She pushed a button on her headset and turned to face Asala and Niko.
“Thank you, Ifa—go ahead and take off for the day, okay? Niko, it’s wonderful to meet you in person.” She smiled in a way that didn’t quite make it up to her tired eyes.
“You too,” Niko said. “Did you get my message from a few weeks ago, that I’d be coming out this way?”
“I did.” Soraya folded her hands over each other and gave Niko the polite type of attention that screamed politics to Asala. “You probably didn’t see my reply; the networks can be so spotty out here. We truly appreciate all the contributions you’ve made on behalf of Camp Ghala and how you’ve advocated some of our most pressing issues straight to your father. I can’t tell you how much it means to have someone on our side with the ear of the president of Khayyam.”
“Not enough,” Niko said ruefully. “But, Soraya—that’s not why we’re here, unfortunately.”
“We think Camp Ghala may be under an immediate threat,” Asala said.
Soraya blinked up at her several times in rapid succession. “Oh, I thought—why?”
An alarm bell rang in the back of Asala’s head at her response. Something . . . she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She waited just long enough for the silence to become uncomfortable, then said, “I assume we have your complete discretion?”
“Soraya, this is Asala. She’s my partner on this,” Niko put in, over Soraya’s rapid nods. “We’re on a mission for my father . . .”
They glanced up at Asala before saying more, as if asking how much to reveal. Good.
“We’re looking for the Vela,” Asala said. She studied Soraya carefully, gauging her reaction. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it. The last survivors of Eratos. It was supposed to be headed for Khayyam, but we tracked it here instead.”
“Oh,” Soraya said.
“It was sabotaged,” Asala said flatly. “By terrorists. We think those same terrorists may mean harm here on Camp Ghala.”
Soraya’s eyes widened—just a touch too wide, just a hair too late. “Oh,” she said again. “I doubt that. People here are only trying to survive. Refugees aren’t violent people.”
“Some of them are,” Asala said.
Color rose in Soraya’s cheeks. “Look, every bin has got its bad buds, but it sounds to me like you’re jumping to conclusions. Everyone wants to think migrants are the problem. Well, you know what? They’re mostly just people. Nobody calls the Gandesian government ‘terrorists,’ and they kill more people by—”
“Hey, Soraya, hey, I’m with you,” Niko jumped in. “Asala’s a government agent; she’s trained to think that way. But all we want to do is find the Eratosi refugees and give them safe passage to Khayyam. I swear. Can you help us check if any ship matching the Vela’s description has docked at Camp Ghala?”
“No,” Soraya said. Too quickly—Asala was sure of it now. “I mean no, no ship out of Eratos has docked here. I can tell you that without even checking.” She paused for a beat. “Sorry for getting short there. It’s been a . . . a day. And I’m sorry not to be of more help.”
“Well then, can you tell us—” Niko started, but Soraya’s headset beeped, and she looked down at the readout with a frown.
“Excuse me, I have to take this. Do you mind stepping outside for just one minute? I’m so sorry.”
She ushered Asala and Niko out through the doorway, not impolitely, and pulled an accordion partition closed.
“She’s right, you know, about refugees,” Niko said. “How do we know it was terrorists? All we have is the word of one guy in prison who only gave his side of the story; we don’t know what really happened—”
“She’s lying,” Asala interrupted.
“She—what?”
“Soraya knows something about the Vela. She’s lying to us. We need to get into her records. Can you hack them?”
“Not without—yes, but it’s going to have to be less ‘hack’ and more ‘get access.’ But that seems—why don’t we just ask her? Soraya’s one of the good guys; without her this place would break apart in space—”
That thought wasn’t discomfiting at all. “And how desperate for resources is she? What kinds of trades does she have to make, Niko? What kind of sacrifices? Think about it.”
Niko hesitated. “But Soraya would want to save the people on the Vela, same as us. She wouldn’t be working with terrorists.”
“Maybe not side by side, but maybe she bargained with them by agreeing to look the other way on something. If a few people get hurt or killed, but if it’s what she needs to keep this place from ‘breaking apart into space,’ as you so eloquently put it—what then? Who knows what factions are in play here? Maybe someone’s willing to kill off Eratosi refugees in favor of Hypatian ones.”
Niko pressed their lips together.
Asala knew she’d almost made her point, but suddenly she was too tired and achy to press it. Did no one else feel the danger of an impending terrorist attack? Was Asala on some fucking opposite world where that didn’t rate as a significant threat? “Fine. You don’t want to complete our mission? The one you begged me to take because it was so damn important? Forget it. I’ll break back in on my own later.”
“No. No. You’re right. I’ll—I just—” Niko’s face wrenched. “Everyone here, and Soraya, and—they’re not our enemies. Or they shouldn’t be . . .”
The accordion panel slid back again. “Sorry about that,” said Soraya. “Now, is there anything else I can help you with? If you’re still looking for the Vela, I can get one of my assistants to hook you up with temporary ID chips and then transport off Camp Ghala—you need strict documentation to do anything official here. But if you let me know where you want to head off to, I can make sure you get on your way.”
Not so fast, Asala thought, but before she could say anything, Niko swooped in.
