Tyche's Chosen Read online

  Hope hadn’t found much broken apart from that Number Four booster. Logs were scrubbed, no telling what happened while the Empire was in charge. So, she’d contacted the Republic and said, Well, no, there’s nothing wrong, it’s just that nothing’s really right, and they’d given her a new brief. They found her honesty refreshing, whatever that meant. Hope was an Engineer. Things were a thing, or not a thing. That was how it was.

  Project Redemption was the official name. Hope’s take on it: make everything better. Her brief was to remake the spans stretching out from Triton Station to allow a new class of ships to be made here. While the shipyards around Titan were taking up the slack, the natural metals imprisoned inside Triton’s crust were too rich a hoard to give up. If they could get her new design for the docking cradles up and running, the low cost of materials here would make this the best coin to tonnage ratio shipyard anywhere.

  She’d keep fixing that damn Number Four booster if that’s what it took. Although she wanted to replace the entire booster array with an Endless field system. Bobbi had said the math didn’t work right, but Hope had run the numbers and the math was fine. The problem was no one had put an Endless field system on something the size of Triton Station before. Do great things didn’t mean doing all the stuff other people had already done, just better. Thing is, it wasn’t that straightforward.

  Your problem is that things are breaking, since you took over. At least Reiko was here. She’d shipped to Triton with Hope, figuring on finding work here somewhere, somehow. It was a big place, home to almost fifty thousand souls. Reiko hadn’t found work yet, but it was early days, and Hope didn’t mind. She had Reiko, and that’s all that mattered.

  Hope entered a section of the station where red emergency lights were flashing against the walls. The fire would be up ahead. She sighed as she arrived at a closed bulkhead door, checking the panel for hazards on the other side. Atmosphere, yep. Grav was still on. No smoke or other airborne pollutants. Everything was fine. She keyed the console, the airlock hissing open. Ahead of her against the rimward wall of the station was the massive doors for Docking Bay Twelve, and next to those doors, Reiko Crous-Povilaitis. Hope paused, checking her rig’s HUD for a second. Yep, this is Docking Bay Twelve. Reiko being here made no sense. Reiko should have been in their apartment. And there was a fire here! What was she thinking?

  Hope hurried to Reiko’s side. “Baby? Reiko? What are you doing here?”

  Reiko startled, giving Hope a look that might have been guilty, and then looking at the closed doors for Docking Bay Twelve. Reiko spun the wedding ring on her finger before she spoke. “I heard there was a fire,” she said.

  “I don’t think there’s a fire,” said Hope. “If there was, next to it is the last place you should be.”

  “It’s okay for you to do dangerous things, but not me?” said Reiko.

  Hope took a few seconds to process that. “Yes,” she said, but not without careful consideration.

  “How can you—”

  “Because I am an Engineer,” said Hope. “I have a rig. If you put me in a cauldron of molten metal I would be okay for a little while. You are wearing the ship suit I got you last year. It’s nice! It suits you. It is not able to withstand molten metal.”

  Reiko brushed a strand of long black hair behind one ear. “I don’t like you doing dangerous things,” she said.

  “It’s not dangerous,” said Hope. “Unless behind that door is an open reactor or a fusion drive under thrust, I am literally safer than you. So, Reiko. Baby. Can you leave me to work?”

  Reiko thought about that, then nodded. “Okay.”

  “Okay,” said Hope, waiting. After a couple more seconds, she said, “You should go now.”

  “In case there’s an open reactor or a fusion drive under thrust?” said Reiko, but not without a smile.

  “Or just an ordinary very hot fire,” said Hope. She leaned forward, kissing her wife. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I worry.”

  “I’ll be fine,” repeated Hope.

  “It’s just that—”

  “I will still be fine,” said Hope. She gave Reiko a gentle push, sending her off. Hope watched Reiko go, and after a bulkhead had separated them with a satisfying clunk, Hope turned to Docking Bay Twelve’s closed door. The warning lights on the console said FIRE! They were lying or something else was amiss, because all the other signals said everything is fine. Atmosphere. No radiation leak. No abnormal temperature. If anything, it was a little cool in there, a gentle seventeen degrees Celsius on the sensors. Hope tapped on the panel, the door giving a mighty clunk before grinding open.

  As it opened, which took a long time on account of its size, Hope took in what was happening in Docking Bay Twelve. There was only one ship in there. Hope checked her rig’s console. The ship’s transponder hadn’t been responding, which is possibly why she had set her skids down in here. An Old Empire heavy lifter, if she had her ships right. It’d have a decent ICF reactor inside, twin fusion drives to kick the hard black plenty when there was need. And an Endless Drive, nice gravity inside, a little different from the bridgeliners that were all the rage now.

