Girl From Above Escape (The 1000 Revolution Book 2)

by Pippa Dacosta

  I made a quick comms call, then searched through my cabin for anything out of place. The hidden compartment, which was once stocked with some mighty fine weapons, had been raided, but, after digging around one of the many secret panels, I found a pistol and tucked it against the small of my back, concealing it under my shirt. The sweep of the cabin complete, I did the same in the cargo hold until I’d rifled through as many of the countless hidden panels and hiding places as possible. I didn’t find any suspicious items or trackers, but then again, would fleet need to plant a tracker when they had one flying shotgun?

  “Captain, we’re idling outside the gate’s pickup zone.”

  I tapped my wrist comm. “Hold her steady. I’ll be right up.”

  I warily eyed Fran’s cargo. The crates were stacked to chest height and vacuum wrapped in blue plastic. I couldn’t get a look inside without voiding our commission. I didn’t usually check cargo. We carried drugs, guns, and stolen goods. What’s to check? Fran had said she was running the cargo as part of the deal for Asgard’s airspace codes. Those codes were worth a lot more than what a few crates could hold. I picked at the wrapping, but it wouldn’t come free without me slicing it open. If I couldn’t get inside the crates, I’d have to get the answers from Fran.

  Returning to the bridge, I found her prepping Starscream for the jump. The jump gate sparkled to the left of the obs window, its high-visibility lights alternating between green and red. The funnel shape tapered off at one end, where it swallowed and spat out ships as regularly as traffic moved through intersections back on old Earth. We were far enough out for the flow of traffic to ignore us.

  “We’re all paid up. Shouldn’t be any issues getting through the gate,” Fran said, turning her seat to face me. Her eyes widened. “I forgot how ugly you are.”

  She roamed her gaze all over me and then leaned back with an appreciative click of her tongue. “Is it possible you look even worse cleaned up?”

  Her words belied the sideways tilt of her lips from the smile threatening to break through.

  “What’s the cargo?” I asked.

  “Didn’t ask. Must be hot to trade a run for Asgard codes though. The contact who got me in, she’s er … she’s something of a big name among certain factions.”

  “Factions?”

  “The Candelario family.”

  Well, that went a long way to explaining how Fran had gotten codes to get Starscream inside Asgard. The Candelarios were notorious for killing anyone who crossed them, or showed them up, or for no reason other than they felt like it. A twitchy lot, at the best of times. The rest of the time, they were flat-out psychotic. Most smugglers refused to deal with them; too many had vanished during Cande runs. I could believe the Candes gave the codes to Fran in exchange for hauling their cargo; no other fucking smuggler would work for them.

  “And where’s the drop off?” I asked.

  “KP-Ninety-Two.”

  “Wonderful.” A backwater planet they hadn’t even bothered naming. I leaned on the back of my chair and scratched at my now smooth chin. “How much credit is in the account?”

  Fran puffed out a it’s-gonna-hurt sigh. “Enough for a cycle, if we cut down on luxuries.”

  Luxuries, as if we had any other than Fran’s delightful lavender soap, which I now smelled like in a wholly unsettling way.

  “So we’re docking at KP-Ninety-whatever before we do anything else.” I could make that work. To deal with the Candes, I’d have to pretend to be the obedient pet smuggler, but it was doable. “Any other surprises I should know about?”

  A month—a cycle—in Asgard; a lot could happen in that time.

  Fran waited long enough for me to wonder what the hell was coming next, then she said, “Your brother’s alive. Still a commander, although I’ve heard he’s the commander of a freighter and not much else. He’s on probation.”

  I hadn’t expected my heart to jump quite like it did. Emotion probably showed all over my face before I could wipe it away with a hand. My own son-of-a-bitch brother had given me up to fleet. Last time I’d seen him, I’d left him dying in the synth’s arms.

  “Jesse’s still on Mimir,” Fran added.

  “Jesse?” I’d killed Jesse’s pimp; she still owed me credits for that. “How—?”

