by Kelly Gay
Rion crossed the hold and headed for the steps. Cade was sitting one story up on the catwalk, performing maintenance on the track system. He stopped working as Rion looked up at him. “Meeting in the mess in fifteen,” she told him. He gave her a curt nod and then returned to the job at hand.
That was Cade, all business. He was steady, reliable, and got the job done—the kind of man who didn’t say much, but when he did, you tended to listen. A former marine, he brought order and efficiency to their small crew and was often the voice of reason when Rion wanted to run full tilt and push their operation to the limits.
Fifteen minutes later, the crew was seated around the mess table and Rion laid it all out for them. They might piss and moan about the lack of R&R, but in the end they were like her—no one could resist a score.
“The ship we’re after is huge,” Rion said. “I’m guessing old freighter, possibly military. We won’t know until we get there, but if this thing hasn’t been picked over yet . . .”
“Money in the bank,” young Niko said with a cocky grin, linking his slim fingers behind his head and leaning back in his chair. “Can’t beat that.”
Kip glanced at him with a confused frown. “Unless it’s military.” He looked up at Rion. “Right? I mean, the UNSC’s Salvage Directive states tha—”
“Yeah, we’re all familiar,” Lessa interrupted, rolling her eyes. “Report your find, claim your reward, and let their military salvage crew take over. Blah, blah, blah. The comical part is they think that way out here, we actually give a damn. Where was the UNSC when we needed them? They show up when it’s convenient for them and expect us to tremble at the might of Earth’s grand military.” She snorted and eased back down in her seat. “Not happening.”
“This is the Outer Colonies, Kip,” Niko added. “You know as well as the rest of us that they can’t and don’t control everything. Hell, they have a hard enough time keeping control of what’s left of the colonies these days. They should be glad we’re out there recovering their goods.”
Cade was leaning back in his chair, arms folded over his chest, observing the conversation in his usual stoic manner. He didn’t have the same outward disgust as Lessa and Niko, but he had his own set of conflicts when it came to the military and the war. He’d been honorably discharged from the Marines, but his return to civilian life hadn’t gone so well. There hadn’t been a home or a family to return to, only glass. Kilometers and kilometers of glass . . .
Rion met his somber gaze. Once, they were like Lessa and Niko, but somewhere along the way, they’d moved beyond passionate debates on wars and politics and put their energy and loyalty into the only thing they could count on: themselves.
“The UNSC leaves most salvagers alone,” Rion told Kip, taking control of the conversation. “We’re not smugglers. We hunt tech, metals, and small arms, whether that be UNSC, Covenant, or civilian.” She’d had this conversation with Kip when she hired him, but maybe she hadn’t been completely clear in this regard. “We don’t bring large arms and WMDs to market. Any military group is more than welcome to come to the clearinghouse and buy back their wreckage. I know for a fact the UNSC keeps a buyer shacked up in New Tyne just for that purpose. Probably cheaper for them to buy at auction than to pay the costs of their own salvagers and scouts. . . . The point is, we get our fee either way. And if we find that wreck is military and there’s a datacore or nuke on board, you better believe I’ll report it.”
“It’s a good job, Kip,” Cade told him. “Stop worrying. Cap is fair and we make a decent living, better than most out here.”
“I did my research on her,” Kip replied. “Wouldn’t be here otherwise.” He shifted in his chair to study Rion, his lips twitching into a smile. “Good reputation. Eighty-five percent success rate. Best salvage ship out there . . . Not bad for a thirty-two-year-old military brat from Earth.”
“Suck-up,” Niko coughed into his hand.
She’d hardly considered herself a military brat, but Rion didn’t bother enlightening him. Instead, she shrugged it off. “You trying to butter me up, rookie? Because flattery gets you extra rations.” She couldn’t fault him for looking her up; she’d done the same to him, though more extensively than he’d ever know.
“So what’s our destination?” Cade asked.
“Ectanus 45.” Rion leaned over and pressed the small flat pad integrated into the center of the table’s surface. A holographic star map appeared. Rion began zooming in on the star system until a large blue planet came into focus. “We’ll bypass the planet. It’s uninhabited, so we’ll have no worries there. . . .” She turned the view slightly and stopped on the planet’s moon. “This is our target. Eiro. It’s tidally locked to the planet, but there’s a narrow twilight ring that supports a small settlement. Our target is approximately fifty-six kilometers away from the twilight ring on the dark side of the moon. Location couldn’t be better—too cold for habitation, but close enough to the ring that our winter gear should suffice. According to Rouse, the settlement has one communications satellite, two transport ships, and very little defense capability. As far as entering their airspace, we’re good. They won’t know we’re there, and we’ll have plenty of time to do our jobs.”
“That’s on the edge of the Inner Colonies, a border system. A long way off our usual route . . .” Cade said, thoughtfully, leaning forward in his chair, completely focused on the map. “You sure about this?”
Rion met with a pair of grim eyes, those of a man who had seen war and knew more than anyone the price of taking risks, of jumping systems, and hunting salvage that others would fight and kill for. “Yeah, I’m sure. It’ll take a while, but it’ll be worth it.”
