“So we’re good,” I say abruptly. “Everyone knows what they’re doing. How the hell are we getting over there?”
Max and Reed continue their pissing contest of dominance until Max finally breaks it off, looking to me. “We have the codes to the engine. A built-in kill switch, a safety mechanism on all CitiFutura vessels at the time to prevent piracy.”
And people from ever truly owning their ships. If CitiFutura—and now Verux—could kill your engine at any time, then you’d be less inclined to do anything they wouldn’t like. Anything that might be deemed as competition for them.
I raise my eyebrows. “And I’m sure everyone who owns those ships is aware of that particular feature?”
Max simply smiles. “Verux was not involved in CitiFutura’s business decisions at that time.”
Yeah, and I’m sure Verux has nothing similar in place, especially given how late they entered the shipbuilding game. Their focus on hab modules and colony living cost them, until CitiFutura imploded and Verux scooped up the pieces, likely learning all the best tricks and traps along the way.
Max turns and nods at a Verux-jumpsuited crew member at the helm. Her fingers dance across the board, and our ship slows. I face the windows and watch as theAuroracharges ahead without us, slipping out of sight.
My hands tighten into fists at my sides, the short edges of my nails digging into the vulnerable skin of my palms.
“Corbin?” Max asks.
Another member of the crew, this one positioned at what I’m guessing must be Communications, nods. “Packet delivered,” he announces.
Nothing happens. Several more long seconds pass, and it’s excruciating. Not that we couldn’t catch up, but there’s already been so much lost time. This feels like an exercise in patience, and patience is something I’ve never had an abundance of, even on a good day.
And then, slowly, on the right side of the windows, theAurorareemerges as we catch up to her. My relief, once the ship is in sight again, is temporary but real.
When we are nearly even with her, the engines cut back to a low idling hum.
Max nods once, in approval. Then he looks to Diaz, Montgomery, and Shin. “You have your assignments,” he says. “Thank you for your service.”
That strikes an odd note in my ear. It’s as though Max is already resigned to the idea that some number of them won’t be returning. Which, I suppose, given my experience, seems fairly likely.
It just seems so coldly practical. Something I might once have admired, but now leaves me feeling ill. The realization is painful in its suddenness. I don’t want to be who I was before, fighting attachment, keeping safe distance. There’s no such thing as safe distance.
But the team leaders don’t seem fazed. They’re immediately in action, barking orders into their comm implants and striding for the corridor.
I follow them without waiting for the go-ahead from Max. I have no doubt Diaz and company will take any opportunity to leave me behind if they can. They haven’t been on board yet. They’re still confident in their ability to handle whatever this is. I envy them for that. That certainty is probably going to get them killed, but I still wish I had it.
25
The staging area, on a lower level, is a tight fit with twenty-three of us. Three security squads of seven each. Me. Reed. Our enviro suits make us even bulkier, so we’re brushing shoulders just standing next to one another while we’re waiting for the airlock bridge to be extended and sealed. Oversized black bags—likely with the weapons from the crates I saw being loaded—take up nearly every inch of floor space.
And none of that accounts for the dozen or more of the accompanying dead.
McCaughey, once more, stands over Diaz, who is facing me and the rest of her squad. She can’t see him, obviously, but he’s blocking my view of her. All I can see is her booted foot tapping against the textured metal floor, burning off excess adrenaline while she shouts at me through the cranked-up comm in my helmet. I don’t have an implant, like the rest of her team. Her words are tinny and muffled, but not blocked, by the bright orange earplugs distributed to all of us. The best that Verux had to offer on board theAres.
Orange earplugs.An idea is scratching at the back of my brain, but it won’t emerge into fruition. What is it about those? I recommended ear protection, and Max agreed. So what? I try to chase that thought, but Diaz’s voice, even dampened, is loud enough to distract.
“You don’t follow orders, I boot your ass. You endanger any of our people, I boot your ass. You try any of that ghost-y bullshit, I boot your ass.”
I resist the urge to point out that the “ghost-y bullshit” didn’t seem so bullshit when I was talking to her former colleague.
“Is there any scenario in which you don’t boot my ass?” I ask instead.
“None,” she says.
Excellent. Good to know.
My temper strains to break my grip on it. I’m not an imbecile. While I don’t have her training or specific skills, I’ve been a team leader. I know what it means to be responsible for others under my care.
Fat lot of good it did them.
