CHAPTER SIX
Captain Naree Yoon turned out to be a small woman with an outsized presence. She strode across the vast hangar space, trailed by a couple flunkies, as Garcia hastily descended the Prince’s ramp to greet her. She ignored him in favor of fixing her eyes on the ship.
Rylan was somewhat shocked to see that, in defiance of all norms of space travel, she wore her hair long — a shining black cascade that fell well below her shoulders. That hair framed a pale, oval face with wide cheekbones and, when she finally turned to Garcia, a look of well-practiced disappointment.
“Sebastian,” she said, unsmiling, “I can see how well you’ve been looking after the ship.”
Rylan came down the ramp behind Garcia and looked up at the ship. The scorch marks from their recent encounter with the Commonwealth marked the hull.
“Naree, my dear,” Garcia said, spreading his arms wide, “you know me. Mine is a life of adventure.”
“And carelessness,” she agreed, hands in the pockets of her jacket. It was a shorter, more practical version of Garcia’s long swirl of a coat. “With a tendency to piss off the wrong people and just general fuck-upedness. Oh, hey, Mags,” she said as Mags came over. “I thought you were supposed to be keeping him out of trouble?”
“Some missions are doomed from the start,” Mags replied. “These days I just settle for minimizing the damage.”
Garcia’s smile was decidedly strained at this point. “What a lovely visit this is going to be.” He looked pointedly at Mags. “How glad I am that I was talked into it.”
Mags stared back at him impassively.
“This is strictly business, Sebastian. I’m not doing you any favors,” Yoon said. “So let’s get down to it. Where’s that engineer of yours? Don’t tell me Simi finally wised up and quit?”
Simi came bounding down the ramp. “Naree!” she said. To Rylan’s surprise, Yoon opened her arms for a hug. “Look at you,” Simi laughed. “Your hair is longer than ever. Can I braid it?”
“Maybe,” Yoon said. “If you let me hire you away from Sebastian this time. I guarantee higher pay and a better class of thieves.”
They started walking arm-in-arm around the ship, with Garcia following, looking miserable.
The rest of the crew came down the ramp to join Rylan and Mags. Bo put an arm around his wife. “Me and Lydia are going to see about supplies,” he said to her. “You coming?”
She smiled wryly. “I’d better chaperone Sebastian for a while. Just to make sure the repairs actually get started.”
Bo shook his head. The doctor settled the strap of her bag across her chest before looking over her shoulder to Kaz. “What about you, Kaz?”
The pilot crossed her arms. “I’m staying here and keeping an eye on the ship. See what kind of repair crew the captain’s ex is going to inflict on us.”
“And miss the wonders of the Sprawl?” the doctor asked dryly. “At least all of our vaccinations are up to date.”
She and Bo headed towards the wide metal doors, Rylan made as if to follow, but Mags stopped him with a firm hand on his arm. “Where are you headed?”
“Nearest bar.”
“Well, you should take him.” She jerked her head towards the ship’s ramp. Rylan frowned to see that Jaime was still lingering at the top, peering around the ship’s hold.
“Captain said he could go his own way if he wants.” Rylan still wasn’t sure how that sat with him, but an order was an order.
“That doesn’t mean we just turn him loose in the Sprawl,” Mags said. “How long would he last?”
“So I’m supposed to be his bodyguard now?”
She looked at Rylan with her annoyingly reasonable face. “You brought him home, now you’re responsible for him.” Mags patted his arm and went after the captain.
Rylan set his jaw. “You waiting for an invitation to get down here?” he called up to Jaime. “Trumpets maybe? A red carpet?”
Jaime came down the ramp, stumbling at the bottom so Rylan had to grab his arm to keep him from falling. “What have you got in there?” Jaime asked quietly, sounding more distracted than usual. “In that locked part of the hold? It’s really shielded but it… feels weird.”
Rylan’s hand tightened on Jaime’s arm, glancing around at the handful of Yoon’s people nearby. They were making notes on clipboards while looking at the ship and generally didn’t seem to be paying any attention to them, but Rylan still lowered his voice. “You want to last in this business, maybe don’t be yapping about our cargo in front of strangers.”
Jaime blinked up at him. “And if I don’t? Want to be in this business?”
“That’s up to you. Captain said you’re free to go.”
His eyes were dark and deep. “It’s hard to go anywhere when you’re always holding onto me.”
Rylan made himself take his hand off of Jaime. It was more difficult than he would have expected. To cover up his hesitation, Rylan gestured grandly at the doors. Jaime paused, but then started walking.
Rylan immediately fell into step beside him.
“I thought,” Jaime said through his teeth, “that I was free to go where I wanted?”
