The other two next to Natsumi and Cesar were people Hope hadn’t met before. There was a man and a woman, both lean and hard, like they’d been starving for weeks but it’d done nothing but strengthen them. There was also a scattering of smoking pieces that looked to Hope like someone’s body, but after it had been caught in blaster fire.
That would explain the fire warning. Triton Station’s sensors might have been a little optimistic about the level and nature of the danger.
The door finished opening with a clang that echoed through the docking bay. No one turned to look at Hope, like she was the least interesting thing that had happened all day. It’s fine. I just keep the station from falling into Neptune’s moon. Don’t mind me. She didn’t say that. What she said was, “The station thinks there’s a fire.”
“Does it look like there’s a fire?” said Cesar, not looking at her. He was trying to watch both the pirate with the gold hand and the two hard-looking people, and not doing a good job of it.
“Kind of,” said Hope. “There is a pile of someone near your foot. It’s still smoking.”
“Situation’s under control,” said Natsumi.
“Okay,” said Hope, not moving. After a moment, she said, “Why do you have your blaster out?”
“Situation wasn’t under control a moment ago,” said the pirate. He had a nice voice, like he was only playing at being a pirate, because of the hand. “Natsumi Warn has come to offer her assistance.”
“That’s enough of your attitude, Chevell. I had to take that for years when I wore the Black. I won’t take it anymore.” Natsumi looked like she was sucking a lemon. “Sorry about the old man, though.”
“Yeah,” said the pirate, who’s name was apparently Chevell. Hope wondered if that was a first or a last name. It sounded uncomfortable for a first name. “It wasn’t years.”
“What?”
“Wasn’t years,” said Chevell. “I didn’t have the job long. Someone else made you feel bad for years. Wasn’t me.”
“You did your share,” said Natsumi.
“I did,” agreed Chevell. “Do you want me to make you feel bad again?”
Hope almost laughed. She would never have said that to Natsumi for fear of ending up in a recycler. Natsumi didn’t look like she found it funny as she said, “It’s exactly that kind of thing that will get you dead, Chevell.”
“Might do,” said Chevell. He hadn’t moved his hand from his blaster in all this time. “You figure today will be that day?”
A particular silence fell between the two of them. The air felt charged, like right before a lightning strike, the kind you’d get on a crust when storm clouds gathered overhead with menace. Hope swallowed, wanting to not be here.
But Natsumi laughed, and the tension left the air like it had never been. She holstered her blaster. “No, Chevell. You’re not worth the paperwork.” She turned on her heel, stalking away from Chevell, Cesar following in her wake. Natsumi brushed past Hope and said, “I told you the situation was resolved.”
Cesar nodded at Hope as he passed, but it wasn’t a friendly nod. More like a reminder. He said nothing. Hope didn’t follow them. She wanted to talk to the pirate. Hope wanted to meet the man who had stood with a hand on his blaster while he talked Natsumi Warn away from shooting him.
Only problem was the other two people in the room. They hadn’t moved. The man, who sported a thin single braid down the back of his head, shifted his weight. “Chevell, is it?”
“It is,” said Chevell.
“There’s a tariff,” said Single Braid.
“No, there isn’t,” said Chevell.
“I’ll tell you what—”
“Here’s what’ll happen,” said Chevell. “You will threaten me. If you’re stupid at a level that is mind-boggling, you will try and draw that weapon at your hip. You’ll hope your loser partner—”
“Hey,” said the woman.
“You’ll hope she’ll draw too. And what you’ll both hope is that you will do it faster than one of the Emperor’s Black. You’re wondering if the stories are true. You’ll pray that one of you makes a clean shot.”
“Why one?” said Single Braid.
“Because the other one will be dead,” said Chevell. “The one alive will need to make a good shot or they’ll be dead too. And what you’re really hoping is that the Emperor’s Black aren’t good enough to gun both of you down before your blasters clear their holsters.”