  Someone had painted a woman’s face large on the hull. The woman was winking, not in a sexual way, but like she had a big secret. While there wasn’t a functioning transponder, the letters on the side gave a name for anyone who could read. This was the Tyche.

  Hope liked it. Old, but good tech.

  And someone loved that ship, to keep her operating in space. Running an Old Empire ship would draw attention. Hope had some idea who that might be. Outside the cargo bay airlock was a man, hand on a blaster at his hip. She glimpsed gold: he had a metal hand, like a pirate from an old story. In front of him were four people.

  Natsumi Warn was Triton Station’s Chief. She was made of tempered ceramicrete, near as Hope could tell, except even tempered ceramicrete had more give in it. Natsumi had a blaster of her own out, pointed in no particular direction. Next to her stood Cesar Grosvenor, who was at pains to remind Hope at every opportunity he, not Hope, was Natsumi’s 2IC. Hope didn’t like Cesar very much, but since he controlled the policing arm of Triton Station, she took care around him. The Republic’s new justice was a sensitive thing, and while Hope wanted to think they’d leave a mere Engineer alone, bad people had killed a nice Emperor, and here they were.

  The other two next to Natsumi and Cesar were people Hope hadn’t met before. There was a man and a woman, both lean and hard, like they’d been starving for weeks but it’d done nothing but strengthen them. There was also a scattering of smoking pieces that looked to Hope like someone’s body, but after it had been caught in blaster fire.

  That would explain the fire warning. Triton Station’s sensors might have been a little optimistic about the level and nature of the danger.

  The door finished opening with a clang that echoed through the docking bay. No one turned to look at Hope, like she was the least interesting thing that had happened all day. It’s fine. I just keep the station from falling into Neptune’s moon. Don’t mind me. She didn’t say that. What she said was, “The station thinks there’s a fire.”

  “Does it look like there’s a fire?” said Cesar, not looking at her. He was trying to watch both the pirate with the gold hand and the two hard-looking people, and not doing a good job of it.

  “Kind of,” said Hope. “There is a pile of someone near your foot. It’s still smoking.”

  “Situation’s under control,” said Natsumi.

  “Okay,” said Hope, not moving. After a moment, she said, “Why do you have your blaster out?”

  “Situation wasn’t under control a moment ago,” said the pirate. He had a nice voice, like he was only playing at being a pirate, because of the hand. “Natsumi Warn has come to offer her assistance.”

  “That’s enough of your attitude, Chevell. I had to take that for years when I wore the Black. I won’t take it anymore.” Natsumi looked like she was sucking a lemon. “Sorry about
the old man, though.”

  “Yeah,” said the pirate, who’s name was apparently Chevell. Hope wondered if that was a first or a last name. It sounded uncomfortable for a first name. “It wasn’t years.”

  “What?”

  “Wasn’t years,” said Chevell. “I didn’t have the job long. Someone else made you feel bad for years. Wasn’t me.”

  “You did your share,” said Natsumi.

  “I did,” agreed Chevell. “Do you want me to make you feel bad again?”

  Hope almost laughed. She would never have said that to Natsumi for fear of ending up in a recycler. Natsumi didn’t look like she found it funny as she said, “It’s exactly that kind of thing that will get you dead, Chevell.”

  “Might do,” said Chevell. He hadn’t moved his hand from his blaster in all this time. “You figure today will be that day?”

  A particular silence fell between the two of them. The air felt charged, like right before a lightning strike, the kind you’d get on a crust when storm clouds gathered overhead with menace. Hope swallowed, wanting to not be here.

  But Natsumi laughed, and the tension left the air like it had never been. She holstered her blaster. “No, Chevell. You’re not worth the paperwork.” She turned on her heel, stalking away from Chevell, Cesar following in her wake. Natsumi brushed past Hope and said, “I told you the situation was resolved.”

  Cesar nodded at Hope as he passed, but it wasn’t a friendly nod. More like a reminder. He said nothing. Hope didn’t follow them. She wanted to talk to the pirate. Hope wanted to meet the man who had stood with a hand on his blaster while he talked Natsumi Warn away from shooting him.

  Only problem was the other two people in the room. They hadn’t moved. The man, who sported a thin single braid down the back of his head, shifted his weight. “Chevell, is it?”

  “It is,” said Chevell.

  “There’s a tariff,” said Single Braid.

  “No, there isn’t,” said Chevell.

