by Robyn Bachar
“So they know that you were there. Specifically you, since you decided to log in with a palm scanner.” The captain tsked at Jiang, who blushed. “Not the best situation, but it’d be worse if you were captured. Or killed. I’m ordering you not to get yourself killed.”
“Noted,” Jiang said.
Lindana paused outside the lift to the main engineering section. She placed her hands on her hips and regarded Jiang for a quiet moment. “No one here blames you for Erik’s death.”
Jiang swallowed hard, her throat tight with emotion. “I blame myself.”
“I’d order you not to, but that’s something you’re going to have to work out for yourself. I want you to understand that we don’t hold you responsible. Besides, on the scale of things that are out to kill us right now, you’re a minimal threat.”
“Status report?” Jiang cocked her head.
Lindana rubbed her face with a weary sigh. She’d trimmed her hair back to a proper military buzz cut, and she looked like a soldier at the end of a long campaign. “We’re getting nowhere fast. Sveta pulled an enormous amount of data from the Soviet network. It’s like trying to find a needle in a needlestack.”
Jiang’s brow furrowed. “Isn’t the phrase needle in a haystack?”
“Yeah, but everything we uncovered is sharp, pointy and likely to stab us in vulnerable places.” Lindana sighed. “If nothing else, we were able to pique some interest from other groups by offering them Soviet dirt. We weren’t sure what avenue to explore next when Ryder contacted us. The new data you’ve brought is probably the best lead we’ve had.”
“Did you order Ryder to go with me?”
“No. The two of you were halfway out of the system before I knew what was happening. There I was in the med bay, recuperating from being shot, and suddenly my pilot and chief of security have gone AWOL. Not conducive to a speedy recovery.” Lindana leveled a stern look at Jiang, and she winced.
“Sorry. Well, whatever the Soviets were up to with this project, the Party poured big money into it. And still is, considering how hard they went after Sveta. It’s going to continue to be slow going to find out what they’re up to.”
“Let’s hope that slow and steady wins the race.” Lindana stepped into the lift and Jiang followed. “We’ve recruited two more ships. We’re up to seven flight groups now, not counting Sveta and me.”
“Including Devin Connolly and his raiders?” Devin’s Raiders would bolster their numbers, because he commanded a small pirate fleet that included everything from patrol boats, a heavy gunship, and his own fighter squadron.
Lindana shook her head. “He’s still dodging us, but we’ll get him. Sooner or later he’ll remember why he became a spacer in the first place and he’ll fall in line.”
“We should get a lot of privateers that way,” Jiang said. Many of the Alliance privateers they had worked with were former military officers like Lindana, people who had fought for the Alliance during the war and came out disillusioned enough to need a measure of freedom from strict military protocol.
“Allah willing.”
Jiang quirked a brow at her captain. “Did you marry Gabriel yet?”
“With two members of the wedding party AWOL? No.”
“Ryder and I are in the wedding party?” she asked, surprised. Jiang considered the crew her family, but to be a part of Lindana’s wedding... She swallowed past the emotional lump in her throat as the lift doors opened.
“Obviously.” Lindana led the way into main engineering.
Jiang rarely ventured into the engineering section. Her domain was the cockpit, and this was Chief Watson’s territory. The chief was notorious for defending the area from any who threatened her kingdom’s balance, which mainly meant keeping Tomas Nyota out. Jiang had never been the target of Chief Watson’s ire before, and she intended to keep it that way.
The chief was perched at her data terminal, her bare feet tucked beneath her as she frowned down at the screen. Without looking up, she held out her hand. “Give.”
The corners of Jiang’s mouth twitched as she handed over the data stick. “You’re welcome.”
Maria plugged the stick into her terminal. “I’m not thanking you for this, because you and Kalani got your fool asses shot on this mission. Be more careful next time.”
“Agreed,” Lindana said.
Jiang folded her arms. “You got your fool ass shot on the mission before it, Captain.”
Lindana scowled and smoothed the front of her uniform jacket. “Don’t remind me. It still aches a bit.”
