by T. M. Catron
“No fishing, then.”
“No. Guess not.”
“Why did you suggest it?”
“I’m hungry.”
Solaris wandered away toward another stall and asked the merchant about his prices. Rance began searching for the seller of the bread she’d smelled earlier.
Maybe she should beg for food.
Rance had never begged for anything in her life. She wasn’t that desperate yet, was she?
After a moment of deliberation, the captain decided she was too hungry to care what anybody thought. But begging wasn’t an option, either. Rance’s position aboard the ship wasn’t a secret. No one in his right mind would believe that the tall, composed captain of the Star Streaker couldn’t afford her own supper. She sighed.
After two months, the Streaker still attracted attention. Passersby gawked in amazement like a bronze statue had been placed on the landing pad. It sort of had. Except for two small runs, the ship had baked in the sunshine of Ares day after day, serving no purpose other than to provide a home for Rance and her crew.
What a failure she’d turned out to be.
Before Rance could sink deeper into her misery, a commotion upset the quiet, orderly marketplace and interrupted her self-pity. Buyers shifted out of the way as the dark-haired boy she’d seen earlier sprinted down the street. The vegetable seller ran after him like a dog chasing a rabbit.
The boy’s arms overflowed with purple tubers. They flew out of his arms as he crashed into the crowd and maneuvered around the stalls. The faster he ran, the more vagrappes tumbled to the ground.
The chase had almost reached Solaris, who was watching with interest. The merchant’s hand reached out to grab the boy’s tunic, but the boy narrowly dodged him. Then, the kid took advantage of an opening between two fishermen, and the chase headed right for Solaris.
She half-wished Solaris would stick out his foot to trip the merchant.
Instead, Solaris reached out and grabbed the boy by the arm.
Rance cringed. Apparently, her CO couldn’t forget twenty years of upholding the law. Why couldn’t he just let the boy run away? She hurried over. The last thing they needed was to draw attention to themselves.
The kid wriggled and kicked at Solaris’ shins. But Solaris’ long arm held the boy’s feet well out of range. The merchant arrived, panting and red-faced. Without pausing for breath, he began shouting. The boy cringed and tried to pull away. The last of the vegetables fell out of his arms, except a lone tuber that he clutched firmly between his shaking hands.
Solaris kept his grip firm. “Give it up, lad.”
“The boy must be turned over to the authorities!” the merchant said, pulling a communicator from his robes. “He’s ruined my vagrappes!”
“Wait,” Solaris said. “I’m sure he’ll pick them up and return them.”
The man’s face turned three shades redder. “I don’t want them returned! He’s touched them with his grubby hands! There’s no telling what diseases he carries.”
“He’s just hungry,” Rance said, coming up beside them.
The merchant glared at her. “Then he should pay for them like everybody else!”
“He obviously can’t pay for them,” Solaris said, his own face growing red. “Or he would have done so.”
“You Core Worlders don’t know anything about life on Ares. He can pay for them. He can work like everybody else and pay like everybody else. Instead, he chooses to steal for a living.”
“Yes, because he looks like he does so well at that!” Rance snapped. “Look at him. He’s starving!”
With the three adults towering over him, the boy’s eyes widened in fear. He still gripped the vagrappe like his life depended on it. Maybe it did.
“There’s no need to call the authorities,” Solaris said, his voice growing cold with anger. “He’s been frightened enough.”
“Hmph. He needs to be taught a lesson.” The merchant grabbed for the boy, but Solaris let go of the kid and stepped between them. Seizing his chance, the boy scurried away with his one lonely vegetable.
A vein bulged in the merchant’s forehead. “You idiot. You let him get away!”
A crowd had gathered, encircling Solaris, Rance, and the furious merchant in what was clearly the day’s entertainment.
Rance thought the man’s attitude was disgusting, but she held back from telling him exactly what she thought. They had already drawn too much attention.
“We’ll pay for it,” Rance said, desperate to get out of the limelight.