“There is one thing. Um, it’s personal, but . . . we think Asala’s sister came through here. She might have arrived during the last window seventeen years ago.”
What? Asala opened her mouth to stop them and then realized what Niko was doing and shut it so hard her teeth clacked in her ears. But how dare they use that to get access—how dare—
Niko prattled on, asking Soraya’s permission to dock their handheld at her charging station. They brought up a picture of Dayo. Asala’s hands curled, and she tried to keep her rage from burning off the skin of her face.
“I’ve tried helping Asala track her down, but working remotely I could only find traces. Is there any way you could look through the camp’s resident records for us? Or give us a chance to look; I know how busy you must be. We’re just trying to figure out where she went next.”
Soraya stared down at the picture for a moment as if not truly seeing it. “Asala. Niko said you’re a—government agent of some kind?”
Ah. Here came the quid pro quo. Soraya’s loyalties might be one big question mark, but even if she wasn’t on the saboteurs’ side herself, Asala had been dead-on about how she operated.
Soraya squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “I have a situation here. Thousands of people are going to die if I don’t get the new barracks section up and running. The part that’s really screwed up is, we managed to get it built—we had to shove it through and make a damn hell of a lot of compromises, but we got enough space for at least the first wave of migrants who are docking now.”
Asala heard what she wasn’t saying—probably bribes, greased permitting, favors for every minor government official. See, Niko? This is the way the galaxy works.
Soraya gusted out a frustrated sigh. “But Gan-De . . . The politics here are a sinkhole. Gan-De has once again refused to permit expansion to the surface, and they also technically have jurisdiction over the camp. They very reluctantly permitted the barracks expansion, but long story short, politics ground to a halt, and meanwhile, the life support kitting got stuck in a warehouse section, and while I was trying to beat the local bureaucrats around the head, all
the kitting got stolen right out from under us. Oxygen conversion racks, CO2 scrubbers, everything.”
“And you want us to track it down for you?” Niko said.
“Oh. No.” Soraya gave a hollow laugh. “I know who took it all. I suspected, and I just got it confirmed. But I’ve got—the Gandesian troops here are, let’s say, not people I can ask for help getting it back, especially as Gan-De is now officially blocking expansion into the barracks we’ve already built. But if I only have the supplies, I can smash through that needle. Er. Easier to ask forgiveness than get a politician to say yes, right? If they shut down barracks that already have people living in them, it’ll be a bloody PR disaster—much messier than telling those same people they can’t come in and killing them that way. If I can get the supplies back, I will make the rest work.”
She’d finished the speech talking through clenched teeth, her hands in fists at her sides, and despite herself, for a brief moment Asala felt a kinship with this woman. As much as she was sure Soraya was doing her damnedest to cover up clues to a terrorist plot.
“Who stole it all from you?” Niko asked.
“Smugglers,” Soraya said, without missing a beat. “CO2 scrubbers will fetch a pretty price on the black market. Look, you’re my only possible shot here. My people don’t have the skills for this. But I’ll tell you where all the supplies are, and if you can get them back for me, I’ll give you access to those records for as long as you want.” Her eyes softened. “I hope you find your sister, Agent Asala.”
• • •
Ifa sat on a cargo crate, swinging his feet so his new boots thumped gently against it. Soraya had gotten them for him. He liked the way they bumped around on his feet, tough-looking and powerful.
“Kid, what the f—what are you doing here?”
It was the tall woman—Asala, with her partner Niko. Ifa had already decided he liked Niko better.
He hopped off the cargo crate. “Finally. Soraya said you’d need a transport crew once you get us our supplies back. I’m your lee-ay-zon. We’ll be waiting to scramble as soon as you give me the word.” He picked up a headset and waggled it at them. “We’ll be ready to run in and rack everything up to take it to the new barracks. Soraya’s swinging in contractors on the sly so we’ll have this done before boo.”
“Are they all twelve years old too?” Asala was checking all the settings on a rifle that she definitely hadn’t come onto the station with earlier.
“I’m fourteen,” Ifa said, affronted. “And that’s in our years.” He glanced at Niko. “Which means I’m even older on your planet. And Soraya knows she can trust all of us.”
“At least tell me you didn’t bring the baby sister,” Asala said.
Ifa’s fingernails dug into his palms, and his toes curled in his new boots.
“I can get Yer some medicine,” the man had whispered, so soft and wonderful. “We’ll get her well, how about that?”
Ifa’s eyes had blurred—here was someone, someone kind, someone who would help them when everything else was wrong and no one else gave a damn. He’d get Yer better and her skin would stop burning Ifa in the night and her face would stop swelling up until he didn’t know her anymore and until the tears leaked out and she begged her big brother to make it all stop.
The last thing his last auntie had said to him before she was gone was to take care of his little sister. He hadn’t needed to hear it. They were children of Ghala, and children of Ghala protected their families.
“You’re a good boy,” the man said, soothingly. “A good brother.” His hand slipped down and settled on Ifa’s thigh.
Ifa froze.
Afterward, the only coherent thought he would remember having was that he couldn’t make any noise, because he’d wake Yer up.
