Boneyards (16 page)

T
wo course changes before she settled down enough to think clearly. Then Squishy put her head in her hands.

She thought she had been tricky, but she hadn't been tricky enough. Even though she had just acted like a covert operative on the research base, she really wasn't one. Her mind wasn't subtle enough.

But Quint's was. He had spent his entire life doing this crap. He manipulated people, he spied on them, and he bent them to his own will.

It was a measure of the respect with which he held her that he had actually told her what his job was. Most people in military intelligence, let alone someone in Imperial Intelligence, never told anyone.

He had told her and given her a warning, one she hadn't received until now.

She sighed into her hands, then let them run down her face. She glanced around the cockpit.

He had to have put tracers on it. Outside, inside, everywhere.

So the Empire was tracking her.

And she didn't have the equipment to find all the tracers.

Oh, she had the equipment at Lost Souls. Most of the ships owned by Lost Souls had it as well. Boss was paranoid about being tracked.

But the
Dane
was Squishy's ship, which she had bought after she took her leave of absence from Lost Souls, and she hadn't been paranoid enough. If she had been thinking way back then, and clearly she hadn't been, she would have put all of the up-to-date anti-tracer technology into the
Dane.
But she hadn't been thinking about that.

She had the anti-tracer tech the ship came with and nothing more.

That would have to do. She had learned a lot of tricks from Boss. Now was the time to use them.

Squishy took a deep breath and stood. She looked around at all the little nooks and crannies, then at the control panel itself. She had left the travel logs vulnerable on purpose, and it wouldn't take much to install something tiny in those. She would look there second.

First, she would take care of the ship's exterior.

She had gone onto the
Dane
repeatedly during her stay on the research station. Mostly she had brought back many of her possessions; they hadn't fit into the décor of her office. Besides, they distracted her, making her think of her real life.

But she checked everything from her locks to her readouts to her security systems.

Everything except the exterior of the ship.

She slid her hand to a part of the control panel she had never used. Somewhere in this thing was a series of commands that cleaned off the exterior of the ship. She probably had to drop out of FTL to do it, but it would be worthwhile.

Whatever she did might not remove every tracer that Quint put on the exterior, but it would remove most of them. His technology was probably much more sophisticated than the
Dane's.

But he hadn't had much time to put tracers on the
Dane
while the station was evacuating, and he hadn't suspected her of any wrongdoing before that.

She reviewed the ship's manual to make sure the ship could actually do what she hoped it could. Then she said a small prayer and dropped out of FTL.

She didn't recognize the part of space she was in, not that it mattered. She was still deep in the Empire. And she had to act fast.

She activated the external cleansing mechanism, hoping it knocked out or disabled whatever kind of tracer Quint had put on the
Dane.

It would take five minutes, which was much longer than she wanted to be in this part of space, open and vulnerable. While the external cleaning program ran, she got up and grabbed one of her handheld medical scanners. She tuned it to read any kind of signal being sent, and then scanned the walls, the floor, and the furniture in the cockpit.

She found nothing. At least, not yet anyway. She would have to scan for different signals, different types of energy signatures, before she was satisfied that this room was clean.

The control panel beeped, letting her know the cleaning was done.

Then she resumed the same flight path, and launched the FTL again. It did her no good to change her flight plan before she scanned the computer system itself for tracers.

That was her next task.

She actually hoped she would find something. Because if she didn't, she would worry that she had missed it. And if she missed it, then Quint or his people would still be tracking her.

She sat down at the control panel again and took a deep breath. Maybe she was just channeling Boss's paranoia. But Squishy hadn't channeled that enough this trip.

A little bit of paranoia would do her some good.

Maybe it might even help her get home.

NINETEEN AND A HALF YEARS EARLIER

“D
id they just fire on us?”

Rosealma floated to one of the portholes and looked out. She didn't see anything, but she was in some kind of side room. Turtle was in the corridor, clutching a door frame. The woman in charge of this silly dive, a woman who called herself Boss, was in the cockpit, such as it was, and she was the one who had spoken.

Rosealma's heart was pounding. She pushed herself off the wall and let the momentum take her, grabbing the doorway near Turtle as she went by.

Rosealma couldn't see Turtle's face through her helmet. In fact, the only way that Rosealma knew the person near the doorway was Turtle was the faint pink of her environmental suit, the suit's ridiculously broad shoulders, and Turtle's unnaturally small helmet.

The other tourists, five of them, were clustered in the corridor, clinging to the walls as if they might make the gravity return. This dive had been Turtle's idea, a prolonged date, something that enabled them to see a historic ruin while getting to know each other.

The training had been simple: taking a few tests outside Longbow Station, signing a few waivers, and forking over the money. Rosealma had to buy a special environmental suit; she hadn't had a good one since she left for college, and of course, she had abandoned that one when she left Vallevu. Not that she had worn it in years.

But a cargo monkey never forgot her origins, and throughout this entire dive, Rosealma felt like she had come home.

This ship, the
Hjalmar
, was two hundred years old. The corridors were narrow and uncomfortable, still scored by weapons' fire from the battle that happened inside the ship as well as outside. The
Hjalmar
had been a minor part of a major battle in the Colonnade Wars. A civil war had actually broken out among the crew.

It wasn't a mutiny: they didn't try to overthrow their captain. Instead, various rebel groups had infiltrated the Enterran military. On some command—Rosealma's history got fuzzy here—the rebels were supposed to capture all of the ships and bring them to a rebel stronghold nearby.

