Cagebird

by Karin Lowachee

I take Lukacs and O’Neil back to Ghenseti a shift later when Lukacs has the information—and presumably the agreement—for his contact in the Family of Humanity. It’s the same group of us in the same abandoned room, and that table with its dents and scratches, witness to numerous past deals just like this one. Except maybe this is the first time two agents from Black Ops occupy a side. Problem is, you don’t know which side. I watch Lukacs but am acutely aware of Caligtiera beside me as he reads the proposal from the Family. He doesn’t show it to me, just takes out his chipsheet and pastes it to Lukacs’s comp. Transloading coordinates maybe, some message.

  “I’ll contact them to set up a rendezvous.” He peels the sheet back and puts it in his front cargo pocket, then slides the slate back to Lukacs. “Good job.” Like he’s praising a dog.

  Lukacs’s lip curls just slightly. “And your end of the deal?”

  O’Neil stares at Cal with his arms folded and a disaffected expression.

  “Imminent,” Cal tells them. “Be patient, and trust me it’ll be worth it. You don’t approve of Azarcon and his sway? This will say something.”

  “Like what.” O’Neil’s voice is a flat skepticism.

  “Like fuck you.” Cal stares at him.

  No he won’t budge. But “imminent” is bad enough.

  He looks back at Lukacs. “Once I off-load my weapons, then we’ll talk again about the details of your expectations of me and my ships. And ours of you.”

  His ships. Mine, others’. Assuming he’s got me at heel, at least for now.

  This is no different from Falcone. It might even be worse. He’s got no time or training invested in me.

  Back on the Khan I try one last time to sound out Lukacs as I button him back in quarters. “If we’re going to do something about Archangel, now’s the time. Cal won’t cop to the event.”

  “Stop it now and then what?” He sets his comp on the bed, shoulder to me. Dismissal. “He grows suspicious and murders us all. And then where will that leave things? One live carrier and one still-active pirate network. Status quo.”

  He can shove his dismissal up his ass. “I might almost think you want this alliance. For other reasons.” Pause. “It occur to you that I can kill you right now, claim you looked to betray us, and there isn’t a thing you can do about it? You have no access to Finch, so you can’t hold him over my head.”

  This doesn’t faze him. He taps at his comp idly and doesn’t even address my first stab. “Of course you can kill me. And O’Neil. You can even remove that nanotag, but you haven’t. Why? Because you’re already on my Agency’s radar, you know you have been for a few months now. There’s no getting rid of us.” Now he looks up. “After O’Neil and me there will just be another. This way at least you know who you’re dealing with. Kill us, and it will spring up on you, and trust that my successor won’t be as magnanimous.”

  Practicality tends to get in the way of justified killings. “You people fucking spawn, don’t you.”

  He grins. “Like pirates.”

  O’Neil next door says nothing but, “Your boy better have gotten through to Azarcon. Get me off this ship.”

  The question is how, with Cal right beside me. Moving O’Neil to space is an issue; moving myself seems impossible. I can opt to go down with my ship if it comes to that, but I’m not suicidal. Or gallant.

  I go straight to engineering deck and Piotr, who’s running a skeletal division, just him and two other techs at the drive tower monitoring station, the rest of the deck on autoeyes until there’s an emergency. The city-block-sized room where the towers are housed is framed on one end by a separate enclosed space, plex-fronted and filled by comps whose jobs I have a fundamental familiarity with, but nothing that I could use to keep a ship running at optimum. That’s Piotr’s job, and he seems confident in our downsized crew nevertheless. He’s humming to himself as I step in. The other two crewmembers look up from their stations, gazes lingering. Knowing I’d shot their previous captain. I don’t recognize these two, they must’ve been Taja’s recruits. But not loyal ones. Serve under any captain just as long as they’re left alone to work; every ship has those.

  Not Piotr. He likes me. “Yuri! Have you brought me homemade cookies?”

  I smile. “No, but I’ll get Rika on that.”

  If Rika made a cookie, she’d probably slip poison into it.

  “I need to talk to you.” I give the other two techs a look in dismissal, and they promptly leave.

