Crossfire (Star Kingdom Book 4)

by Lindsay Buroker

  “You get the cargo ship’s destination from that android yet?” Ishii asked.

  “If I share it, will you agree not to wipe his memory?”

  Ishii glared at him. “That’s not how it works. As a civilian advisor, you joyfully give me all the information you learn without trying to make deals.”

  “Are you sure? The job title simply implies that I advise you. Joy isn’t mentioned at all.”

  Ishii sighed and rolled his eyes.

  “Xolas Moon in System Hydra,” Casmir said, too tired to argue with him. He thought he could talk Grunburg out of wiping Tork’s memory if it truly came to that. “In a base deep in the ocean under the mass of ice that covers the surface.”

  “That was one of your earlier guesses, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re on the way to the gate. Hopefully, Scholar Sato’s analysis of the android can confirm System Hydra before we have to choose a destination.”

  Casmir nodded, feeling the same way. Trust but verify.

  “Did you have the seizures when we were kids?” Ishii glanced at him. “Or did you get hit on the head or something?”

  “I’m sure I’ve been hit on the head plenty, but the seizures were actually worse when I was a kid. By the time I was ten—” Casmir waved at Ishii, since that was how old he’d been the summer they’d met and competed in robotics camp, “—we had them mostly under control with medication. They were completely under control until I started gallivanting around in space. I think all the extra stress on the body up here is making my medication not work as well.”

  “So, naturally you volunteered to return to space.” Ishii waved Casmir and his robot mini entourage into the lift.

  “I suppose I did volunteer, but I didn’t have much choice. The king is giving me a chance to prove my loyalty, and I think bad things could happen if I fail.”

  Ishii frowned as they stepped out of the lift and stopped in front of the second door in the corridor. “Does he know you have a medical condition?”

  “Oh, I’m sure Jager knows all about me.”

  “What do you mean? Why would he have been aware of your existence before you made off with his gate?”

  “Because…” Yes, because why? Casmir had decided earlier not to mention to Ishii that he was a clone. Was he going to change his mind? He had a headache, and he wanted to go to bed, not get into a big discussion about his origins, origins he was still fuzzy on. “Because of the crusher project. And because he lives next door to Royal Intelligence. I’m sure he can learn all he wants to about anyone who catches his attention within minutes.”

  “Likely so.” Ishii waved at a sensor, and the door opened, a soft red light coming on inside, nothing brighter.

  Casmir stepped inside, welcoming the dimness and wanting to fling himself onto the bed. It was a delightfully large bed. If he’d had a wife or a girlfriend, there would have been room for both of them to spread out. Not that he would have wanted to take such a person along on a dangerous mission. He was better off with robots for roommates. Platonic roommates who would stand by the door, leaving him the luxuriously large bed to sprawl out on by himself.

  “Casmir?” Ishii remained in the corridor.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry I gave you a hard time.”

  “It’s all right.”

  Ishii’s mouth flattened, as if he didn’t agree.

  “You can make up for it by giving me all the perks Kim gets,” Casmir suggested.

  “You want your own lab and an espresso maker?”

  “You gave her an espresso maker?” Casmir had been horrified to learn that the new one in their kitchen back home, sitting next to the perfectly good old one she’d had for years, had been a gift from Rache. Was she going to return from space with another one? A gift from the military?

  “She brought it with her,” Ishii said. “I think your friend makes her own perks.”

  “That is quite possible.”

  Ishii offered a salute, even though Casmir was certain officers weren’t supposed to salute civilians, and left him to his new cabin. Zee and Tork walked in, taking up positions on opposing walls where they could spend the night glaring suspiciously at each other.

  Casmir dropped his bags and collapsed on the bed, delighted to have a pillow. The case crackled as if it had been starched, and it smelled faintly of bleach, but he didn’t care. The deck had also smelled of bleach. It seemed to be the staple cleaning chemical on a military warship.