“Also, I’m not wearing a bridesmaid’s dress,” Maria said. “And definitely not a pastel one.”
“Fuchsia taffeta all the way.” Lindana grinned as she settled into a chair at one of the monitoring stations. The rest of the engine room rats—the crew of tech specialists who crawled the ship’s innards to conduct repairs—seemed to be busy elsewhere at the moment. Probably giving their unhappy queen some space.
Maria flipped Lindana off. “Keep that up and I’ll ban you from my engine room.”
Jiang chuckled. “I’m fairly certain that you can’t ban the captain from anywhere on the ship.”
Maria sat back and grinned. “You’re behind on the gossip. I own the engines now. They’re mine.”
“No, you put a down payment on the engines,” Lindana said.
“I own ten percent of the engines.”
Jiang was about to ask for specifics when Sveta appeared with a glass bottle filled with clear liquid. She thumped the bottle down next to Maria.
“I bring greetings from the Novosibirsk. You have cups, yes?” Sveta asked.
“Welcome to Watson’s Engine Room. Of course I have cups. What kind of place do you think I’m running?” Maria produced a set of metal mugs from a footlocker and passed them out. “I’m going to make a copy of this data for you, Sveta. Soviet codes are more your area of expertise.”
Until recently, Svetlana Grinkov, also known as Red Raiya, had been an infamous Soviet pirate. Rescuing Red Raiya was the mission that started the mess they were currently in. The rest of the galaxy thought Red Raiya and her crew were dead, but the truth was they had stumbled across a piece of a top secret Soviet weapon. The KGB considered that information worth killing for, and they destroyed Raiya’s ship and killed the rest of her crew.
“Spasibo, comrade.” Sveta filled Jiang’s mug. “Is safe. Brewed in the Novosibirsk’s engine room.”
“We’re trading our moonshine for their vodka,” Maria said. “Though I wouldn’t define either as safe to imbibe. Side effects may include blindness and poor life choices.”
“Good to know.” Jiang eyed the liquid warily. In theory, if the components had held the chemical triggers for her implant they could remain despite being distilled. She swirled the vodka and looked up at Sveta. “There’s a vid of a scientist in the data we found. I want you to run his image against the Soviet data we already have, and maybe run it by some of your contacts. See if we can get an ID on him. And he mentioned a few names worth looking into.”
“And an ID on you,” Sveta said. Startled, Jiang fumbled with her mug and nearly dropped it before Sveta continued. “Your palm print is in the system. Someone in KGB must know you. They begin training agents young. You could have years of missions behind you.”
Jiang’s stomach churned at that thought, and she tossed back her vodka in one gulp. The liquor burned and her eyes watered as Sveta refilled Jiang’s mug.
“Drink up, comrade. It will get darker before the dawn.”
* * *
It was damn strange to see his arm across the room, the tattooed skin peeled back like a banana as Tomas poked and prodded the mechanisms of the prosthetic. Ryder took another long pull on his bottle of whiskey as Tomas shook his head at the device.
“Well, the bad ne
ws is that the backup is fucked,” Tomas said. “The power source casing eroded, and the battery leaked and melted half the CPU. Probably cheaper to buy a new one than repair it.”
Ryder snorted. “No such thing as a cheap prosthetic limb. They literally cost an arm and a leg. What’s the good news?”
Tomas pushed away from his workstation. He shot a heavy glance at the whiskey before grabbing a bottle of water. When Tomas stopped drinking, Ryder had asked if it would be easier if others didn’t drink around him. Hell, Ryder would’ve given up drinking too if it helped Tomas—the man was like a brother to him, without the annoyances of suffering through childhood arguments and fistfights. But Tomas said no. He’d rather face the alcohol’s temptation than try to pretend it didn’t exist. Ryder respected the hell out of him for that.
“Good news is that your main prosthetic is salvageable,” Tomas said.
“Great. How long ’til it’s fixed?”
“Depends. Chief Watson needs to manufacture a few parts for it, and I’m not sure how our raw material supplies are holding up. We might have to barter for mats in the Zone’s market, and we’re running out of shit to barter.”
