Andromeda's Rebel

by Debra Jess

  Ramsey sighed. "Was there damage to the shuttle?"

  "Dace Maretov gave me a preliminary report—verbal only. He said that the superficial damage to the shuttle's skin would require fixing, but he didn't report any substantial damage."

  "Let's hope it stays superficial after a full inspection." Ramsey leaned forward, hands on the desk, her frown deepening. "The director doesn't fault you for your actions. She understands that you were with a more experienced security officer who does have an obligation to respond to an emergency comm."

  She wasn't going to be fired. No returning to the cryo nest. Tamarja thought she would melt into a puddle at Ramsey’s feet.

  "However, I feel that Officer Blayde's actions were premature and unnecessary. The boy wasn't in that much danger of falling off the edge and could have waited until an emergency vehicle with proper rescue equipment arrived. I will discuss Officer Blayde's actions with him later. You, I expect to use better judgment in the future. You need to learn to advocate for yourself. Just because someone tells you to do something, no matter how necessary it may seem at the time, that doesn't mean it's the right thing. Clear?"

  Tamarja bobbed her head, keeping Dace's words in her heart. Be humble. "Yes, ma'am, I understand, and I do apologize for causing such a ruckus on my first day."

  Ramsey nodded. "Apology accepted. I suggest you spend the rest of the day on the ground, close to Habitat Prime." She dismissed Tamarja with a wave of her hand, and Tamarja escaped as quickly as she could without running.

  She'd lucked out, kept her job and her head. Taking a deep breath, she walked past the receptionist. She thought she heard her whisper "good job," but by the time she turned her head, the woman had taken another comm.

  No sooner had she stepped out of the compressor and began crossing the sun-dappled atrium than a knot of hospitality hostesses opened, revealing a crying Jita in the middle.

  "Tamarja!"

  Tamarja almost fell on her backside when the rush of red hair slammed into her, arms snaking around her shoulders.

  "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Jita's tears ran down her cheeks and onto Tamarja's uniform.

  Confused, Tamarja looked at one of the other hostesses who had followed Jita over.

  "You rescued her nephew," the other hostess said. "We monitor emergency broadcasts in case hostess support is needed. She almost fainted when she found out what had happened."

  Tamarja didn't know what to say to that, so she said nothing, letting Jita let go on her own.

  "I saw him." Jita sniffed. "He looked completely broken, just lying there on the barrier. My niece was supposed to be watching him. She broadcast the image for the emergency crew. I thought he was dead." Fresh tears started again.

  Tamarja reached out and patted Jita's hand awkwardly. "It's all right, Jita. Really," Tamarja said. "I just spoke to Ramsey. She said she got the medical report. He's going to be fine. He's home already."

  Jita hiccuped a bit. "They haven't told me anything. My sister never commed to tell me he's okay."

  Catching the eye of one of the other hostesses—her name tag said Nagrit—Tamarja indicated they should sit in the atrium. They both led Jita to the center of the room and sat her down on the comfortable couch, brushing away the leaves of an overgrown plant.

  "Your sister is probably more worried than you are, and she's probably upset at your niece for not watching him more closely. She'll comm you when she's ready. She might not know that you received the emergency broadcast and doesn't want you to get all upset like this. You know how families are."

  Jita nodded, though Tamarja was at best guessing about how families acted in a crisis. She couldn't remember her own. Did she have a mother worrying about her? Did she have a father trying to find her? Brothers? Sisters? All she had to go on was instinct. If she did have family, she wouldn't want them to worry needlessly. She shoved back at the fog and focused on Jita. If she stayed in the here and now, she might get through this and back to her apartment where she could finally relax.

  Jita didn't notice, and Nagrit gave her a quick hug before returning to her station. The other hostesses dispersed to their rightful destinations, leaving Jita and Tamarja alone. Tamarja wished they hadn't left. This was exactly the sort of situation where she needed the help of a hostess.