  As he was about to nod off, a message came in, the alert flashing on his contact. He almost ordered it into do-not-disturb mode without reading it, but it was hard to miss seeing the name. Princess Oku.

  He sat up, eyelids flying open. Princess Oku was sending him a message? Was it about bees? About how she thought he was charming and hoped they could get coffee when he returned?

  “Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.” Casmir leaned back against the pillow as he accepted the request for authorization to contact him, then opened her message.

  Dear Professor Dabrowski…

  So formal! He wished he’d asked her to call him Casmir, but the last time they’d met, in the clinic where Bonita had been undergoing her knee procedure and Oku had been undergoing… whatever she’d been there for, she’d been surrounded by guards. He’d felt self-conscious. Also, his parents and Kim had been there. What man could interact smoothly with a woman when his parents and roommate were watching?

  I wanted to thank you for the work you put into your robotic bee research. I had an associate look at it, and he thought it did seem promising. Please let me know if I can compensate you for your time. That must have taken you many long days to put together.

  Compensate him? His mouth dropped. She thought he wanted payment? No, he’d just needed something to do while he’d been locked up in her father’s dungeon…

  Did she know about that? He was inclined to think it unlikely. Jager probably didn’t tell his daughter about the miscreants, delinquents, spies, and innocent robotics professors he tossed into cells deep in the bowels of the castle.

  At this time, I’m not prepared to give up on the idea that there may be a biological solution to helping bees handle a space habitat’s lesser gravity and lack of a magnetic pole—we believe that’s part of what’s stressing them to such a state that they end up dying. At the suggestion of a colleague, I decided to look into bee bacteria, since I’m aware of the human-beneficial bacteria that has been used to improve the constitutions of our Fleet soldiers in space. I found a paper on a pathogen that caused deadly wing mutations among larval bees on the southern continents that a talented scientist isolated, studied briefly, and created a bacteriophage to kill. When the bees were inoculated with the bacteriophage, they ceased to have problems with the wing mutations, and within a few generations—bee generations—no traces of the pathogen remained. I thought I might contact this particular scientist and see if she has any interest in my project. It turns out that she volunteered for a mission for my father and is off on a warship at the moment. With you.

  Casmir snorted, imagining Kim in her lab sipping coffee and vehemently stating that she had not volunteered.

  I’ve never spoken with Scholar Sato before, the message continued, and I understand that she now specializes in the human bacteria I mentioned. It looks like the bee research was something she did for an advisor during her postgraduate studies. You’re probably both very busy right now, but would you consider asking her if she has any ideas and if I can send my data to her?

  Casmir felt a twinge of disappointment that Oku wanted to send data to Kim and not to him, but he didn’t mind being the intermediary.

  There wouldn’t be any hurry. This is just a pet project of mine. There’s no deadline. I can send her a message directly if you don’t want to be involved, but I somewhat selfishly think she may be more likely to say yes to her roommate than to a stranger, even a royal stranger, especially if she was strong-armed into going on that mission ra
ther than volunteering. I know my father fairly well.

  Hm, maybe Oku wasn’t as unaware of her father’s machinations as Casmir had guessed.

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed, thinking to find Kim that very minute, but the change of position intensified a twinge of lingering dizziness. He checked the ship’s local time and realized it was almost midnight. He would wait until morning to bug her.

  Zee had noted his movement and turned his head toward Casmir.

  “I was thinking of going for a walk,” Casmir said, though he doubted the crusher would have asked, “but I’ve decided against it.”

  He flopped back onto the bed.

  “Humans are supposed to sleep during night cycles,” Zee stated. “For your health, you should attempt to keep your circadian rhythms balanced while you are in space.”