  “The synth got her and your brother off Ganymede. She wiped out a few dozen fleet soldiers in the process and stole a shuttle. I guess they’d planned themselves a little trip to save your ass on Mimir.”

  #1001 hadn’t been coming to save me. She was a fucking riddle. Saves my brother in one breath and tries to kill me in the next. A synthetic human being, a fleet commander, and a sex worker escaping a drug lord to rescue a smuggler? It sounded like a bad joke.

  “Well, ain’t that something.”

  I didn’t remember much after getting shot. #1001 had known exactly what she’d been doing when that bullet had grazed my forehead. I touched the scar, and the memory stalked through my thoughts.

  “What happened to you?” I asked. “Last I heard, you were putting up a fight with Creet’s men.”

  “Fleet blasted the Mimir warehouses to bits,” she replied, turning her attention to the flight controls to prime for the jump. “After that, they didn’t care much for who was left. They fucked off and left us to clean up their mess. Bren, me, and Jesse, we helped where we could.”

  She paused and turned to meet my gaze. “Creet made it out, but a lot of traders didn’t.”

  “Any news from the Fenrir Nine?” The folks who pegged you for a traitor?

  “Nothing. Vanished like they were never there to begin with.”

  If she was lying, she was fuckin’ good at it, but then I already knew that. Two years by my side in black was no small thing. We’d spent more time together than most anyone did these days. I wanted to believe she was my second-in-command—wanted to believe it so badly that I could convince myself to overlook certain things, such as her breaking me out of Asgard with what appeared to be little effort.

  “And where’s the synth now?”

  Fran shot me a judgmental look that cut through some of my armor. Yes, I was going to call her the synth because that’s what she was. She wasn’t Haley, my ex-girlfriend—the girl I’d let die—not anymore, no matter what the synth remembered. That was something I did not want to believe—something I hadn’t let myself think about while in Asgard—because it would drive me fucking crazy to think she was genuinely alive in a recycled, synthetic body. My life was filled with enough fucked up shit without adding that to the mix. I gave Fran a look that warned her off going there.

  She shrugged. “Fleet took her, same as they took you.”

  That meant #1001 was probably back at Chitec. “Good.”

  She was dangerous, and not just because she’d had my number punched. All synths were dangerous.

  “So, we going to jump and deliver the cargo?” Fran asked.

  “Soon.” I pushed off the back of the flight chair. “I need you to help me check something first.”

  I gestured for her to walk out ahead of me. “When I swept the ship, I noticed a faulty seal. I don’t wanna put Starscream under pressure if there’s a chance she’ll blow. It’s probably nothing, but I need your keen eyes on it.”

  “Sure.” She lifted off the chair and headed out of the bridge. “Where is it?”

  “Inside the docking lock.”

  Walking behind her on the catwalk, I rested my hand on the gun against my back, but she didn’t turn. Maybe she trusted me, or maybe she was so confident she didn’t need to worry about the washed-up fleet captain trailing behind her.

  When she stepped inside the airlock, I slammed my palm against the seal button and the pressure door dropped between us, slamming into place with a hiss. Through the eight-by-five reinforced window, I watched her whirl to face me.

  She slammed her hands against the door. “Shepperd?!”

  A dull chime sounded. Ten of those and the airlock would depressurize. After that, it’d take a
bout fifteen seconds for her to die from the lack of oxygen.

  I licked my lips, wishing to the nine systems that I didn’t have to do this. “Give me one good reason why I should keep you on board Starscream.”

  She pressed her face against the reinforced glass, green eyes alight with fury.

  “You bastard,” she said, voice muffled by the door. “You won’t kill me. I saved you from Asgard.”

  “Yeah, you did. Thanks for that. But unless you start telling me the truth, I can’t have you as my second.”

  “You selfish, stubborn, stupid bastard!”

  Chime. Eight to go.

  Her lashes fluttered. She’d heard the chime.

  “You’re not gonna purge me out the airlock.” She pushed back and ran her hands through her hair. “You’re not that crazy.”

