Hours passed as McCall sat cross-legged on the hard floor of the cell, alternating between twirling her bracelet and swiping her fingers through the holodisplay hovering above the netdisc. She itched to have real-time access, but it would be a couple days’ travel before they were close enough for that. In the meantime, she sent messages to people in all the legal and illegal ship repo and salvage facilities she’d ever had contact with. Since tracking down ships not returned when buyers failed to make their payments accounted for a lot of her work, she was familiar with a lot of them. She offered the people a reward, no questions asked, for information on the whereabouts of her ship.
She hated to admit she had lost it through her own stupidity, but it would be worse not to find it again. Not to find Scipio and Junkyard too. She didn’t even know if Junkyard was still alive. She wished Scipio had added a few more puffs of smoke to his message to assure her that he was.
Someone in the corridor stepped into view.
“That is an interesting choice for a place to do research.” Rose peered into the cell.
“With access to the sys-net, a library is anywhere you are,” McCall said, quoting the librarian-monk Rafael Zapatero.
“I’ll concede that. Are you making any progress?”
McCall eyed her warily, hoping she hadn’t come to try to talk her out of diverting Dash. “Not as much as I would have if I had real-time access and the search algorithms I’ve created that are stored on my ship’s computer. But I’ll find him.”
Rose nodded. “I hope you do and that there’s a way to bring to light his criminal behavior. Even before I encountered him, I had heard of his reputation as a brute. He’s known for being physically violent whenever he gets a chance.” She touched her cheek as if in some memory of a beating.
McCall wouldn’t be surprised if Axton had hit her. All of the prisoners he’d captured.
She thought about pointing out that the cyborg surgery and hormone imbalances likely contributed to his instability and penchant for violence, but she didn’t know if it would matter to Rose. She likely had reasons enough already to detest the empire without contemplating the somewhat experimental surgeries they did on their soldiers.
“I would happily report him,” McCall said, “but he may have already reported me, so my word wouldn’t be given any credence.”
“Oh? What did you do?”
“I liberated an android that wasn’t mine to liberate.”
Rose smiled. “Is that the same as saying you stole him?”
“He walked away of his own volition. I just… held the door open for him and encouraged him.”
“What did you do with him after that?”
“He’s my business partner. He’s on my ship—I hope he’s still on it—along with Junkyard. That’s why I have to get it back as soon as possible. To make sure they’re all right.”
“Junkyard?”
“My dog.” McCall considered Rose with wariness again, suspecting that she was used to risking herself for human lives and might scoff at the idea of a pet being that important.
But Rose merely smiled again. She had a serene smile. “Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves… Defend the rights of the poor and needy.”
“I don’t think the Christian bible was talking about dogs, but yeah.”
Rose’s smile widened. “You’re well-read for a skip tracer. That’s not a very popular religion anymore.”
“Not with the empire insisting we all worship the Divine Suns Trinity, no.” McCall had been an atheist for as long as she could remember, but her mother had found comfort in religion, and as a kid, McCall had read a lot of the foundational materials of the new and old faiths in an attempt to understand why. That summed up most of her life. Reading books to try to understand the species she was a part of. She wondered if things were more intuitive now for her sister.
“Indeed. We—the Alliance—hope to create a system where it’s safer for people to follow whatever deity they wish. Or none at all if that’s their preference.”
Maybe she hadn’t come back here to talk McCall out of diverting Dash; maybe she’d come to do a little recruiting.
McCall grimaced at the idea, especially since she didn’t want any distractions. But ever since she’d read the woman’s file, she had been a tiny bit curious about why Rose had joined the Alliance. Unlike so many of the people who joined out of desperation—after their political or religious preferences, or general unwillingness to go along with the status quo, had gotten them in trouble—Rose had walked away from a good career and a respected place in her community.
“Why did you join?” McCall wondered if Rose also had a relative who’d had his or her personality adjusted by imperial doctors and who hadn’t been the same afterward.
Maybe if McCall had ever known her grandmother, she would have felt as personally outraged toward the empire as her mother had, as fearful and distrustful of them. Mostly, she had spent her life treading carefully and saying little that would cause some imperial doctor to remark in her file that she wasn’t normal. Self-censorship? She supposed so, but it didn’t seem there were many other choices.
“I was at the Perun Arcade Massacre. I wasn’t a target, but I witnessed it all firsthand. It’s hard to just go about your life after something like that, to hold your tongue, to say nothing as injustice—as murder—goes on around you. You’re familiar with Niemöller’s poem?”
“Yes.” McCall was relieved when Rose didn’t quote it. The Old Earth poem was popular among those recruiting for the Alliance. One could hardly go into a public lavatory on a space station and not find the last verse graffitied on the stall doors, which was impressive given how efficient the cleaning robots usually were.
Rose spread a hand, as if that explained everything. For her, maybe it did. “I also realized that nothing would ever come of the Alliance if smart and educated people from all walks of life didn’t join. Granted, I’m not one of the military commanders with expertise in strategy and tactics, but I offer a balancing viewpoint and some wisdom to counter their tendencies. Or so they’ve told me. At the least, they don’t ask me to bring them coffee anymore.”
