Page 7

7

R ian takes me back to the mess hall.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to seduce me,” I say. When Rian’s eyebrows shoot up, I add, “The way to my heart is definitely through my stomach.”

His eyebrows go down, one side of his lips twitching up in a half-smile. “Noted. Well, the others will be here soon enough.”

I go ahead and fill up my tray from the dispenser. The lentils have been replaced with some sort of goopy thing flecked with seeds and nuts that tastes almost like vanilla. There are dehydrated slices of a yellow fruit mixed in, and beside that are protein balls that have, blessedly, been seasoned with something spicy enough to make me appreciate the goop.

“You guys have variety,” I say, shooting him a grin. Rian’s not taken a tray for himself. I wonder if I can get his serving later.

“I’m guessing your team found out that there are some complications planetside that you didn’t expect,” I say, pointing a spoon at Rian before turning it back to the goop.

“We have extensive scans,” he replies. “We didn’t send Yadav and Magnusson down blind.”

I nod, mouth full, then swallow. “Scans are nothing compared to boots on the ground.”

“True,” he allows. “Is that stuff really that good?”

“Mm-hm.”

He gives me a doubtful look.

“But see,” I say, skewering a protein ball, “the thing is, Roundabout didn’t crash right.”

“There’s a right way to crash?”

Damn, these things are chewy. “Obviously. If a ship breaks down in space, that’s the best option.”

“Didn’t work so well for you.”

“Hey, I’m here, aren’t I? Despite ‘user error. ’”

I glare. He smirks.

“Besides,” I continue, “we’re talking about a scavenger’s point of view. A ghost ship floating in space? Creepy as fuck, but easy to loot.”

Rian snorts.

“Next, you want an easy slide on ground. If the crew has control of the ship and if the engine’s not completely shot, then if you have to crash, you can aim it.” I hold my spoon out at an angle, pointed to my tray, then rush the spoon down so it slides into the goop. “ Roundabout didn’t do that. It basically hit that planet like a dart. Which complicates looting.”

Rian doesn’t say anything; he just sits there, eyes zeroed in on me as if he’s seeing everything I’m not saying. And I’m not saying a lot. That makes me nervous, which makes me want to talk more, so I stuff another protein ball in my mouth. I don’t really want him to think too much about how the crash happened; I want him to consider how much he needs me planetside. I’m getting itchy, cooped up on this ship.

The door slides open, and the rest of the crew—minus First—enter.

“So, Roundabout hit nose first and broke into two pieces,” I continue, focusing on Rian. “They crashed wrong.”

“Damn right they did,” Saraswati says. Magnusson and the captain head over to the food dispenser. Nandina cuts in front of them when the captain motions for her to, and she takes two trays—one for her and the other, presumably, for First, who must be on some sort of duty right now. She leaves with a little smile to me.

“You saw.” I point my spoon at Saraswati. “It’s a mess down there. Which, actually, works to my benefit. Scrap’s easier to pick up when it’s already broken off a ship.”

Magnusson growls and thumps his tray down on the table. The captain sits down beside Rian.

“The fact that the ship is broken is bad enough,” Saraswati says. “But the nose hit a ridge, and—”

“We are not discussing the mission in front of a civilian,” Captain Ursula says coldly.

“I’m not a civilian ,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Think of me as a consultant.”

“You’re a refugee. Only.” She glares at me, which is dumb, because she could be using that energy to eat instead. I demonstrate the more practical use of time, which just seems to make her glare harder, if possible.

“Okay, then,” I say. “Small talk. Who’s from Earth?” I raise my left hand while scraping the tray with the spoon in my right hand.

They all know I mean Sol-Earth. The planet that revolves around a sun that was once thought to be the only sun. The Earth where homo sapiens came from. All the other planets—Centauri-Earth, Rigel-Earth, Gliese-Earth—they’re the colonies built later. But if anyone asks about Earth without putting a different star’s name in front of it, they’re talking about the original.

Surprisingly, it’s Magnusson who tentatively raises his hand, as if unsure that’s what he should do. “Oh, really?” I say, turning my attention to him. “Which part?”

“Iceland.”

I cringe, and he nods. Iceland’s seismic activity has only gotten worse lately; there are stabilizers, but it’s been increas ingly difficult to sell the island as a tourist location after one too many buildings collapsed. Plus, it didn’t exactly have the historical and architectural draw like other places—Iceland sold its landscape, but the continental rift kept underselling it. I suppose that’s why he’s here, in space. Easier to make a living on a ship than a dying island.

