Stolen stars, p.3
Stolen Stars, page 3
Grateful that someone else was making decisions on where to go for the moment, I focused on steadying my breath and stopping my hands from shaking. The adrenaline rush from diving out the window—oh my god, what was I thinking?—was wearing off.
Distracted, I didn’t realize my group had gone into a club until I came face-to-face with the bouncer. “Dress code,” he growled, looking me up and down with a sneer.
Shit.
I looked down at my coveralls. They’d been covered in grease and grime even before I went out the window. Now the blue-gray fabric looked worse for wear. Heat flushed my cheeks. I definitely wasn’t dressed for the club.
“Sorry, wrong turn.” I stepped out of line and quickstepped until I was out of sight of anyone who’d witnessed my rejection.
Turning a corner, I sagged against the wall and considered my options. I couldn’t go back to my apartment, not with those guys hanging around. While the station was technically open at all times, most people and shops hewed to a regular day and night cycle. I could lose myself in the dinnertime crowds and maybe a bit later, but eventually, the commerce center of the station would empty and I’d be mostly alone.
I shifted my tool bag and searing pain flared in my left side. I needed food and sleep—not necessarily in that order—and I needed it soon.
The station housed a couple of med clinics where I could get patched up, but those felt too exposed. Maybe I could lose myself in the station’s service tunnels? I shook my head at the ridiculousness of that thought. Surely that was something that only happened in the movies.
Outside of my apartment, the only place I truly felt at home was on the repair docks.
My breath caught. Was that the answer?
Did the men who’d broken into my home know that I worked on the docks? Would they expect me to go there?
Did it matter if they did? I’d spent most of my time on those docks. I knew them better than they ever could.
My stomach gurgled, its discomfort battling my left side for supremacy. I needed to make a decision and this was the best plan I had. Now I just had to get back to the docks without being noticed.
The main drag—the one where the club was located—was the shortest, most direct route to the docks. Usually the busiest too. Hopefully I could lose myself in the foot traffic all the way back to the airlock.
It took a few minutes until a group of drunk spacers passed my corner. They were going the right direction and I prayed that they were headed to the docks.
My heart jumped as I left my hiding place and fell into step alongside them.
I tucked my bag close to my body and kept my eyes on my surroundings and the people around me.
We made it all the way back to the airlock before the spacers finally noticed me.
“You followin’ us?” The spacer who challenged me was big. Built-like-a-tank big.
He was also slurring his words. Maybe I should have thought twice about stepping into an enclosed space with a bunch of drunk strangers. I obviously wasn’t firing on all cylinders right now.
There was nowhere to run and the last thing I needed tonight was another problem, so I tried to defuse the situation.
“Naw, man. Heading back to my ship, same as you.” I raised my hands to show I was harmless. My left shoulder stung and I bit back a wince. “I’m not looking for trouble.”
Just another spacer coming back from a night in port. Hopefully he’d ignore me.
His eyes narrowed. “Which ship?” Suspicion coated his voice.
By this time, his friends had turned around too and studied me with expressions ranging from goofy drunkenness to angry suspicion. I counted quickly. Seven including the big dude.
Fuuuck.
I felt the weight of his friends’ gazes, but I never took my eyes off him. It took supreme effort to keep my muscles loose and tension from my voice.
Could I brazen my way through this?
The spacers could have come from any of the ships currently docked at Elegium Station, but since they were a big group, I guessed it was one of the big ones. Hoping I was right, I took a deep breath and blurted out the name of the first small ship that came to mind: the little Cyclone.
“Fortuna.”
5
Dax
My eyes snapped open as I shifted from a dead sleep to fully awake. I blinked up at the ceiling—where was Finn’s bunk?
Where the hell was I? And what had woken me?
Sitting up, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and scanned the room. I didn’t feel hungover, but I didn’t immediately recognize my surroundings. On the rare times I’d gotten that drunk, I’d never passed out in a place this nice. The room was way bigger than any of the berthing compartments on the SMTC Evenrude, not to mention it lacked the government-issue bunk beds.
“You’re on the Fortuna, idiot.” I exhaled slowly. Not just on the new ship, but in the captain’s quarters. A room I didn’t have to share with anyone.
How much longer was I going to wake up thinking I was still in the space corps? My team and I had left the military behind. Wilson’s death eight months ago—his fucking senseless death—had been the last straw. We’d all left as soon as our enlistments were up, one after another. Finn had been out six months. I’d been the last to muster out three months ago.
And now that we had a ship, the squad would be getting back together. Our ship, our rules. Wilson’s last wish had been that we make our dream of running a cargo company a reality and he’d left us his life savings to make it happen. Now here I was with our brand-new ship ready to pick up our first cargo.
“Miss you, man.” I rubbed the space over my heart, though I knew from experience that it wouldn’t alleviate the sadness.
The ship vibrated under my feet, snapping me back to the present.
I surged to my feet, ridiculously grateful that I didn’t need to duck to avoid the rack above me. I might still be learning all the ins and outs of the Fortuna, but I was certain she shouldn’t be moving. Especially not when we were docked.
