Becca

by Mima

  “You play poker?”

  She nodded.

  “That’s good. Real good. Our game starts after Feor goes on duty. Twenty cred stakes, no limit.”

  Those were richer terms than she usually played with, but she’d put up half her week’s allowance to run with these guys after hours.

  Darnell sauntered up to her.

  She raised her chin and he stopped just out of arm’s reach.

  He searched her face. “Cal likes you. Don’t go wandering the aisles on his watch.”

  She struggled to keep her face blank. “Is that a warning against him or a request from you?”

  “Yeah.” His smile was slow, wide, and satisfied. “It was fascinating to meet you, Becca. We’ll see more of each other.”

  Her stupid brain went blank. He returned to the cargo bay. His shoulders were just as sexy when viewed from the back.

  Becca took a long moment to get her hormones in order, then another to retrace the meeting. Ripping her ponytail out and ruthlessly retying it tighter, she glared at the door. Then she went through it. The men weren’t anywhere to be found. She left the lights on minimum.

  Turning her plax-page to the strange function she’d occasionally found useful in an engineering project, she programmed it to inventory the room. In a few breaths, she had an answer. Not counting herself, there were too many objects in this bay to match the manifest. So all of the “invisible” cargo was in here, too.

  She pulled on her lip, considering. First, she wandered through the other cargo bays. Beyond the wall of crates packed into the cavernous large cargo bay was a loading hallway. Off the loading hallway were stairs to upper levels, a docking bay gate, and doors to three other smaller, auxiliary cargo bays. They were all empty and spotlessly clean. Three huge pallet loaders were parked in the hall.

  She went back to the packed bay, its contents waiting to be dispersed into more orderly stacks that could be easily added to and unloaded at their ports of call. Why had the men come from and gone into this room? As of yet, there was no work to be done. More mysteriously, why had Darnell been so sweaty?

  Two decks above cargo, she found her berth. It was the size of her bedroom at home, which was not large, but the fact it was all hers on a ship was fantastic. Apparently, Tony’s stuff had been cleared out, although his smell hadn’t. Disinfecting the room was priority one, completed quickly and leaving behind a nice minty scent. Seated more comfortably at the basic table, she worked out the real cargo arrangements and then she worked out the illegal crates as well. It was a rather interesting challenge, which she enjoyed. Calling the men immediately, she met them for the move.

  They began to shift the crates. It took her an hour to figure out that all of them were in on the smuggling. She was sure of it, and they were trying to keep something from her. It was late at ship-night and Becca was hungry, tired, and determined. The men were edgy, watching her, trying to herd her into the back bay. Under the guise of being worried, she hovered among them, watching as they unstacked, shifted, and restacked all the cargo. Not knowing what she was looking for, her mind racing, Becca flitted from room to room after the pallet loaders. Something was off, something more than invisible cargo.

  When Cal and old Joe started to bicker in one of the small rooms, Darnell leaned out of the pallet driver’s seat and rolled his eyes. “Will you go make them shut the fuck up? I’m supposed to put these in there.”

  Heart pounding with a surety that this was some sort of setup, she nodded. As soon as she cleared the door into their room, both of the men turned to her, each accusing the other of dropping his end of a crate on purpose.

  “Oh, you big babies. Deal with it.” Instead of getting pulled into their distraction, she whirled and stormed back into the hall—just in time to see Darnell jump back into the driver’s seat. She smiled at him. “They’re all shut up. Come bring your loader in now.”

  The thrill of victory swarmed through her blood. Through casual, alert glances as they unloaded, she now knew which crate Darnell had swapped out. One of the things she’d scheduled to be buried for a much later delivery was now in the front row of the refrigerated bay. As it had been in the front row of the too-cool main bay before. The men wanted access to a particular crate, they didn’t want her to know about it, and they wanted it cold. The implications hit her immediately and she used every acting skill she had to remain calm.

