Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Connor could sense something was wrong even before the team’s starship—the Lucky Sevens—came into view. Dark shadows stretched from the long, angular ship as Selen stomped toward the ramp that headed up to the starboard-side airlock.

Then his hunch was confirmed as a head popped out of the open airlock hatch. That head had auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail, a lightly freckled face, and a frown that drew deep lines on an already hard face.

Martienne Camille was waiting for their return, and she seemed annoyed.

She stepped into view, scrubbing chubby hands with a greasy rag, and put a foot on the top of the ramp. “I hope your news, it is good. Mine? It is bad.”

It was never easy knowing what to make of Martienne. She was the pilot of the Lucky Sevens and had been since shortly after Connor had joined the team. Her moods shifted like the wind, but of late she’d mostly been sour, especially toward Connor. She didn’t pretend to share Selen’s loyalty despite the failed mission that had sent the team’s fate into a downward spiral.

Selen stopped at the base of the ramp, head bowed. “Tell me.”

The pilot stuffed the grimy rag into the pocket of her equally grimy coveralls. “Where to start, hm?”

“With the worst.”

“If you wish.” The way she said ‘if’—more like eef—was a point of pride. Her family was old French, from a colony in the Coil Sector that had never really done well integrating with others.

“I wish.” Selen’s voice was creeping up in volume.

“Well, then. Probably the worst to me is the main drive coupler.”

Connor had been expecting that piece of equipment to fail for a while. “Is it dead?”

Martienne didn’t look at him. “This coupler, it has, at best, maybe another three months.”

Selen nodded. “We’ll buy a refurbished one. Back in the Coil.”

“To fly with this ready to fail—”

“We can’t afford something that big right now. What else?”

The pilot snorted. “Ibrahim and Mikael quit.”

Those words were like a punch to the gut. Connor looked around the ship, as if the two men might be hiding in the shadows somewhere. “Are they still onboard?”

“They left right after Selen did.”

That was a huge blow: their demolitions expert and primary engineer. Connor could pitch in with almost everything when people needed help, but he wasn’t good enough to be a primary engineer.

He cursed softly, voice tapering off when Selen glared at him. “What?”

She was grinding her teeth, which she finally managed to stop. “Stop it.”

“Stop what? Without an engineer, we can’t launch.”

“We’ll get by.”

“How?” He didn’t look away when her glare intensified. “I told you people were getting testy about the delay in pay.”

“I hired Mikael when he couldn’t find work. He owed me.”

“He apparently didn’t see it that way.”

Selen leaned closer. “Sticking up for him? Hm? Pinning this on me?”

“No. But I think we should give that Mosiah guy a listen.”

“Uh-uh.” She hurried up the ramp, pausing at the short pilot’s side. “Anything else?”

“This man from the supply company? The one you bought food stores from? He came by just after Mikael left. The food purchases you made?”

“What about them?”

“Your credit was rejected.”

“My credit’s good.”

“He said it is no good here. It is the same with the fabrication shop where Mikael tried to buy parts for the life support system. The Finance Ministry, they have blocked further extension of credit for us. Do not be mad at me. It is the supply company man’s words, not mine.”

Once again, Selen seemed ready to pin the blame on Connor, twisting around to scowl at him. He knew better this time. He’d warned her when she announced they were headed to Mara that she couldn’t outrun their debt. The one thing the governments of the Coil and Talon Sectors cooperated on was banking.

Selen must have figured that out, because she set her hands on her hips and looked down. “It’s not his fault. Not this.”

Then she ducked out of sight in the airlock. The clomp of her boots echoed loud enough that Connor heard them over his own steps.

He slowed as he approached the outer airlock hatch.

When he stopped, Martienne looked him up and down with a sneer. “Say what she will, this thing you have done to us, it will ruin the team.”

“We’ll survive.”

“No. Survive is what we did before you let Dr. Litvinenko die.”

He swallowed but said nothing.

The pilot sauntered through the airlock and once in the passageway beyond headed into the galley and closed the hatch.

