The Take Control Trilogy
By Mima
Smashwords Edition Copyright 2011 by Mima
Edited by Deanna Pryce
Cover Art by Razzle Dazzle Design, razzdazzdesign.com
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Author’s Notice
Welcome to the Take Control series of interactive fiction. The original trio features a scifi with bold Becca, a contemporary western with frustrated Lauren, and a paranormal with determined Charlotte. Do not read this story straight through in sequence, for it will not make sense that way. To direct one of the heroine’s choices, please SELECT the underlined text you prefer. Your decisions lead you to many unique endings, some of which might be sexy, happy, or both. If you’re like me, a fair portion of the fun in reading interactive fiction is also finding out what pain awaits you. Whether you’re sated, dead, or disgusted, try, try again. The index included on the last page of each story is meant for people who wish to use hindsight to make different choices after their first journey is finished. You may get to the index by clicking any links reading “The End.” Good luck. Take control and brave the fates, for true love is hard to find.
Table of Contents
Charlotte Prowling for Enchantment
Becca, Reporting for Duty
by Mima
Dedication
To S
The higher they went above York, the calmer Becca got. The small black shuttle rose toward the misty upper-atmo docking station. Cargo transfers zoomed around them, swarming to and fro.
They cleared the clouds and there was the Cider Pot, the mid-level trader that would be her world for a three month starcourse. Becca sucked in a quick breath. Finally, she was on her way to real challenge. It was earned through her own skill, not her brother’s position.
“There she is,” Deke said wryly. “The pride of Apple Branch Spaceways.”
She ignored the transport pilot’s sarcasm. Freedom, exploration, variety! She would meet new people and new races, try new food, and learn new card games. “Well, I’m proud to be joining her crew. This is my first space internship, and I’ve worked hard to get here.”
She lifted an eyebrow at Deke, scolding him for his jaded words. Deep space travel between galaxies was still something pretty special and he wasn’t going to make her feel bad about her dream. The years of study were all for this. She was so ready.
He pivoted in his chair, arms crossed. His gaze slid down her form in her new dark blue flight suit, standard crew issue. Becca didn’t mind his perusal a bit. In fact, she returned it. The pilot was young, fit, with eyes as pretty a blue as hers. He zipped down her curves and smiled wider.
She replied to the compliment with a nod and a smile. She was ready for some of that, too. All the boys in town were duds. Nowadays, real men went to space. Real women, too. She would experience her first planet-swing and maybe swing some new sexual orbits as well. Finally, she would have more excitement than her cliff dives.
“Aww. Aren’t you all serious about coming on board. Junior Engineer Sharpin, all adorable. You’re either saucy or working on some wholesome slices.” Deke winked as he sat forward and slid them through the last minute traffic. The ship would sail in just a few hours. “I myself like my sauce a little spicy.”
Becca groaned. “Nice. I need to brush up on my apple jokes.”
The pilot lost the battle for her attention. The ship filled the front viewer and Becca’s heart. Cider Pot was twelve levels of redundant life support, riddled with crew cells and supported by one massive cargo hold. She ran on stable pulse chambers. The gray metal plating was patched and she carried minimal weapons good for nothing but bursting up micro-meteors that could mess with their trajectory. What Cider Pot really was? Solid, ugly, and awesome. They said you always remembered your first.
Deke swirled the shuttle up to the ship’s gaping boarding platform, and Becca caught herself clasping her hands to her chest in a perfect mimicry of her mother in full Rex-swoon. Reaching down to dry her palms on the slick synth fabric of her crew jumpsuit, she squared her shoulders. Becca Sharpin, reporting for duty.
Her plax-page kronged. Reaching into her pocket, she cradled the clear plastic square and thumbed the vid on. Her mother and father were side by side, looking pinched and worried.
“Hi Mom. Hi Dad.”
“Becca, krong us when you get into your first port in a week. Be safe. You have your brother’s secure number memorized?” Her mother toyed with her pearl necklace.
Becca managed not to roll her eyes by gritting her teeth. She was twenty-two, not twelve. “I won’t need Rex’s number Mom. I’m getting level one Systems Engineer master certification, not taking on extremists.” She slid a look at Deke to see if he caught the slight reference to the military. It would be really sweet if no one on board found out she was the little sister of the youngest and most brilliant Junior Admiral the Navy had ever known.
“There can be danger on board. Don’t be so reckless, Becca. You’re a Sharpin, and I know that means a little freedom can seem like a license to dance with danger.” Her father’s finger flashed into the screen as he pointed at her. “Remember Uncle George.”
She did. With fondness and jealousy. The old rascal. Who did it hurt to bend the rules a little and really live by the skill of your wits? “I love you guys. Bye.”
“Bye, Darling.”
“See you soon.”
Deke grinned at her as she slid the plax-page away. “Nice folks. I told mine I’d be back in a month four years ago. Yet they keep talking about babies.” He snorted.
Babies were not on her agenda. “So,” Becca said brightly. “What can you tell me about Senior Chief Engineer Walters?”
Deke leveled the shuttle over a landing platform and began the slow descent. “Ah. That’s why you’ve got the order for a private delivery up to the ship. Why does a lazy whiskey-face like him always get bright young women flocking around?”
Becca’s stomach sank and her smile faded. That explained why a man of his brilliance was on a no-where ship like Cider Pot. She’d known there must be something, but hadn’t found a hint of any scandal. Well, she could work with whiskey and this is what she got for gossiping. Walters was a dynamic field inventor who still published in the engineering journals. Determination filled her. She could learn from him, whiskey or no.
“Now the Captain? He’s a good guy, even if he is ex-syndicate. Fesner takes care of the crew, keeps order but doesn’t stifle us with rules. He lets a lot of living go on, if you know what I mean.” Deke set the ship down with a slight thunk.