  When everything was settled, it was actually morning by ship time and Darnell’s turn to go on duty. The men asked her to go to the mess hall with them, but she said she wanted to grab a shower and sleep. With a wave to Darnell, who settled into the data station, she climbed with the trio up the plax-stairs to the higher level. She went to her room and sent an all-clear message to Security Master Djetivoch. But after showering, Becca paced, snacking on a bag of crisps.

  The captain knew there was smuggling, but she bet he didn’t know he was carrying someone in cryo. There was a person frozen in stasis right below her. The practice was so illegal, so hugely taboo, she couldn’t believe her own deductions. But she knew in her gut it was probable.

  Typically, guarding the freight was a simple matter of making sure no one accessed the manifests to learn where some valuable piece of cargo was. In rare cases, a thief might try to break the seals on the containers. So the men being extra cautious and physically watchful over that one crate was odd.

  Perhaps it just contained very valuable supplies. Some sort of medicine that needed to be chilled. Becca paced, rubbing her icy hands. The captain had known she’d be brought in on the smuggling and he’d trusted her to go along. She didn’t know if she should be insulted or proud. But he’d also outright told her he wanted her to keep an eye on this team. He liked that she was an outsider and he’d wanted her opinion. She rubbed her aching head. Had he wanted a spy or a dupe?

  Maybe Captain Fesner was used to bribing a few shady investigators to look the other way regarding some extra cargo. But if a cryo were to be revealed, she doubted a ship like the Cider Pot had the resources to bribe its way out of that. Then again, what did she know? She wasn’t a Syndicate player.

  She came to a stop in front of the door. Her stomach growled. Blowing out a huge breath, she pulled back her shoulders. Was she going to the captain with her suspicions, or was she going to go determine what was in that crate for certain?

  Becca stood up on numb legs and moved slowly to the vid-com in the corner. Her fingers began to press the number her brother had made her memorize when she took the berth on the Cider Pot. Then she stopped and pressed cancel. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t look into her brother’s steady, perfect eyes and ask for help three weeks after leaving home. She was scared, but her pride was only bruised, not flattened.

  Spinning on her heel, she sought out the kind waitress. “I need help. I’ve been put off ship with no resources. I can do systems work. I’d be really grateful if you could point me in—”

  The girl waved her hands, cutting Becca off. “Sweetie, you haven’t got shoes. This is a reputable station. Maybe if you were over on Shang-huang that might fly, but here, no one is going to give systems work to a gal with no shoes, let alone no creds and no ’dent.”

  Becca’s shoulders slumped.

  “You ever waitress?” the slight brunette asked with a sigh.

  Becca shook her head. She’d always scoffed at food service. “I can sew a little. And I’m okay with basic shop tools.”

  “You’re a mech?” The girl brightened. “Can you construct?”

  Shrugging, she nodded. She wasn’t skilled at it, but she’d been helping her father since she could walk, and engineers often had to dismantle or create undershafts and overcrawls.

  “All right, I’ll ask my friend Billy if he still needs a hand. He works on station maintenance. They’re a rough bunch, but he often takes drifters for short projects.”

  Becca bit her lip.
A vague hope that she could work her way to buying her own berth home formed. “Thank you. I’d really appreciate it. My name’s Becca.”

  “You’re welcome, sweetie. Everyone has tough times sometimes. I’m Marni. What size do you wear?” She looked at Becca’s feet.

  “Eight.”

  Marni grinned. “I’m a nine. Beggars aren’t choosers.”

  Becca grinned back. “Throw in a pair of socks and I’ll worship you.”

  Billy met Becca an hour later and handed her three basic cutting and soldering tools. He gave her a blueprint and walked away. Understanding that this was a test, Becca almost cried when she realized she’d be able to do it. And she did, although she had a bad moment when she almost dropped a meter-long chunk of metal down into the bowels of the deep undershaft. She somehow found the strength to haul it back up, even though she cut her palm badly.

