The Eurynome Code: The Complete Series: A Space Opera Box Set

by K. Gorman

  Reaching across the table made the gesture awkward, but spaceships came equipped with space limits, and the table was on the skinnier side. “I’m glad this isn’t going to be weird between us.”

  “Not at all, woman. Besides, you won me some money. Cookie and I had a bet going.”

  Color flushed into her cheeks again. “Yeah, I guess we were a bit of an open secret. I dunno—can you even call it a secret if no one’s made the first move?”

  “Secret longings, perhaps.” Soo-jin rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure what took you so long, to be honest. You guys have been eyeing each other for at least two months now.”

  Two? Had it really been that long? She hadn’t been keeping track—or maybe she hadn’t noticed precisely when it had begun. Soo-jin had an eye for those things.

  The netlink buzzed again. Both their gazes dropped as a new message came in from Nomiki—a wall of text this time.

  Karin’s eyebrows lifted as she read through. “They’re moving me.”

  “What?” Soo-jin reached over and flipped the netlink around. As she scanned the message, her eyebrows shot up, as well. “Manila? That’s… quite the move.”

  “I think they mean the ship, actually.” Nova Manila existed on Fallon’s other planet, Tala, which sat on the opposite side of the two suns from Chamak Udyaan in its current orbital position.

  “Maybe they want to keep you mobile? Hit as many cities as they can? Balance your healing out more?” Soo-jin hesitated. By the falter in her expression, some of her thoughts must have caught up to her. “Wait a minute, what kind of ship are we talking? I can’t imagine them moving you around Chamak in a starship, and anything planet-bound sounds like a really shady place for you to sleep. Detrimental to your health and stress levels.”

  “It’s a starship.” Karin squinted as another message popped up, her breath catching. As a third and fourth message popped up, the occasional spelling error and misplaced word threading through the text, she had a sudden image of Nomiki standing to the side of some hallway, typing as fast as she could on her netlink’s short keys. “They made a deal with the Alliance.”

  “Wow. That… explains why the meeting was so long.”

  No shit. Even ignoring the two governments’ rocky history, the more recent conflicts—mostly involving her—put them as natural antagonists to each other. A clear case of resource control in a crisis.

  Another message came up. She skimmed it, then shot to her feet. “Shit. They’re on their way over. Have to get ready.”

  “Make sure you wake Marc up, too,” Soo-jin called as she retreated back through the Mess door, leaving her half-eaten cereal on the table. “He’d hate to be caught in his boxers.”

  Chapter Eight

  The FSS Manila was one of Fallon’s foremost starships, and one of the three providing orbital defense for Chamak Udyaan. Large and ominous, with slow, aesthetically pleasing curves and an aerodynamic shape that, despite its size, meant it had been built to break atmo—when she’d first discovered the scale of these titans, she’d had to look up videos of them doing it before she could believe it—half of it glinted in the dual light of Lokabrenna and Aschere, the gold and cyan melding together on its hull. It even managed to make the moon behind it look small. Especially when they drew into the shadow of its bow.

  Karin ducked the Nemina into a second-level aft hangar, feeling like an ant as she did so, locked the ship down, then met her escort with a curt nod.

  Her heart raced. During the flight, they’d picked up the Alliance on screen. Not a cruiser like the last one, Enmerkar, but a destroyer-class with a similar size and weapons range. Its ident tags had registered as NOV-233 before the Nemina had swapped it out with the name Orcus. What little she had skimmed of its information made it out as smaller than Manila, but older. Which meant that the Alliance had sent it as a sign of good faith, or they meant it as a sacrificial lamb if Fallon turned hostile.

  She winced as she remembered the battle between Agni and Enmerkar. Fallon had won that one, too. In terms of fleet, theirs was the clear superior. Especially around Chamak, with another two fully-loaded starships within range in addition to its territorial ground and satellite defenses.

  Okay, maybe now isn’t the best time to think of orbital battle. She gave a hard swallow, staving off more images that threatened to rise in her head—she’d been in the middle of that last fight—and directed her mind to happier, more optimistic things.