Connor waited a few rapid heartbeats, then turned to the right. The lounge was forward, directly beneath the bridge. He would’ve liked a drink just then—something to take off the edge. It wasn’t worth going into the galley and risking another berating from the pilot, so he would settle for some quiet alone time in one of the lounge’s virtual reality booths.

When the passageway turned left, he heard steps coming up the ramp that led down to the big cargo bay. Before Connor could hurry to the final passageway to the lounge, a slender form separated from the shadows below.

The form sped up. “Is that you, Lieutenant Rattakul?”

It was too late—Connor had been spotted. He froze. “Hey, Lem.”

With steps louder than seemed possible, the slender man banged up the last of the ramp. Lem—his official designation coming off the android manufacturing line was GOLEM-16974—was a full head shorter than Connor, with pale gray skin, white hair, and silvery irises. “You have returned from Winter. Captain Erbaykent has as well?”

“We’re both back.”

“Excellent! Were the two of you successful in your endeavor to obtain a contract?”

Connor’s eyes drifted to the lounge door. It was so close… “Not yet.”

“But the crucial process of gauging availability and announcing our intent to seek employment has been completed. From those roots, a mighty tree of opportunities must surely flourish.”

“Um, actually, it’s not looking so good right now.”

“There is a dearth of work to be had?”

“A…dearth?”

“A paucity. A shortage. An inadequate supply.”

“Oh. Well, yes. That’s true in a way.” Connor scuffed the toe of a stolen shoe against the deck. “I’m sort of the cause of that, I guess.”

“That seems hardly possible at all, Lieutenant.”

“Connor, okay? Just Connor. Please?”

“As you wish. That seems hardly possible at all, Connor.”

“It’s still true. Me being a fugitive from the Directorate or me letting Dr. Litvinenko die—they’re both working against us.”

The android’s gray head tilted. “Although I have no authority to speak about the nature of your fugitive status, on the matter of the doctor’s death, I continue to hold to my assessment that you have been unfairly critical in the assessment of blame. He was in ill health before the team attempted to extract him from the place of his captivity.”

“Yeah, well, he died while I was on watch. That puts it squarely on me.”

“Even in this assessment, I find reason for rational disagreement. The captain’s decision to assign me to scouting the trail meant your group was without adequate medical coverage.”

“We needed people with sharp eyes clearing our path.”

“But the unhealthy condition of Dr. Litvinenko made my presence critical.”

Connor shrugged. “That assumes he died of his condition. It could’ve been something else.”

“An assassin who slipped through the camp perimeter? It seems unlikely.”

“Look, Lem, I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but let’s stick to what everyone agrees to. Selen made the right call sending you out as a scout.”

“I am not challenging Captain Erbaykent’s decision. I am merely stating that to place the blame for Dr. Litvinenko’s demise solely on you fails to account for the numerous variables at play.”

“Noted. Just, if you could maybe not make that sort of statement around Selen?”

“The captain is distraught over the dire straits Selen’s Devils now face?”

“Exactly. She’s invested her life in this business.”

“I understand.”

Connor rested a hand on the android’s shoulder. “I appreciate it, Lem.”

“And I appreciate the manner with which you treat me. Connor.” Lem smiled. “If you will excuse me, I feel I must return to the task of updating our inventory.”

“I’ll be right down.”

Watching the android descend back into the cargo hold, Connor realized just how strange a thing their relationship was. He’d fought so hard against automation and the total obsolesce of the human being only to have to take in an android that typified exactly that sort of threat. But Lem didn’t represent the architects behind the idea. He was no different than Connor and his human comrades—a tool being manipulated by the uncaring elements of the Directorate and those it favored.

Pawns, Connor realized. Not tools but pawns. Everyone was arrayed in a big economic game meant to pit one helpless group against another.

He might not be able to stop the people moving those pieces, but he could make sure no more innocent lives—human or android—were lost in the war. After all, hadn’t that been the point of the Nyango Revolt, the reason so many had died following his former leader, Zacharias Wentz?

Connor had to do whatever he could in the memory of those people. He owed Wentz and his dead followers that much.