“The boy must pay! He stole! I work hard to support my family, and he has spit all over our living.”
“He did no such thing!” Solaris said. “We are offering to pay for the vagrappe in his stead.”
The man sniffed and fixed them with a cold stare. “All of them.”
“All?”
“Yes. You will pay for all the vagrappes he ruined, or I will call the authorities now.”
Solaris stood up straight, using his superior height to tower over the man. “What do you charge?”
“Fifty credits.”
“Fifty?” Rance choked out. That was all they had left. All she had left in the world—unless she wanted to siphon fuel from the Star Streaker. Without fuel, she might as well sell the ship.
“We’ll pay it,” Solaris said.
He pulled out his handset and transferred the funds to the merchant. Rance shook her head. If Solaris had just let the boy run by in the first place, they wouldn’t have just lost their ability to buy dinner for the crew.
Even though Rance was annoyed, buying dinner would only have delayed the inevitable. They needed to leave Ares and find a real job. She repeated this fact to herself as the merchant stormed off, mumbling about interfering off-worlders.
She looked around at the dispersing crowd, many of them frowning and clearly disappointed the argument hadn’t escalated to something more exciting.
Solaris spun around to Rance. “Why did you get involved? Don’t think I can handle it?”
Rance gaped at him, shocked that he was mad at her. “Oh yes, you handled that spectacularly. Why didn’t you let the kid run by? He was just hungry, Roote,” she said, using Solaris’ alias. They always used it in public.
“Being hungry doesn’t give him the right to steal.”
“And being poor doesn’t mean he deserves to starve!”
“Says the woman who’s never been poor in her life.”
Angry heat rose to Rance’s face, dampening her ability to control her temper. “I’m feeling pretty poor right now since we just paid our last fifty credits for one vagrappe.”
“No, eight vagrappes. And you’re the one who suggested we pay for them!”
“Only because you turned into a law-abiding citizen all of a sudden!”
She squared off with Solaris, daring him to say something else stupid so they could continue the fight. But he didn’t, so they silently fumed in the middle of the street, glaring at each other while foot traffic made a wide berth around them.
The argument was inevitable, the result of two months of inactivity. Small rations and little work had made the crew snippy with one another. Rance and Solaris had not been immune to the struggle, but they had held off at actually shouting at each other.
Until now.
“We’ve got to find work anyway,” Solaris said, shooting Rance a dirty look before breaking the staring contest. “We could stay on Ares and debate it until the river dries up, but eventually we just have to leave and see what happens.”
Despite Solaris’ practical advice, they continued to argue all the way to the Star Streaker. Rance was cross at Solaris for interfering with the boy. Solaris was angry at Rance for interfering with him. When he blamed her for losing the fifty credits, she’d had enough.
“Just forget it,” she said. “That’s an order. We’re getting off this rock.”
Solaris closed his mouth, but she imagined he was silently continuing his rant all the way acro
ss the landing pad. The expression on his face left little doubt about his thoughts.
The sight of the Star Streaker improved Rance’s mood only a little. The streamlined, bronze space cruiser gleamed, and the setting sun sent just the right angle of light bouncing off the cockpit window.
Rance’s chest swelled with pride, and she sighed with relief at seeing her home. Their situation wasn’t as bad as she made it out to be. They had the Streaker and the best crew in the galaxy. If that didn’t count for something, nothing did.
Solaris wasn’t experiencing the same fuzzy feelings, however. As they entered the cargo bay, he sniffed in annoyance.
“Got a problem?” Rance asked with as much snark as she could muster.
“You’re so naive, Rance Cooper.”
“And you’re a tiresome know-it-all, Solaris.”
He nodded in infuriating acknowledgment as they climbed the ramp into the cargo bay. Inside, dark metal had been polished until it gleamed like the outside. The floor was spotless—it should have been, considering it hadn’t been used lately. The very air of the ship screamed luxury even down to the smooth door leading to the engine room. Luxury and cleanliness.