Becca blinked. Syndicate? She’d heard about the dangerous brotherhood of criminals in the news and was shocked her little ship had ties to it.
“It’s the Security Master you need to watch out for. Djetivoch is one cold bastard.” Deke shot her a warning look as he powered down and opened the hatch. “And whatever you do, don’t gamble with him. My third night on board, he took my funds for the entire starcourse.”
Becca laughed. She was a mean card player herself. Something her perfect brother had been good for. “Thanks for the advice and the ride. See you around, Deke.”
When she ducked through the transport’s frame and stepped into the slightly sour air of a recently atmo’d ship bay, her stomach fluttered with happiness. She had no idea what the next days would bring, but she wanted them. Surely they tasted nothing like her mother’s strawberry jam, and as good as that was, she hungered for a fresh, unique flavor. Waving to Deke, she threaded through the bustling clamor of merchants dropping off cargo into the dimmer length of the main hall.
The litany of bureaucracy calmed her down. The identification verification took forever. Tucked into one of the processing stations in an alcove, she sat on the cold metal stool, head propped in hand as she completed all the confirmations.
Finally, neck aching, she was done. First she stretched, throwing her back into a deep arch. Her body flooded with awareness. She was here, on board, about to begin. Then she took a deep breath and tapped the on-screen button to access her work rotation, mess schedule, and bunk assignment.
REPORT TO CAPTAIN. Staring at the ominous red letters flashing on the screen, Becca cursed under her breath. She’d left off her brother from her family history on purpose. Had that teensy little omission been caught? It would be so lovely not to have his shadow hanging over her.
The walk to the main cargo office wasn’t boring, because Becca had only boarded a few ships before, and never a trader like Cider Pot. She clanged happily along the metal catwalks and ramps, down the plax-stairs and through the cold halls. Her memorization of the ship’s blueprints began to meld with real life. Stopping before the cargo office the map directed her to, she chimed for entrance and the door swept aside. The office held three men, one of whom she recognized from file photos. The Captain had memorable eyes.
Becca squared her wide shoulders and lifted her chin. When the hot older guy cut her a look from under his tousled salt-and-pepper hair, she said, “Becca Sharpin, Junior Systems Engineer. Reporting to the Captain as directed.”
The Captain nodded in dismissal to the squirrely old man who darted out past her, and the tall dark-haired man slipped through a back door.
Then the Captain stepped forward and offered his hand. “Welcome, Becca.” His hazel eyes sparked with interest as he quickly checked her out.
Even though he was as old as her dad, her own interest sparked in return. Damn, maybe being around spaceships turned her on. His skin was weathered, his grip firm and warm. His fingers had that odd length of a career spacer but he wasn’t doughy like many spacers got. Captain Jake Fesner was more handsome than his file showed.
“It’s nice to have some fresh blood aboard.” He smiled at her, and she could tell he was sincere. “I always appreciate the new energy a crew change can bring.”
She smiled back. “I’ve got the energy, Sir.”
He looked down at his plax-page. “Nice academics. You’re well-trained.” He tilted his head and glanced at her from under those bangs. What could have been a coy look actually seemed a little… dangerous. “Are you sure you’re up to working with our Senior Chief? He’s a demanding hard ass.”
“I researched Leo Walters. He’s a damn fine engineer with over twenty years experience in space. He’s invented eight different systems mods now widely used in the newest ships. I want hands on experience at a base level and I think I’ll find that here.” She wouldn’t think about the whiskey until it became more than gossip.
The Captain held his assessing look a beat too long and she glanced away. His eyes were a lovely burst of color, gold and green and amber. They were sharp and smart and made her feel young.
He mushed his mouth to one side, considered her another beat and then nodded. “Maybe you can handle Leo. But I have another offer for you. My cargo overseer didn’t report. We’ve logged him as missing, but York security doesn’t have any information for me. Since York isn’t exactly a hotbed of criminal activity, I’m guessing he’s missing by his own choice.”
Becca blinked. “He’d really just evaporate like that?”
He grinned, and she blushed to think she’d proven herself earnest. “Yeah, believe it or not, some people get better offers than the Cider Pot, and they might not even have the decency to wait until we can find a replacement.”
The Captain threw himself down in a battered chair which at one point had been a carbon-formed sleek black shape, but now tottered from a crack down the middle. Thrusting his hands into his hair and pulling it tight off his face, he sighed. Becca’s heart dipped and whispered low, low in her hips. Ohhhh, yeah. The girl parts liked this guy. She reminded herself he was her Captain and if that wasn’t enough, he was ex-syndicate, and therefore way out of her league.
“Ms. Sharpin, you’ve had three projects where you were assigned as a group leader.”
She wrestled her mind back to the moment. “Umm. Yeahhh…” That brilliant commentary would not impress him. “I mean, yes. Yes, I’ve managed a few teams.” In short term school projects, but hey, her groups had always landed top marks.
He nodded at her. “I need someone to run the cargo bays on this next jump. I’m pretty sure I can have a replacement at the next stop. Mostly sure. Your duties would be overseeing the watch roster, monitoring access manifests, and working in tandem with Don Djetivoch, my Security Master, to make sure the cargo seals hold integrity.”
“You mean I’d have to make sure no one breaks into the cargo.”
“It’s strictly distance monitoring. And if something goes wrong, that’s Don’s issue.” He tossed his plax-page onto the cluttered table and leveled a dark look at her. “We have seventy-six souls from four races on board. Twenty-eight of those have criminal records because I’m not afraid of people with histories. Nor am I a trusting idiot.
“I need an overseer. It’s easy work, Becca, and I think you’re smart enough and honest enough to give it to you. With the pay increase, too, of course, along with the private berth of a mid-level crew.”