  "My sister only arrived here yesterday, bringing my younger nieces and nephew," Jita said. "The three older ones arrived here two standard years ago with their father. He's a quality control engineer. Always moving to different locations, different jobs, relying on the older ones to take care of themselves and stay out of trouble. I arrived in between, about a year ago. Dawn's Landing has so much potential, and Bregarlos is so clogged. I had to get away. I knew Ravid, Itai, and Jory needed more structure, needed their mother, but it's so impossible sometimes to get a transport this far out from Andromeda's core.“ She paused and drew in a long, ragged breath.

  From the harried look on the woman’s face, Tamarja knew she had more she needed to get out, so she waited. Finally, Jita went on. "Manitac only opened this slipstream to commercial flights right before I arrived, and the director is dead set on not overpopulating Dawn's Landing. That's why they split the family up for such a long time. That gave Ianyin a chance to adjust to his job with the older kids so my sister wouldn't be overwhelmed with six kids until she could follow."

  Tamarja patted Jita's shoulder, thinking like mad how to best comfort the hostess and make her second escape of the day. She wasn't any good at this. No one had comforted her at her worst moments on Bregarlos.

  Flight school had been competitive, cutthroat, and filled with people focused on studying so hard they didn’t reach out to others, herself included. Not that she would have allowed herself to get close to anyone even if they had tried. Couldn’t have anyone knowing she was a partially wiped ‘pet. Even now she had a tough enough time trying to cope with her own emotions, never mind someone else's.

  "Look, why don't we see about getting you some time to yourself? You need to calm down before going back to work. Nagrit is already covering your station." Tamarja pointed to the other hostess, who looked up and nodded as she fielded a comm.

  Jita hiccuped and was about to say something when she got that look on her face, the one all people got when their ear jacks pinged an incoming message.

  "It's my sister," she said.

  Tamarja nodded and stood so Jita could have some privacy while she talked. Walking away, she nodded to Nagrit while she activated the compressor for Habitat Prime. Right now, all she wanted was a shower and her own privacy while she figured out where she stood—with the director, with Dawn's Landing, and maybe even with Daeven Blayde.

  She thought about contacting him as she entered her apartment and decided against it. She would wait until after her shower. What was it that Daeven had told Jita yesterday about security? An endless stream of reports? He'd have one long report to fill out about this morning. She'd wait until later—much later.

  The shower felt good, hot with strong pressure. The sliver of soap she found in her wet room had a mild herbal scent. It didn't trigger any memories, no fog to distract her.

  She had just wrapped herself in her one thin cloth robe when the comm chimed.

  "Hello, Chase. Already setting Dawn's Landing afire, I hear."

  Yohzad. His voice brought a sense of comfort to her jumble of nerves, though he talked over background static. She sat down and relaxed, leaning toward the imager. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you would find out, even while you're still on Jarvis."

  He smiled and shook his head. "Small community. Lips flap and all news gets uplinked from the tower to the ‘cast ‘net. Manitac hears everything, sees everything." He wiggled his dark eyebrows, making the ominous words sound less threatening, almost funny.

  "I'm sorry if I caused you any problems. The director didn't ask to speak with me, but Ramsey did."

  "Ramsey was born with a walhoon's tail caught between her teeth. Don't worry about it. I
spoke to both of them as soon as I got word and smoothed things over. They can't argue with the outcome. You just need to make sure this doesn't become a habit."

  So Yohzad had protected her again. She could feel her heart warming toward him once more. Why did he have to be so far out of her reach?

  "I promise. I'll be more careful." She hesitated a moment and then asked, "Have you spoken to Officer Blayde yet?"

  "Daeven Blayde? No, why do you ask?"

  Was that jealousy in his voice? Part of her thrilled at the idea of him being jealous.

  "He was supposed to give me a tour of Dawn's Landing. He seemed to indicate that you arranged the original transport. I was just wondering how well you knew him."