“You are, as long as it’s to the nearest bar.”
Navigating the Sprawl wasn’t easy. There was no logical order to the layout of the decks or the interconnected stations. Rylan tried to lead them as though he knew where he was going, but, after they turned down another twisty corridor that led to both their third dead end and a couple engaged in some amorous activities, he surreptitiously pulled out a scrap of paper. Jaime raised his eyebrows.
“Name of a bar. Someone recommended it.”
Jaime held out his hand. “Show me.” He sighed at Rylan’s dubious look. “There’s about a dozen different computer systems overlapping in this section alone. One of them must have some kind of map.”
Rylan muttered something about wizardry, but he handed over the paper and watched as Jaime’s eyes briefly unfocused.
After that, Jaime took the lead, backtracking and then taking them across swaying gangplanks over a lively marketplace, where vendors had set up tables or even wheelbarrows to hawk everything from vat-grown fruit to circuitry. Rylan couldn’t help but stare like a tourist. He ate up stories of survival against all odds, and the Sprawl’s was one of the most unlikely.
The moon below had once housed a large and successful mining colony that had drilled deep to get at the valuable minerals beneath the layers of ice covering the inhospitable surface. That colony had lasted only seconds when the Singularity rose and the cold was allowed to rush in. But the space stations and freighters in orbit had managed to band together, figuring out a way to keep the lights on and the air flowing. More ships limped their way in and were made part of the Sprawl, until a sustainable community had formed.
It would have been one of those heroic can-do stories that got taught to school kids if there hadn’t been quite so much cannibalism before they got their food supply sorted. That, and the fact that the place the survivors had created was now a haven for pirates, thieves, and lowlifes of every sort.
The place Jaime led them to was a hole in the wall, quite literally — a vaguely door-sized gap had been blasted into the hull of whatever old ship they were in, and a crudely painted sign hung above it. They looked at each other doubtfully.
“You sure this is the place?” Rylan asked Jaime.
Jaime nodded. “Do you actually want to go in there?”
“It’s recommended.”
“By someone who hates you?”
“Possibly,” Rylan admitted.
Rylan went in first, not sure what he was going to find. He had to duck as he pushed through the heavy draperies covering the entrance. Once inside, the dimly lit space was large, with a number of tables near the bar, booths against the back wall, and metal stairs leading to an upper level. Despite looking like several shipping containers stacked together, it seemed comfortable — and above all, discreet.
Rylan scanned the room with a practiced eye, noting the exits before moving on to the clientele. Most looked like they came from space-going ships, judging by their short or shaved hair, while the measuring or guarded look in their eyes made Rylan suspect that whatever those ships carried wasn’t legal. There was a table of more colorfully dressed locals, laughing loudly. And in one of the booths, four scruffy-looking men glowered at each other and the bar in general. One of them had an eye patch — he could be too poor to afford a synthetic eye, or he might have refused to have tech put in his body on principle. Rylan clenched his right hand and guided Jaime to a table as far away from that group as possible, before going to the bar.
The bartender didn’t have a shirt on under the vest he was wearing, so Rylan could see the tattoos moving across his chest. A group of fish — school of fish, Rylan remembered it was called — drifted slowly past, light shapes against the man’s dark skin. Rylan eyed the one orange fish in the school, but it stayed in formation with the others.
Rylan dropped two glasses of the local hooch on the table in front of Jaime and sat down. He realized Jaime had angled his chair so he had the best vantage point of both the entrance and the room. Rylan scowled because he had been about to move his chair to get the same view.
“Stop looking around so much,” he said as Jaime kept swivelling his head. “You’re acting like you’re on the run.”
“But I kinda am, actually.”
“The key is not acting like it.”
“Like you’re the expert,” Jaime muttered, but he bent his head towards his drink.
Rylan took a swig from his own glass and felt his eyes water. He was about to warn Jaime, but the other man seemed to have no trouble downing it.
“I’m not used to this,” Jaime admitted.
“It is really strong.”
“What? The drink? No, it’s fine. I meant all of this. Being on the run. Being out in general, too. Back when I was at the Commonwealth training facility, we hardly ever left to go into the city.”
Rylan frowned. “You didn’t?”
“It was supposed to be for our own protection.” Jaime hunched his shoulders higher. “I guess they were right about that. That training mission to Luma — it was our first off-world trip.” His eyes were haunted. “My big chance.”
“For what?”
Jaime’s mouth twisted bitterly. “To run away. I had a plan to sneak off and find a way back to… the place where the Commonwealth took me from. Then there was the explosion, and now all I do is run.” He swallowed the rest of his drink and sat there, small and miserable.