Becca stared at the Captain, her mind awhirl. This was a big promotion, and she hadn’t done anything to merit it. Her fiberline instructor always told her success was eighty percent luck. On the other hand… “I’ve trained years to be a systems engineer. That’s where I want my career to go.”
Her mouth was too dry and she felt a strawberry seed in her teeth from her last breakfast at home. “I’m young. Will the cargo team follow my leadership? And if you don’t find a cargo overseer at the next stop, then the Senior Chief will be required to pick up another junior engineer by mandate. I’d be out of a placement.”
The Captain shrugged. “Yeah, it’s possible your internship might be delayed, but you’d still be collecting great experience. The guys will follow you because I’ll say so. If you organize your data and know your stuff, they’ll accept you fine. I don’t put up with any waves here on the Cider Pot. We get our cargo, we keep it sound, and we deliver. It’s a well-oiled system. Plus I like the fact you’re new. You don’t have any loyalties to be played on. You’re not a part of any clique. I’d like fresh eyes on this quiet team.”
Becca managed to swallow the irritating seed. This would open up new doors, literally, for her. But she could lose her ability to work with the Senior Chief she’d researched and carefully chosen. Deke’s gossip that Walters was a drunk popped into her head. Overseer was not rocket science. Most of it was automated. She knew enough about it from years of clerking through school that she believed she’d be capable of this. The Captain leaned back in his chair, apparently at ease, but drummed his fingers on the metal table top. She needed to give him an answer.
Should she join on as the cargo overseer? Or demand the junior systems position she expected?
STOP! This is an interactive book. Click on the underlined text you prefer to control Becca’s actions. The link jumps you to a unique chapter that will lead to one of 16 endings. DO NOT READ IN SEQUENCE.
“I believe your heart is full, and that you care for me, and appreciate our friendship. But Silas… you haven’t spoken to a single other person since you woke. I can’t imagine what you went through, but I’m not the angel you’ve decided I am. You barely know me.”
“I know what I feel.” He kissed her belly, holding her stricken gaze with his passion-filled green stare.
She sighed. Stretching out one hand she stroked the side of his face. “You haven’t even shared your real name.”
He froze. Slowly, he lifted his head away from her touch. “You use it often.”
“If you can’t even trust me with your name, then you can’t trust me with your heart.”
He pulled back, lifting away from her. “You said you didn’t know who I am.”
“I don’t!” She couldn’t really sit up, but she did the sort of curled-hunched lift there was room for. “And look at you, all suspicious that I do. Silas, your touch was wonderful. I’m glad to share it. Give yourself time to sort out your feelings, once you’re out of here and among real life again. This may have been your rebirth, but it’s just a waypoint.”
“I see.” He rolled from between her legs, and the cozy space began to close in on her.
“But… Don’t you want to finish?”
He glanced at her. “I think we’re done here. I have no intention of clinging.”
She zipped her flight suit with rough exasperation, gut tangled at hurting him. “Honestly! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Silas, I care about you, too.”
He nodded. “I know. You’re very gentle.”
“You’re not a lost puppy. Silas—“
“Becca.” He bit her name off with curt authority.
She’d never heard him use that tone. She bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Silas. After we get off this ship, then we can see each other in a normal setting. Later, I’d really be interested to see how we fit.”
“Of course.” He lay down, fluffing the pillow behind his head and closed his eyes.
A burst of raucous laughter erupted from the lounge above. For some reason, it made her wince.
***
Three painfully stilted days later, the ship docked at London Moon. He explained the plan. She was going to move through the decks via the crawl shafts, and find a way to join the disembarking crew. He had a code he’d made her memorize. She was to get to a communication center and dial a number, then give the man that code.
He drilled her on it over and over in the final day.
“I’ve got the com number and the code, Silas.” She tidied her hair into the ponytail she always wore to work. Her hair was filthy, but she’d be able to wear the loose jersey with a hood that many crew wore when they went off ship. She’d fit in, be hidden. Sort of.
“Don’t call your brother. By now they’ll surely know about him. They’ll be looking for any communication to your allies.”
“I understand.” Her voice began to show the tension. She stared at him as she tied on her shoes. “Listen. You have to trust me. If I get caught, you’ll still have a chance. Let me try first.”
When he’d told her many people would recognize his face, it seemed obvious that she would have to go alone to pass a message. He’d reluctantly agreed. In the long hours of silence, she’d stared and stared at his handsome profile, with the strong chin, sharp cheekbones, and bladed nose. Nope, she didn’t know him at all. Was he an actor? Perhaps a sports star? She could envision him playing meteor ball. But in the end, she was going because she was dying to get out herself, and get him on his way.
“You can’t trust anyone. Don’t go to the Captain, don’t ask crew for help.”
“I. Under. Stand.” She gritted out.
He scowled at her. “Don’t give that code to anyone, and don’t come back here. You deliver it, then you get yourself off the moon.”
“Take the third-class transport, I know. We’ve gone over everything.” She reached out and took his hand for the first time since he’d told her he loved her. “I’m ready. I can do this. I’ll be all right.”
He held her hand tightly, searching her face. He opened his mouth, as if to tell her something momentous, but then shook his head faintly and leaned in to kiss her. It was gentle, almost regretful. She squeezed his hand, and set off into the undershaft. She didn’t look back.
It took a long time to cut her way through the maze of adjacent ducts. Finally, she was over the line of chattering crew filing onto the station. She scuttled over into the closest pod, waited for someone to leave, then dropped down into the bathroom. Luckily, one of the lockers there held a jersey. She pulled it on, snagged an apple from their locker, and slouched into line.