“I was born near Yellowstone,” I say. Now it’s his turn to cringe. That volcano was dormant for a millennium or more, but when it blew, it ripped apart North America. “My family immigrated to Malta the year before.” At least we had warning that it was going to blow, and the smog eaters kept the smoke from changing the atmosphere to a catastrophic level.

“Malta’s nice,” Magnusson says.

“I did tours,” I say.

Magnusson nods stoically, but somehow I don’t mind the blank face now that I know where it comes from. Malta’s had its share of issues as well. Formerly the location of the global government, the only thing bringing in funds now are the tourists looking for a bit of history. At least we have some truly ancient digs and locations to go alongside the beaches that are still pristine—although the only thing that keeps the ocean water blue surrounding the island nation is liberal application of dye and a perimeter of cleaner drones blocking trash from washing up.

That’s what Earth is now. Little bubbles of tourist locations that hide the last dying gasps of a world that’s been polluted to death.

“If you’re from Earth,” Rian says, “do you know Jane Irwin?”

Three things happen at once.

1. Magnusson’s head snaps up to Rian, shock evident on his face for a split second before he grabs his cup and chugs some water.

2. Rian doesn’t notice this because he’s too busy watching me.

3. I keep my face so perfectly regulated that I am actually a hundred percent certain he doesn’t see even a flicker of recognition. There’s another test I’ve passed.

I roll my eyes. “Why do people assume everyone on Earth knows each other? Just because our population is down and our cities are bubbled doesn’t mean Earth isn’t an entire planet of people. There are billions of people still on Earth.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I guess,” Rian says, flustered. A rare misstep. He thought he had me.

“My parents transferred to Centauri-Earth before I was born,” Saraswati offers. “I’ve always wanted to visit Agra.”

Centauri-Earth. That explains why she’s so nice. Closest to Earth, the first settled world outside the original. Half the people on Centauri-Earth claim to be descended from the original colonists, which is statistically unlikely but pretty decent for the tourism trade with so many people spending buckets on pilgrimages to the home world.

“I’ve been to Agra.” Both my and Saraswati’s eyes widen a little as the captain speaks. “I did a tour of the Old World after I graduated officer academy.” Her eyes grow a little distant. “We spent so many days at sea.”

“Did you see the oceans?” I ask.

“Oh, of course not. But the landhoppers brought us to the cities on the tour.”

She was on one of those fancy cruises, then. Every porthole is actually a digi-screen, displaying idyllic views and blocking out the brown, dead sea water. Landhoppers carry guests directly into the tourist bubbles. It’s the only way to view Earth now, a tourist once told me. To see only the parts that are clean and fake.

“I’m going to guess you’re from Gliese-Earth?” I say.

For the first time ever, Ursula looks at me as if she’s impressed. Last world to be colonized, although it’s had a few centuries to grow. I’ve only been there a handful of times. It’s a pain in the ass to get to, which may be why it has a growing movement of people who want to withdraw the world from the United Galactic System. I don’t care enough to keep up with the politics of it all, but Gliese-Earth basically claims too much of its money goes to the other worlds and they don’t get enough benefits from the union. But Gliese-Earth absolutely would produce someone who thinks they saw all Earth has to offer from a view in a landhopper. It pains me to think of my new best friend that way, but it’s pretty obvious Ursula was raised to think of my planet as a commodity to consume, a box to tick off.

I glance at Rian, the only other person in room. He smiles without answering the implied question. I’m going to guess he’s from Rigel-Earth. He seems like the kind of guy who comes from Rigel-Earth. A world full of pretentious assholes. It has the best portal systems, the best natural resources, the best world design, and the taxes and regulations to keep riffraff like me off-world. If Gliese-Earth thinks of my home as a product to consume, Rigel-Earth only thinks of it as a burdensome charity case. Most people who have never had to look at the golden safety net underneath them to know they’ll be fine if they fall have no concept whatsoever that poverty isn’t a matter of bad choices and poor planning.

But if Rian’s from Rigel-Earth, that makes me want to punch him, and he’s got too pretty of a face for me to actually want to smash it in, even when he says “user error,” so I tell myself he’s from Gliese-Earth and his sharp eyes that always seem to stare right into the heart of me are a result of protesting the government’s bid for secession and not because he’s actually that intelligent.

