The Renegat

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  Preemas gave him a lazy smile, a victorious smile, almost a There. I got you smile.

  “You know what I mean, Acting Chief Engineer Crowe,” Preemas said. “I mean that there are certain things in sealed files that make someone ineligible for promotion, some psych evaluation that someone decided to seal because you were young, or whatever. And that’s truly what intrigues me. You were very young.”

  Crowe did not move. He had his face back under control.

  “You have an amazing facility for tech and engineering. The things that I could read in your files were astonishing.” Preemas folded those nervous hands on his desk. “If you didn’t have this sealed file, along with a reputation for outspoken bluntness and an inability to get along with superior officers, you would be working at the cutting edge of Fleet technology, designing stuff that would make us all happier or safer or more deadly.”

  Crowe almost nodded. He knew that. He knew his opportunities had been limited because of who he was, who he had deliberately become.

  “Outspokenness can be forgiven in the Fleet,” Preemas said, “Particularly when it comes from the truly gifted, which is what you are. So there’s something in that file. I need to know it before I take another move. What did you do at fifteen—what could you have done at fifteen—that would have caused this?”

  Well, he asked. And he would keep pushing. And he had some good points about silence.

  So Crowe took a deep breath and said, “I caused the deaths of fifty people.”

  And watched as all the color left Preemas’s face.

  The Renegat

  Preemas made Crowe explain, of course, and he did. Slowly. Shakily. In fits and starts. Feeling like he was revealing himself to the one person he didn’t want to see him.

  Crowe had not discussed this with anyone since he left the Brazza Two in disgrace. He didn’t even really know how to tell the story.

  But he managed.

  And when he finished, Preemas didn’t move. His hands remained splayed on his desktop, his body leaning slightly forward as if he were still trying to encourage Crowe to confess to something Crowe never wanted to discuss.

  Crowe remained in the uncomfortable chair, twisted slightly, his legs tense. He was ready to spring up and leave the ready room the moment Preemas invited him to.

  And Preemas would invite him to leave, judging by the expression on Preemas’s face.

  At first he had looked shocked. Then he got that expression under control and his face had gone completely flat.

  Crowe had an idea that flat expression was how Preemas had made it through the day in his previous postings. No one knew how he felt. And, apparently, he had decided that Crowe shouldn’t know either.

  Preemas leaned back in his chair. “Has Gāo read your file?”

  “I don’t know,” Crowe said.

  “Because she insisted you handle the examination of the Scrapheap, did I tell you that?”

  Of course Preemas hadn’t told Crowe that. Preemas probably hadn’t told any of the other people on the ship about any special instructions that Gāo gave.

  Preemas was going to make those decisions himself, depending on what he learned on the way to the Scrapheap.

  “Half the people on this ship have never seen a Scrapheap,” Preemas said.

  “Have you?” Crowe asked.

  “Not up close.” Preemas gave him a sly smile. “And what’s your record since? Kill anyone else?”

  The question, phrased so sarcastically, so casually, that Crowe wanted to launch himself out of the chair and plant his fist in Preemas’s face.

  Which was probably what the question had been designed to do.

  Instead, Crowe remained very still.

  “Not like you have,” Crowe said.

  Preemas tilted his head. “Meaning?”

  “I was fifteen when I killed people,” Crowe said, his tone sharp and cutting. He couldn’t put his actual fist in Preemas’s face, but he could put a metaphorical fist in Preemas. Easily, in fact. “When you did, you were already a captain.”

  “The Drauxhill Incident wasn’t my fault,” Preemas said. “I followed protocol to the letter.”

  “You were captain,” Crowe snapped. “Of course it was your fault.”

  Preemas froze. His expression remained the same, but his eyes went from alive to flat, almost empty. Dangerous, even. A man who shouldn’t be crossed.

  “If the Fleet considered what happened my fault, they wouldn’t have issued new guidelines on first contact missions,” Preemas said.

