him down behind the table. She was frowning, and her eyes scanned the room, and it would be only seconds—Tae pulled up his holoscreen and typed something frantically, and behind her, the extinguished light flickered a couple times.
She turned again to glare at it, and Ivan pulled him to his feet, and they sprinted the last few metres out the door and down the hallway, collapsing against the wall when they were out of sight. Tae hit his com and re-started the light he’d been fiddling with, and then he sank back against the wall in relief, closing his eyes for a moment.
When he opened them, Ivan was grinning at him, and he felt his heart rate slowing at last. “Not bad, Tae,” Ivan said. “You’d think you’d done something like this before.”
Tae gave him a reluctant grin in return. “Or maybe just my entire life on the streets trying to get past police.”
Ivan was watching him curiously. “I—didn’t realize you’d grown up on the streets.”
Tae shrugged.
The odd thing was, months ago he would have instantly felt defensive, certain that anyone who wasn’t a street kid would use that information to find a way to either hurt him or turn him in.
But for some reason, it wasn’t something he particularly worried about anymore. At least not here. There was something about the mild, good-humoured expression on Ivan’s face when he wasn’t thinking about anything, the intelligence mixed with kindness in his eyes, and—well, and he was a good man. Tae knew him well enough to know that.
“Well,” said Ivan at last. “I’m glad you survived it. Not many do, I’ve heard.”
Tae nodded again, suddenly sober.
It was true. And actually, the more he thought about it, the more he realized how sickeningly lucky he was that his kids had survived him being gone, because to have someone live to his age on the streets, to Caz and Peti’s ages, was something that was growing increasingly uncommon.
And there were so many street kids. So many dead every winter season, so many fewer on the streets when the weather finally, grudgingly warmed.
The thought had always made him sick. But now, in the middle of the opulence of the mafia ship, he had to choke back the bile in his throat.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, without meeting Ivan’s eyes. “I was lucky, I guess.”
Ivan raised an eyebrow. “I have a feeling it was a lot more than luck, Tae. You forget, I’ve worked beside you before.” He paused a moment. “Lev, last night. He said—” he hesitated a moment. “He said your friends were—safe?”
Tae nodded, and Ivan smiled slightly in relief. “I’m glad.”
“So am I.”
They smiled at each other for a moment, then Ivan pushed himself to his feet. “Well, we should probably—”
“Tae Bezdomnikov.”
Tae started, and spun around.
Behind him stood a tall woman, dressed in the uniform of the mafia boyeviki.
She had a slight smile on her face, and she was looking down at both of them.
Tae scrambled to his feet. His heart was racing, and his hands shook slightly.
“What are you doing here?” she asked quietly, but there was menace under her tone. Tae opened his mouth to reply, even though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to say, and then from behind him he heard Ivan’s voice.
“I’m sorry, Anfisa,” he said, in that calm, mild tone of his. “I’m afraid it was my fault.”
Tae half-turned in horror. He might be safe, somehow, considering that Grigory still wanted to stay on Masha’s good side, but Ivan—
Ivan had gotten to his feet, and was looking down, slightly shame-faced. “I—we met the other day, when I was coming off my shift. I—he was—I’m sorry, but I’ve always been a sucker for wavy hair, and—” he smiled sheepishly. “I asked him to meet me here when I was off work.”
Anfisa looked at Ivan, her eyes narrowed. “I understood servers were not to flirt with patrons, Ivan Ivanovich.”
Tae glanced at Ivan and cleared his throat. “Don’t worry. There’s no need to protect me,” he said quietly. He turned to Anfisa, and gave her a small smile. “It wasn’t him. I was the one who asked. I’m sorry if that wasn’t permitted.”
Anfisa turned to him thoughtfully. “Well,” she said at last, “I suppose even in deep space love will find a way.” There was an ironic tone to her voice that would have probably been offensive if he hadn’t been so deeply relieved. “Well, Tae Bezdominkov. I was wondering if you’d come with me for a moment. If you two can bear to be apart for that long.”
Tae shot Ivan a wry glance, and almost smiled at the sparkle of amusement in the man’s face.