  Peace talks. They’d been in successful peace talks. Warships just happened to be the ships that one did those kinds of things on.

  Fortunately, the Manila soon distracted her from any of those thoughts.

  Karin hadn’t just trained as a pilot for something to do—her career path had stemmed from a genuine interest in flight and spacecraft. She’d planned to be a mechanic at first, which had seemed a good way to stay hidden, but Nomiki had encouraged her to try out basic flight training, and she’d spent the rest of the night fantasizing about ship specs and what they could do.

  Humanity had come a long way from pumping hot air into large balloons and steering them with the wind.

  The Manila was the most sophisticated ship she had ever been on. Much like its outer hall, the ship’s interior flowed together. The wide, spacious halls, full of soft curves and subtle diagnostics nooks, had a scaled, dove-gray pattern that complemented the matte slate-gray of the floor. Light tubes mirrored each other on the floor and ceiling, as well as behind the black and red ridges that met in long, diagonal segments overhead, resembling a stylized pattern of one of Tala’s indigenous snake species.

  Holoscreens flashed on the walls as they passed, and every time a door to the hall opened, she caught a glimpse of more tech, either in the form of a muted, slate-gray storage grid, a security office with full-length holos and an active, real-time, three-dimensional model of the entire ship underlighting the serious faces of the officers around it, or a light-glass buffet circle in a small crew break room.

  Clio, I’ve been missing out. Why haven’t I used my position to see in before? She wasn’t beyond that kind of thing. Not when it came to fancy ships.

  Beside her, Soo-jin shared her excitement, albeit in an engineering capacity. The large grin that split her face had a happy, wild edge to it, and she shone it on every holoscreen, door panel, and bulkhead they passed.

  In contrast, Marc had taken on a somber expression. Dressed in a black shirt and pants ensemble that, she noticed, hugged his shape rather well on the top, he studied the ship with a kind of wary indifference. He’d taken the news of her move well, and when word had come up the chain that Fallon would offer him—and the rest of the Nemina’s crew—temporary positions as contractors within their ranks, he’d taken that in stride, as well, not even making a comment as she’d flown them to the starship in orbit.

  Actually, come to think of it, he hadn’t spoken much at all since they’d got the news. And with everything moving so fast, she hadn’t noticed that last fact until just now.

  Shit. I’m a terrible girlfriend.

  Crushing the guilty feeling, she reached over and gave his arm a quick tap. “Everything okay?”

  He glanced down at her. “Yes. Why?”

  “You just don’t look happy, is all.”

  He grunted. “I’m pessimistic. It takes me longer to adjust.” His gaze dropped beyond her. “And, unlike some people, I don’t have a shiny new ship to improve my spirits.”

  She followed his gaze just as Soo-jin, either oblivious to his comment or giving no shit about it, let out a squeal of excitement, ran up to one of five seemingly identical dashboards set into a bank on the right-hand side, and started fussing over its display. “Guys, this is so cool!”

  Karin watched her for a few seconds, her eyes rising as the woman did a small dance in place—at least, their escort appeared to think it was amusing. “Did you… serve on this ship?”

  “No, but one very much like it. The Mindanao. Another Indo-Philippine class cruiser.” He
turned his head to give the hall a more prolonged glance-over, his expression finally breaking into a wry smile. “Actually, it is kind of nice to see it again.”

  “Adjusted already?” she teased.

  He opened his mouth to reply, but a voice from behind interrupted before he could get the words out.

  “Miss Makos?”

  Karin turned. Her escort, two soldiers who had met her and her party on the flight deck, paused, as well. A third soldier, a man in a mid-range height with short-cropped black hair, smooth brown skin, and features that pointed toward a mix of South and East Asian ancestry, walked up the hall toward them, his hand lifted in a hesitant wave.

  He looked familiar.

  “Oh—” Karin snapped her fingers, trying to remember the name. “You’re the guy from the barbecue. Avionics and cataloging. Er…”

  “Saia,” Marc supplied.