Some of the crew who’d been waiting gave her dirty looks, but as the line was moving, everyone was in good spirits. She made it off Cider Pot’s docking ramp with a shiver of relief. The halls of London Moon were wide and bright, with gray metal flooring and white walls. The first thing she noticed as she followed the flow of people heading toward the taverns was the extra security. They weren’t wearing station uniforms, but they were clearly looking for her and Silas.
She kept her head down and her hood forward, communing with her apple. When she chose a tavern off the main hall, she immediately spotted two men by the communication center on the wall. She sat at the bar and had a drink. They didn’t seem to be scanning the bar, just guarding the booth. Someone came up to use it and the two burly men demanded identification. The person whined and argued but showed them, and they let the guy use it. This bar wouldn’t work.
Becca went to six other bars, and every single one had a guard. She wandered the halls, and found a few other com centers, but they too were watched. She sat by a fountain, and looked in at lovely fish. She’d never seen lavender winged fish like these, but she couldn’t even enjoy her first exploration off ship. Her gaze drifted around the shops at this hall juncture. There was a dress shop with truly ugly dresses. Her mother would be appalled. That corner held a courier service. There was a candy shop. Over there was a—her gaze ripped back to the red-fronted store. A courier service! Turning her face down, she stared at the drifting fish in delight.
It would be a simple matter to go into the courier service and give them the number and code. Let them take the risk of getting the message out! Silas had told her not to trust anyone, but these people weren’t involved. The chance of them being part of the syndicate’s smuggling on the Cider Pot was incredibly rare. Perhaps they’d have a com center right in their store, and they’d be in no danger at all. Plus, they’d be able to call her brother for her directly, without the extra time and danger of her taking a third-class transport to another port before she contacted him, as Silas’ plan called for. He’d been very intense about his plan, but neither of them had thought of a courier service being available.
Biting her lip, Becca knew she had to focus. Would she prudently hire a courier or risk delivering the message in person as she’d promised?
“I’ll do it.” Becca decided to take the position of cargo overseer at the Captain’s request. It was too big an opportunity for real responsibility. Her heart pounded with adrenaline. “If you’ll give me the cargo codes and manifests, I’ll have all bays secure by the time we hit our first planetswing.”
The Captain grinned. “That’s only tomorrow. But I like ambition in my people.” He stretched his hand out and she shook it firmly. Turning to his plax-page on the table, he tapped in some orders. “There you go, overseer. I’ll bet you do get it secure by then, too.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Sir.”
“Head through that door there. That will be your office. Get acquainted with it and then meet your staff. I’m sure Don, Security Master Djetivoch, will be by to see you soon. I think you’ll be pleased by your berth. It’s a sight better than sharing a pod with five others.” He shuffled some papers on the desk and she could tell she was dismissed.
Swallowing, Becca went through the door she’d seen the tall man leave through. The door zipped up behind her. The room was tiny and empty but for a one-drawer desk with a plax-page magnifier and a com. She walked over to the drawer and opened it. There was a screw, a pile of ashes, a deck of cards, and half a pretzel. Frowning, she looked around, but there was no waste slot. Nor was there a chair.
Propping her butt on the desk, she tossed through her plax-page files until she found the new data the Captain had sent. The four guys who had to accept, organize, shift, and disembark the cargo containers were all much older than she. One caught her eye because he had a prison release on his file. Cal. Another caught her eye because he was a slink. Feor was a human-variant race and Becca shuddered when she stared at the thick rubbery lips hiding his two rows of dagger-like pointed teeth. She’d never met a slink in real life before. Then there was Joe, who looked so old and gnarled Becca doubted he could work a pallet loader himself. He was one of the men she’d seen in the Captain’s office before. But the man she lingered longest over was Darnell. He was pretty-boy handsome and oozed bad-boy confidence. He stared out of the picture like he was sizing her up for bed, and she still wanted to smile at him.
The door whooshed down and she jumped, which ticked her off. The tall man she’d seen duck out of the Captain’s office before stood there. He had black hair and an enormous thin nose.
“Hello.” She smiled pleasantly.
“Security Master Djetivoch.” He looked her up and down. “Fuck the Senior Chief?”
“Excuse me?” Becca seriously doubted she’d understood him correctly.
“Did you do him yet or not?”
Her head reared back in shock. “I’ve been on ship for half an hour. That’s a little fast, even for a whore, which I’m not. I’ve never even met the man, and now I’m reassigned.”
He grunted, and tossed a sizzle-sheet on the desk. “Here’s what we’ve signed on invisibly, and the delivery list at our dockings during our three month starcourse. You’ve got ten minutes to memorize it before it goes poof. Do you play poker?”
“The Captain sent me the cargo manifest already. What is this?” Becca picked up the privacy paper and stared in disbelief at the two dozen units listed.
“The Captain knows there’s a little smuggling. He’s a syndicate man.” Djetivoch snorted. “It’s in his record. You can’t be so stupid not to have read up on him.”
She looked at the thin-faced man. “Of course I did,” she lied. She’d cared much more about Cider Pot’s Senior Chief than the Captain she’d thought to have no contact with. “He’s retired.”
Djetivoch laughed, a wheezing snicker that set him coughing. He sighed out his amusement at her, shaking his head. “At least you’re a looker. Keep your nose out of our shit and you’ll get a cut.” He rolled his dark eyes. “Get to work lookin’ that over. I’m not doing the fruiting math of where to stack which box. Work it out so we can get balanced aisles set, then you’re pretty much done except for offloading at our ports. If you screw up and the men have to juggle too much they’ll find a way to get back at you.”
Becca stared blindly at the list of containers. “If these are contraband, they could be lying about their weights. The ship could be drawing the wrong power range, endangering everyone.”
“We’re not stupid. We limit the containers for that reason, and our pallet loaders won’t work over a certain weight, so we can tag things coming in way too heavy. You need to get us stacked before planetswing.” He heaved himself off the wall where he’d been leaning and walked out the door on the far side of the office. A dark room was exposed, accompanied with a blast of cold air. “See ya.”