* * *
After a hard workout and an even harder sparring round with Cade, Rion hit the shower and then dressed in casual gear before returning to her quarters with a towel slung around her shoulders. Her muscles were weak and shaky. She’d pushed herself hard. Working out her demons. The usual.
Sitting down at her small desk, she stared off into nothing for a moment.
The demons were still there. Stronger than ever.
They’d left Venezian airspace and jumped an hour ago. And for the first time since seeing the grainy image on Rouse’s datapad, she allowed herself to consider yet again the possibility.
She ran her hands down her face and let out a weary sigh. How long was she going to keep doing this to herself? How long would she let the past haunt her?
Forever, it felt like.
She’d been searching for ghosts since she was six years old, since her grandfather had sat her down and told her that her father had been lost. That’s all. Just . . . lost. What did that mean exactly? What the hell did that mean? To a child those words had been utterly confounding. How many millions of families across the galaxy had been torn apart like hers? Fathers, mothers, sons, daughters. So many consumed by war, so many MIA and KIA, the list was unimaginable.
How did you bury a man who was lost? How did you grieve? Or move on?
Voices of her family, of her pediatrician and psychologist, echoed in her mind, putting terms and labels on her pain like Childhood Traumatic Grief. PTSD. Anxiety.
How had she grieved?
She’d built an entire life and profession on the foundation of loss.
Salvager.
Rion shook her head and gave a tired laugh.
Salvager. Her whole life spent searching, pushing ever onward, jumping from system to system, planet to planet, one wreck after another. Looking for a ghost ship. Somewhere along the way it had become routine, the drive to find answers eventually muted by days, years, decades, until her job was simply a job, a way of life. . . .
It had been a while since she’d thought about him.
She pulled open her desk drawer and retrieved her favorite holostill, setting the flat chip on the table and turning it on.
And there he
was.
That cocky grin on his face always made her smile. Even now that she was a grown woman, he seemed larger than life. He’d been her hero, her protector, a rugged, capable kind of man, and a marine through and through.
With a heavy breath, Rion placed the image back in her desk. The data chip was there too, containing all of the messages he’d sent home for her. Sometimes, when she really wanted to torture herself, she’d listen to them.
But she’d had enough for one day.
TWO
* * *
* * *
Eiro, Ectanus 45 system
The Ace of Spades settled into geosynchronous orbit above the dark side of Eiro. The twilight ring was just visible, a gray-blue haze outlining the moon’s circumference.
“Have you located our target, Less?”
“That’s a big ole affirmative, Captain. I have temp readings too. You guys ready for this?”
Niko swiveled in his comm chair, his knees bent, and his feet tucked under his bottom. “You mean ready to have my balls frozen off? Um. No. Not really.”
Cade grunted in agreement. “Hear, hear.”
“Fifty below zero.”
“Woo. Hoo,” Niko responded as dully as he could.
“It’s a balmy seventy-five and blustery in the ring,” Lessa added, ignoring Niko.
“Less and I will set her down,” Rion told them. “The rest of you head to the locker room and suit up.”
Lessa swiveled in her chair to face Niko as he got up. “Don’t forget your earmuffs, little brother.” She laughed as he shot a rude gesture behind his back. When he was gone, she returned to the job at hand. “Winds are looking bad down there.”
From her position at main, Rion monitored their progress as Ace broke atmo, keeping an eye on Lessa as the young woman navigated the ship. Lessa was learning and improving with every mission, and soon Rion would be able to rely on her more often. “Adjust thrusters and keep us on target the best you can.”
The closer they came to the surface, the more Ace was pushed around.
A kilometer out, things calmed down and the ship settled, but they’d been moved off target by two klicks.
“Sorry, boss.”
“Winds were rough. You did fine. Correct your course and get us back on track.”
Lessa plugged in coordinates and then rose slightly in her seat to get a better look at the landscape and the wreckage below. “It’s pretty, isn’t it, the snow? The wreckage sure blends in.”
As they descended, Rion got a nice view of the bow, which jutted out of the snow at a thirty-five-degree angle. Small pockets of ice and snow had built up all over the hull, stuck in the angles and lines of the ship’s design.
Ace’s reverse thrusters engaged and they eased down next to the solemn metal giant, its hull filling the viewport as they descended. An icy shiver ran down Rion’s spine as the telltale emblem of wingtips appeared, rising up from the clinging ice and snow. There was no mistaking even a portion of that symbol. United Nations Space Command.
Not his ship.
The lines are all wrong. . . .
Lessa had gone silent. The chatter from the guys down in the locker room had stopped; no doubt Niko had turned on the bulletin board so they could see the feed.
War had touched all their lives. They’d all experienced loss. They all had scars. . . .
Looking back, Rion realized how strange and surreal war could be to a child. Confusing. Chaotic. Frustrating. And her family had always tried to make life appear as normal as possible, pretending everything was going to be “all right.”
Her young mind had known it wasn’t all right. Her father being lost wasn’t all right. Entire colonies being glassed wasn’t all right.