  “Yes. Saia. That’s it. Sorry.”

  At her tone and expression, their escort seemed to relax. She could understand their worry, though. She’d seen it a lot, lately. It didn’t matter that they were in one of the most secure places in the Fallon Empire, surrounded by allies—if something happened to her, the entire system was screwed.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Saia made a placating gesture with his hand that turned into a motion to smooth the sleeve of his dark blue uniform.

  Even though she’d spent the last month around the military, she still didn’t know what rank the two red stripes on his epaulets denoted. Her escort had three each, however.

  “It’s nice to see you again.” They must have been moving a lot of crew up from the planet, or this was just one hell of a coincidence. “Sorry about Soo-jin the other night. She was very drunk.”

  “Hey!” Still fawning over the dashboard up the hall, Soo-jin’s head snapped around. “I was only a little drunk.”

  “That’s okay, that’s okay, I—”

  His gaze dropped, and a troubling expression, a flash of pain, fear, and anxiety, caught her attention as he ducked his face away from hers. As he made to speak, her spine stiffened, suddenly on guard.

  “Actually, let me give it to you straight. My wife and my daughter—her name’s Mary, just turned three—were both taken. We registered them with the council, and are on a waiting list, but… If I don’t get them back very soon, we will be evicted from our house. Is there any way you could see them before you left? If I managed to get them on board somehow?”

  A ripple went through the group, the quiet dragging out after his last words. Her jaw tightened. As she took a breath to speak, her mind couldn’t help replaying back his visit from last night. He’d seemed strained then, too, but she’d taken it for a normal kind. Now, she knew better.

  She didn’t think he was a pilot, so even if they weren’t on one of Fallon’s most heavily-guarded vessels, he couldn’t bring them up himself. She’d have to use her position to arrange something. Not impossible, she supposed—the Fallon military would probably grant her anything she asked, especially since she hadn’t asked much—but right now was one of the worst times to try.

  Last night would have been better. And that’s probably what he’d been trying to do when he’d wandered by their barbecue—to ask her for a favor—but then Soo-jin had happened, or he’d lost the nerve, or…

  Her throat tightened, and she gave a hard swallow, wetting her tongue. “I—”

  “Miss Makos cannot deter from her schedule.” The soldier on her left stepped in, making his presence a partial block between her and Saia. His tone was firm, but he had a kind, pitying expression as he looked down on Saia. “You know this.”

  “I know, I know—” Saia winced, ducking his head again. “But they’re my family.”

  “We all have families.”

  “I know.”

  Another few seconds passed, neither moving. Then her escort stepped back, turning around, and that seemed to be the cue for the group to start moving again.

  She hesitated. “Sorry.”

  As they walked away, Marc gave a little tug on her arm, fingers sliding around the inside of her elbow, and she turned.

  “It’s not your fault,” he murmured. “You’re doing everything that you can.”

  But, as they turned the corner up the hall and Saia—still standing where they’d left him, his pleading gaze staring into the back of her shoulders—vanished from sight, she couldn’t help but feel the hollowness in her words.

  The bridge helped distract her. Although rows and rows of terminals and holoscreens were packed into the space, extending into the largest bridge she’d ever seen—over ten meters wide, and at least half of that between her and the glass—it felt as though she were about to trip into space.

  Unlike the Nemina, whose frontal windows came in three straight, distinct segments complete with frames and sealant, the Manila’s front window curved like the glass of an aquarium, filling the entire front section of the ship. Its lower part dipped below the bridge’s suspended floor, giving an impression of suspension, as if the glass never ended, and the upper curved into the ceiling more than five stories above them.

  Several mid-air projections overlay the view, the most prominent showing a map of the planet with tags for the larger vessels circling it and routes indicating their orbital paths. Below, people moved and worked among the terminals with a quiet, professional efficiency, their slate blue uniforms catching the white glow of their desks’ underlighting in clean, straight planes, few looking up from their work or smiling.

