“You’re pretty old,” he tells me, not unkindly. I’ll be thirty-three this year. “And you’ve logged over five hundred successful jumps and more new charts for the Corp than any navigator ever. There are people who would like to know the secret to your success, Ms. Jax. I represent those interested parties.”
“And they can’t find out shit from me if the Corp cracks my brain like an egg and locks me up.”
Okay, so…the Corp used me for fourteen years, knowing I would eventually burn out. And I said yes because I wanted adventure and excitement, wanted off New Terra. I wanted the universe; why should I settle for one boring man and a passel of kids? And now, someone wants to use me to find out why I haven’t burned out yet. You know, I’m a bit tired of being used. They’re going to learn I’m not the easy mark they anticipate.
March offers that saturnine smile again. “Just so. We were sent to prevent that from occurring if at all possible.”
And he’s telling me the truth, as far as it goes. There may be more to it, but he isn’t actively lying. I’d know if he was.
“I’m sorry about Edaine.”
His smile falters. Dies. “Yes,” he says, too quietly. “Me, too.”
Don’t know why I said that. It wasn’t my fault—
Then it occurs to me I’m singing that refrain a hell of a lot, lately. At what point do I accept some blame? No, I never asked her to make her last run with saving me as the objective; that was her choice. But if it weren’t for me, maybe she would’ve chosen retirement instead. I feel like I need to make her sacrifice worthwhile.
“Okay if I go talk to the crew?” I really want out of the cockpit. This is more awkward than waking up next to someone whose name you don’t remember.
He nods. And that’s all. As I go down the corridor, I can’t help but think he’s almost as glad to see the back of me as I am to go. They’re all chatting, still sitting in their safety seats, although not strapped in anymore. When I come into the central hub, though, conversation dies as if I’ve lobbed a grenade. I drop down in one of the empty places and fold my ankle up on my knee. Wait.
It doesn’t take too long. Most people can’t stomach silence; it provides too much opportunity to think about things they prefer to avoid. It’s the young man who speaks first, something that doesn’t surprise me much.
“Is it true you made the leap to Quaren when you were just nineteen?”
Don’t know if I should disillusion him. I didn’t realize I’d acquired a reputation. We just do what we do, you know? And seldom think about how the rest of the universe perceives us. “In fact, I was twenty-three. Was nineteen when I made my first jump, period.”
I know my service record. Almost fourteen years, averaging forty-one jumps a year for a total of five hundred seventy-five successful runs, and of those, I charted eighty-eight new beacons for the Corp. Decorated twice for bravery beyond the call. And the average jumper burns out in less than ten. So I guess I can understand why someone is interested in finding out what makes me tick. Unlock my secrets, and maybe he could improve productivity for other jumpers. That’d be a good thing, overall.
However, the critter that winds up dissected for the greater good…well, I’m guessing it probably doesn’t feel too pleased about the contribution. So I’d do well to be on my guard and remember that even the good guys probably don’t have my best interests at heart. The only person I could’ve trusted at my back, no exceptions, had his molecules dispersed with all due ceremony about fourteen days ago.
I f**king miss him.
“There are some things waiting for you in quarters,” the doc, Saul, is saying. “Clothes. You can change and make use of the san facilities, if you want.” He sounds strange, diffident, at odds with his stolid, steady appearance. “Down the hall, second right. The door will recognize you.”
His sincerity gets to me. It’s easy to be tough when everyone around you is bristling with rancor and suspicion, but let someone show you some genuine kindness, and you find yourself on the verge of breaking down. So I just nod and follow his instructions. Can feel Dina’s eyes boring into my back. That one would rather space me than deliver me safely to Lachion.
Walking away, I hear Dina logging her report: “Aft shields at thirty-five percent in sectors 12 and 18, damage to the holds, structural damage in—” But I tune her out. That stuff is her worry. As long as the ship’s in one piece and will get us there, I don’t much care.
My quarters are small, no more than a closet with a bunk built out from the wall, but as promised, I find a change of clothes and a san shower. Feels good to be clean, and when I dress, I notice that someone’s been studying my file. Because this blue bodysuit is an exact replica of one I wore for a photo op with tall s-leather boots and tribal jewelry from one of the inhabited rim worlds, all handmade stuff, very rare. A gift when we made planetfall since a jumper is part navigator, part surveyor, and part diplomat. I’ve made first contact with indigenous peoples no less than five times.
The outfit is smooth; it stretches at the neck enough to let you shimmy into it, then the fabric snaps back into place. It’s some poly-silk blend that looks elegant but doesn’t snag or tear and it’s damn near fireproof. I wish I had my boots; they weren’t just a fashion statement, as the toes were reinforced and a well-placed kick would break someone’s kneecap.
As I’m emerging from quarters, March’s voice comes over the comm. “Approaching Lachion, planetfall in half an hour. All crew to stations please.”
That seems an unnecessary formality, given the size of the crew, but I watch, hoping to learn something about my companions. And I do. From the central hub, Saul heads for medical, but I already knew he’s the ship’s doc. Dina told me she serves as mechanic, and that just leaves Loras. He takes position at the comm, so he must be the communications officer, and that usually includes systems work and encryption.