  “Yes, thank you for the advice.” Casmir was certain he hadn’t included knowledge of circadian rhythms in the information set he’d programmed the crushers with. Zee was, indeed, adapting and learning on his own. It was possible his fearsome bodyguard had witnessed Casmir’s health foibles enough times to decide to assign himself the additional duty of nurse. Or maybe nanny. “But I should definitely compose a response to Oku’s message before I go to sleep. I wouldn’t want her to think that I’m too busy to make time for her. Or aloof and unavailable.”

  It was probably his imagination that Zee’s gaze was extra stern.

  Casmir closed his eyes and laid his head on his pillow so Zee would believe he was pursuing circadian rhythm perfection, but his previously sleepy mind refused to doze off until he sent a response that said he would be delighted to assist Oku in any way possible. And that he definitely wasn’t aloof or unavailable. Not that anyone had ever used those words to describe him, but she’d only met him twice briefly, so she didn’t know him well yet.

  Dear Princess Oku,

  I will speak with Kim and see if your project would interest her. I don’t remember her mentioning the bee study, but it’s possible she did it before we became roommates. I do specifically remember her doing a project that involved enhancing a certain bacteria in a zindi tree’s microbiome in order to encourage it to sequester more carbon dioxide from the atmosphere.

  He grinned, remembering that project had involved Kim climbing the tree and being harassed by a campus security drone in the process. He’d been able to offer assistance with the drone, which, he believed to this day, was the only reason the fastidious Kim Sato had agreed to sign on as his roommate. At the time, his house on campus had been slightly less clean and tidy than it was now.

  So, he continued, even though she specializes in the human microbiome now, she likely has the expertise for insect work. I’m certain she would love to take on this project for you.

  He wasn’t that certain of it, and suspected Kim was tired of doing things for the military and government, but he would be charming and promise her a favor. Or more chocolate-covered espresso beans.

  He was tempted to ramble on to Oku and write a letter five pages long, but she might be horrified and never send a message to him again if she thought he had romantic intentions toward her. She probably got enough of that from men around the castle. If Asger was anything to go by, the knights that she encountered spent a lot of time on one knee around her, with their heads bowed.

  “Maybe I could simply share a closing line about myself that she would find intriguing,” he mused, ordering his chip to record his mutters in case anything brilliant fell out among the ramble. “Or would that be boorish? To talk about myself? I could ask her something about herself, something that requires an answer, thus ensuring that she messages me back. But no, I shouldn’t be a pest. After all, if Kim agrees to work on the project, she’ll probably get invited to the castle for a meeting sooner or later, and as her best friend and roommate, I would be allowed to go along, don’t you think? Kim is an important scientist. She may need someone to hold her bag of lab specimens.”

  As he gazed at the ceiling, pondering the perfect closing line, Tork spoke.

  “I am uncertain if an answer is required.” He sounded puzzled.

  Casmir realized he’d been rambling aloud.

  “I do not believe so,” Zee said. “The tone of Casmir Dabrowski’s voice suggests he is engaging in a human practice called soliloquy.”

  “My definition of this word suggests it applies only to characters in stage dramas.”

  “There are broader definitions. I suggest you search the system-wide network database.”

  “I will do so.”

  “It is also possible he is experiencing a mental illness or psychological disorder, such as schizophrenia,” Zee said, “but I deem this unlikely. Casmir Dabrowski is emotional but generally rational and coherent.”

  “I have located a definition that allows for soliloquies outside of dramatic performances,” Tork said.

  Casmir rubbed his face, wondering what he’d started by acquiring a second intelligent robot. Did this chatter mean they were getting over their animosity and suspicion of each other? Were his weird human idiosyncrasies bringing them together?

  He turned off the recording, deciding nothing brilliant was going to come out of his mouth tonight.

  On a whim, he attached Zee and Tork’s exchange to the end of his message to Oku with the caption, This is what happens when you ramble late at night and androids are around to hear it.

  With luck, she would think it whimsical and funny. And that he was whimsical and funny for sending it.

  Only after the message sailed off into the network ether did he consider that she might believe there was a nugget of truth to Zee’s alternative assessment.

