Tyche's Crown Read online

  Why would a bunch of bugs that communicated mind-to-mind need radio?

  Hope tugged another stim from the pile. They made her teeth hurt, but they also gave her a little more clarity.

  The reason was obvious: humans hadn’t heard the Ezeroc. They’d heard something else — someone else — entirely. Not only were humans not alone, but there was more than one alien intelligence out there.

  Nate would pitch a fit.

  CHAPTER THREE

  WHEN EL WOKE, it was with a man’s warm arms around her. Warm, strong arms. Connected to a chest that, even in sleep, looked purpose-built. The smell of sweat and sex and after alcohol was around her, holding her tighter than his embrace.

  What the fuck was his name again?

  Johnson. Davison. Mendleson. Something-son. She was sure of it.

  El gave a lazy blink, taking in the room. Nice enough as far as these things went. Rented by the night rather than by the hour. Not attached to a bar — that was up the street aways. They’d navigated here like sailors of old, using the light of the stars to guide them in. Enia Alpha didn’t have crickets like Earth, but it had something that chirped out in the trees or weeds or whatever crust-huggers called ‘em, and that was just fine as far as El was concerned. She and the strong-arms-attached-to-the-chest had rented a room. Two floors up in a short-rise hotel. Cozy, done in an old style. Red roses on the table as they entered, like the proprietor knew the kind of customers he’d be getting.

  Coins on the counter. Not hers. He’d paid, right? She was sure of it. She’d giggled, drunk and happy about it. No need to fly tonight, leastways not in the sky. But she went to heaven anyway.

  Smithson. That was it. David Smithson, not John Davison or some other bullshit combination. David Smithson, a strong name to go with those strong arms and chest. He was a little younger than her, but not by a lot. Kept himself in good trim, not a sheet or a rope stowed out of place. She lifted the covers, glimpsing that torso, the abs you could play checkers on, the inviting V leading to his groin. El realized she wanted another round, but she’d been raised polite: let him sleep a little. She could snare them both some breakfast. Be back before he woke, surprise him with kisses and cake. She knew the path to a man’s heart; any decent Helm knew how to fly those skies.

  She slipped from the covers, something in her back giving a small pop. Then something in her neck. El knew she wasn’t getting any younger. The only thing keeping her lean and trim was constant stress … although last night had removed that nagging itch she’d been carrying for days.

  Weeks. Months.

  Might have been a year.

  Bare feet padded her over to the mixed pile of clothes on the floor by the door. They hadn’t made it far at all before the action started. She pulled on her pants, tucked in her shirt a little half-heartedly, tugged a jacket on over the top, and then checked her sidearm. Good to go. A-grade and ready to fly. Not even a hangover.

  Not that she’d admit it either way. If Kohl didn’t get hangovers, neither did she.

  The door cycled open with a quiet hum, Smithson not even moving a muscle in bed. Out to it. At least he didn’t snore. Maybe he’d be a keeper for a while longer. A dalliance while on shore leave. She kept that thought close, trying it on for size as she tugged hair into a ponytail that wouldn’t pass muster on a Navy ship, but would get her by just fine on a colony world. She hit the lobby at a brisk walk, putting a little more saunter in it as she gated the main doors and into the bright light of Enia Alpha’s yellow star.

  Who’d have thought paradise would also be the home of the Resistance?

  There was a bakery across the way, a place that sold nothing but carbohydrates topped with more carbohydrates. Sure, they had a Danish or two, some mock fruit thrown in to make you feel like it was a health food, but El had been on a starship for too long to turn down any kind of real fare. Reconstituted protein synthetics made you yearn for a little daily bread grown under a real sun. Something that didn’t come out of a factory. She looked through the cabinets, her own personal gateway into obesity. That was a good way to spend a morning: having sex and trying to get fat at the same time.

  Studying the cabinets made her miss the figure slipping into the hotel behind her.

  El dropped good Republic coins on the counter, snaring what felt like four of everything. Big bags. Two cups of coffee, one white, one black, because she didn’t know how Smithson took his and she didn’t care how she took hers. She turned back to the street in time to see the wall of the hotel above her explode outward in a shower of ceramicrete, the plasma blasts from inside tearing at the side of the building with thunder and fire.