  He didn’t sound flip anymore. Nor did he sound like the defensive man who responded initially to Crowe. Preemas sounded almost belligerent, as if he truly believed he was right.

  “Of course they would have issued new guidelines,” Crowe said. “They try to mitigate human error all the time.”

  Preemas’s pale skin flushed. “You seem pretty sure of yourself.”

  “I’ve been there, Captain. I know how the Fleet behaves when something goes wrong. They punish the human who erred and they try to prevent it from every happening again.” Crowe felt a bit breathless. He was off-kilter from talking about the file, and he was angry at Preemas for being so casual about all of this. “The captain of the Brazza Two was named Loreli Mbue. Ever hear of her?”

  Preemas’s lips thinned, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Of course you didn’t, because she lost her command. She didn’t get a second chance, like you did.”

  “She didn’t try for one,” Preemas said. “She went on to some medical mission.”

  So he had heard of her after all. Maybe he had looked her up after discovering information about Crowe. Or maybe Preemas had known all along.

  Not that it mattered. What mattered was who she had been, and how she had changed Crowe, maybe forever.

  “She went on ‘some medical mission,’” Crowe said, giving his words a sarcastic slant, “because she and I, we owe the universe fifty lives.”

  “Meaning what?” Preemas asked. He sounded as angry as Crowe felt.

  “Meaning we are trying to make sure that we save at least fifty lives. Her idea. Because she took full responsibility for what happened, even though she had nothing to do with my theft of the ship.”

  Preemas’s eyes narrowed. He heard the criticism buried in the subtext of Crowe’s words, and that seemed to make Preemas even more agitated.

  “She had something to do with it,” Preemas said. “She should have prevented it. She was in charge of kids, for godsake. Kids take joyrides. There are ways to prevent that.”

  “There are,” Crowe said. “And there were then, as well. I went around every single preventative protocol. She couldn’t have known what I was going to do. I made sure of it. But the Fleet changed policy after that as well, and she still accepted responsibility for her errors.”

  He let the words hang. Preemas raised his chin, his cheeks bright red, his eyes glittering.

  “I was exonerated,” Preemas said. “She was not.”

  “She didn’t ask for exoneration,” Crowe said. “You did.”

  Preemas’s jaw worked for a moment, his flush so deep that it had gone down his neck to his chest. He was clearly furious.

  Then he let out a slow breath. His flush faded, and he grinned.

  “So this is what you do,” he said.

  The mood shift was so fast that Crowe hadn’t seen it coming.

  “What?” Crowe asked.

  “The bluntness,” Preemas said. “The insubordination. The other thing that kept you from rising in the ranks. You talk to all your captains like this.”

  That hadn’t been a question. It had been a statement, and an accurate one.

  Crowe was shaking with fury. His mood hadn’t shifted at all.

  “I do,” he said. “I am not going to allow myself to work in service of more deaths. If I can prevent them, I will. And I will stand toe-to-toe with anyone who tries to recklessly destroy the people on board his ship.”

  Pre
emas’s gaze held his. “You think I’m going to do that?”

  “I can’t predict what you will do, Captain,” Crowe said, putting a little too much emphasis on the word captain. “I can see what you did do. You didn’t take responsibility for your failures in the Drauxhill Incident. Which leads me to believe that you’re the kind of man who never takes responsibility. But I don’t know that. I can’t know it, until we run into some kind of trouble.”

  Preemas smiled, then brought his hands together in a slow clap.

  “Bravo, Acting Chief Engineer Crowe,” Preemas said. “You managed to make me angry in less than an hour. I didn’t think I was quick to anger. Well done.”

  Crowe took a deep breath. He hadn’t intended to anger Preemas. But Crowe was glad it happened. That would prevent any future interaction between them, unless something went really awry.

  “That’s exactly what I’m looking for,” Preemas said.

  Crowe frowned. He had no idea what Preemas was referring to.