  Billy returned in an hour and looked over her work. Then he looked at the piece of her cuff she’d wrapped around her palm and said, “I’ll get you a pair of gloves. Be here tomorrow morning.”

  Becca walked the station all night in Marni’s uncomfortable shoes, stopping to memorize every access door, read every sign. Anticipating the need to run and hide was an excellent spur to memory. There was a bad hour where the three bitchy policewomen trailed her through the halls, but then they turned away without ever demanding her ’dent.

  She worked all the next day for Billy, and at the end of it he paid her with a large meal and a blueprint. The blueprint showed her a hollow level, with a room rigged out with a few cots and a bathroom. The unfinished metal walls had exposed fiberline, and the room was barely heated. Home sweet home. By week’s close, she was sore all over, and Billy paid her half of what he should have, but he paid her.

  Over the next days, Becca learned which of the guys had pinchy fingers, which had hitting fists, and which were all bark and no bite. She was the only woman on the crew. After the first week, the guys with pinchy fingers learned to back off. After the second week, she worked out how to avoid the belligerent, violent crowd.

  Once a slink joined the team for a few days, and Billy assigned her as his partner on a fairly complex job. She’d been terrified to go behind the walls with him in the little-used corridor, but all he’d done was teach her how to use a mag-measuring light. His teeth and odd grace had been a comfort when one of the guys stole her apple at dinner one night. The slink had merely stared and the man gave it back.

  Then there was the time three treetops hung around for a week. The giants were constantly fighting—each other. She’d picked up a shiner from not dancing out of their way fast enough. Without crying, bitching, or whining, she tended to the cut along her eyebrow as best she could. The skin sealer in the med kit took two people to apply, but she gritted her teeth and kept her hands steady, managing with a mirror. The next day Billy had given her a beat-up, remastered plax-page. Being connected to the wider worlds made Becca feel human again.

  Every Friday she and Marni went out together for a few drinks, paid for by the guys who drooled around behind the lovely, sprite-like woman. Marni had a lot of man-friends, but Becca was impressed that none of them seemed to get fresh with her. Marni had a mysterious way of always being sweet and never encouraging them, yet they never seemed to lose hope.

  One afternoon three months into her life as a construction worker, she reached for a riveter and couldn’t find it. Backing out of the hole in the wall, she stilled to see a pair of unfamiliar, expensive boots in her line of sight. In one second she was in a tight crouch, with her cutter in one hand.

  “Points for reflexes and weaponry, but detraction for general defense. I could have already killed you.” Her brother, Rex, lounged against the wall.

  Straightening, she pressed a hand to her pounding heart. “What the hell are you doing here, Rex?”

  “Did you think I wasn’t going to keep tabs on you?”

  She grimaced. “No. I thought you’d be busier than that.”

  “Well, fine, I had Laurent keep tabs on you.” Laurent was her brother’s best friend and assistant. He’d been home to visit with her brother ever since Rex had enlisted.

  “He’s a little slow on the uptake.”

  “It’s hard to track you when you’re below the radar.” Rex’s blue eyes were so much like hers but looked a lot meaner when they narrowed like that.

  “I’ve been sending Mom and Dad a message every week.”

  “Encrypted, unregistered.”

  She scoffed. “You knew it was really me. I’ve been doing fine.”

  “Living on a non-level, sharing an off-security room with whatever drifter floats through?”

  She shrugged and angled her chin defiantly. “I’m enjoying meeting new people.”

  “So much so you’ve had to learn how to spring into an attack crouch with whatever tool is at hand.”

  “Shut up,” she said sullenly.

  He stepped forward and pulled her into a strong hug. “I’ve been worried, really worried, for over a week. Brat. You were in trouble and didn’t call me.”

  She hugged him back. He smelled clean, and sharp. Her big brother was awesome. “I would have if it came to it. But it never has.”

  He pulled away and searched her face. “I’ve already erased the Cider Pot’s officers’ accusations. Such bullshit. What’d they do to you, Bec?”