“Security Master!” Her cheeks were blazing hot and her hands were shaking. Just a short distance beyond the door she could make out a solid wall of cargo crates stacked out of sight.
He looked back at her over his shoulder and his deep set black eyes seemed… hungry. “What.”
She stared back at him. “Yes. I play poker.” She’d learned from her brother’s Navy mates and she was good, despite the flush riding her face right now.
He grinned, and this time, it wasn’t at her expense. He moved off into the darkness and the door closed with a hiss.
The sizzle paper shivered in her hands. Gasping, she quickly counted how many containers were at each drop. The first port, London Moon, only had one. She repeated the numbers, struggling to memorize them, and then the sheet flashed. With an acrid crumpling, it reduced to a pile of ashes. She stared at it, then opened the drawer and added it to the pile inside.
Her next task was to examine the cargo level, since she hadn’t studied it closely. She pulled up the ship map. There was one large bay and three small ones. The large bay was the room next door that Don had gone into. Right now, all the cargo containers were stuffed into this bay, nearly solid. She’d have to find a way to spread them out so the weight balanced, stacking them so the ones to be delivered last were in the farthest back, and the ones accessed first were in front. But they were all different sizes and some had care requirements like being kept room temp or cold. It was like one of the massive jigsaw puzzles that her Gram used to love.
After an hour she jumped off the desk and rolled her neck. She’d need more time and it was silly to do it here in this poor excuse for an office. Messaging her team, she summoned them. The slink Feor came in almost immediately from the cargo bay. He was visibly annoyed, but gave no response to meeting her.
She straightened. “Hello. I’m Becca Sharpin. I’ll be the cargo overseer, although hopefully not for the whole starcourse.” Inwardly, she winced, wishing she hadn’t sounded like she was complaining or made herself temporary and less necessary of respect.
His legs were short and bowlegged, his torso extra long, and he flowed into the room with the swaying, curling movement that earned his race their nickname. He didn’t say a word, just stared at her, standing against the wall.
“Sorry there’s no chairs.”
The door from the main office opened and two guys walked in laughing. It was old Joe and Cal, who was lean but fit in the way of men who worked out hard. When they saw her, they both fell silent and raised their brows in identical expressions of astonishment.
“Hello, I’m Becca Sharpin, your new cargo overseer.”
“Hellll-oh, angel. What the fuck are you doing on the Piss Pot mucking in cargo?” Cal asked. He came up and offered his hand.
She shook it but he held on to it. She frowned at him. “I’m doing a job, same as you. Let go of my hand.”
He grinned and brought his other hand up to trap hers in both of his. “This is as close to heaven as I’ve gotten lately. You look like you could be fun, honey. Wha’d you say your name was again?”
“Ms. Sharpin to you.” He was smiling, but his eyes freely roamed to her chest and mouth. She focused on staying calm.
“Miz Sharpin, you sure are pretty. You got a man?”
She smiled. “Aww. Park your loader, valentine. The way you’re acting won’t get you any points with me at all.”
The desk pressed into her ass and she had nowhere to go when he stepped up closer. His eyes were dark, his thick brown hair combed neatly. He appeared clean and was fresh shaven.
“Well, I want you to know I appreciate a fine woman.” He finally managed to meet her gaze. “After all, once you see Darnell, you’ll forget about me. But he won’t last and you’ll remember I was always real clear.”
She twisted her arm, trying to ease from his hold. “Don’t you worry, Cal. You’ve achieved your goal. I won’t forget.”
“Get your hands off the woman, Cal.” The new male voice drawled, but spoke with a finality that held no doubt.
Cal the ex-con winked at her and let her go. He stepped back and Becca drew a breath. Darnell was in the cargo bay door and his flight suit, navy like all the others, was peeled down around his trim hips. It hung there as if it would fall off at any moment, and she could tell from his sculpted hipbones he wasn’t wearing underwear. His chest and arms were simply the finest Becca had ever seen. He was totally bare and shining with sweat.
He nodded at her. “Ma’am. You the new overseer?”
She lifted her chin. “Yes. Becca Sharpin. Come on in, Darnell.” And feel free to stay undressed. She focused desperately on not staring at his rippling abs, bulging pecs, or mounded biceps.
“Sure.” He came in to stand near Feor, his blue-gray eyes sliding down her with pure appreciation. “Nice to meet you, Becca. You’re a damn sight easier on the eyes than Tony. He had a head like a meatball.”
She raised one brow. “Was Tony the guy who blew out of here without stopping by the Captain?”
Darnell’s eyes flickered.
The guys all went very still, then Feor said, “You’vvve got barrrely a day till planet ssswing. We need to get ssshifting.”
“I’m working on it.” Becca nodded to him, hoping the way his sibilant speech startled her didn’t show. “I wanted to ask you about your rotations, and I wanted to make sure you all understand what to do if we find a seal’s been tampered with or if someone’s been fingering the manifests, looking for locations. The procedure is simple: report it immediately.”
“You’re the overseer. What are you asking us about rotations for?” Old Joe mumbled sullenly.
Becca looked at him. “I figure you have a way of working you might prefer. I figure you’ve at least seen how not to do it. I figure I’d be an idiot to make up a roster without talking to you about it.”
“I do like you,” Cal laughed.
“So, Joe? What do you think?” Becca prodded him. “Are you a morning person or an evening person?”
He hunched his shoulders. “Neither. I like day.”
“Bullshit,” Cal turned on him. “I get days.”
“You always get days,” Joe muttered. “I want ‘em.”
Uh-oh. Becca glanced at Feor and Darnell. Feor watched the bickering men, but Darnell watched her.
She fought not to blush. “What’s your second choice, Cal?”