What Hope was wondering was how a couple of thugs had washed up on this shore, what with Natsumi and Cesar here just moments ago. It didn’t seem like a good time to bring that up, so she edged sideways so that if someone fired a blaster and it was in her direction she wouldn’t be such an obvious target. She made it to the lip of the docking bay’s doors, trying to scrunch into the shadows a little, but not so much she’d miss what was going on.
A long moment held. Single Braid sniffed. “You’re not worth the trouble.”
“Most likely not,” said Chevell. “Best you be on then.” He watched the two thugs leave the docking bay. They walked past Hope without sparing her a glance. She hoped Reiko was well gone by now. Hope was about to slip away herself when Chevell called out, “Engineer.”
“Uh,” said Hope. She detached herself from her shelter. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he said with a smile. He took in her rig, the markings on the breastplate, and nodded. “Station Chief Engineer. Sorry.”
He didn’t do the normal double-take, the eye-rolling at her youth, or the fluster of having made an error. Just corrected himself and said sorry. “It’s okay,” said Hope. “Most people see the hair first anyway.” She tugged at a pink strand for emphasis. “It’s pink,” she offered.
“Seems like,” said Chevell. He took his hand off his blaster, clanking towards her on the old decking. Hope took in the slight hitch in his stride, and thought, This pirate also has a metal leg. When Chevell held out his hand to her, she stared at it for a moment. No one wanted to meet Hope, let alone introduce themselves. They always thought she was an Engineer’s assistant. After a moment, she shook his hand. Not clammy. Warm, like his voice. “I’m Nate,” he said. “Nathan Chevell. But my friends call me Nate.”
“Hope,” she said. “Hope Baedeker. My friends call me Hope. Because it’s my name.” She cringed. “Sorry. I’ve never met a pirate before.” She cringed again.
He laughed. “Pirate, huh?” He took a glance up at the Tyche, and the woman walking out the airlock. “My Helm thought the same thing. Didn’t you, El?”
“Elspeth Roussel,” said El. “And it’s because you are. Except you’re a terrible pirate. Has everyone with a blaster gone?”
“Except me,” said Nate.
“Oh God, we’re going to die,” she said. She shook Hope’s hand. “Engineer,” she nodded. “Say. There a place to get a drink around here?”
Hope nodded. “Deck fourteen. Middle of the Station. Big hub. Cajun Station is good.”
“Gotcha,” said El, strolling out the docking bay.
Nate watched her go, then turned to Hope. “Chief Engineer?”
“Yes?”
“I’m looking to hire on an Engineer of my own,” he said. “I need someone who knows stars and hearts.”
“What?” said Hope.
“Stars, because she’s a starship, Hope,” said Nate. “Hearts, because the Tyche needs a generous crew with plenty of love inside them. We’re sailing the hard black and there’s no room for devilry on my ship.”
“Oh,” said Hope. “I don’t know anyone like that.”
“That’s a shame,” said Nate. “Port drive’s not going to fix itself.” And with that, he gave her a nod, sauntering after his Helm.
Hope watched them go. Stars and hearts. She’d never heard of a job like that. Hope had heard of the Job of a Lifetime! But not stars and hearts. She wondered what kind of ship the Tyche was. Such a small crew, out there in the hard black. If she didn’t have Triton Station and Reiko, she might…
No. Hope Baedeker, you were meant to do great things. Great things weren’t shipping out on an ancient heavy lifter. Great things were replacing all sixty-four boosters on Triton Station with an Endless field.
She brushed pink hair from her eyes, turning to go, then stopped. Hope turned back, and caught that painted face on the side of the Tyche. Hope dared to put a hand on the ship’s metal skin. “It’s nice to meet you too,” she said, but softly, in case anyone was listening. Hope didn’t know why, but she felt like the ship was winking at her.
Weird.
CHAPTER ONE
WHEN HOPE GOT home, Reiko was already there, finishing a call to someone on their shared console. Hope clicked the controls on her rig and it clambered off. She shucked it into a corner, ordered a beer from the dispenser, and tossed herself on the couch next to her wife.