McCall snorted.
“I’ll leave you to your research.” Rose gestured toward the holodisplay still floating between them. “But before I go, let me thank you for your assistance in the prison. I’m embarrassed it took Dash’s words to remind me how integral you were. If you find yourself in need of a home or assistance because of all that’s happened, I’ll be happy to arrange refuge for you. I’m sure you can find me.”
Rose lifted her hand and departed, leaving McCall alone in the silent cell. Alone and surprised that hadn’t turned into a recruiting speech. Or maybe it had merely been a more subtle one than she had heard before. Either way, McCall found she didn’t resent it.
McCall shook her head, then buried herself in her research and forgot everything else for a time.
16
As Dash stretched and yawned, the ship’s interior lights transitioned from daytime brightness to a soft nighttime dimness.
“Good,” he mumbled and glanced over his shoulder for the twentieth or thirtieth time.
Several of the Alliance people had disappeared into the two cabins with their two bunks each, but a couple more snoozed across rows of seats toward the back. Beyond them, a corridor led to the lavatory, engineering, and the brig cells. Dash knew McCall was working back in one of the cells, and he’d wanted to check on her to make sure she’d eaten something and was doing all right, but he hadn’t wanted to disturb her.
The comm light flashed, and he grimaced. Enough hours had passed for the news to have been sent back to Headquarters that the law-enforcement ship had been stolen. This was probably some high-ranking officer sending a message to let Dash know that his career was over and he was now designated shoot-on-sight to all law enforcers.
At least it would only be a recording. It would be a couple more days before they flew close enough to t
he core worlds for real-time communications.
Dash tapped the comm, and a holodisplay appeared over the panel. He recognized Chief Harrington’s slack-jowled, droopy dog face and braced himself.
“Sheriff Spiner,” the chief said. Spiner? Had that been one of the men in combat armor that Dash and McCall had stunned and left on the ground? Or one of the officers that had gone into the dome? “We’re awaiting your report on the death of Sheriff Axton and how it came about. Also if Deputy Deshmukh was on board their ship at the time of the crash.”
Their ship? Dash was surprised Harrington hadn’t called the Star Surfer the borrowed civilian ship or some such.
“Were they able to apprehend the Alliance prisoners?” Harrington continued. “We received a confusing transmission from Frost Moon 3 that said Axton dropped off prisoners who then escaped, but the prison didn’t think it pertinent to identify the prisoners. And Axton hasn’t reported anything in more than two weeks. Figure out what in all the hairy suns’ hells is going on out there, Spiner, and then report in to me, damn it.”
The chief slapped the recording off with an angry smack of the hand, and his face disappeared.
Dash leaned back in his seat. Axton hadn’t reported anything in two weeks? Did that mean the law enforcers didn’t know that Dash had been undercover for the Alliance? Or that he’d helped free Rose and the others? Huh.
He quickly quashed thoughts of being able to go back and resume his deputy position—and spying for the Alliance. Between the prison break and his theft of the law-enforcement ship, it was only a matter of time before the truth got back to Headquarters. He had left plenty of camera footage behind him.
“But maybe not,” Dash mused, scratching his jaw, “enough footage to condemn McCall.”
Because if Axton hadn’t reported back in two weeks, that might mean he hadn’t told anyone about McCall’s dubiously acquired android friend. But why wouldn’t he have?
Dash tapped the internal comm connected to the speaker closest to the cells. “McCall? Do you have a minute? I received an interesting transmission.”
McCall had also left some incriminating camera footage behind—her helping prisoners escape and then assisting him in stealing the ship—but what if Dash told his law-enforcer superiors that he had forced her to help him? Might her name be cleared? Headquarters might even assume he had forced her, based on her reputation and his newly revealed traitor status.
While he waited for her, Dash pulled up the recording of the chief’s message to replay. But a couple of minutes passed without a response. Had she heard him? Or been too focused on her problem to break away?
He unbuckled his safety harness, intending to go see her in person, but she was walking up the aisle through the passenger area. She looked at Aleksei sprawled across the back seats, his snores reverberating through the cabin, and continued past. In the climate-controlled ship, they had all removed their parkas, and she still wore her neon-green prison uniform. He’d torn his off as soon as he’d had a free minute, changing into a law-enforcer uniform he’d found that fit.
“Clearly, we need to make a shopping stopover when we pass near a space station,” Dash said, waving her toward the co-pilot’s seat. If there wasn’t a warrant out for her arrest, she might be able to amble in and use her banking chip without repercussions.
“I have plenty of clothing on my ship. My clothing.” There was almost an ache in her voice as she said that, and for emphasis—or simply distractedly—she plucked at the green sleeve with its canvas-like texture.
“I have something that might help with that. Assuming you’re still searching for Axton?”
“I have a list of likely places he might have gone, but yes, I’m still searching for his definite location.”
Dash nodded. “Let me know if anything I know after working with the man for two months might be useful. But first—” he held up a finger, since a speculative look had jumped into her eyes, and she appeared ready to take him up on that offer, “—have you eaten?”