  “Yeah, see … a cycle on Asgard does crazy shit to people. PTSD, malnutrition, only myself for company, and we both know I’m an ass.”

  She grinned and planted her hands on her hips. “Do it.”

  My smile crumbled away. I leaned in close to the window. “Fran, don’t bluff me. You’ve seen me kill for less. I can’t trust you. You’re fleet.”

  “I’m not fleet! This is ridiculous.” Chime. Her cocky smile twitched. “Cale …”

  “The Nine are rarely wrong. They told me you’re fleet.”

  “They’re wrong this time.”

  Damnit. I couldn’t have her on board. I needed a second who could get me across the nine systems without me having to worry about fleet peering over my shoulder.

  “Tell me the truth.”

  She strode forward and pushed her face close to the glass. We glared at each other, only inches apart.

  “I’m not fleet,” she hissed. The defiant heat in her glare was almost enough to convince me.

  “Getting Starscream into Asgard’s airspace? Putting yourself in harm’s way? You’d never mount a rescue mission unless there was more in it for you. And how did you get Starscream off Mimir before fleet could blow her to bits? Where were you on Mimir when the synth came for me? It should have been you backing me up, Fran. Did you call fleet in? Was it you who told them where I was? That the nine were there too? Two years with me …” My voice cracked. I swallowed hard. “Two years. Why? I know I’m fucked up and you’re too good a pilot for these backwater runs. I know that. I’ve always known it. So why did you stay?”

  She licked her lips, eyes glistening, and looked away.

  Chime. How many had that been? Seven? Six? Shit.

  “Just tell me.”

  “Caleb, please …” Tears brimmed her bright eyes. Fucking tears. It’d kill me to kill her.

  “You’re better than this. Livin’ as a smuggler in a rusty tugship? This life … it ain’t you, Fran. For fuck’s sake, just tell me the truth.”

  “I am!” She slammed her palms against the door.

  Chime.

  “I’m sorry. I really am.” I forced myself to look into her eyes, to see the truth there.

  Fuck, if she was lying and I kept her on board, it could ruin everything, ruin more than what my life was worth. The Nine were the people’s last chance to break Chitec’s chokehold on the nine systems. They were more important than me. They were the right way, and my only chance to clean up my shit-soaked life. If Fran fucked that up, if I let her get in the way—Chime.

  “Caleb.” Fear drained all color from her face. “I know where she is. Haley—the synth. I can get you to her. They’ll decommission her, melt her down, turn her into scrap. I can get you to her.”

  “What makes you think I care?” I spoke with conviction, as if my withered heart hadn’t stuttered.

  The rigid fear on her face turned to realization. Finally, she saw me for what I was and knew I would blast her out of the airlock.

  “I am fleet.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. The right thing to do would be to kill her. My stomach dropped through the floor.

  Chime.

  “I—It’s different now,” she said, breath misting the glass. “I stayed … I stayed because this is me. Starscream is my escape.” She bowed her head and bumped her forehead against the window. “Do it.”

  I hit the disengage button, the countdown halted, and the door hissed as it receded into the bulkhead above. Fran came at me like a wild thing. Her nails raked across my face, tearing at my cheek.

  I caught her wrists, swung her around, and slammed her against the wall. “Stop!”

  She shoved against my hold, glared hard, and gritted her teeth. “You son of a bitch! You were going to kill me!”

  When she thrust her head forward, I dodged sideways, narrowly avoiding what would have been a broken nose. She bucked, stamped on my shin, then brought her knee up, going for my fucking jewels.

  “Stop!” I smothered her body with mine, leaving her with nowhere to go and with no room to move.

  She tried to crack her fist across my face, and when that didn’t work, she wrapped her hand around my throat. Jesus, she was a whirl of teeth and nails.

  I caught her wrists and pinned them against the wall. “For fuck’s sake, don’t make me throw you back in there!”

  She snarled something in Spanish and I pushed harder, holding her still. “Nobody fucks with me and my ship.”