Reiko gave her a kiss. “Hey.”
“Hey,” said Hope. “Who was that?” She gestured with her beer at the console’s holo.
“Possible work opportunity,” said Reiko. “I’m not sure if it’ll come together though.”
“Hmm,” said Hope. “I had a strange day. First up, my Engineers couldn’t fix a simple breaker. Like someone had put a bunch of stupid in their heads.”
“Politics,” suggested Reiko.
“That is another word for ‘stupid,’” agreed Hope. “Then my wife was by a fire hazard.” Reiko punched her arm, but playfully. “After that, I met Chief Warn.”
“What did Natsumi want?”
“I think she wanted to shoot a pirate but couldn’t work up the courage,” said Hope.
“Natsumi doesn’t lack courage.”
“I said my day was strange, okay?” said Hope.
“What happened to the pirate?” said Reiko. She leaned against Hope, then stole her beer.
“He wasn’t a pirate,” said Hope. “He was a starship captain who played at being a pirate.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” said Reiko. “Pirates get shot.”
“He didn’t look like that was concerning,” said Hope. “Like I said, it’s been a strange day.”
“Hmm,” said Reiko. “Are we still good to go and meet Jenny and Pierce?”
“Ah,” said Hope. “About that.”
“You forgot,” said Reiko, sitting up.
“No?” said Hope. “Maybe?”
“Well,” said Reiko. “I guess we can reschedule.” She made to turn on the console.
“I want to go.” Hope stayed Reiko’s hand. “I’ve got a lot of work to do. I promised I’d run the numbers on the Endless switchover for the boosters.”
“Tonight?”
“Not specifically,” said Hope. “I promised I’ve have them done by tomorrow. Why don’t you go? I’ll meet you later if I finish up early.”
“When was the last time you finished early?” said Reiko. “I picked up some more stims, by the way.”
“Thanks,” said Hope. She leaned in for another kiss. She loved that Reiko understood her. Hope didn’t know how she’d been lucky enough to meet Reiko, but she felt blessed.
• • •
Reiko was long gone — hours past, according to the console’s holo. Hope continued to run the simulation on the Endless field. Her math was right, dammit. Bobbi’s numbers must be wrong.
Hope sighed, stretching. She flicked the holo sideways, checking their appointment with Jenny and Pierce. It was supposed to be at Cajun Station, where she’d told that Helm to grab a drink. The holo blinked once, twice, then stabilized.
Weird. The holo never did that. It was new. Hope had picked it out herself. She leaned forward, her back popping, then started working the console. Systems seemed fine. No errors in the logs. Nothing in the subroutines, except...
Huh.
Buried at the core of the console was a small routine, a tiny chunk of code. It was copying what she was doing to a transmit buffer. It wouldn’t be the first time a virus got into a computer, but this was Hope’s computer. She was an Engineer, for crying out loud. Things like this didn’t happen to her.
Still. Easily fixed. Hope got to work, pulling out the bad code. She hated other people’s code, because it never made sense. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand it. It was usually so badly written that it made her cringe. Poor code meant errors, and errors got people killed on a big project.
It took her a half hour to get the virus out. It was a minor diversion from the numbers she was supposed to be working. Once she got the virus cleared out, she got off the couch, getting another beer from the dispenser. Hope grabbed a stim from the pile on the counter, coating her gums with the sickly fluid. Wincing, she chased it with a swallow of beer, then went to sit at the console again.
Numbers. Numbers.
Hope ran her simulation again. This time, her numbers didn’t work.
Wait. What?
She cleared the console, then ran her program from the ground up. She checked her data sets. Mass of Triton Station. Estimated mass of the humans onboard, all fifty thousand and change. Fuel mass. Reaction mass. Estimated mass of completed starships in their cradles.
The mass was too heavy for the projected Endless field. There weren’t enough reactors on the station to power it. Bobbi was right.