  She shrugged out of his grip. “Old news, Rex.” She flipped the cutter in her hand, hiding her excitement. “Are you serious? My level-one cert is reinstated?”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked good in civilian clothes, but she had to admit he was more handsome in his uniform. He nodded. “Yes, you’re ready for a new internship. And Leo Walters is looking at a long investigation.”

  Becca bit her lip. “Oh.” She didn’t know how she felt about that. She rubbed her scalp absently against the memory and decided she was glad. “That’s nice.”

  “You’re welcome.” He touched her cheek softly. “You can tell me.”

  She shook her head. “Really. It’s old news.” She smiled at him, exhaling a deep breath. “It’s so good to see you. Want to go to dinner?”

  He nodded. “I’d love to. Am I taking you home?”

  Tilting her head, she considered. Was she really ready and waiting for another internship? “No. I don’t think so. I’ll spend a little more time here.” She frowned. “If you promise not to post an MP.”

  He looked at the ground and toed the rough opening she hadn’t finished with his boot.

  “Rex. I mean it,” she said sternly.

  He hunched his shoulders. “Come on, Bec. You can’t expect me to leave you alone in this situation.”

  “I’ve been doing fine!” In fact, she’d never suspected she’d be so . . . content. There was no competition or politics. No studying. The projects were simple, the people direct. The thought of going back to her old hustling, striving, always-looking-forward-never-appreciating-now life made her . . . tired.

  “Two of the guys you work with are ex-cons with records that would make Mom faint. They almost made me faint.”

  She held up her hands. “I don’t want to know.” She grinned at his glower. “We’ll go to dinner and talk compromise. If I have access to my account, I can get my own room.” She had to admit, that would be fantastic. Thompson snored.

  He helped her gather her tools. “All right. Dinner is about compromise and details of what you’ve been up to.”

  “Where’s Laurent?”

  “Around the corner. Can he come to dinner too?”

  She nodded. “I haven’t been up to anything. I’m an innocent angel.”

  He looked at her out of the corner of one crinkling eye. “My sister doesn’t need to be an angel, let alone innocent. I’ll take strong and capable any day.”

  She smiled and slid her arm through his. “
Exactly.”

  CONGRATULATIONS. (Don’t you think?) You have found the ending called What Doesn’t Kill Us Makes Us Stronger. Click on this link to return to the Choice Index. Dare to decide again!

  With shaking hands, Becca sent a message. The captain responded immediately that he would come to her. In just a few minutes, he was at her door.

  “Hello, Becca. There a problem?” His hazel eyes were cool, wary, as he entered the room.

  “Captain.” She licked her lips.

  His gaze jumped to her mouth and she compulsively licked them again.

  His face tightened. In a quiet voice, he prompted, “What did you need?”

  She took a deep breath. “It’s about the smuggling. I’m suspicious about one of the—”

  “Don’t.” He cut her off firmly. “I deliver things unasked, unopened. None of the contents are your concern.”

  “I’m worried it’s your concern, actually.”

  His face remained impassive.

  She finally managed to blurt out, “I think there’s a cryo.”

  He cocked one hip and folded his arms. “Really.”

  She stepped forward. “It’s one thing to move some cargo to avoid customs and taxes, but cryo is a different game.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  Her stomach magnetized to the floor. He’d known. His face was still blank. She had no idea what she was involved with here.

  “Don’t be afraid, Becca. I’m quite amazed by your fast deduction.”

  “I—I—”

  “Let’s talk. Can you pull up some red juice in your chiller?”

  She nodded. Her mind worked frantically, but all it was capable of were the circling phrases Oh, no. He knew. Oh, no. She poured two glasses of juice.

  The captain sat at the table. “I really have to get the chairs in the cargo office replaced. These are nice.” He took the juice and drank deeply. “Thanks.”

  His masculine throat mesmerized her. She ripped her gaze down to her glass. What a screw-up she was for noticing. She perched on the edge of her chair while her throat swelled shut against all possibility of drinking the juice.