Rion’s anger and conflict had begun at such an early age. Hating the military because they refused to share information about her father, yet feeling pride in her father and all the soldiers out there fighting, in the absolute dogged determination of her race to survive.
Looking at this wreckage now made Rion realize she hadn’t really reconciled anything from her past. Like carrion creatures, they were about to pick clean this beautiful old warship. There was some guilt in that. And yet this was all she had—the war was over and people had to make a living. But sometimes, some days, she wasn’t sure of right from wrong anymore.
Her chest felt tight. Another dark smudge, another karmic tally mark.
“Sixty seconds,” Lessa quietly said.
Rion moved her hands in a familiar pattern over her control panel. “Landing gear engaged.”
“Captain?”
It was Cade’s deep voice.
As Lessa went through shutdown procedures, Rion transferred control of Ace to her wrist comm. “Yeah, Cade,” she answered, getting up and following Lessa from the bridge.
“How do you want to play this?” He cleared his throat. “If there are casualties.”
Lessa stopped on the stairs, hands on the railing, and glanced over her shoulder. Rion was struck by how young Lessa seemed in that moment. She didn’t look twenty-two, but more like a little girl, one who’d seen her fair share of casualties.
Despite the fact that they were salvagers, they rarely found remains. On the few occasions they had, it wasn’t on a mass scale. There was no procedure or protocol for it. And yet, she was the captain. Her crew would look to her to do the right thing.
“We’ll take a look around, see what we’ve got, and go from there.”
She might be a carrion bird, but she wasn’t heartless. And she sure as hell wasn’t keen on working a burial ground.
The staging bay, which had been dubbed the “locker room” a long time ago, was equipped with an impressive array of gear for virtually any type of known weather and terrain. Rion walked past the crew, found her locker, and pulled out her gear.
Once she was ready, she grabbed her helmet and slid it over her head, then called for comm check. Three checks replied when there should have been four. “Kip, you good?”
“One sec,” Cade said, grabbing Kip’s forearm and lifting his wrist commpad, hitting a set of commands that showed Kip how to link communications and his HUD together with the rest of the crew. “Visual?”
“Yep, got it. Thanks, Cade.”
Cade nodded, then smacked Niko’s helmet as the kid walked by. “Don’t forget your plasma cutters this time, yeah?”
Lessa led Kip to the carts, showing him how to release the cart and activate its grav plates. Once everyone was equipped with a cart and their tool bags, they were good to go.
The airlock disengaged and the hangar door came down slowly, the cold sweeping inside and bringing with it a swirl of snow. “All right, kids,” Cade said. “Time to pick and strip.”
“Hey, Cade? This bring back memories?”
If Rion was close enough, she would have hit Niko hard for such a dumb question. Lessa, however, was close enough to do it for her.
“Ow. What was that for? He was a marine, you know,” Niko said under his breath. “Just asking.”
“Yeah,” Cade’s calm voice came over the comms. “It brings back memories, kid.”
“You’re a moron, Nik,” Lessa muttered.
Once they were outside, standing in front of the wreckage, the sheer size of the ship stunned them all into silence. The impact of it took Rion’s breath away—she’d never seen anything like it.
“I know what this is,” Kip said with awe. “It’s a Halcyon-class cruiser.” All heads turned to him.
“You’re sure?” Rion was already scanning the hull with her commpad and waiting for verification.
“You don’t need to scan it,” Kip answered. “I had models of this thing when I was a kid. Wow. Never thought I’d see one in the flesh.”
“Niko, run a radiation check. If there are still nukes on this thing, I want to know immedi
ately.”
“Roger that, Cap.”
“At least we don’t have to worry about the engines,” Kip said, turning to the section of ship rising from ground level. “They’re gone.”
“I’m not getting any readings,” Niko told them. “Probably used them up in whatever battle this old girl saw.”
“We’ll enter from the break over there,” Rion said, moving forward.
As they came around the hull, a massive gaping mouth rose stories above them. “That’s not a break. This thing’s been cut in half,” Niko said.
“A ship this size . . .” Kip started. “I’d say what’s left here is a quarter of it, maybe.”
“Look at the plating,” Lessa said. “It’s not jagged at all.”
“Plasma damage,” Cade told her. “Stuff can boil metal. Looks like she got beamed in two.”
“Everyone pull up schematics. And watch your step. Kip and I will head for the bridge and see what’s left of comms, nav, and weapons systems. Cade, you head for the armory—looks like there were several on this class of ship. Should be one or two near the bridge. Lessa and Niko, you take the med bay and cryo.”
Decades of snow had built up, filling in the gouge the ship had left in the ground and covering what was probably several collapsed decks. It looked to Rion like they were entering the mouth of a giant cave.
It took Rion and Kip forty-five minutes to get to the bridge, having to backtrack several times until they found a passable route, which Rion had marked with sensors. So far, no casualties discovered.
“They could have abandoned ship in time,” Kip said, echoing her own thoughts.
She’d have to report it. Whether there were casualties or not, the families of the crew deserved to know what happened.
“Blast doors are down,” Kip said as they approached the bridge. “Look. The ship is the Roman Blue, Captain.” The designation and ship’s emblem were imprinted above the control panel near the door.