  “Sir?”

  “I need a first officer who will keep me honest,” Preemas said. “One who isn’t afraid to challenge me. One who is willing to take over this ship and save lives if need be.”

  Newark certainly wasn’t that person. Crowe made himself focus.

  “So you want me to give you some possible names for the job?” Crowe asked. “You’re going to replace Newark?”

  “I’m going to replace Newark,” Preemas said, “with you.”

  Crowe’s breath caught. Whatever he had expected Preemas to say, it hadn’t been that.

  “I don’t want to be first officer,” Crowe said. “I prefer to remain in engineering.”

  “You’ll do that too,” Preemas said. “You’ll be my chief engineer—no more acting—and you’ll be my first officer.”

  “Those jobs are both full time,” Crowe said. “I need to sleep. I will remain in engineering.”

  “You’ll do both,” Preemas said. “We’ll make it work.”

  Crowe shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir. I must decline.”

  “I’m the law here, remember?” Preemas said. “You can’t decline. You’re my first officer and my chief engineer. And you’ll be honest with me.”

  “Honest?” Crowe straightened in his chair. “Here’s honest for you. I won’t follow your every order, and I won’t follow this one.”

  Preemas gave that sideways smile again. “So continue to be honest with me, Chief Engineer Crowe. If I die tomorrow, will you go to the Scrapheap with Danika Newark as captain?”

  “I won’t have a choice,” Crowe said.

  “You do have a choice, though,” Preemas said. “You tell me, right now, who in the crew is captain material? Who can get this ship to that Scrapheap and back?”

  Crowe’s frown deepened. There was something behind the question that he didn’t entirely understand.

  “Vice Admiral Gāo thinks you can, sir,” Crowe said.

  “No, she doesn’t,” Preemas said. “That’s why I wasn’t able to put my own crew together. Everyone on board is a loner, Crowe, either by choice or circumstance. If we die, no one mourns. This is a suicide mission, and Gāo hired me to lead it.”

  Crowe’s heart pounded. That finally made sense. No wonder he couldn’t bring his staff. Half of them had families.

  “I’m going to prove her wrong, Crowe,” Preemas said. “The Renegat will return to the Fleet, whether something happens to me or not. And the only way I can guarantee that is to make you first officer. You’re the only other person on this ship capable of the kind of command we need to execute this mission with a minimal loss of life.”

  Crowe blinked, processing all of that.

  “So,” he said after a moment. “You want me to be first officer, not to be your right hand on the duty roster, but—”

  “To be my successor should I die,” Preemas said. “I won’t need you on the bridge. I’ll need you in engineering most of the time. But I will need you on the bridge enough to know what’s going on if I need to hand over command.”

  Or if things went horribly wrong.

  “It’s not two jobs, Chief Engineer Crowe,” Preemas said. “It’s the same job. Because this mission is all about getting the Renegat to that Scrapheap and back. And that will take some incredible feats of engineering, both with the anacapa drive and without.”

  He was right about that as well.

  “So,” Preemas said, “let me ask you instead of ordering you. Will you be the first officer of the Renegat and her chief engineer?”

  Crowe should have asked for time to think about it. He should have done an analysis to see if he could easily do both jobs. He should have studied Preemas more to see if they were compatible.

  But he didn’t.

  Instead, he said, “Yes, I’ll take the job—jobs.”

  Preemas extended his hand.

  “Welcome to hell, First Officer Crowe,” he said.

  Crowe shook it. “Been here a long time already, Captain Preemas. Nice to be acknowledged.”

  Preemas grinned. “We’ll make this work,” he said.

  And, god help him, Crowe actually believed him.

  Part Five

  The Rescue

  Now

  The Renegat

  Raina Serpell’s environmental suit was damaged. The damn thing kept telling her about all the leaks it was plugging up, and then giving her a timeline as to how long the plugs would last.