  She paused. Didn’t run — the Cap had always said that got you shot, and besides, she was confused. Was that her room? She was pretty sure it was. If she ran up, sidearm out, she’d probably get shot. She wasn’t good at groundwork, not a crust-hugger like Kohl. Didn’t want to get that dirty, and — let’s be clear, crystal like the dawn here — she was still terrified of being killed. It was a fear she figured a lot more people should have. It was with this thought she saw Smithson tumble from the now open wall, arms pinwheeling as he fell to impact the ceramicrete below.

  Screaming. Smoke. People running. Those were the sights and sounds that filtered to her now as she stood, breakfast in hand for a man who’d just impacted pavement four meters from her. She should probably panic too. El should probably run. She should probably do something. Instead of doing any of those things, El looked up at the hole in the hotel. She saw a man standing there, hands on hips, looking down at her.

  El wanted to be angry. She wanted to yell. She gritted her teeth. “Captain,” she said. “Did you shoot up my hotel room and toss my date out a window?”

  “No,” said Nate, from the open wall above her. “I—”

  “Because that was my first decent lay in longer than I feel comfortable discussing on the street!” El looked around, saw people still running and yelling and doing the usual things people who led a quiet life did when things got unquiet. “Why the hell did you shoot up that room? I bought breakfast!”

  “Didn’t shoot,” said Nate. “He did.”

  “I mean, you … what?” she said.

  “He shot,” said Nate. “Didn’t even get my weapon out. Just laid about him with a mean shooter, all kinds of righteous anger in his eyes.”

  “Do you think it’s because you broke into our room and surprised him while he was asleep?” said El.

  “No,” said Nate. “I think it’s because he’s a Republic spy.”

  El thought about that for a few cycles. “Hell,” she said. “I’m coming up.”

  “Don’t bother,” said Nate. “I’m coming down. Nothing else up here.”

  He had that right.

  • • •

  “David Smithson,” said Nate. “Seriously?” They sat at a table outside, a few blocks away. They’d both figured on it being unwise to hang loose around a Republic spy, if the Republic police would turn up. It’d get uncomfortable, no matter the official government situation of Enia Alpha.

  El was sure that no one knew what that situation was. The Republic were shutting down services, bugging out. Laying off the help. The spaceport wasn’t staffed by the usual people. She could tell: they were a lot more reasonable these days. Maybe revolution had a few upsides. She pushed a Danish around the brown paper bag she was using as a plate. “That’s what he said.”

  “It’s the most generic name in the universe,” said Nate. “Next to John Smith, I mean. But it’s close.” He held the white coffee.

  She’d taken the black but hadn’t touched it. “If you could have waited,” she said. “Like, just another hour.”

  “In an hour he’d have cored your mind out like a Halloween pumpkin,” said Nate.

  El felt a shiver walk down her spine. “He was that kind of Republic spy?”

  “I reckon so,” said Nate. “Mostly on account of how he acted when I turned up with my sword.” He patted the hilt
of his black blade. “Also, he didn’t want to talk. He just shot at me.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I hit him in the face, then threw him out the hole in the wall.” Nate held up his metal hand. “It’s got its uses. I never thought that before, but it’s growing on me.”

  El thought while she nibbled Danish. “Don’t we want to question him?”

  “We will,” said Nate. “Later. For now, we’ve got to get the ship prepped. We’re leaving.”

  At least I got laid. At least that. “What? Now?”

  “Not now-now, but soon-now,” he said. “Got a solid lead. Hope’s found a beacon. Or, well, the Republic did. She just bothered to read the report.”

  “The Ezeroc have a beacon?”

  “Not the Ezeroc,” said Nate.

  “Then who … oh. Oh.”

  “Yeah,” said Nate. “Might be allies. Might be something we can use out there. El, we might just get through this.”