At least if they starved, they’d do it in style.
A warm glow shone out from the galley. Harper, upon hearing Rance and Solaris’ voices, peeked her head around the door. Her shock of straight, dark hair stuck up wildly. Her usual bangs fell into her eyes.
Embarrassed that she hadn’t brought dinner, Rance avoided Harper’s eye as she walked into the galley.
But the tiny science officer didn’t heap guilt on them when she saw the captain’s empty hands. “Are we going to take on a job, then, Captain?” she asked.
Harper’s soft voice and warm nature fooled strangers into thinking she was a simple young woman. But she was sharp, and her abilities went far beyond the duties she performed on the Star Streaker. She could have had a job performing advanced hyperspace calculations onboard a Unity ship, or on one of the private runners that ferried nobles from planet to planet. But Harper preferred the quiet life onboard the Streaker and maintaining the ship’s new AI, Deliverance.
Okay, maybe life onboard the Streaker wasn’t that quiet, Rance thought. Only the last two months had been quiet. Ever since they had returned from the disaster on Coru where they’d narrowly avoided some murderous thugs.
“Sorry, Harper,” Rance said. “No supper tonight.”
“Actually,” Harper said. “Abel found some dehydrated rations in his cabin. They are enough to last a week or so if we’re very careful.”
Relieved, Rance nodded at Harper. “I’m glad Abel is willing to share his secret stash with us.”
“I think he forgot about them.”
Sure he did. But Rance was grateful, even though the discovery of the rations only made her feel a tad better. She sank down on the bench at the table and stared ahead, looking down the short, darkened hallway that led to the crew’s quarters on the bottom level. Harper, Abel, and Tally each had a tiny cabin down that corridor.
Maybe Tally should have been Captain, Rance thought in disgust. He’d certainly do a better job than she was doing at the moment.
Solaris walked into the galley wearing his flight suit. He’d changed his face into the one the crew was used to seeing—easy, boyish good looks and a mop of brown hair. That wasn’t his true appearance, either. Rance had never seen the real one. Right now, that irritated her too.
He sat down across from her and stewed, ready to continue the argument if Rance gave him a reason. Harper sensed the tension between them and busied herself with making her favorite herbal tea. After setting a cup in front of each of them, she sat next to Rance and looked at Solaris.
He stared morosely into his cup as if he wished it were something stronger.
“You can’t help that we didn’t get any food, Solaris,” Harper said.
Solaris glanced up, his eyes sharp with criticism. “No, that’s the Captain’s fault.”
Rance rolled her eyes.
Harper frowned and said, “The captain’s not to blame for our current predicament.”
She glared pointedly at him, and Solaris had the grace to look sheepishly back to his tea. Harper was referring to Solaris’ status as a fugitive, the most wanted man in the galaxy. They had risked their necks to hide him.
Feeling vindicated, and particularly grateful to Harper, Rance sipped her tea. It was smooth and fruity and savory all at the same time. Good thing it tasted good because it was supper. They’d make those rations last as long as possible.
Harper had never contradicted Solaris before. If gentle Harper was snapping, Rance knew it was time to move on. They could find another short run in this system, to tie them over until they landed a bigger job. She was about to say something when James’ voice came over the ship’s comm.
“Hey, Captain, hate to interrupt the family meeting, but we have a message from Prometheus.”
“Prometheus? Who do I know on Prometheus?”
Rance’s mind whirled with questions and possibilities as she abandoned her mug on the table and sprinted out of the galley.
She took the stairs two at a time. Down the straight corridor, past her own quarters, then two more tiny cabins—Solaris’ and James’. Then up the ladder into the cramped cockpit.
It overflowed with buttons and screens. Rance’s long legs felt crammed in every time she sat in her seat behind the pilot’s, which was pushed up close to the large window.