What the hell was going on?
Fortuna and I weren’t due to depart for two days. We’d docked at Elegium Station because I had a line on a high-value cargo job, one we needed to get our new venture off the ground. The plan was to load the cargo onto the ship then rendezvous with the rest of the crew. We’d deliver the goods and make some easy money.
“Lights.” The room illuminated gradually, highlighting the clothes I’d stowed on a chair last night. Such disorder wasn’t like me, but I’d been up late studying the ship. My brain had been exhausted from trying to cram a lifetime of knowledge into a few hours. I was ecstatic that I’d managed to dock her without any problems.
Dragging on yesterday’s clothes, I rubbed a hand over my blurry eyes, then grabbed my weapon from the locked desk drawer. It fit easily, comfortably, into the holster at the small of my back.
The door to my quarters slid open with a whisper. I stepped into the passageway cautiously, scanning from side to side, taking in as much of the corridor as I could each time.
The lights in the hall were set for simulated nighttime, not quite dark enough to create shadows where intruders could hide, but not wide open either. “Lights to full.”
No signs of intrusion or forced entry.
No signs of anyone, but the steady hum of the engines beneath my feet told me that something was going on. Ships didn’t fly themselves.
As I slipped into combat mode, my breath slowed and my other senses snapped to attention. I hadn’t expected to feel this way after I’d left the service. Hadn’t expected the hit of adrenaline that came with each mission.
Focus sharp, I continued down the corridor, clearing the crew quarters methodically and peering into the cargo hold. Every time I entered a room, I prepared for an attack that never came.
What the hell kind of operation was this?
The empty corridor and the running engines were starting to well and truly creep me out. Navy ships were never quiet. I’d only had the Fortuna for a week and still wasn’t used to being alone on her.
Had that asshole at the shipyard sold me a haunted ship?
Get a grip, Dax.
The engine room and the bridge were the only places I hadn’t checked. The bridge made the most sense. It was easier to fly a ship from there. If you wanted to disable one, it was easier to do that from the engine room.
Still at high alert, goosebumps still crawling up my skin from the apparent emptiness, I approached the bridge carefully.
The door to the bridge was sealed. I’d left it open on my rounds last night. I was sure of it.
Who the hell was on my ship?
Whoever it was, they were about to learn that you didn’t mess with a member of the space corps.
My right hand pulled my blaster free, while my left palmed the sensor by the door. It flickered green and the door slid open.
Blaster ready, I stepped onto the bridge, already scanning for hostiles. A quick step left put the wall to my back and gave me my first view of the intruders. The intruder.
My jaw dropped.
Whoever I’d expected, it wasn’t the woman in the pilot’s seat. My seat.
Head draped over the back of the chair, a dark braid hanging behind her, she didn’t move when I entered. Didn’t even stir. Was she dead? That was the last thing I wanted or needed.
Steps light, my weapon still out, I circled the entire bridge. My attention returned to her again and again, even when I was checking under the ship’s consoles and behind the holo table. The Fortuna’s bridge was so small, there really was nowhere to hide.
The woman was the only one on the bridge. Which begged the question, who the hell was she? Why was she here?
My mystery woman hadn’t woken while I moved around the bridge and she didn’t now while I studied her. The logo over her left breast marked her as station crew and a sewn-on patch said her name was Dupree, but neither of those facts explained what she was doing on my ship. They didn’t explain the half-eaten container of noodles that smelled garlicky and delicious and made my stomach rumble either. And they sure as hell didn’t explain why I saw stars outside the ship’s windshield when I should have been looking at the docking platform on Elegium Station.
Once I’d verified that her chest continued to rise and fall, I tackled the more pressing question: Why the hell had my ship left Elegium Station?
I wasn’t supposed to leave until I had my cargo. Turning my ship around was the only way I could salvage this.
Giving my unwanted passenger a dark look, I holstered my blaster and settled into the navigator’s seat. Flipping the comms on, I reached out to the station.
“Elegium stationmaster, this is Fortuna. Requesting docking access.”
There was garbled static on the other end before an incredulous voice came on the line. “Fortuna, this is Elegium stationmaster. That’s a negative. There’s no way you got that coolant leak taken care of that quickly.”
Coolant leak? What the fuck? I choked back the words. Surely I hadn’t slept through the alarms for a coolant leak.
“Ah, thanks, Elegium stationmaster. Understood. Fortuna out.” There was no way I was going to reveal my ignorance to the station. They probably already thought I was an idiot.
Coolant leaks could be catastrophic. Like ships-go-boom catastrophic. Praying we didn’t have one, I searched through the system for any leaks or alarms. While I still didn’t know everything about how this ship worked, I’d spent every free moment learning what made her tick. I’d even downloaded a manual or two as soon as I’d docked at the station.
I still wasn’t sure why the team had tasked me to buy the ship and fly her. Once the squad was back together, we’d all be learning new skills, but apparently I was up first.