  The feel of her body against mine, her panting reminding me of the last time we’d been this close—her beneath me, demanding I fuck her—ignited a whole other battle in my head. Aggression melted into lust and pooled low, stirring an ache in my balls.

  I bowed my head and said close to her ear, “You drive me fuckin’ crazy, Fran.”

  My voice was too low, too gruff, need dragging the words down.

  “So why—why let me live?” Her words fluttered against my cheek while the iron tension in her body softened. She stilled and molded against me instead of fighting.

  I loosened my grip on her wrists and eased back. If she knew I was fucking hard for her, she’d twist my need in her favor and I wouldn’t—couldn’t—say no.

  “Now that I know the truth, I can do something about it.” Slowly releasing her left arm, I reached behind me and hovered my hand over the pistol. “Come at me again and I’ll shoot you and dump your ass out the airlock. Are we clear?”

  She breathed fast through her nose. Her eyes flitted wildly about my face, but the fight and fear had fizzled out of her. “Yes.”

  I finally let her go, releasing a quivering sigh, and stepped back. With space between us, I could wrangle the lust back under control and bury it under all the other fucked up shit inside my head.

  “While we’re having this little heart-to-heart, is there anything else I should know?” I kept my hand behind me, the warning clear.

  “No …” She glanced at where I was concealing my hand, and then lower, to where I couldn’t hide the fact that I was fucking hard and ready. She then lifted her chin and glared back at me as if she held all the righteous ground. “There’s nothing else, Captain.”

  Captain. That was good. I needed to distance myself from her, make her my second-in-command all over again—and nothing else. “You were planted on my ship to get the Nine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay then.” I lowered my hand to my side. “I’ll be piloting Starscream to KP-nowhere. You get maintenance duties.”

  She opened her mouth, an argument on her lips, then saw the look on my face and swallowed her words. “Yes, Captain.”

  * * *

  The jump went without a hitch; they usually did. As long as credit was flowing into the right accounts—namely Chitec’s—you could get anywhere in the nine systems. We set Starscream down on KP92, which turned out to be an early terraformed settlement left to rot when the import cost of goods began outweighing the export profit from the iron ore. When the main gate failed in 2319, KP92—like the rest of the nine—got cut off from the original system and was left to fend for itself. When Chitec stepped in and reopened inter-system travel, fleet never bothered to come back. Jump forward a few
generations and this little planet now hosted one of the most influential mining families in the nine systems, who’s hatred for fleet ran as deep as the iron-rich veins in their mines. The Cande family ruled the Svartalfheim system like spoiled royalty and expected to be treated as such. Their mother was the matriarchal brains, while the five siblings did the grunt work. I’d mostly avoided them, until now.

  Considering I’d just gotten out of Asgard and wasn’t exactly known for my polite society skills, I wasn’t exactly thrilled to meet Fran’s Cande contact.

  “New rule,” I said, striding down Starscream’s ramp after Fran. “Where you go, I go.”

  A mule and wagon stomped by, sending up clouds of red rock dust that tasted like blood. Iron—the street stank of it.

  “I’d handcuff you to me, but we both know where that’d lead.”

  She ignored my sly grin. “Fine.”

  She barely held my stare before stepping off the ramp and onto the busy dockside. We hadn’t mentioned the airlock incident and probably wouldn’t, but the tension between us had tightened to the point where it was quivering, close to snapping. I made like everything was smooth sailing, but it wouldn’t last. A cramped tugship wasn’t the place to harbor grudges or secrets. Fran and me had enough of both to choke up Starscream’s catwalks. One of us would snap, and soon. I planned to sleep with a pistol until it happened.

  I followed her weaving path through hagglers and trading tents. I just needed a few days of obedience out of her while I got a few players lined up and my shit in order. After that? Well, I didn’t think much beyond the next payload.

  I skipped my gaze over the market stalls. Heavy machinery parts and junk mostly, but there would be an alcohol trader somewhere. Fran artfully wove around refugees from the famine-riddled Niflheim system. They each held up destination boards. I didn’t do live cargo; it always tried to fuck me over.