He would happily answer all her questions after he knew the answer to that one.
“Uhm. No, I went straight back to start researching.”
“Aren’t you hungry? Or weren’t the rations on board acceptable for your dietary needs?” Dash knew there was nothing fresh or overly vegetable-dominated in the cabinets of boxed meals in the tiny mess, but there was more selection than those ration bars had offered.
“I actually didn’t look. I am hungry, but it comes and goes. I forgot.”
“Fortunately for you, I did not. I found the pilot’s secret stash, and I believe you’ll approve.” Dash leaned over and opened the bin between the seat and the hull that should have held a first-aid kit and a flashlight.
He’d actually been looking for the first-aid kit to smear some QuickSkin on the gashes he’d received days earlier from those robot creatures. Fortunately, after meeting with disappointment up here, he’d found a fully stocked kit in the lavatory. Here, he’d found other goodies. He plopped the first item into her hands.
“A large jar of peanut butter. Nearly full.” He recalled that was one of the ingredients in the Tammy Jammy bar she’d been eating that night on her ship, so he assumed she found it palatable. “And also these.” He handed her four vanilla-almond Tammy Jammy bars.
She’d been staring at the jar with round eyes, but they grew even rounder at the sight of the bars. She gathered the items to her chest and grinned at him. “You’re a wonderful human being.”
“Yes, I am. Don’t eat them all at once. I think you can die if you eat too much too soon after a fast.”
“Re-feeding Syndrome? That happened to prisoners recovered from concentration camps in Nazi Germany back on Old Earth and also after the mine explosions of Asteroid 7694X where the miners were trapped without food for over a month. But it shouldn’t be a problem after fasting for a mere four days.”
“Uh huh. Don’t stuff it all in at once.”
She twisted the lid off the jar, tore open one of the bars, and proceeded to dip the bar into the peanut butter and use it like a spoon to take a giant bite of both. She smeared half of it on her cheek in the process, and he did his best to stifle a smirk.
He cleared his throat and sternly said, “I see you’re going to heed my wisdom with the utmost diligence.”
“Peanut butter?” she asked with a full mouth and offered the jar to him.
He snorted but did stick his finger in for a wad. There were probably utensils somewhere in the ship, but it seemed like too much effort to go hunting around in the dim lighting. The rich nuttiness did please his taste buds after such limited offerings for the last week.
“While you’re dining, take a look at this.” Dash brought up the chief’s recording for her. “The message just came in.”
As soon as it finished, she said, “That’s interesting. You’d think it would be standard operating procedure to report in when you’re abandoning your ship to take over a civilian ship.” She looked at him.
“I don’t think the S.O.P. mentions that specifically, but yes, he should have reported both the Alliance attack and that our ship was too damaged to limp its way to Sherran Moon, much less make it all the way to Frost Moon 3. I wonder if he was embarrassed and hoped that Headquarters would be more lenient if he successfully completed his mission before reporting in his failure?”
Dash felt a little guilty accusing Axton of failure when he’d been the one flying the Truncheon 4 and intentionally maneuvering ineptly enough for the Alliance ships to win. But only a little.
“I suppose that’s possible. You know him better than I did.”
“But you think it’s something else?” He sensed that her mind had been wandering down a different path.
“I’m wondering if he saw my ship and planned from the beginning to take it. Did you ever poke into his thoughts during the days we were flying to Frost Moon 3?”
“No,” Dash admitted glumly. “I was worried he would sense me in there. C
yborgs sometimes receive training to better fight Starseers. The empire hasn’t ever stopped being concerned that Starseers might rise up and cause trouble again. But I should have risked it. If I’d known what he was planning, I could have avoided being dumped in that prison. We both could have.”
“Did he seem discontented with his job in the months you knew him?” McCall asked earnestly.
She seemed completely unwilling to join him in placing blame on his shoulders. Maybe she was too pragmatic to bother with things that wouldn’t make a difference going forward. He smiled, imagining she wouldn’t be the type to bring up past grievances in domestic arguments.
“Dash?” She quirked her eyebrows.
“Sorry, I was thinking of other things. Was Axton discontented with his job, you asked? Yes, but he was discontented with everything, so I’m not sure if that means much. The man was unbalanced, and I’m pretty sure he was stuck in law enforcement, a remote border-worlds route where he didn’t encounter others that often, mind you, after being booted from the Cyborg Corps.”
“He was. I looked him up.”
“Ah.” He wasn’t surprised she knew as much about Axton as he did, maybe more.
“He appeared to be a normal kid before he entered the fleet, and his first couple of years in, he received no complaints from his superiors. He volunteered for the Cyborg Corps, and it wasn’t until after the surgeries and hormone injections that he started having disciplinary problems and issues with controlling his temper.” McCall spread her hands. “From what I’ve read, some of the soldiers that become cyborgs are unscathed by the procedure, but most of them have some challenges. There’s a lot of tinkering that goes into turning someone into a super soldier full of synthetic bones and biomechanical implants, then ensuring the body accepts them while growing muscles into boulders on the side.”
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