  El thought about that for a couple minutes. The trouble with fighting an alien race that bred like cockroaches and used your species as fuel? They were tough opponents. Their Endless tech was better than the human’s. The only thing going for humanity right now was that the Ezeroc seemed content to throw rocks, whereas humans were used to energy weapons, nukes, and harsh language. Having bigger guns helped. Having to make starships was a problem though; one small Ezeroc base on the moon had been a close call against four human ships — three destroyers and a carrier wasn’t a fuck-around option, either. That was what you’d take to subdue a whole planet from orbit. “Okay,” she said. “Then we’ve got to try, right?”

  “Right,” said Nate.

  “Out of interest, what if he hadn’t been a spy?”

  “Then he wouldn’t have shot at me,” said Nate. “Probably. I get shot at a lot these days. Speaking of which.”

  “You want me to go prep the ship so we can get shot at some more?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can I finish my breakfast first?”

  “Yeah. I’m off to see an old friend anyway. And we need to extract a few morsels of intel from Smithson’s brain. If that’s even his name.”

  El gave a sigh filled with regret. “You know? I don’t think his name was the important part.”

  • • •

  El wanted to do more than finish her breakfast. Sure, that was important. If they were about to haul ass for the sky, it’d mean a lot of time eating reconstituted food again. Best to not let the little things slip on by. But there was something more important than prepping the ship. A trained monkey could do that. Anyone of a higher skill level than Kohl, say.

  No. She needed to pick up a present for someone who needed it. She’d have liked a shower too, but that could wait for the ‘prep the ship’ phase of the day. The Tyche had great showers, and there wouldn’t be anyone likely to unload plasma on her while she got clean. Besides, Smithson might have been a spy, but a little of the smell of him still clung to her clothes, and that was just fine.

  Back to the present she needed to collect: it was something simple. El couldn’t match the fancy levels of the gift’s recipient, so why try?

  She walked into the jeweler, some of the swagger back in her stride after about five kilos of pastries and another coffee. She marched up to the counter, leaning an elbow on it.

  No one here.

  She rang the bell. A quaint bell — it’s why she’d chosen this place. They did all their work by hand, no machines more advanced than a lathe anywhere to be found. The ding ding rang through the store, and a man — short, gray hair, a little stooped — came out from the back room. “Help you?” he said. Thick glasses, that’s right. El remembered the thick glasses, a weird oddity in a universe where new eyes could be bought in the unlikely chance your old eyes couldn’t be fixed. It was probably marketing, back to the handmade thing.

  “Yeah,” said El. “Elspeth Roussel. Here to pick up a commission.”

  “Ah, that’s right,” said the man. “It’s … very simple.”

  “That’s the point,” she said, counting good Republic coins onto the counter. Good for a while, at least. No telling how much longer that currency would be buoyant. Long enough to get the gift, though.

  He nodded to her, ignoring the coins, and hobbling out the back again. He returned with a thin rectangle, wrapped in cloth. He placed it on the counter, a clunk as he set it down. Thin, but heavy, exactly what she wanted. “Thanks,” she said.

  “Come back again,” said the shopkeeper.

  “I hope not,” said El. “I mean, this is a once in a lifetime thing, you know?”

  “I figured,” said the man, turning away and going back to his work. It’d be nice to have work where you weren’t being shot at. Sure, but it’d also be boring, right? A shop like this, you’d never get a chance to see the stars.

  • • •

  El walked up the ramp to the Tyche’s cargo bay. Wide open, because the crew’s reputation was out there. You didn’t want to mess with this crew. There was a captain who had taken them headlong into a fight with an alien race. An Assessor who could read minds, or close enough it didn’t matter. An Engineer who knew how to fix most anything, and if she couldn’t fix it, she’d make a new one for you from spare parts. And a sociopath trying to be … less sociopathic, with mixed results.

  And let’s not forget the amazing Helm, capable of flying an old military heavy lifter through the eye of a needle in a hurricane.

  Her boots clanged against the decking as she hit the cargo bay. Lights off. Clean air around, like the Tyche had been dusted, waxed, and polished. No dirt anywhere. No blood stains, no scuffs. Someone had been busy. Might have been Hope. Might have been the Intelligencers. They seemed thankful to be alive and not in a reprogramming facility.