“What! Fuck this. I always get days. He’s just saying that ‘cause you’re new and he can mess with me.” Cal had unsettled her when he was pleasant. When his face darkened, he took on a tension that made her distinctly uneasy.
“I’m not saying this roster will last the whole starcourse. But for this week, Joe will get days, and you just lost your chance to voice your next preference.” She turned to Feor. “What slot would you like?”
“Laaate night.”
“Darnell?”
“I’ll take anything but evenings. I’m usually… busy… in the evenings.”
Cal snorted. “Fucking man-whore.”
Darnell slid him a look and Cal took a step forward. “You heard me.”
This was the Captain’s idea of a quiet team? She made an announcement to the ceiling. “We are not fighting over a work roster.”
Cal the ex-con shrugged and crossed his arms.
Well, it had all worked out. “Mornings, Darnell. Days, Joe. Evenings, Cal. Late shift, Feor. I’m on during transitions and random daily checks.” She was really pleased with herself for just making that last bit up on the spot. It seemed thorough and professional. And she prayed she’d only have to get up in the middle of the night for a week. “It was nice to meet you, and I’ll krong you as soon as I get the packing order arranged.”
Cal stormed out into the cargo bay. Feor, well, Feor slinked out after him, and then old Joe stooped out.
Darnell scratched his chest. “You met Djetivoch yet?”
Becca nodded. “Yes, the Security Master and I spoke.” Every instinct sat up. How wide did this smuggling operation reach?
Darnell’s gaze flicked over the barren desk. “You’ll make sure all the packing is accounted for. Some packages almost seem invisible when you’re not used to working with such a complicated arrangement.”
She didn’t need the reminder to account for the illegal cargo. Becca gritted her teeth. If the ship were to be boarded and audited to code, she’d be beyond losing out her berth as an intern, she’d be arrested. “I’m good with numbers.”
“You play poker?”
She nodded.
“That’s good. Real good. Our game starts after Feor goes on duty. Twenty cred stakes, no limit.”
Those were richer terms than she usually played with, but she’d put up half her week’s allowance to run with these guys after hours.
Darnell sauntered up to her.
She raised her chin and he stopped just out of arm’s reach.
He searched her face. “Cal likes you. Don’t go wandering the aisles on his watch.”
She struggled to keep her face blank. “Is that a warning against him or a request from you?”
“Yeah.” His smile was slow, wide, and satisfied. “It was fascinating to meet you, Becca. We’ll see more of each other.”
Her stupid brain went blank. He returned to the cargo bay. His shoulders were just as sexy when viewed from the back.
Becca took a long moment to get her hormones in order, then another to retrace the meeting. Ripping her ponytail out and ruthlessly re-tying it tighter, she glared at the door. Then she went through it. The men weren’t anywhere to be found. She left the lights on minimum.
Turning her plax-page to the strange function she’d occasionally found useful in an engineering project, she programmed it to count the room. In a few breaths, she had an answer. Subtracting herself, there were too many objects in this bay to match the manifest. So all of the “invisible” cargo was in here, too.
She pulled on her lip, considering. First, she wandered through the other cargo bays. Beyond the wall of crates packed into the cavernous large cargo bay was a loading hallway. Off the loading hallway were stairs to upper levels, a docking bay gate, and doors to three other smaller auxiliary cargo bays. They were all empty and spotlessly clean. Three huge pallet loaders were parked in the hall. She went back to the packed bay, waiting to be dispersed into a more orderly stack that could be easily added to and unloaded at their ports of call. Why had the men come from and gone into this room? As of yet, there was no work to be done. More mysteriously, why had Darnell been so sweaty?
***
Two decks above cargo, she found her berth. It was the size of her bedroom at home, which was not large, but the fact it was all hers on a ship was fantastic. Apparently, Tony’s stuff had been cleared out, although his smell hadn’t been. Disinfecting the room was priority one, completed quickly and leaving behind a nice minty scent. Seated more comfortably at the basic table, she worked out the real cargo arrangements and then she worked out the illegal crates as well. It was a rather interesting challenge, which she enjoyed. Calling the men immediately, she met them for the move.
They began to shift the crates. It took her an hour to figure out all of them were in on the smuggling. She was sure of it, and they were trying to keep something from her. It was late at ship-night and Becca was hungry, tired, and determined. The men were edgy, watching her, trying to herd her into the back bay. Under the guise of being worried, she hovered in the middle of the men, watching as they unstacked, shifted, and restacked all the cargo. Not knowing what she was looking for, her mind racing, Becca flitted from room to room after the pallet loaders. Something was off, something more than invisible cargo.
When Cal and old Joe started to bicker in one of the small rooms, Darnell leaned out of the pallet driver’s seat and rolled his eyes. “Will you go make them shut the fuck up? I’m supposed to put these in there.”
Heart pounding with a surety that this was some sort of set up, she nodded. As soon as she cleared the door into their room, both of the men turned to her, accusing the other of dropping their end of a crate on purpose.
“Oh, you big babies. Deal with it.” Instead of getting pulled into their distraction, she whirled and stormed back into the hall. Just in time to see Darnell jump back into the driver’s seat. She smiled at him. “They’re all shut up. Come bring your loader in now.”
The thrill of victory swarmed through her blood. Through casual, alert glances as they unloaded, she now knew which crate Darnell had swapped out. One of the things she’d scheduled to be buried for a much later delivery was now in the front row of the refrigerated bay. As it had been in the front row of the too-cool main bay before. The men wanted access to a particular crate, they didn’t want her to know about it, and they wanted it cold. The implications hit her immediately and she used every acting skill she had to remain calm.