  Piotr leans back in his chair, rocking, one hand on his section of the comp console. I sit across from him at the neighboring station.

  He says, “What’s up, Captain?”

  I’m conscious of the sidearm under my shirt. There’s no point softening him up, he’ll either understand what I want or turn on me, no matter how sweet the words. “If you had a chance to leave this, would you?”

  One eyebrow arches. “Captain, I would never leave this ship or you. And go where? Straight to jail?” He laughs. “No thank you.”

  “No, not to jail. I mean…on the run, maybe, but not with pirates anymore. Not alongside Caligtiera or any of them who’re vying for Falcone’s operation.”

  His amused expression turns concerned. “Including you?”

  He still thinks I want control of the pirates. And now I have to be clear. “Say I ran too.”

  To his credit he doesn’t react overmuch. He just looks at me, unblinking, chair still rocking at the same slow rhythm. “If you want to run in this ship, you will need help.”

  I feel some of the tension bleed out from me. “Not everyone would be on board for the idea.”

  He shakes his head. “I can think of one offhand.”

  Rika. And all of the crew who follow her as a geisha and my right hand. She was always my second, despite Taja’s ambition.

  I rest my elbow on the comp console, interrupting harmless static helio images, and rub my hair back. “It’d require another internal attack, and I don’t want to do that to her. But you understand… I can’t stay here. There’s—something going down with Caligtiera, and if I stop it, he’ll turn on us. I don’t want to be around when he does.”

  Piotr pinches the bridge of his nose a little, sniffs, and looks at me. “You want off the Khan, but you can’t leave.”

  For complicated reasons, yeah. But for this purpose…“Either Cal will shoot me or Rika will.”

  “Eh…not if there is nothing to shoot.”

  “Meaning?”

  He shrugs and looks out the plex window to the drive towers. “Sabotage.”

  Any lingering doubts about him get vented at that one word. For him to even suggest it, on this ship that he prides himself in, is enough to tell me that he counts himself loyal to me first, then the Blood. I don’t know when that happened for him, and I won’t ask; it’s enough just to have it.

  And we are actually discussing this. He doesn’t need to hear my reaction. He says, “When?”

  “The life pods are intact?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Cal would take us on. We’re not even at half crew anyway. And the rest who were loyal to Taja…”

  “They get on the pods that we don’t fill. I can set the brig to open after most of us have left the ship.” He knows I don’t want to murder the lot of them. He accepts it, and I have to wonder why he’s in piracy in the first place. He reads the question in my eyes and shrugs. “My mother was Blood to Genghis Khan. I had no choice. And it was livable. You don’t see much when you’re down here, in this place.” A look around his domain with a little smile.

  I think of Finch, suddenly. And the one geisha tactic our elder siblings kept secret from us because it doesn’t require a mask. Geisha mind-set never would’ve allowed that last shift in my quarters before I let him go on station.

  “You don’t see much in the Hanamachi either.”

  I check on the bridge and monitor Iron Cross’s activity for a while, but they aren’t moving from Ghenseti, and neither are we. Not until Cal gives the or
der to rendezvous with the Family, so I can do nothing but wait for Finch’s comm and Piotr’s word. I dread the comm that might tell me it’s too late, and Archangel is dead, and in the same twitch of thought I wonder what’s taking Finch so long to tell me he’s contacted Otter, and it’s all been stopped. If that would be his comm. He could also comm to tell me Otter wouldn’t listen to him or…

  It’s not knowing that makes you spin.

  I meet with O’Neil again to tell him Piotr’s plan. And even as the words leave my mouth I start to shake. Hands clamp behind my back. But he sees something anyway, and says, “I think you need to sleep.”

  But sleep won’t help the inevitable. My decision. This lived in fear.

  I comm Rika to tell her to wake me as soon as Caligtiera or Lukacs or O’Neil even blink, and I return to quarters. Avoiding it does no good. I let Dexter out of his cage and sit on the bed holding him on the palm of my hand, letting him peck kisses on my lips. Lie down, Yuri, and shut your eyes. And don’t think about how the blanket and the pillow and the sheets still hold his scent, and this is something you actually miss—even though, or maybe because, it was so fleeting. Don’t think about destroying all of this.