“He’s a savant,” March says at my shoulder. “He hears a language once, intuitively understands its syntax and structures. Vocabulary takes another day or so.”
I jump. “Going to put a bell on you,” I mutter.
Is he reading my mind? Or following the trajectory of my gaze, deducing my thoughts via logic instead of Psi? I honestly have no idea, and I’ve never encountered that before. Nothing in his mind gave me any clue. Unlike Kai, who was a chaotic whirl of impulses, half-formed ideas and inclinations, March was orderly, silent, contained. Even while we were jacked in, I received few things from him that he didn’t specifically send.
Compartmentalized, I realize. Like me.
I glance at him.
And he smiles, cool and humorless. “They’ll be waiting for you when we touch down,” he says. “Try not to offend anyone.”
Smile sweetly back and reply, “Isn’t that your job, dickless wonder?”
I’m pretty sure I hear Dina chuckle.
CHAPTER 6
The sky looks like a boiled potato.
An ugly gray-white, overcast, beyond the hangar it’s sputtering snow, and March didn’t see fit to advise me of the season or provide a winter coat. So I’m shivering, arms wrapped around myself. Hard to look imposing while your teeth chatter.
Don’t know what I expected, some kind of diplomatic delegation or another sort of welcoming party? What’s waiting for us looks more like a dysfunctional family. There’s a tan, leathery man chewing on an unlit cigarillo, yeah, I know—those have been outlawed on civilized worlds for a long time. He’s wearing an old-fashioned gun belt, retrofitted, wherein he’s carrying the tools of his trade. I hope those are spanners.
They don’t even manufacture live rounds anymore, do they?
And then there’s the old woman with a pouf of silver hair, cosmetics caked into the creases of her face. She looks like a stereotypical holo-representation of a madame; I half expect her “girls” to pour out of a nearby ship and cluster around her, giggling. But nope, that leaves the third member of the quartet waiting for me, a short, slight fellow with a receding hairline and a rabbity face, very little chin. The last person appears to be a surprisingly young woman, although I’ve learned not to accept things at face value. But she’s slim—smooth skin, dark hair…and she has pale green eyes.
My gaze sharpens. There’s a J-gene carrier, unregistered, out here in the back of beyond? The Corp should have signed her up, begun her training, and had her making jumps by now. Well, if not currently, then within a year or two. I put her age around eighteen, but I might be wrong.
Well, if I’m holding out for a polite introduction from my new crewmates, I’ll wait forever. They’ve arrayed themselves at my back, silent. I sense amusement from March; he enjoys seeing me at a disadvantage, I think. I don’t know why, as he’s certainly seen me that way a lot. From the first moment he entered my cell and caught me on the verge of tears, he’s seen more of that than probably any other living soul. It occurs to me that, for the sake of symmetry, I should probably kill him.
March cuts me a sharp look. Okay, what the hell—
“I’m Sirantha Jax,” I say aloud.
“Yes, we know.” Really don’t like the way the old woman smiles; there’s a spidery quality to her from her wrinkle-web face to the strands of hair slithering from her bouffant bun. “Your reputation precedes you.”
By dumb luck, I retain my polite smile because there’s definite nastiness to her tone. I’m trying to decide how to respond to that, remembering that March told me not to offend anyone, when I feel something drop around my shoulders. Glancing back, I see that it’s Saul, the ship’s doc. At least he’s on my side. He’s given me his overcoat; the length is about right, but it would wrap around me twice with fabric to spare. Still, I appreciate the gesture, and I shrug into it fully, nice heavy s-wool.
“Thanks,” I murmur, and he steps back, leaving me to deal with these strangers. Oddly, just by virtue of the coat, I feel more armored, more equipped to do so. “March didn’t have time to brief me.”
And the bastard elbows me in the back because he knows I’m bullshitting. Guess it entertained him to throw me in headfirst and watch whether I’d sink or swim. I’m starting to wonder how bad it would’ve been, lounging around a Corp asylum for the rest of my days under heavy sedation.
The leathery man chuckles. “That’s March for ya. I’m Jor Dahlgren. Good to finally meet you.” As if we’ve been planning this rendezvous for a while. I must admit, it’s more than a little unnerving to have people making those kinds of pronouncements. His handshake grinds my knuckles together, but I don’t wince when I pull my hand back. “This is my mother, Mair Dahlgren, and my daughter, Keri.” The girl inclines her head to me like royalty, and the crone’s smile widens, revealing yellow teeth.
“The pleasure’s mine.”
Holy shit, they really are a dysfunctional family. A family had the power to dispatch someone to Perlas Station, send my AI into maintenance, and manually unlock my cell door? If so, what’re they doing on a backward rock like Lachion? Damn, it’s cold here. The wind’s slicing right through the overcoat down to the slinky s-silk bodysuit. I may look good, but I’m going to poke No-chin’s eye out if he gets any closer.