Which was fine. Except no one had told me what to do in a situation like this.
I shoved my hands in my hair as I studied the search results. I read every chart and report twice until I was absolutely sure that there was no leak. That discovery ratcheted down my stress level just enough for it to bounce right back up as I read Elegium Station’s protocols for a coolant leak: get the ship as far away from the station as possible as quickly as possible. As if that weren’t bad enough, the safety protocols required a four-day window to ensure that the ship no longer presented a danger to the rest of the vessels docked at the station.
Fuck!
My meeting with the client was tomorrow. I couldn’t miss it. If we didn’t get that cargo, I’d have to start the search all over again.
I stared at the vastness of space just outside the ship. Day after day, night after night, we’d dreamed and planned and plotted for a life after the space corps. One we’d make the decisions for. Wilson’s death had only strengthened our resolve.
I wasn’t about to be the one who fucked it up. I refused to let my team down.
Before I made any decisions, I had to know what happened. And the only person who had the answers was passed out in the chair next to me.
6
Dax
It took effort to tear my gaze from the stars outside the ship. In the space corps, my squad all talked a big game about making our own choices, but now, faced with nearly as many options as there were stars, I worried if I was making the right one.
My most immediate need was information. I shifted forward in my seat and grabbed the tool bag from where it rested on the command console. It barely missed the open noodle container as it slid toward me. I frowned.
New rule. No food on the bridge, no matter how delicious it smelled. There was too much delicate—and expensive!—equipment up here to risk an accident. I placed the bag on my lap while I closed up the noodles and tucked them on the floor under the console.
That problem taken care of for the moment, I rifled through the woman’s tool bag. The front pocket held an ident card, a few credit chips, and a fuzzy mint. I grimaced and dropped that back into the bag. Fingers on the edge of the ident card, I studied it, turning it this way and that to catch the holographic features.
The picture matched the woman in front of me, although she didn’t look nearly as disheveled in the photo. “What the hell are you doing on my ship, Lacy Dupree?”
She didn’t answer, but her head tilted toward me. Had she recognized her name?
The credits and card rejoined the mint in the front pocket. Opening the main compartment, I pulled out tools. Like the bag itself, the tools were clearly used, but well taken care of.
Lacy Dupree’s mechanic rating was on her ident card, so I assumed they belonged to her. But why was a mechanic and her tools on my ship at all? I hadn’t requested any repairs for the Fortuna.
Sealing the tool bag up, I placed it on the floor next to the noodles, then swiveled to face the captain’s chair.
Her coveralls bore the grease stains and dirt that I would expect from someone who worked on engines and other repairs. Now that I was looking closely, I noted rips and tears that weren’t what I would expect from a competent mechanic.
In fact, it looked like she’d gotten into a fight.
A glance around the bridge confirmed that there were no signs of a struggle here. Whatever had happened to her, it hadn’t been on the Fortuna.
Hoping I wasn’t making a mistake, I reached over and shook her left shoulder.
She whimpered and curled away from me.
Dammit. As frustrated as I was, I didn’t want to hurt her. “Hey, wake up!”
Her eyes fluttered open. “What? Where am I?” She put her forearms on the arms of the seat and leveraged to a more upright position. Her lips pinched and she bit back another whimper.
Her eyes—a deep green a man could get lost in—were hazy with exhaustion.
Focus, Dax. This wasn’t the time to be noticing shit like that.
“You’re on the Fortuna,” I replied. “And I’d really like to know why.”
I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed over my chest, seeking a balance between intimidating the crap out of her and letting her walk all over me.
“I needed a place to hide.”
Of all the things I’d expected her to say, that wasn’t one of them. “And you chose my ship?”
She nodded, her gaze holding mine.
“Why? And how?” The ship had been locked down tight. Hadn’t it?
“Some guys broke into my apartment. They chased me and I ran.” Her voice wavered.
A protective instinct that was wildly unexpected—and completely inappropriate given the situation—flared up. I tamped it down violently. This conversation was about my ship, not her private life.
“What did they want?” Dammit. That was not what I’d intended to ask.
“I don’t know.” Lacy wrapped her arms around her middle. “They said something about a map, but I have no idea what they were talking about. One minute I’m about to eat dinner . . .” She glanced around, her brow furrowing.
I pointed to the container of noodles on the floor.
She nodded. “I was about to eat dinner and the next thing I knew, two thugs knocked on my door. They pushed their way in, using my neighbor as a shield. So I ran, looking for a place to hide.” She shivered.
An attack shed new light on her ripped clothing, but her story was missing some pieces. That didn’t stop me from asking, “How did you get away?” My voice was low and growly.
“I threw knives at them, then jumped out the window.”
She said the words so matter-of-factly, I waited a few beats for the punchline.
When she remained silent, my jaw dropped. Holy shit, she was serious.
“You what? Are you hurt?”
What was I saying? Of course she was hurt—she’d jumped out of a fucking window. She was virtually passed out when I entered the bridge—completely unaware of her surroundings—and had flinched when I touched her shoulder.