“I think we can manage,” said Tae dryly. “Ivan, I’ll see you another time. Time you got your rest anyways.”
Ivan nodded, leaned forward, and gave Tae a kiss on the cheek, his short beard brushing Tae’s skin. “I’ll call you tonight,” he whispered, then turned and walked off, and for a moment Tae was too shocked to respond. At last, he shook his head and glanced up. Anfisa was still watching him, her eyebrows raised.
He sighed to himself. First Dmitri in the university, and now this. Apparently, even though he might possibly be the only person on the entire Ungovernable crew who had never actually slept with anyone in his entire life—never even kissed anyone until a few weeks ago, although the thought of that still made an empty place ache in his chest—he was destined to be the one with the damn reputation.
“Alright,” he said, bracing himself against the amusement in the woman’s face. “I’ll come. What do you need?”
He might as well get used to it at this point, honestly.
She led him down the narrow hallway and into one of the main corridors. “Masha told us that you’d all agreed to help,” she said as they walked. “She mentioned that you didn’t have the kind of skills we needed. But I was hoping that she was wrong.”
He frowned, his stomach tightening.
Admittedly, Masha couldn’t very well have told them that he’d rather walk out the damn airlock than work for the mafia without risking all their lives—but the fact was, it was the truth. Still, better to find out what they wanted.
He recognized the next hallway they turned down, and his stomach clenched tighter.
At the end of the hallway was a door with unmistakable gold trim.
Just before it, they turned aside to another door set into the wall, and Tae wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or terrified. His guide tapped on the door, muttering something into her com, and a moment later pushed it open, gesturing Tae inside.
Slowly, his heart beating so fast that he was certain it would be audible, Tae stepped past her into the room.
Even after almost a week on the ship, the sheer opulence of the place still had the power to shock him.
Zhenya was sitting behind a large desk. They—he was pretty sure Zhenya used “they” pronouns—smiled as Tae stepped into the office, and he breathed in, fighting back the panic, and looked them over more carefully.
They were not much taller than he was. They had shoulder-length hair pulled back into a rats tail, similar to Masha’s, and lazy, dark eyes. They were slender, probably middle aged—there were lines on their face, and a strand or two of grey in their dark hair—but there was a wiry strength behind their slender build
. There was just the dusting of a beard along their jawline, accentuating the lines of their face, and their posture was that of a predator, all lazy confidence and repressed energy.
“Tae Bezdnomikov, Pakhan,” said Anfisa, inclining her head respectfully. Zhenya nodded.
“Thank you, Anfisa,” they said, and gestured Tae to a seat in front of the desk.
He sat warily.
There were body guards, of course, in the corners of the room, but they were making themselves inconspicuous, which was probably a good thing at this point. He managed to bump his com against his thigh as he sat—not much, but it should at least send his coordinates to the others if he disappeared and was never heard from again.
Anfisa left, closing the door behind her, and for a long, long moment, Zhenya studied him. At last they gave a small, predatory smile.
“Tae. I’ve been meaning to talk to you for some time.” Their voice was light, without the hint of Grigory’s outer-rim accent—they sounded like someone born and raised in Prasvishoni.
“Yes?” said Tae warily. “I’m not sure if Masha told you, but I don’t—”
They raised their hand, and gave a slight, amused shake of their head. “I’ve heard what Masha’s told me. I haven’t got to where I am, though, by relying on what other people tell me.” They leaned forward across their desk and studied Tae closely.
“So, Tae,” they said at last. “I hear you’re a hacker. A techy.”
He clenched his teeth. “I thought Masha would have told you—”
Zhenya shook their head, a small smile on their face. “As I said, Tae, I don’t rely solely on what people tell me. I’ve looked into your background. I’ve looked into all your backgrounds, believe me. Grigory is a smart man, but he doesn’t have time to check everything. That’s my job. And I’m very, very good at it.” They paused a moment. “You’re a hacker and a techy. But not just that, are you?”
“I’m—not sure what you mean,” Tae mumbled.
Was this about Vadym Dulik? About his prison sentence? Or—