“So, anyway,” I say. “About the Roundabout .”

“We’re not discussing the mission,” Captain Ursula says instantly.

“Well, they can’t discuss the ship,” I say. “But I can. And maybe something I say will help.”

I clock the way Magnusson glances at Ursula. I’m right. They know it. Whew, do I love it when that happens.

“I’m assuming from all this secrecy that you guys are looking for something specific on board the Roundabout . Let me go ahead and answer the question I’m certain you’re thinking,” I add, pointedly looking at Magnusson and Saraswati. “All I was able to do was make one load of scrap metal, all of it sheets of wall paneling, pretty much.”

“And a cracked solar fuel rod,” Rian mutters.

I glare at him. “None of which I’m assuming you were looking for in the first place.”

Magnusson stuffs his spoon in his mouth, but Saraswati gives me a little nod, confirming what I already know.

“So, where did you guys explore—the forward or the aft part of the ship?”

Magnusson glances at Ursula. Saraswati just answers me. “Forward.”

“Yadav!” the captain says.

Saraswati shrugs. “Fine, reprimand me, but if we’re going to get the—”

I pretend not to care, but come on, how can I not?

Saraswati’s mouth snaps shut. She doesn’t say what they’re looking for. Instead, she says, “If we have any hope of finding the items , we can use all the help we can get. Especially after—”

“Enough!” Captain Ursula roars, throwing her spoon on the table. “Yadav, you’re walking a dangerous line right now. ”

“Hey, I don’t want to get people in trouble.” I hold both my hands up in a show of peace. “If Saraswati can’t talk, let me.”

“You certainly love to do that,” Magnusson grumbles.

I ignore him because I’m the bigger person. “I’m guessing that whatever you’re looking for isn’t that large. It’s at least something that two people working together can pick up.” I gesture at the two ground-crew members. The shuttle they rode in on wasn’t big enough for a hover lift, nor did it have the cargo room to store anything too sizable. “Plus if you’re talking about the forward...the nose of that ship is in a rift. With lava at the bottom. And on not exactly stable ground.”

I think for a moment, tapping my chin. “Yeah, either way, you’re going to need me.”

Ursula cocks an eyebrow at me. “What makes you presume so?”

So uptight, this one. “Right, so, option one is that whatever thing you’re looking for, it’s inside the ship still, but it’s not safe to reach. Ground’s unstable, magma’s trying to break through the cracks in the earth to burn it all up, et cetera, et cetera.” I don’t pause in my speech, but I can tell from the others, this isn’t right. Saraswati’s frowning, and Magnusson is grinning. “Option B is—”

“Two,” Rian says. “Option two.”

“Option two is whatever items you’re looking for, they’ve scattered. The ship didn’t just wreck; it broke apart and partially exploded on impact. Which created a scatter zone of the items that got tossed outside on the surface.”

Magnusson’s grin fades, and Saraswati leans forward. This is definitely what happened.

“Which creates a bigger problem, really,” I continue. “If whatever you’re looking for was inside the ship, it would be somewhat protected. But outside the ship? The volatile conditions of the planet make it at risk of being destroyed or lost forever.”

I sit back, done.

“I thought you said you were only scavenging from the aft end of the ship,” the captain says.

“Yeah, because the forward was a shit hole and not worth my time. Good thing for you, I’ve reconsidered.”

“Reconsidered?” Magnusson says.

“I’ll get your item for you. Sorry, I mean item s. ” Plural.

“You?” Ursula scoffs. “Magnusson and Yadav are experts, and—”

“And we can’t get it,” Saraswati says, leaning over the table to look at the captain. “I already told you, I will not risk my life for this mission. It’s not worth it.”

I wonder how much they’re paying her.

“You’ve only been down once,” the captain says. “I’m sure with some additional analysis and—”

“And God’s grace there’s not another earthquake,” Magnusson mumbles.

I bite back a smirk. There’s a ticking time bomb to getting at least one of the items—if an earthquake rattles the surface around too hard or a volcano burps up some lava, it could be lost. For once, a short time frame is working in my favor.

Blink.

“How do you know you can get it?” Rian asks. His voice is soft, but it slices through the lingering questions and tension at the table.

There it is, I think. Finally.

All eyes to me.

But my gaze is locked on his.

I slide my empty tray over and prop my elbows on the table, hands under my chin as I smile up at him. “Because,” I drawl, “I never know when to give up.”