Ryder grimaced and took another long drink. He had been hoping for a quick repair, but this could take hours, maybe days. It would be the longest he had been without a prosthetic since he lost his arm. At least they had some downtime while the techs went over the data. He shouldn’t need to run into a firefight without his gun hand while they were in the Stryke Zone, though this put a damper on any bar fight plans.
And dinner plans. Shit. He was going to need more booze. “Anything else?”
“For you? No. I’d like to hear your opinion of how Jiang held up during your time away.”
Ryder shrugged. “Same as usual. She’s solid in a fight. Doesn’t crack under pressure.”
“No changes in mood? Strange behaviors?”
“Signs that she was under the influence of the implant? No.” Ryder leaned back and set the whiskey aside. In reflex he reached up to run his hands over his dreads and pull them back, but he flinched at the sight of his stump. His chest tightened as pins and needles sensations tingled up and down his other arm. Ryder closed his eyes, inhaled deep and exhaled slowly.
His main prosthetic functioned as well as the real thing, and it seamlessly bonded to his arm so well that it was impossible to tell where he ended and the machine began. It made it easy to forget how he’d got it—well, easier. The nightmares were less frequent, and the panic attacks had all but disappeared.
He took another calming breath and opened his eyes. This was a temporary setback. He would work through it.
“She’s stressed,” Ryder said. “She’s not sleeping well.”
“Oh, really?”
“Not like that.” Ryder scowled at Tomas, who chuckled in amusement. “Yeah, we were stuck in the shuttle together, but we slept in separate bunks. She’s a crewmate. You know I don’t chase members of the crew.”
“Unlike some people,” Tomas muttered. His frown deepened as he glanced past Ryder. “Speak of the devil.”
Lieutenant Gabriel Steele crossed the med bay, and Ryder knew he was going to need a hell of a lot more booze. Not that he didn’t like the guy—Steele made the captain happy, and he’d proved to be useful in a fight—but it seemed like the crew’s world had shattered the moment the new intel officer set foot on the Mombasa. Some breaks had healed, but others would never be the same again. Like Jiang.
Shit.
“What’d you do this time?” Tomas asked.
Steele tilted his head and quirked one finely drawn black eyebrow, and the expression reminded Ryder of Jiang. Maybe they learned it in spy school. There were several similarities between the two intel agents—lean builds, quick minds, easy on the eyes and possessed of a dignified air that was entertaining to crack.
“I’m fairly certain that I’m innocent of any recent wrongdoing,” Steele said.
“I bet the Cap would have something to say about that,” Ryder said.
Steele smirked. “Doubtless.”
“What’s on your mind, Lieutenant?” Ryder asked.
“I’d like to review the events that occurred since you left the Mombasa.”
“I’m not really in the mood for a debriefing,” Ryder said. “We uploaded our data from our camera feeds on Arzamas-16. It’s all yours.”
Steele nodded. “Yes, but I’d like to hear it in your own words. Any detail could be helpful in determining our next move.”
Damn. Ryder chugged the rest of his whiskey and handed the empty bottle to the intel officer. “Then I’m gonna need a refill.”
* * *
The target practice pistol had the weight of a real weapon and could simulate the kickback of several different firearms. It allowed the crew to hone their targeting skills without the worry of accidentally shooting holes into the ship or frying nearby systems with stray energy bolts.
Ryder raised the pistol and aimed at the bull’s-eye of the target at the other end of the armory. Usually he would decompress by cleaning his weapons, but that required two good hands. Drunk, frustrated and tired, he’d decided to work on his aim with his left hand.
The results were predictably terrible, but he wasn’t about to give up. Anything was better than attempting to sleep and being plagued by the nightmares he knew would follow the moment he closed his eyes. The oppressive heat of the city burning around them, the thick, black smoke clogging his lungs and blurring his vision, and the endless, deafening audio assault of booming artillery and the screams of the dying.
Ryder exhaled and fired, and the target marked a hit at the very edge of the outer ring. Shit. If that’d been an enemy he would’ve missed entirely.