Rylan shifted awkwardly. He didn’t know what to say. Honestly, his first instinct was to touch Jaime. He didn’t know why or what good that would do. But first he felt he needed to offer some kind of defence. “Jaime. The Commonwealth, they wouldn’t just take you.”
Jaime gave a disbelieving laugh. “What do you think they do?”
Rylan opened his mouth, but then closed it. While individual colonies and planets were left to pretty much run themselves, the central Commonwealth government was strict about enforcing its laws. Those restrictions on trade, travel, and tech had been important when humanity’s very survival seemed in doubt, coming out of the New Dark Age, but more recently citizens resented them as heavy-handed. Still, Rylan didn’t see them the way Jaime did — but he couldn’t sit here, as someone working on a ship of smugglers, and try to explain that.
He was still trying to think of something to say when Simi dropped down into the extra chair at their table.
“Hey, guys!” She pulled Rylan’s barely touched glass towards her and drank, making a face. “Whew! That’s disgusting. Do you think they do those drinks with the little umbrellas here?”
“Simi,” Rylan all but growled. “How did you find us?”
“It wasn’t easy. This definitely isn’t the closest bar to Naree’s shop. That would be Ridley’s on deck two. You should’ve taken a right. But I asked around.”
Rylan rubbed between his eyes. “You asked around.”
“Big handsome blond white guy with a short cute brown guy? Lots of people spotted you.” She elbowed Jaime affectionately and he gave her a small smile. “But then they do tend to notice things in the Sprawl. How’d you hear about this place anyway?”
“Recommended,” Rylan sighed. “But shouldn’t you be repairing the ship? The whole reason we’re here?”
“Yeah, yeah. Sebastian is negotiating with Naree over the prices for parts. And the way they’re arguing, I think the negotiations could end up being the naked kind. I figured I better scram for a while.” She looked thoughtful. “Though if they wanted a third I wouldn’t say no. Did you see her hair?”
“Simi!”
Jaime genuinely laughed, though it seemed to be more at Rylan’s shock than anything else. Rylan felt briefly grateful to Simi for at least lifting Jaime’s sadness. He flicked his eyes towards the bartender and saw the orange fish swimming on his chest make a brief leap upwards. Rylan glanced around the room. Maybe this could work. At least he wouldn’t be leaving Jaime alone.
“So what should we do?” Simi was asking, skimming through a table screen of community notices. “You want to get something to eat? Or there’re a couple places to go dancing. That brothel I mentioned has some special offers. Oh, and over at Station Eleven they’re putting on a Shakespeare play.”
“Get your fancy umbrella drink,” Rylan said as he stood up. “I’m gonna take a leak.” He made a show of glaring at Jaime. “It’ll be nice not to have an audience for once, so I plan on taking my time.”
Jaime looked like he was blushing. “Like I asked to share a room with you—”
Simi leaned in with scandalized delight. “You watch him pee?”
Rylan left the two of them and made for the stairs.
The upper level had been divided up with welded pieces of metal and stacked crates into small rooms. Rylan found the closet-sized space that held what could charitably be called the bar’s washroom, though he suspected he was the first to actually wash his hands with the rusty water.
When he opened the door two men were waiting for him.
“You were supposed to come alone,” the taller of the two men said. He was nearly as tall as Rylan himself.
“Well, I couldn’t,” Rylan said.
The man with him, small and quick, grinned. It was not friendly. “Yeah, you’re so popular. Always making friends.”
Their expressions — disapproval and contempt, respectively — had grown familiar to Rylan by now, so he folded his arms and waited for them to get on with it. The tall man, Abrams, finally stepped aside to let Rylan leave the washroom, though that was likely for all their sakes, since it smelled in there.
Abrams was dressed in patched and rough clothing, like the kind worn by people who unloaded ships or did low-level maintenance, but he still looked every bit the upright Commonwealth agent. Abrams was probably nearly twenty years older than Rylan, but he held himself with perfect posture and restrained strength. His black hair was precisely parted and combed, his steady gaze untroubled by anything like doubt and his voice deep and steady. He was exactly the kind of agent Rylan remembered from adventure stories as a kid: brave and incorruptible.
His partner, Digby, on the other hand, was more representative of the actual agents Rylan had met over the years. He was sharp and always looking for an angle. Rylan knew from personal experience that he was perfectly willing to fight dirty. With his messy hair — which could be called dirty blond for several reasons — and unshaven face, he fit right in with the pirates and thieves of the Sprawl. He smirked unpleasantly at Rylan.
“Well?” Rylan said. “We doing this here? I don’t have a lot of time.”
Abrams pointed to the furthest door. “He’s waiting for you.”