  "Ah, did I not tell you?" He started to speak again, but a loud crash, followed by a whistle of air and screeching of metal against metal, cut him off. Yohzad visibly flinched against the noise. "Sorry about that," he said when the noise had faded. "I'm in one of the private docking ports. They're almost never used here on Jarvis. The bay doors are in need of maintenance.“ He leaned closer to the imager and gave her a conspiratorial grin like he was about to impart something private. "Where was I? Oh, yes, Daeven Blayde. We do have a history together. He saved my life a while back. I was on board a scout ship transporting some prisoners. Smugglers, actually, nasty pieces of work they were. Anyway, they released a biohazard into the vent shafts. Never did figure out if it was an actual escape attempt or a suicide bid, but Officer Blayde was the security guard on duty in my area. He got both of us to an escape pod before the biohazard spread. Had to scuttle the rest of the ship, taking everyone else with it."

  "How awful. What was the hazard?" she pressed, hoping to draw more out of him. This was the closest she had come to learning something personal about him, and she found herself hungry for more.

  "Can't say. One of those classified things. Need to know and all that. Needless to say, I owe Officer Blayde, so when he contacted me about a possible transfer, I recommended him for security work on Dawn's Landing. Better chance for advancement with AuRaKaz than with Manitac proper." His easy tone was like one he’d use when confiding in a good friend.

  "He doesn't seem to like me much." She hadn't planned on telling him that, but if she could find out why Daeven had such a problem with her, maybe she could find a way to fix it. If she didn’t, her assignment could be in jeopardy, and she did not want to go back into cryo.

  "Really?" Yohzad's eyes seemed to sharpen in the low light of the bay. "How interesting. Really though, I wouldn't worry about it too much. I never told him of your prisoner status. I promised you no one would know unless you told them. Security officers, however, are a suspicious lot by nature, and there does seem to be a touch of a problem with undesirables finding their way to Dawn's Landing."

  "What sort of problem?"

  Another crash and more screeching came from the background. Yohzad winced again and moaned. "Let's not discuss it now over the comm. I'll see you in a day or two, and we'll discuss it then. Perhaps we could have dinner at one of the commercial eateries that seem to be popping up recently?"

  "That sounds like a lovely idea. Comm me when you're ready."

  He cut communications as the background noise grew worse.

  Tamarja leaned back in her chair. Dinner with Yohzad, even though it was just business, would be a pleasure. No secrets, since he already knew more about her than she did. No pretenses, since he'd already seen her at her worst. And he was hot in his own dark, charming, amusing way. So completely unlike Daeven, who did know her—she was more sure of that than ever—and he must know she was a prisoner. Even so, why didn't he like her? It had to be more than just a general not liking of prisoners. She had status on Dawn's Landing. Maybe he thought she didn't deserve it?

  Of course, there was only one way to find out: ask him.

  Chapter Ten

  Down in the bowels of Jarvis Station, Yohzad Cyrek switched off the comm as he watched the green-and-gold freighter glide behind the tug pulling it into the hangar. The umbilicals screeched as they strained under the lack of lubricant, snaking across the hangar to meet both craft.

  Cyrek waited a beat after atmosphere replenishment before unlocking the observation platform. The low lighting gave the dock a gloomy, oppressive look. The stale air clogged his lungs. Ignoring the stairs, he jumped the railing and landed on a grav-resister. Kick-starting the controls, he quickly lowered to the deck while circling around the tug, intercepting its pilot as they both reached the nose of the freighter.

  "Yohzad Cyrek? Good to finally meet ya face-to-face. Don't often have ‘Tac officers as clients. They're usually too busy chasing me."

  Cyrek ignored the outstretched hand, as he didn't know where that hand had been lately. Instead, he focused his critical eye on the freighter, running his gaze along the belly of the craft. Triple the size of a shuttle, it lacked the slick alignment of a scout ship. The interior would also prove lacking in many of the amenities found in passenger transports, since its wide-open bays were built to transport cargo instead of people. More than likely it also contained a few hidden alcoves, perfect for smuggling.

  "She's all original parts?"

  The pilot retracted his hand, seemingly not offended by the attitude of his employer. "All except the engines. Those were auctioned separately. Damned if we can find any pre-Manitac engines at a reasonable price these days to replace them."

  Cyrek raised an eyebrow. "I said I wanted the ship intact."

  "Don't go nova on me, ‘Tac." The shorter man backed away. "You said you wanted this freighter as soon as it came up for auction, whatever the cost. That's what I bought. Took four years and I had no way of knowing Manitac would remove the engines and auction them separately."