The windows were Rance’s favorite part of the ship. One above, one in front. Despite the fact the area was small, Rance loved coming up to stargaze when they weren’t in hyperspace. She’d put up with any situation, as long as she got to return to see the stars after a long day of work.
Today, James had darkened the windows to keep out the glare of the afternoon sun. But they weren’t so dark Rance couldn’t see the yellow sky and look out over the vast expanse of green and purple fields all the way to the river.
“No supper then, huh?” he asked, running a hand through his shaggy red hair.
“Who is it?” Rance asked as she sat in her chair. She sank into the plush seat and propped her feet onto the console in front of her.
“Someone named Moira Finn,” James said, eyeing her dirty boots.
“Moira!”
“Know her?”
“We grew up together on Xanthes. She did the proper thing and got married as soon as she turned eighteen. Wonder how she found me.”
“Maybe through one of our usual contacts? She sent you a video.”
Rance frowned. Moira didn’t associate with the sort of crowd the Star Streaker deemed contacts. If she’d gone to all that trouble, something wasn’t right. An anxious knot formed in Rance’s stomach. If Moira could track her down enough to send a message, Davos could too.
It was undoubtedly time to leave.
Rance glanced out the window, expecting Unity ships to descend on them right then. But the sky was still clear and yellow, so she said, “Play the message, Deliverance.”
Yes, Captain. Playing message from Lady Moira Finn.
Rance had hoped to find a way to get Deliverance to speak audibly. For some reason, it hadn’t been programmed into her code. Harper had been working round the clock to fix it, but even she couldn’t find a way inside to work on it. They’d asked Deliverance herself how to do it, but the AI adamantly refused to help them.
Of course, Rance would inherit an AI that was stubborn.
For now, Deliverance’s words overlaid Moira Finn’s face as it popped up against the backdrop of a sheer, purple curtain made of expensive fabric. Moira had dark, curly hair arranged artfully around high cheekbones and a smooth brow. She had always been classically beautiful, and a life of wealth and ease hadn’t hurt her at all.
Today, though, her beautiful face contrasted sharply with the fear in her eyes. Concerned, Rance leaned forward in her seat and braced herself for bad news about her family. It was the only logical pu
rpose for Moira’s message.
James glanced at the captain’s expression and then moved around to watch over her shoulder. Rance didn’t object. She didn’t have any secrets from James, and Moira couldn’t possibly tell her anything she wouldn’t share with her crew.
“Devri,” Moira began, using Rance’s real name. “I hope this gets to you in time. I’ve gone over and over my options, but I don’t have any, really. I heard you had your own ship—money is no object.”
Moira paused and looked up at something behind the camera. Then she lowered her voice. “My husband is missing.”
She spoke so low Rance had to turn up the volume to hear.
“He’s been gone eight days. And during that time, strange events have taken place. Things aren’t right on Prometheus. I can’t explain everything, but I need to get off this planet. I don’t know who to trust. A few families have already left, but I’m afraid to ask others to take me with them. No one seems to have heard from Richard or wants to talk about him. I can’t explain, but I think he’s in trouble, if not d-dead.”
Moira’s voice broke. She looked behind the camera again with a wild look in her eyes. Then she leaned close to it, her fine nose pressing against the lens.
She whispered, almost inaudibly, “Come get me.”
Then the video went black.
“Come get her?” James asked. “Is that for real?”
Rance pushed the screen away from her and sat back. “Moira always was a bit dramatic. But this is weird.”
“I’ll say. Is Davos behind it?”
Rance looked up at James. “You think it’s a trap?”
James shrugged. “Don’t know what to think, but yeah, could be. How well do you know Moira?”
“Not very well. Our parents moved in the same circles. I saw her at society balls, that kind of thing. If Davos was trying to lure me to Prometheus, he could have picked a closer friend from my childhood.”
James opened his mouth in mock surprise. “You mean you had friends as a child? You were allowed to have them, being the precious heir to the House of Davos? I’m surprised you weren’t kept in a soft, pillowy room at the top of a windowless tower.”