  Beyond, taking more than one third of the screen, lay the slow curve of Chamak Udyaan’s atmosphere.

  Chamak never lifted its cloud cover, which turned the planet into a soft, rotating sphere of muted greens and whites, its atmosphere appearing to the far right of the forward windows, half in shadow. Beyond, the twinned suns Aschere and Lokabrenna made bright starbursts above it, tinted to a dark, muddled gray by the auto-tone. Three moons circled Chamak, but only two were visible. Korikishiko, which she’d been to, stood out in a brindled pattern in the middle of the screen, and Shilin—little more than a floating rock—was on the far right of the screen, visible above Chamak’s northern pole. Ships, stations, and satellites glinted in orbit around the planet like fish in a pool. Manila’s sister ship, Nagato, pulled into sight as she watched.

  And, farther out into the black, little more than a speck of light highlighted on the screen overlay, the Alliance vessel Orcus approached.

  One of her escort jostled into her from the side, and she gripped the railing to the lower balcony tight as she flattened herself to make room for a new group of people to pass. The entire bridge was a bustle of activity, people striding here and there, netlinks and comms active, a quiet industry underlying the frenetic pulse she could feel in the air. Her gaze went again to the Orcus, stayed for a few seconds, then dropped to find the command.

  General Brindon was not alone today. Crane was here, too, along with Ramesh and Kozawa—he’d been one of the first Karin had healed—all talking with a focus that seemed to block out the hive around them.

  Nomiki stood close-by and had already noticed her. She met Karin’s gaze for a moment before breaking her attention back to the conversation, the hand at her side giving a small wave, then lifting a single finger to tell her to wait. Ten technicians monitored the glowing bank of manual switchboards, moving to and fro to keep track of Manila’s systems and cross-reference it with the data they got from the computer.

  Karin took a deep breath and let it out as she relaxed against the railing, content to wait for her sister. Beside her, Marc crossed his arms and took in the scene. Soo-jin leaned over the railing, the screens from below underlighting her skin as she craned to get a look at some of the dashboards farther away.

  After a minute, the group of generals appeared to ripple, with Kozawa taking Crane aside for a second chat, and Nomiki broke away. She gave a small, cheerful wave as she approached. Looking at her face, one wouldn’t have known that she’d stayed up all ni
ght—even Brindon was showing some signs of wear, and all four of them cradled coffee packets in their hands—but that was just another facet of Nomiki’s ability at work.

  Karin blinked, suppressing the urge to yawn. Yeah. Sometimes, her sister just got all the gifts.

  “So,” Nomiki said, making a gesture toward the three of them. “You made it.”

  “Was that in question?” Karin asked.

  “Not really, but it’s nice to see you, anyway.” She shot her a broad grin.

  “Well, it’s nice to see no one’s declared war while I was en route.” Karin glanced to the window, where the Alliance ship had grown larger in the window. “What’s the deal?”

  “They pretty much agreed to all of our terms, though they changed a few—” Nomiki made a flapping gesture with her fingers. “Just minor details like location and transit allowances and such. We’re going to transfer some of their Lost over for you to heal, then send them back. Kind of a good faith thing. They’re still not telling about whatever’s happening on Nova, but I think they’ll start once you do your thing. After that… well, I guess we’ll need to find somewhere with more space for them.”

  Karin’s stomach did a small flip. “I’m not going over there, am I?”

  The ship still wasn’t visible to the naked eye, but Fallon’s scanners had it in full view, and a three-dimensional model was visible on a nearby screen. The familiar, streamlined behemoth outline of Alliance cruisers gave her a sick feeling in the back of her throat.

  “Ten hells, no.” Nomiki almost choked on herself. “That would be blindingly stupid. No. They can bring their shit over here for us to clean up, and we’re going to keep an eye on everything.” She shook her head, fumbling for the appropriate swear. “Clio, I am not letting you go anywhere.”

  Karin rolled her shoulders and breathed out a slow breath. “Well, that’s good, then. It’ll be nice to help them now that they aren’t trying to make me a heal slave.”