Rylan, who’d been expecting to brief the two agents, was startled. “He’s here? Physically here, not a secure line?”
Digby’s smirk deepened. “Someone’s in trouble.”
Abrams rumbled, “I’d say this is a demonstration of the seriousness of your mission.”
“And how badly you’re fucking it up,” Digby added.
Rylan set his teeth and walked to the closed door, consciously trying not to make it look like a march. Abrams opened the door for him, waved him in, and carefully closed it behind Rylan, with Digby’s sneering “Have fun” following him through before the soundproofing cut it off. Rylan turned to face the man sitting at the small metal table at the back of the room.
“Jonathan.”
He looked thinner and more tired than the last time Rylan had seen him, but keen blue eyes followed as Rylan sat down on the metal stool across from him. The lines on either side of his mouth, deeper than before, tightened with displeasure.
“Brian,” he said.
“That’s not my name anymore.”
“Quite right,” Jonathan said. “Rylan. That slight difference is a particularly good disguise.”
Rylan was annoyed at how his voice wanted to mirror Jonathan’s polished accent, so he deliberately roughened his tone. “Was worried I’d fuck it up if I went over two syllables.”
“Yes,” Jonathan said dryly, “it is a burden.” He had several file folders on the table, all neatly lined up. Rylan suppressed the childish urge to nudge them out of position.
Jonathan gave him a withering look, as if he could read his mind, and opened one of the folders. “Putting in here wasn’t part of the original mission specs.”
“Neither was nearly being blasted out of the sky. Was that you on the ship above Mamawayawin Outpost?”
Jonathan pushed his dark blond hair back. “It needed to look like a genuine pursuit. Or would you have your cover blown?”
“Well, it genuinely damaged the ship. That’s why we’re here.”
“And you were on that moon because of computer problems. It’s been one delay after the other. If you miss the rendezvous—”
“We’re not gonna miss it.”
Jonathan folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. “We can’t allow rot from within, Brian. Sensitive military tech is being stolen, with all indications pointing to an inside job. This is why we’ve gone to considerable effort and expense to place you with this…” He made an expression of distaste. “Crew. We need to draw the buyers out and end this smuggling ring.”
Rylan shifted on the stool. “But the people on The Wayward Prince have nothing to do it. I mean, yes, they’re smugglers, but the cargo came from the contacts you gave me.”
“I see you’ve grown very attached.”
Rylan glared at Jonathan’s snide tone. “I’ve been with them for months. They trust me for the most part. I’m used to dealing with people honorably instead of lying all the time.”
Jonathan fixed Rylan with an icy stare. “Perhaps you need reminding of the stakes of this mission? Your personal stakes?”
Rylan dropped his eyes. “No.”
“Don’t let your new identity allow you to forget who you were, Brian. Markers were called in for you to get this mission. It’s your last chance at redemption.”
“I understand. Sir.”
Jonathan sighed and let his intensity drop. All at once, he just looked tired again. “No one cares about the low-level delivery people you’re with. It’ll be a slap on the wrist, if anything. A fine, maybe.”
Rylan nodded, his chest loosening.
Jonathan tapped the open folder. “Speaking of your merry crew, Abrams tells me the engineer Simisola Njoku is with you downstairs, but who’s the new fellow?”
“Nobody,” Rylan said. “Just a stray they picked up.”
The other man made a note in a file. “He going to be any trouble?”
Rylan shrugged. “He’s some runaway, that’s all.”
“Good.” He was still looking at the file, shifting the printed pages. It felt like the meeting was at an end, but Rylan didn’t stand up.
“Speaking of trouble,” Rylan ventured. “Heard there was some on Luma. Explosion at a few weeks ago.”
Jonathan tilted his head to look at him. “How’d you hear about that?”
“How you think? People talk.”
“The incident is classified.”
“Looks like you got leaks all over the place.”
Jonathan grimaced. “Yes, well. One of the Purist groups is taking credit for it. They targeted a class of MMIs.”
“No survivors?”
Jonathan shook his head. “It’s a great loss. They were valuable assets to the Commonwealth.”
“Assets, sure.”
Jonathan didn’t seem to catch the sharpness in Rylan’s voice. He was looking at Rylan’s arm — the right arm — with something like sadness. “Humans have been killing each other for all of our history. I suppose we can’t expect everyone to give up the habit entirely. The Commonwealth keeps the peace, but imperfectly. You know that, Brian. It’s why we’re here.”
“Rylan.”
Jonathan’s voice was quiet. “Of course.”
There was a knock on the door. It opened, and Digby stuck his head in. “Hey, boss, sorry to interrupt, but thought you might want to know that it looks like a riot’s about to start downstairs.”