  Advise leaving hostile environment as soon as possible, it was saying every fifteen minutes.

  She was floating on the bridge of the Renegat because, about four hours ago, the artificial gravity shut off, and the gravity in her damn boots wasn’t working the way it was supposed to. Or maybe she hadn’t figured out how to turn it on.

  She kept one hand on the edge of the console, her feet occasionally banging against the gigantic captain’s chair that she absolutely hated. She would have strapped herself into it, but she wasn’t able to work on any other console, which irritated her beyond measure.

  So did the black reflective screens on all of the walls. She had hated them when the ship had been functioning well, and she hated them even more now.

  She hated the whole ship right now. It wasn’t responding to voice commands, now that she was wearing the super-tight helmet that came with this environmental suit.

  It had taken her nearly five minutes, but she finally figured out how to toggle that warning to infrequent, but she couldn’t shut the damn thing off. She couldn’t do much of anything technical. She was a damn linguist for god’s sake. She’d learned enough to survive in the harshness of space. She knew how to use her environmental suit—when the damn suit worked—and she knew how to program a computer to learn a new language.

  She did not know how to program herself to learn a new skill, not on the fly.

  The only other person on the bridge, Yusef Kabac, had gotten his boots to work immediately. That wouldn’t have surprised her months ago, because he had once been the Renegat’s chief navigation officer. But the fact he had gotten the boots to work so fast surprised her now. Because he was having trouble with everything—including navigation.

  She had trusted him from the moment they took over the Renegat, but eventually, she had started wondering if she should have trusted him at all. He wasn’t a hard worker and he talked a lot. He hadn’t seemed scared, though, until they went into foldspace this last time.

  Now, he seemed more scared than she was.

  Of course, he had reason: he couldn’t get the helm to respond, not since the attack. He had managed the anacapa drive kinda sorta. Then he had taken a risk without her permission and had sent them on the longest trip through foldspace that any ship had ever taken. Double the length of the longest foldspace journey they had taken when they were heading toward that horrid Scrapheap.

  She had never liked foldspace, and after everything the Renegat had been through, she had hoped to avoid foldspace as much as possible. They’d been returning along th
e trajectory they had been given when the ship left the Fleet, and then, after the attack near that weird planet Amnthra, Kabac got it into his head that they had to hurry along even faster.

  The others had listened. They took orders from whoever spoke the loudest, and after Amnthra, Serpell had been in the med bay for three crucial days.

  Of course, her wife, India, had died right then, and as Kabac had told the so-called bridge crew, no one could expect Serpell to make the correct decisions at a moment like that.

  Why Serpell had gone along with his decision, she would never know. Probably because she had come back to the bridge after he had launched the ship into foldspace, and she didn’t want to change anything.

  She hadn’t thought the Renegat would make it through foldspace, not with a hole in the hull. But, Kabac had said, the nanobits would patch the hole and the environment would hold.

  Only the nanobits had stopped repairing everything on that long trip through foldspace, and something else had gone wrong, something she hadn’t been prepared for. The Renegat’s environmental system was compromised, and she wasn’t sure why.

  Kabac had asked her to search for the problem, and she had tried. But she wasn’t set up for this. She had no idea what she was doing.

  When they took over the ship, she had planned on searching through the personnel records to see who else on board had enough training to help in the bridge. The personnel records were damn near useless, considering that there weren’t complete records for the crew members who had joined on Sector Base Z.

  But she had managed to compile a preliminary list when the Renegat went into foldspace for the first time on the trip back. That foldspace trip made her lose focus, because she had to worry about other things. And once she had realized she needed to look again, she couldn’t, not with the attacks, the long foldspace trip, and the slow leak of the atmosphere.

  She had just been about to do a shipwide hail for help when the artificial gravity gave out. Followed by the lights.

  Emergency lighting was dim at best. She could have turned on the lights on the exterior of her suit, but Kabac had asked her not to when she put the suit on.