“You’re dead, Kalani,” he muttered in disgust. His hand shook and his heart raced as he took aim again.
I screwed up. I should’ve taken the situation more seriously on New Hong Kong. I should’ve been alert for threats instead of making myself a target. I should have spoken up about the malfunctioning prosthetic before we left to recon the colony. I endangered the mission. I endangered my crew.
I endangered Jiang. I failed her. I could’ve gotten her killed.
“Hey.”
Ryder jumped and whirled toward the speaker. Jiang held her hands up in surrender.
“Stand down, Chief,” she said.
“Sorry.” Guilt flooded him as he set the practice pistol down and backed away from it. He had to be completely off his game to be startled that easily. “I got distracted.”
“You got sloppy,” she countered. “And your form is shit.”
Ryder frowned, instantly offended. “Is not.” He picked up his bottle and swigged. The first bottle had burned like fire going down, but now he barely noticed the liquor’s sting.
Jiang cocked her head. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Dunno. Couple. Why?”
The corners of her mouth twitched. “It would explain why your form sucks if you’re stinking drunk. And also how you lost your shirt.”
“Alcohol doesn’t affect my firing stance. I don’t get drunk. Intoxicated, yeah, but not drunk. And I didn’t lose my shirt. I left it in the med bay.”
“Of course you did.” Jiang crossed to the pistol, picked it up and handed it to him. “Here.”
Ryder peered down at her, confused, but then took aim at the bull’s-eye.
Jiang adjusted his shoulders, and for a moment the room seemed to tilt. He tried to explain it away as too much whiskey, but it wasn’t liquor that sent blood rushing to his groin at the touch of her hands.
“Your feet are off, too,” she said. “You’re bracing like you’re shooting with your right.”
Ryder grunted in reply and moved his feet as ordered. He forced himself to focus on the middle of
the target and not the faint scent of jasmine or the warmth of her body beside his.
“Try it now.”
Ryder pulled the trigger, and the shot showed up just outside the second ring. Not a bull’s-eye, but definite improvement.
“Damn. Thanks.” Ryder looked down at her and his pulse leaped.
“You promised me dinner, dancing and a vid,” she said.
“Yeah, but...”
“But?” she prompted.
But the things he wanted to do required two hands—eating dinner, holding her close as they slow danced, ignoring the vid as they created their own dramatic climaxes. He hated being seen by anyone like this, but being seen by a potential lover...
Ryder straightened and cleared his throat. “They haven’t repaired my prosthetic yet. Can’t execute a proper hold with only one arm.”
“I’m sure you only need one good arm to hold me.” Her eyes widened—Jiang had deep brown eyes and long dark lashes that Ryder found sexy as hell—and she blushed. “That’s not what I meant.”
“You sure about that?” As though in challenge, he returned the pistol to the weapons cabinet. He held his good hand out to her in invitation, certain that he looked ridiculous, but instead of laughing, Jiang lifted her chin a defiant degree as she stepped into him. She placed one hand at his waist per the proper hold, but unable to take his missing hand, she instead placed her palm against his chest, above his heart.
“What does your ink mean?” Jiang traced the outline of several of the small, black triangles that covered his body in neat rows like chainmail links, and Ryder swallowed the hungry growl that formed deep in his chest. Even the lightest touch from Jiang stirred his blood.
“It’s binary code,” he said. “The triangles that point up are ones, and the triangles that point down are zeroes.”
“My binary’s a little rusty.”
“It’s a little old school, but that gives it charm. Makes it unique. It tells my story. Things I accomplished, important events. Family history.”
“Why tattoo yourself with information you already know?”
“In case I fell.” Ryder cleared his throat and struggled to focus on the explanation and ignore the effect her inquisitive fingers had on his body. “You die in battle in enemy territory and you’re lucky if they bother to ID your body. Too expensive to ship you home, so they make a note of your name so someone can notify your family. Maybe they take the time to bury you in a mass grave, but most likely they leave you where you fell. Cheapest solution. You and all your buddies, left to rot on some foreign battlefield because the government decided it didn’t want to foot the bill to box you up for a proper burial back on Earth.”