  Dexter stands on my chest and I stare at the ceiling and this is not something I ever wanted to feel again.

  The absence of someone. And something.

  And I think it cuts more because it’s purer, if that word can even be used for me.

  Eventually Dexter flits off, and I roll over, face in the pillow. I imagine there is less room around me, and more of the warmth of his body and the sound of his breathing.

  Rika wakes me. And I’m standing in the corridor with a blade in my hand. She’s three meters away with her gun out, pointed down, and I blink at her, my shoulder pressed to a hatch and slowly, slowly I begin to recognize maindeck, a corridor run away from the primary airlock. She says, “Captain, put the knife away.”

  She doesn’t know if I’m awake or not. So I take a deep breath and straighten. And fold the blade before tucking it into the pocket on my jacket.

  “That weapon better be set on paralysis,” I tell her.

  Only then she lowers it and slips it into her backwaist. “For you, yeah.” Not otherwise. “Where were you going?”

  “Hopefully not out there.” I glance behind me in the direction of the lock. I might have to start securing myself now. Tell my quarters not to recognize my voice and have Piotr change the code on the hatch so I don’t know it. But then I will have to depend on someone else to let me out, and that thought makes me cold.

  I shouldn’t be on this ship much longer anyway. And that thought doesn’t warm me either.

  “You weren’t answering your comms,” she says. “I was coming to get you. Something came in from your boy Finch.” She frowns, still not liking that he was left on Austro. Or not liking that I didn’t tell her why.

  “Thanks.” I walk past her. And once I’m in the lev to go up to the command deck, I lean against the wall and shut my eyes.

  Every time I sleepwalk, instead of sleeping, it always feels like I was running instead. There is no rest.

  “I’m on Macedon,” he says. And even though I’m sitting, I feel unsteady. His voice sounds distant over the comm, though I’m staring right at his image and there is no lag. He stares back, dark eyes, a nervousness in his tone. Gray bulkhead behind his shoulders.

  “Are you all right?” If Azarcon put him in the brig.

  “I’m fine. Just. They insisted. And Otter—well…” He had no choice if the symp made him go. “I told him everything. The captain, that is. About Archangel—he contacted them, and they’re rendezvousing. We’re rendezvousing with them.”

  “You’re on that ship, and they’re going to meet Archangel?” And if Archangel blows—but, obviously, Azarcon wouldn’t put his carrier in the way of harm. “Are you all right?” I need to know.

  “Yuri. I’m fine. They’ve got me in some quarters, and there’s a jet here just, you know, staying with me while I send this. I told the captain about you.”

  “What?” My mind keeps putting Finch in Macedon’s brig, and my memories of that place are not pleasant. “What did you tell him?” Sharper than I should probably be.

  “How we were in prison. A little. Why I was with you on your ship. Things he needed to know.”

  “What else?” Because you’re holding back something.

  “Nothing much.” He glances away as if someone is gesturing to him off-screen.

  “Who’s that? Do they have a gun on you or something? Are they threatening you in some way?” I wait for the comm to cut at those questions.

  “No, Yuri, I’m fine. I swear.”

  “What else did you tell them?” About me. “Are they going to send you back to prison?” Already I start to think what it will take to convince Caligtiera to attack Macedon if that happens. Crazy thoughts. Attacking Macedon in order to free Finch.

  Or not so crazy.

  “No, I don’t think so. I hope not.”

  A voice off-screen says, “Not unless you screw us. But then we won’t bother with jail, sweetness, there’s always one of our airlocks.”

  A jet. I recognize the voice. “Dorr! You little shit, you lay a hand on him and I’ll hunt your bloody carrier—”

  “Yuri!” Now Finch looks frightened.

  A blond head pokes into view. The hair might be cut from what I remember, molded messily now into a short crest lining the curve of his head from crown to back, but the grin I recognize. The flat challenge in his eyes I recognize. One of Macedon’s soljets, and I have murderous thoughts when I see his smile. He places a hand behind Finch on the chair back, leaning close at his shoulder. “’Lo, pirate. Who knew you had such good taste, yah?”