  “I’ll tell you what—”

  “Here’s what’ll happen,” said Chevell. “You will threaten me. If you’re stupid at a level that is mind-boggling, you will try and draw that weapon at your hip. You’ll hope your loser partner—”

  “Hey,” said the woman.

  “You’ll hope she’ll draw too. And what you’ll both hope is that you will do it faster than one of the Emperor’s Black. You’re wondering if the stories are true. You’ll pray that one of you makes a clean shot.”

  “Why one?” said Single Braid.

  “Because the other one will be dead,” said Chevell. “The one alive will need to make a good shot or they’ll be dead too. And what you’re really hoping is that the Emperor’s Black aren’t good enough to gun both of you down before your blasters clear their holsters.”

  What Hope was wondering was how a couple of thugs had washed up on this shore, what with Natsumi and Cesar here just moments ago. It didn’t seem like a good time to bring that up, so she edged sideways so that if someone fired a blaster and it was in her direction she wouldn’t be such an obvious target. She made it to the lip of the docking bay’s doors, trying to scrunch into the shadows a little, but not so much she’d miss what was going on.

  A long moment held. Single Braid sniffed. “You’re not worth the trouble.”

  “Most likely not,” said Chevell. “Best you be on then.” He watched the two thugs leave the docking bay. They walked past Hope without sparing her a glance. She hoped Reiko was well gone by now. Hope was about to slip away herself when Chevell called out, “Engineer.”

  “Uh,” said Hope. She detached herself from her shelter. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” he said with a smile. He took in her rig, the markings on the breastplate, and nodded. “Station Chief Engineer. Sorry.”

  He didn’t do the normal double-take, the eye-rolling at her youth, or the fluster of having made an error. Just corrected himself and said sorry. “It’s okay,” said Hope. “Most people see the hair first anyway.” She tugged at a pink strand for emphasis. “It’s pink,” she offered.

  “Seems like,” said Chevell. He took his hand off his blaster, clanking towards her on the old decking. Hope took in the slight hitch in his stride, and thought, This pirate also has a metal leg. When Chevell held out his hand to her, she stared at it for a moment. No one wanted to meet Hope, let alone introduce themselves. They always thought she was an Engineer’s assistant. After a moment, she shook his hand. Not clammy. Warm, like his voice. “I’m Nate,” he said. “Nathan Chevell. But my friends call me Nate.”

  “Hope,” she said. “Hope Baedeker. My friends call me Hope. Because it’s my name.” She cringed. “Sorry. I’ve never met a pirate before.” She cringed again.

  He laughed. “Pirate, huh?” He took a glance up at the Tyche, and the woman walking out the airlock. “My Helm thought the same thing. Didn’t you, El?”

  “Elspeth Roussel,” said El. “And it’s because you are. Except you’re a terrible pirate. Has everyone with a blaster gone?”

  “Except me,” said Nate.

  “Oh God, we’re going to die,” she said. She shook Hope’s hand. “Engineer,” she nodded. “Say. There a place to get a drink around here?”

  Hope nodded. “Deck fourteen. Middle of the Station. Big hub. Cajun Station is good.”

  “Gotcha,” said El, strolling out the docking bay.

  Nate watched her go, then turned to Hope. “Chief Engineer?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m looking to hire on an Engineer of my own,” he said. “I need someone who knows stars and hearts.”

  “What?” said Hope.

  “Stars, because she’s a starship, Hope,” said Nate. “Hearts, because the Tyche needs a generous crew with plenty of love inside them. We’re sailing the hard black and there’s no room for devilry on my ship.”

  “Oh,” said Hope. “I don’t know anyone like that.”

  “That’s a shame,” said Nate. “Port drive’s not going to fix itself.” And with that, he gave her a nod, sauntering after his Helm.

  Hope watched them go. Stars and hearts. She’d never heard of a job like that. Hope had heard of the Job of a Lifetime! But not stars and hearts. She wondered what kind of ship the Tyche was. Such a small crew, out there in the hard black. If she didn’t have Triton Station and Reiko, she might…

  No. Hope Baedeker, you were meant to do great things. Great things weren’t shipping out on an ancient heavy lifter. Great things were replacing all sixty-four boosters on Triton Station with an Endless field.

  She brushed pink hair from her eyes, turning to go, then stopped. Hope turned back, and caught that painted face on the side of the Tyche. Hope dared to put a hand on the ship’s metal skin. “It’s nice to meet you too,” she said, but softly, in case anyone was listening. Hope didn’t know why, but she felt like the ship was winking at her.

  Weird.

  • • •

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