“No,” he said to Asala. “I didn’t bring my sister. She’s at home. Safe.”
Asala’s eyes flicked up and down, and her hands paused on the rifle. “Okay,” she said, but the scorn had slipped away. “How many people do you have?”
And that was how Ifa ended up crouched in the dark, heart racing, knowing he shouldn’t try to watch but peering around the corner anyway. He’d never seen anyone like Asala. The only people with weapons in his reality were the Gandesian guards with their guns and their shifting eyes, or the rioters when they grasped for chains or knives or lengths of rusted pipe. Soraya had warned him about Hafiz, too, Hafiz and their scary, shadowy Order of Boreas, but Ifa had never met any of them. Soraya had warned him anyway—“Don’t believe anyone who promises you something too good to be true.”
Like he needed to be told that. Sometimes he thought Soraya was telling it to herself as much as him.
But Asala—she moved like—like one of those heroes they got on the story captures, when they were able to download any to the camp. Ifa loved hero stories, but he’d never thought they could happen in real life. Until he watched, mesmerized, as Asala flowed through the shadows with her borrowed rifle (and since when did Soraya have rifles, Ifa thought to wonder), flashes lighting up the dark, silhouettes shouting and falling and running at Asala and always missing her. Niko was a less-graceful shape popping up and down at her heels, but together they rented through the human guards like the troops were rotted metal.
In the abrupt stillness, a white rectangle of a handheld screen lit up the dark.
Ifa knew he wasn’t supposed to come up to them yet, not until they signaled, but he couldn’t help it. He crept closer, fascinated.
“How long?” Asala was saying.
“One minute. Maybe two,” came Niko’s voice. “The lock isn’t that sophisticated.”
“Any chance one of them contacted someone before we got through?”
“No, it looks like the jamming field held, and Soraya’s codes worked to knock out the surveillance. But she was right; there wasn’t much surveillance on this area to begin with.”
“I wondered,” Asala said shortly.
“What do you mean?” asked Niko.
“These weren’t smugglers.”
“They weren’t—wait, what? But Soraya said—”
“Yes,” Asala answered. “She did.”
Ifa tried to puzzle through that, but before he could, Asala started talking again.
“I think we’ve found out who our terrorists are trying to hook up with here. Something’s about to blow, on either Camp Ghala or Gan-De.” She paused for a beat. “We’re going to stop this, whatever it is. Don’t trust Soraya.”
Don’t trust Soraya . . . ? Ifa felt a sudden flush of anger.
The bright handheld beeped.
“Got it,” Niko said, and they sounded relieved. “We’re in.”
Ifa slunk back into the shadows. Thirty seconds later, the all clear came, and Ifa didn’t have time to think, as he and everyone else furiously ratcheted the machinery that would be saving their lives onto magnetic pallets and then hauled them away into the night.
But the words kept echoing in Ifa’s head. Don’t trust Soraya.
Ifa had known Soraya for a lot longer than he’d known either Asala or Niko, and Soraya took care of her people. Took care of the camp. And didn’t take anything in return.
If Asala and Niko were working against Soraya, he had to warn her.
• • •
“Hurry up,” hissed Asala, peeking out past the curtain. They were crammed into Soraya’s work alcove with their promised computer access. Ifa and the rest of Soraya’s people had immediately taken over the vital supplies for installation, leaving Asala and Niko to find their way back. Soraya herself paced in the outer room, on her headset again.
“I’m hurrying,” Niko whispered in reply. “Just so you know, I don’t see anything on your sister just doing a standard search—”
Asala glared daggers at them.
“All right! All right. It was quick to check, is all. We only have access to the resident records; it’ll take me a minute to get into anything else from here.”
“But you can, right?”
“Yeah.” Niko talked as they worked, half on their now-recharged handheld and half on the interface screen. “Soraya’s access codes get us past the primary lockout, so now all I need to do is backtrack logins until I find someone who’s used the same passcode for both sections.”
“People are that careless?”
“You’d be surprised. Okay, I’m into the docking records. Looking for anything that’s a match for the Vela.”
Asala’s hands twitched. Soraya had taken back the weapons she had loaned them, politely but very firmly turning down Asala’s request to keep them, and Asala hadn’t felt able to press. Not when they were about to hack into Soraya’s records while she paced only a few meters away . . .
“Nothing,” Niko whispered.
“Are you sure—”
“I’m sure. Maybe she wasn’t lying.”
Asala rolled her lips between her teeth. Something else . . . there had to be something. She thought back to the specs on the Vela Ekrem had given her. The ship had struck her as odd, the shell of an old freighter with pieces tacked on to it in a way Asala had never seen before. She hadn’t been able to guess at the function of them. But if someone stripped them . . . and made it look just like a generic old freighter . . . the saboteurs or—
Wait.
“The people,” she said. People were unique, and from what they’d seen, Camp Ghala was an absolute morass of bureaucracy. “Search for the people instead. You have the Vela manifest, right?”
“Sure, I have it—oh. Oh.” Niko’s voice sounded funny. “Oh dear.”
“What?”
The Vela: The Complete Season 1 Page 14