Except, and here’s the kicker, Hope wasn’t often wrong. She was using the same numbers, on the same simulation, on the same console. With a different result.
Same console, but different.
Could the virus have been tinkering with the numbers? It didn’t seem typical for a copy buffer attack. She didn’t keep anything on here except boring stuff about Project Redemption, and why people would want a bunch of financials on drive cores was beyond her. But something had taken her numbers and altered them in her simulation.
First thing, she was going to find Reiko and warn her. Someone might have taken some of her wife’s information. Second, she’d need to apologize to Bobbi. And then, third, make new numbers that worked. Hope was sure it could be done.
Finally, she was would have to find out where that buffer was copied to. Cesar might be able to help. If he couldn’t, she was sure she could track it down herself.
Hope got up, the stim making her nerves jangle and fire. She grabbed a clear plastic jacket, swiping her way out of their apartment. Her numbers wouldn’t balance, not tonight, not ever, so it was time to find Reiko. And maybe have a little fun, before the night was done.
CHAPTER TWO
HOPE COULD FEEL the beat from Cajun Station before she got within eyeball distance. It started as subliminal, more a feeling than sound. The crowds on this deck were thick with party-hard types, lots of stim use overlaid by drugs of a harder nature. Hope figured living on an ancient station that threatened to toss you into a moon at a moment’s notice had a certain effect on most people. That effect led to drugs, legal and otherwise. She didn’t care if her Engineers ran a line of narcotics that would make a street dealer blush so long as they made their shifts on time, sober, and could do the math. Hope knew Cesar didn’t care as long as no one started a riot.
Getting close to Cajun Station got difficult, people milling and getting underfoot. It was more of a club at this time, this being the third shift of the day and by Earther standards well past party time and into get wasted territory. Hope saw a few of Cesar’s enforcers dotted about making sure no one started anything. She gave a nod to the two guys on the door, who nodded back.
Inside, noise. Noise, noise, and more noise. The smell of spiced food, beer, and sweat. The Cajun Station was a long room, the entire hubward wall a bar, with ten or twelve people behind it in various states of dress serving cocktails and whatever else you wanted. In the middle were a mixture of open spaces and low-slung tables. The rimward wall was actually the rim of the station, an expanse of window that looked out on the hard black. Privacy booths nestled against the windows. One of the massive spans Triton Station was famous for stretched out empty. No ship was being constructed in that cradle. It’d be something to see if there w
as, but most people here were ignoring the hard black, the engineering marvel of the construction cradle, and the lip of the station’s namesake moon below them. Hope would have liked to spend a little time looking out that window, maybe checking out lifters coming up from the crust below, but she wanted to find Reiko more.
Hope scanned the crowd, looking for Reiko’s dark hair, or a glimpse of Jenny’s shaved head, or Pierce’s tattooed face. She came up a blank, and wished for a moment she had her rig to do the scanning for her. But then she’d look like an idiot, wearing an Engineer’s rig in a bar, which is why it was in their apartment, resting on the floor.
No problem. She’d just mosh her way around the place until her elliptical orbit intersected with Reiko’s. It’s how they’d met the first time. The place to start was the bar itself, because after finding and removing the virus on their console, she felt like she deserved a celebratory cocktail. As she sauntered up to the bar, the sound inverters above it dropped the noise level. It allowed the bartenders to hear what customers wanted to order, and allowed casual conversation to be conducted at a lower volume than screaming.
Hope docked at the bar, plastic jacket crinkling, and said, “House special.” The bartender, a woman with a waistcoat and top hat, nodded and began to mix it.
“Brave,” said a familiar voice at her elbow. She turned, taking in Nate, an elbow on the bar, metal hand around a glass full of crushed ice and something green. He was wedged against the bar, a person sprawled face-down on the bar beside him.
“Hi,” said Hope. “Why?”
Nate swirled his glass at her. “It’s made with Chartreuse.”
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