  “Yuri,” Finch says, before I can respond. “I’m all right.”

  “Yah, he fiiine.” Dorr’s grin widens, teeth and tongue showing.

  Finch looks at him. Go away, his eyes say, though he’s smart and keeps it to himself.

  I stew. Sitting there. Unable to do anything else.

  “I want to speak to your captain,” I tell Dorr. “Now.”

  “That can be arranged,” he says in a highfalutin voice, “if he ain’t, yano, gettin’ his teeth cleaned or sommat.” Grin. And before Finch or I can say anything else, he reaches and blanks the comm.

  Sons of bitches on that carrier.

  Sons of bitches.

  In twenty-one minutes I get a direct comm. I’m still sitting at my desk in quarters so I can answer it immediately. And it’s Captain Cairo Azarcon, of course. Looking unchanged since the last time we faced each other, when I was on his ship and he wanted to kill me. His son can be kidnapped or his wife just murdered, but you can never tell by the look in his eyes. They give nothing. I wonder if he sleeps. If he has that much control actually to sleep.

  Falcone’s first protégé. First geisha. First one to leave. First one to single-handedly throw the pirate network into chaos.

  At least one aspect of our relationship has changed. I’m no longer in his brig.

  “Kirov,” he says.

  “Azarcon.” Mutual recognition like two wolves scenting each other before a spar. I don’t wait for him to ask the questions or offer the threats. “Finch is innocent in all of this.” In relation to me.

  A pause. “Indeed?”

  Maybe he’s surprised that I address that first. Maybe it will tell him that I’m not quite the same person that refused to talk on his ship. I confirm it with more words. “Archangel’s still intact?”

  “Yes, they’re looking for the saboteur and checking their entire ship. It’s going to take a while. Where are you?”

  “Ghenseti.” The irony of that doesn’t escape him either, I bet. The location of Falcone’s fall from grace. “Where are you?”

  “En route to meet Archangel.” Which isn’t any sort of coordinates, but I don’t expect anything less from him. “I also hear you’ve been talking with a couple of Black Ops agents.”r />
  If he needs a reason to mistrust me more, this is it.

  “Azarcon, I hope you didn’t torture this information out of my—” What is he exactly? “Crew.”

  “No, I didn’t. I simply asked him. I would only torture if he wasn’t cooperative. He also says he’s not part of your crew. And you haven’t answered about the agents.”

  “One of them has a son aboard Archangel. I’m assuming Finch told you what operation they were running and why they got me out of prison. There’s more to it. This agent—O’Neil—will be coming with me when I—” And it’s difficult to say, sitting in these quarters. “When I abandon my ship.”

  “O’Neil.” He recognizes the name, and for a split second there’s a flicker of surprise. He would know Archangel’s jets too, the two ships used to patrol together and train together sometimes. Sisters. And he is the type to know crews to that level. Falcone was the same. Then, “You’re abandoning your ship. How?”

  Training provides distance when I need it. “I plan to blow it up.” It occurs to me that O’Neil will now want to meet with Macedon if they’re meeting Archangel, and even though it would be better sense if I dumped him at Chaos and disappeared myself, the fact Finch is on Macedon now has made my decision for me. “I’d like to bring O’Neil to see his son.” Couch it in charity.

  He doesn’t buy it. “You want to make sure I don’t vent this kid you sent to Otter. You realize if I let you aboard, you’re going straight to the brig.”

  “And you’re going to send us both back to Earth?” Back to prison.

  “Well it seems you’ve got a habit of breaking out, so probably no.” That deadpan tone. And he’s got no reason to follow the Hub’s laws. Even less so than before. Pirate in a uniform. It’s not the first time someone’s thought of him that way. The Send can be virulent. “When are you doing this?” he says.

  What are you going to do with me? But I don’t ask. If I hear the answer, it will just make it worse, this inevitable action. “Now that I’ve heard from Finch, this shift if everything’s set up. But I need coordinates to meet you.”