When everything was settled it was actually morning by ship time and Darnell’s turn to go on duty. The men asked her to go to the mess hall with them, but she said she wanted to grab a shower and sleep. With a wave to Darnell who settled into the data station, she climbed with the trio up the plax-stairs to the higher level. She went to her room and sent an all-clear message to Security Master Don Djetivoch. But after showering, Becca paced, snacking on a bag of crisps.
The Captain knew there was smuggling, but she bet he didn’t know he was carrying someone in cryo. There was a person frozen in stasis right below her. The practice was so illegal, so hugely taboo, she couldn’t believe her own deductions. But she knew in her gut it was probable.
Typically, guarding the cargo was a simple matter of making sure no one accessed the manifests to learn where some valuable piece of cargo was. In rare cases, a thief might try to break the seals on the containers. So the men being extra cautious and physically watchful over that one crate was odd.
Perhaps it was just very valuable supplies. Some sort of medicine which needed to be chilled. Becca paced, rubbing her icy hands. The Captain had known she’d be brought in on the smuggling and he’d trusted her to go along. She didn’t know if she should be insulted or proud. But he’d also outright told her he wanted her to keep an eye on this team. He liked that she was an outsider and he’d wanted her opinion. She rubbed her aching head. Had he wanted a spy or a dupe?
Maybe Captain Fesner was used to bribing a few shady investigators to look the other way over some extra cargo. But if a cryo were to be revealed, she doubted a ship the likes of the Cider Pot had the resources to bribe its way out of that. Then again, what did she know? She wasn’t a syndicate player.
She came to a stop in front of the door. Her stomach growled. Blowing out a huge breath, she pulled back her shoulders. Was she going to the Captain with her suspicions, or was she going to go determine what was in that crate for certain?
Becca stood up on numb legs and moved slowly to the vid-com in the corner. Her fingers began to press the number her brother had made her memorize when she took the berth on Cider Pot. Then she stopped and pressed cancel. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t look into her brother’s steady, perfect eyes and ask for help three weeks after leaving home. She was scared, but her pride was only bruised, not flattened.
Spinning on her heel, she sought out the kind waitress. “I need help. I’ve been put off ship with no resources. I can do systems work. I’d be really grateful if you could point me in—”
The girl waved her hands, cutting Becca off. “Sweetie, you haven’t got shoes. This is a reputable station. Maybe if you were over on Shang-huang that might fly, but here, no one is going to give systems work to a gal with no shoes, let alone no creds.”
Becca’s shoulders slumped.
“You ever waitress?” the slight brunette asked with a sigh.
Becca shook her head. She’d always scoffed at food service. “I can sew a little. And I’m ok with basic shop tools.”
“You’re a mech?” the girl brightened. “Can you construct?”
Shrugging, she nodded. She wasn’t skilled at it, but she’d been helping her father since she could walk, and engineers often had to dismantle or create undershafts and overcrawls.
“All right, I’ll ask my friend Billy if he still needs a hand. He works on station maintenance, and they’re a rough bunch, but he often takes drifters for short projects.”
Becca bit her lip. A vague hope she could work her way to buying her own berth home formed. “Thank you. I’d really appreciate it. My name’s Becca.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie. Everyone has tough times sometimes. I’m Marni. What size do you wear?” She looked at Becca’s feet.
“Eight.”
Marni grinned. “I’m a nine. Beggars aren’t choosers.”
Becca grinned back. “Throw in a pair of socks and I’ll worship you.”
Billy met Becca an hour later and handed her three basic cutting and soldering tools. He gave her a blueprint and walked away. Understanding this was a test, Becca almost cried when she realized she’d be able to do it. And she did, although she had a bad moment when she almost dropped a meter long chunk of metal down into the bowels of the deep undershaft. She somehow found the strength to haul it back up, even though she cut her palm badly.
Billy returned and looked over her work in an hour. Then he looked at the piece of her cuff she’d wrapped around her palm and said, “I’ll get you a pair of gloves. Be here tomorrow morning.”
Becca walked the station all night in Marni’s uncomfortable shoes, stopping to memorize every access door, read every sign. Anticipating the need to run and hide was an excellent spur to memory. There was a bad hour where the three policewomen trailed her through the halls, but then they turned away without ever demanding her creds.
She worked all the next day for Billy, and at the end of it he paid her with a large meal, and a blueprint. The blueprint showed her a hollow level, with a room rigged out with a few cots and a bathroom. The unfinished metal walls had exposed fiberline and it was barely heated. Home sweet home. By week’s close, she was sore all over, and he paid her half of what he should have, but he paid her.
Over the next days, Becca learned which of the guys had pinchy fingers, which had hitting fists, and which were all bark and no bite. She was the only woman on the crew. After the first week, the guys with pinchy fingers learned to back off. After the second week, she worked out how to avoid the belligerent, violent crowd.
Once a slink joined the team for a few days, and Billy assigned her as his partner on a fairly complex job. She’d been terrified to go behind the walls with him in the little-used corridor, but all he’d done was teach her how to use a mag-measuring light. His teeth and odd grace had been a comfort when one of the guys stole her apple at dinner one night. The slink had merely stared and the man gave it back.
Then there was the time three treetops hung around for a week. The giants were constantly fighting—each other. She’d picked up a shiner from not dancing out of their way fast enough. Without crying, bitching, or whining, she healed up the cut along her eyebrow as best she could. The next day Billy had given her a beat up, remastered plax-page. Being connected to the wider worlds made Becca feel human again.
Every Friday she and Marni went out together for a few drinks, paid for by the guys who drooled around behind the lovely, sprite-like woman. Marni had a lot of man-friends, but Becca was impressed that none of them seemed to get fresh with her. Marni had a mysterious way of always being sweet and never encouraging them, yet they never seemed to lose hope.