  El climbed the ladder to the crew deck, then walked aft to Engineering. She paused at the small ladder leading to the airlock. Closed. She knocked. The door slid open with a hiss, and El caught site of Hope in her acceleration couch, holo display on. She caught sight of an image of the betrayer Reiko being toggled away, lines of text — some kind of Republic report by the looks — replacing it. Hope was facing away from El, but waved. “Heya.”

  “Hey, Hope. Bad time?”

  “No,” said Hope. She turned, and El saw the dark circles under her eyes. How many stims has she had? All of them, probably. “We got to be ready to go.”

  “Which brings me to this,” said El, holding the rectangle aloft.

  “What’s that?”

  “Present,” said El.

  “For who?”

  “You,” said El.

  “Why?” Hope blinked. “I don’t think … I don’t know. It’s not my birthday.”

  “How long have you been working, Hope?” El walked into Engineering, perching herself on the side of a drive cowling. The place smelled of … clean grease, which was … unusual. Not that Hope didn’t keep it shipshape, everything in the right place. It’s just … she seemed to like the smell of old grease.

  “Uh,” said Hope. “How long have we been here?”

  “In this room?”

  “On Enia Alpha.”

  “Two, almost three weeks.”

  “I guess,” said Hope, counting on her fingers, “about two weeks then.”

  El looked down at the gift she held. It was a shitty idea. A stupid present, while here was Hope trying to … get by. Doing the work to save the human race, while everything she cared about was gone. Reiko might have betrayed her wife, but that wasn’t any of El’s business. She stood up to go. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I … didn’t think.”

  “It’s cool,” said Hope, pushing away a strand of pink hair. “Well, go on. Show me.” Some of the old Hope shone through, a glimmer of the eager, inquisitive person El had met years ago. Even being in jail hadn’t beaten that out of her. But, you know, being betrayed to the long arm of the law by your wife, who it turned out was the one who got you in trouble in the first place? Yeah, that’d a
lter your worldview.

  “It’s … just something small,” said El. She handed over the wrapped rectangle.

  Hope almost dropped it. “It’s heavy.”

  “Yeah.”

  Hope unwrapped the fabric around it, El noticing the telltale shakes in her hands. How many stims? Two weeks, let’s say five a day at least … that’s way more than a safe dose. The fabric fell away, the dim lighting of Engineering reflecting off what was inside. Gold. A plaque, solid gold, with laser etching.

  “You see,” said El. “I … I’ve been on to the Guild. Your pardon came down from the Republic, so, you know.”

  “I know,” said Hope, turning it over. Just staring at it, not really seeing it.

  “You’re an Engineer again,” said El. “Not that you weren’t, but … I figured. It’d be nice to be reminded.”

  Hope looked up at El. “It’s beautiful,” she said. She pushed her weary body up from the acceleration couch, grabbing a power tool from a bench. She set the Shingle against a wall, screwing it in place. El got a look at the finished product for the first time.

  THE GUILD PRESENTS

  HOPE BAEDEKER

  ENTRY INTO OUR RANKS. WELCOME, ENGINEER.

  DO GREAT THINGS.

  It was as close as El could get to the real thing. It had a Guild emblem and all. A hand-etched Shingle, like the old man guaranteed. Hope’s old Shingle had been lost or taken, but El had it on authority that this was right. “I … wanted you to remember,” said El.

  Hope laughed, a tired, thin sound. “It’s so hard,” she said.

  “Yes,” said El. “Why don’t you get some sleep?”

  “Got to get the Tyche ready,” said Hope. “Cap said.”

  “Cap can wait,” said El. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ENIA ALPHA WAS a nice world. Gravity was nice and light and it was warm. Dry when it needed to be, wet when it counted. Nate could stand to settle down here, maybe retire one day. There were two things standing in the way of that pleasant little dream: first up, aliens wanted to kill all humans. Second, this world was the de facto Resistance High Command. Why? Because it’s where Nate had brought all the Resistance leaders.