  "Who bought them?" Cyrek turned back to the freighter.

  "The engines? Hard to say. Auction listed the information—names, addresses, license numbers—but when I went to run it down, it didn't lead anywhere. Whoever purchased them used a pretty good cover."

  "So you did know that I'd want them." Yohzad finally gave in to his impatience. "Give me the information. I'll track them down myself."

  The pilot shrugged, reaching for his ear jack. "It's your coin."

  "Yes, it is." A moment later, Cyrek acknowledged receipt of the information.

  "If you don't mind my sayin’, there's not much call for an intact pre-Manitac freighter these days. Not with Manitac buying out most of the independent contractors and the rest disappearing one way or another. More and more Manitac is auctioning them off in parts. The engines are used as scrap. What are you planning to use her for? P’rhaps we could do a little more business."

  Displaying a clear smile for the first time, Cyrek shook his head. "She's a gift. For a friend."

  The other man grunted. "Must be some friend."

  "Yes, she is." Cyrek eyed the freighter with more appreciation now. "She certainly is."

  He turned his attention back to his less-than-legal contractor. "I still want those engines, intact. The originals to this ship, not from any other. I need them."

  The pilot scratched the scruff on his chin. "Well, now that I think about it, I might have a lead right now on who's buying these pre-Manitac ships and their engines."

  Cyrek waited, gaining patience. "How much would it cost me for this information?"

  The large grinned tipped off Yohzad he'd be paying a fortune. "Standard rate, plus half, would do nicely."

  Cyrek slapped his ear jack and yanked out his stylus. He made the transfer.

  "All right. What's your lead?"

  "Well, there's a rumor that another reason Manitac is auctioning off these ships in parts is because they think that they're being bought by Shadows."

  "Rumors tell me nothing. If that's all you've got, I'll have you arrested for smuggling contraband and take my money back."

  The pilot stepped back, placing his hand on a weapon he kept locked on his belt. An empty threat. Any weapons discharge would bring securit
y down on both of their heads. "You're the one with the connections, ‘Tac. You've got access to the intel Manitac keeps on Shadow activity. If what I'm hearing is true, the Shadows are building their own navy, buying pre-Manitac ships, ships that haven't been tracked or licensed in ages, and converting them to fighters. You want to find those engines, I'd start looking at Shadow intel. You've got a better chance of trackin’ ‘em down than I do."

  Cyrek stared at the pilot for another long moment, just long enough to make the man squirm. "Look, ‘Tac, if you really don't think that's good enough for what you paid me, I'll try doin' a little more diggin'. But I'm not puttin' my life on the line for this. The last thing I need is Manitac and the Shadows on my tail, but I'm sure I can find something for you to use."

  Cyrek nodded, satisfied. "You do that. I'll sift through the intel that I have access to, but I want regular reports from you on everything you hear. Rumor or not, I want to know."

  The pilot visibly relaxed, lowering his hand from his weapon. "No problem. I'm on it."

  Cyrek had already dismissed him, his gaze turned back to the freighter. "Now, let's see what I can do to get this baby cleaned up."

  Chapter Eleven

  Tamarja poked at the great green glob. It jiggled a bit on her plate, the red spots oozing down the sides. "Are you sure this is edible?" she asked Jita, who sat on Tamarja's still unmade bed while Tamarja slouched nearby on her less-than-comfortable desk chair. She swiveled around to avoid dropping any of the goop on her messenger node, but that sent the goop into a frenzy of wiggling. Steadying the plate, Tamarja waited for the goop to stop shaking before attacking it with a scoop.

  She had slept reasonably well considering the events of the day before—no nightmares, no aches or pains. She'd spent the morning in her apartment, waiting for The Comm, the one that told her the director needed her to fly. She wore a fresh uniform and had packed her spiffy new satchel with the essentials. She had spent her time searching the broadcast ‘net for information about Dawn's Landing, all the stuff Daeven had tried to tell her the day before—the stuff she should have learned from him if she hadn't been so distracted by flying, and by Daeven himself.