One afternoon three months into her life as a construction worker, she reached for a riveter and couldn’t find it. Backing her torso out of the hole in the wall, she stilled to see a pair of unfamiliar, expensive boots in her line of sight. In one second she was on her feet, crouched with her cutter in one hand.
“Points for reflexes and weaponry, but detraction for general defense. I could have already killed you.” Her brother Rex lounged against the wall.
Straightening, she pressed a hand to her pounding heart. “What the hell are you doing here, Rex?”
“Did you think I wasn’t going to keep tabs on you?”
She grimaced. “No. I thought you’d be busier than that.”
“Well, fine, I had Laurent keep tabs on you.” Laurent was her brother’s best friend and assistant. He’d been home to visit with her brother ever since Rex had enlisted.
“He’s a little slow on the uptake.”
“It’s hard to track you when you’re below the radar.” Rex’s blue eyes were so much like hers, but looked a lot meaner when they narrowed like that.
“I’ve been sending Mom and Dad a message every week.”
“Encrypted, unregistered.”
She scoffed. “You knew it was really me. I’ve been doing fine.”
“Living on a non-level, sharing an off-security room with whatever drifter floats through?”
She shrugged and angled her chin defiantly. “I’m enjoying meeting new people.”
“So much so you’ve had to learn how to spring into an attack crouch with whatever tool is at hand.”
“Shut up,” she said sullenly.
He stepped forward and pulled her into a strong hug. “I’ve been worried, really worried, for over a week. Brat. You were in trouble and didn’t call me.”
She hugged him back. He smelled clean, and sharp. Her big brother was awesome. “I would have if it came to it. But it never has.”
He pulled away and searched her face. “I’ve already erased the Cider Pot’s officers’ accusations. Such bullshit. What’d they do to you, Bec?”
She shrugged out of his grip. “Old news, Rex.” She flipped the cutter in her hand, hiding her excitement. “Are you serious? My level one cert is reinstalled?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked good in civilian clothes, but she had to admit he was more handsome in his uniform. He nodded. “Yes, you’re ready for a new internship. And Leo Walters is looking at a long investigation.”
Becca bit her lip. “Oh.” She didn’t know how she felt about that. She rubbed her scalp absently against the memory and decided she was glad. “That’s nice.”
“You’re welcome.” He touched her cheek softly. “You can tell me.”
She shook her head. “Really. It’s old news.” She smiled at him, exhaling a deep breath. “It’s so good to see you. Want to go to dinner?”
He nodded. “I’d love to. Am I taking you home?”
Tilting her head, she considered. Was she really ready and waiting for another internship? “No. I don’t think so. I’ll spend a little more time here.” She frowned. “If you promise not to post a MP.”
He looked at the ground and toed the rough opening she hadn’t finished with his boot.
“Rex. I mean it,” she said sternly.
He hunched his shoulders. “Come on, Bec. You can’t expect me to leave you alone in this situation.”
“I’ve been doing fine!” In fact, she’d never suspected she’d be so… content. There was no competition or politics. No studying. The projects were simple, the people direct. The thought of going back to her old hustling, striving, always-looking-forward-never-appreciating-now life made her… tired.
“Two of the guys you work with are ex-cons with records that would make Mom faint. They almost made me faint.”
She held up her hands. “I don’t want to know.” She grinned at his glower. “We’ll go to dinner and talk compromise. If I have access to my account, I can get my own room.” She had to admit, that would be fantastic. Thompson snored.
He helped her gather her tools. “All right. Dinner is about compromise, and details of what you’ve been up to.”
“Where’s Laurent?”
“Around the corner. Can he come to dinner, too?”
She nodded. “I haven’t been up to anything. I’m an innocent angel.”
He looked at her out of the corner of one crinkling eye. “My sister doesn’t need to be an angel, let alone innocent. I’ll take strong and capable any day.”
She smiled and slid her arm through his. “Exactly.”
What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger
With shaking hands, Becca sent a message. The Captain responded immediately that he would come to her. In just a few minutes, he was at her door.
“Hello, Becca. There a problem?” His hazel eyes were cool, wary, as he entered the room.
“Captain.” She licked her lips.
His gaze jumped to her mouth and she compulsively licked them again.
His face tightened. In a quiet voice, he prompted, “What did you need?”
She took a deep breath. “It’s about the smuggling. I’m suspicious about one of the—”
“Don’t.” He cut her off firmly. “I deliver things unasked, unopened. None of the contents are your concern.”
“I’m worried it’s your concern, actually.”
His face remained impassive.
She finally managed to blurt out, “I think there’s a cryo.”
He cocked one hip and folded his arms. “Really.”
She stepped forward. “It’s one thing to move some cargo to avoid customs and taxes, but cryo is a different game.”
“I’m impressed.”
Her stomach magnetized to the floor. He’d known. His face was still blank. She had no idea what she was involved with here.
“Don’t be afraid, Becca. I’m quite amazed by your fast deduction.”
“I—I—”
“Let’s talk. Can you pull up some red juice in your chiller?”
She nodded. Her mind worked frantically, but all it was capable of were the circling phrases Oh, no. He knew. Oh, no. She poured two glasses of juice.
The Captain sat at the table. “I really have to get the chairs in the cargo office replaced. These are nice.” He took the juice and drank deeply. “Thanks.”
His masculine throat mesmerized her. Pulling her gaze to her glass, she berated herself for noticing. Perched on the edge of her chair, her own throat swelled shut against all possibility of drinking the juice.
“Becca, let’s discuss this situation. I need you to be comfortable with it. Don was clear that you get a cut for assisting us, right?”
She nodded. Djetivoch had been terse, but clear.
“Well, that cut just rose considerably, because I obviously underrated your intelligence. The service I provide is arranged through the Brotherhood. You know of them?”
She nodded again. The syndicate liked to think of themselves as a family. A violent, rigid family.