  He shook his head. “You are a multi-award-winning, sought-after-in-your-field professor with two advanced degrees. Have some confidence in yourself, Casmir.”

  Zee and Tork looked at him and then looked at each other.

  “Soliloquy?” Tork asked.

  “Soliloquy,” Zee stated firmly.

  Casmir went to sleep.

  11

  More than a day passed before the Dragon’s comm panel lit up again. The freighter was flying toward Death Knell Station on Bonita’s original course.

  She had no intention of heading anywhere close to the moon where the Drucker warship housing Johnny Twelve Toes orbited, and she hadn’t been delighted when Viggo had reported two other Drucker ships in the system. Fortunately, they were on the far side of the sun, orbiting the inhabited planets over there. She’d hoped the rest of the family would be off terrorizing innocent civilians in other systems, but if they were over a week’s travel away, that should be fine. Though it wasn’t like dealing with a single warship and four hundred pirates would be that much easier than facing the whole clan.

  “It’s just a file,” Viggo said, his tone sounding disapproving.

  “From Johnny and the warship?”

  “Yes.”

  Bonita reached for the panel to accept it, but paused when Viggo added, “An image file.”

  “Er.” She’d sent a picture of Qin supposedly trapped behind the barrier in a cell, as requested. She distinctly remembered requesting that Johnny not send a picture in return. “Are your vacuums mature enough to see whatever a dirty pirate decided to share an image of?”

  Currently, two of them were sucking dirt out of crevices under the control console.

  “I don’t know,” Viggo said. “I didn’t open it. I may not be mature enough.”

  “You’re over a hundred.”

  “I know.”

  Bonita let her finger drop and opened the attachment. If she was about to get an eyeful of penis, well, it wouldn’t be the first time. People in her industry weren’t known for being classy.

  What came up was Johnny standing in front of a mirror with his shirt off, taking a picture of his smug reflection. She rolled her eyes. Cocky bastard.

  He was nice to look at—the chest had fewer tattoos than the face, though the barbed-wire motif continued, making i
t look like he was wrapped with the stuff. He clearly spent time in the gym and tended to his diet.

  “At least his pants are on,” Viggo said.

  “I confess to being flustered, Viggo. Guys don’t flirt with me anymore. Is he messing with me? Trying to use sex to get what he wants?” Bonita didn’t know why the Druckers’ accountant would care that much one way or another if he got Qin back. Was there a nice bonus involved for him if he was successful? Maybe pirate accountants weren’t on salary and had to save the outfit money in order to get paid.

  “Sex usually is what men want.”

  “Tell me about it, but I haven’t met many who didn’t also like money.”

  Clangs floated up from the lounge. The last time Bonita had passed through, Qin had been down there working out on the gym equipment and lamenting that with Asger gone, she didn’t have a sparring partner.

  The comm flashed again. Johnny requesting visual communication.

  “Qin,” she said over the internal comm system, “stay quiet for a bit. The accountant is comming.”

  “Yes, Captain.” The clangs stopped.

  Before answering, an idea popped into Bonita’s mind, and she ran to Qin’s cabin.

  “I’m borrowing something of yours,” she called.

  “That’s fine.”

  She hopped into Qin’s cabin, marveling that her knees now allowed her to hop. She ignored the unicorn duvet, cheerfully colored books, and mythological-creature candles mounted all along the walls and headed for the little desk. She pulled out a drawer and found the calendar that Asger had given her, the one where his bare chest—and other bare parts—were on display above every month.

  Sad that Qin had stuck it in a drawer. Bonita would have put it to its proper use on the wall above the bed. For the ease of marking appointments, of course.

  “Bonita, what are you doing?” Viggo asked as she returned to navigation.

  “Planning to take our caller down a notch.” She answered the incoming comm. “Captain Laser here.”

  Johnny’s face appeared. “Such a delay before answering, Laser. Whatever were you doing? Admiring the picture I sent?”