But the
Hjalmar
was the only ship where the fighting actually took place. In all of the others, the infiltrators had been captured long before they managed to get positions of power on any vessel.

The ship got disabled, a lot of people died, some pivotal battle occurred because of what happened here, and the remaining crew abandoned the ship. The ship itself got forgotten, like so many wrecks from the Colonnade Wars, only to be discovered by amateur historians, who claimed it as a tourist site.

And divers like this Boss took people on easy dives to see the bits of history.

Rosealma thought the dive silly. After all, you could just look at the holovids and imagine the battle yourself. Or you could go into one of those virtual reenactments, actually take on a historic persona, and live the battle, such as it were.

This exploring the old site, as if there were resonances here besides the dark and the cold and the emptiness of space, that was all just silly.

Although Turtle seemed to enjoy it. She claimed she liked historical sites. She had been looking forward to this for a week, as if it was all a grand adventure. Rosealma did not tell her that grand adventures generally did not happen two hours from a space station, in a wreck people had been diving for generations.

Still, Boss had sounded a bit panicked a moment ago. It was probably some kind of historical reenactment on a budget. This whole trip had been on a budget.

Boss knew what she was doing—her training was spectacular, and quick—but the ship she had brought them out on was minimal at best, and Boss wasn't the most personable of tour guides. She tried, but she wasn't amiable, and she clearly had no patience for more than one stupid question at a time.

She had tethered her ship, the
Skeessers
, to the
Hjalmar.
Rosealma had asked about the name of the
Skeessers
, and it turned out Boss had no idea what it meant. She had bought the ship on the cheap for short runs like this one, and she hadn't bothered to change the name when she changed the registration.

If this thing about being shot at was all a ruse, some kind of show for the tourists, Rosealma would have words with this Boss after the dive. At least, that was what Rosealma promised herself as she hurried to the cockpit. She felt a need to explain the sense of urgency she felt, without telling Boss or Turtle that too many people had died around Rosealma for her to ever feel comfortable with pretend death.

Rosealma propelled herself into the bridge, then grabbed a tether to stop herself from going any farther. Boss wasn't alone. Another tourist was in there with her, a slight figure, probably a woman. They were standing on the bridge, their magnetic boots on.

That surprised Rosealma. Boss had specifically told the entire tour group that they couldn't use their magnetic boots on this dive.

The other odd thing? Boss and the tourist were facing each other, not looking around like Rosealma would expect on a dive like this.

Rosealma did look around. She hadn't been to the bridge yet. It was large and mostly unfurnished, although someone—probably the tourist board that so many of these dive companies worked for—had installed tethers throughout the main route. The tethers kept beginners on the route, and prevented them from floating into too many hazardous areas. If tourists used tethers, they never had to worry about coming into a site too fast or missing a corner and hitting an edge.

Tethers marred all sorts of tourist dive sites. The tethers were just one of many safety requirements for an adventure dive site designation. The sites were inspected annually and deemed “safe” for beginners.

Or at least, that was what Boss told the entire group before taking their deposits for the trip, long before any of them got tested for their skill level.

The tethers hung from every flat surface in the bridge so if the ship rotated, something would float past an amateur, and the amateur would have something solid to hang onto.

Rosealma had just used the nearest one to stop her forward movement. Neither Boss nor that tourist even noticed she was there.

Rosealma saw nothing through the wide windows, jutting into space in the form of a two-level triangle. She had always thought the design on these old ships ridiculous: if someone wanted to defeat one, all they had to do was destroy the windows in the front of the bridge. Even though it was perched on top of the vessel, right smack in the middle, it was obvious which part of the ship was the bridge because no other part of the ship had that design feature.

One well-placed shot and the entire command crew would go down. That's what she would have done.

But she remembered from some of her military history that when this ship was in vogue, the Enterran Empire had no outside enemies, and rebel ships were too tiny to get close.

“I mean it. Someone's shooting at us.”

Boss wasn't speaking. That voice belonged to the other person in the room, who, by process of elimination, had to be female. Rosealma looked around one last time. She could see the tail end of the
Skeessers
, hooked to the
Hjalmar
, but the space around both ships did not light up as it would if someone used a laser weapon.

Then she realized that Boss's hands were moving. Boss was talking to this tourist on a private comm link, but the tourist was too stupid to realize that she had been talking to the entire tour group.

Rosealma put a hand on her hip, then cursed silently. She didn't have a weapon. Boss had forbidden weapons on this trip, which had seemed silly at the time, and now seemed very wise.

Rosealma slipped farther in, then turned on her boots and slipped to the floor of the bridge, landing just outside the tourist's line of sight. Boss saw Rosealma, turned her head slightly, and Rosealma held up a finger to her helmet. Boss slowly moved her head back toward the tourist.

“They're shooting at us!” the tourist's voice was getting screechy. “Why aren't you doing anything?”

Rosealma knew she was still in Boss's line of sight. Rosealma pointed at the tourist, then made a circle with her forefinger around her own ear, hoping that Boss understood that as a sign for crazy.

Boss's head moved down ever so slightly, then back up. A nod.

Rosealma made a fist with her hand and shook it at the tourist. Boss nodded for real this time, and Rosealma couldn't tell if that was a response to the tourist or Rosealma's gestures.

But Rosealma was going to take it as a response to her questions.

“We're all going to die! Can't you see that?”

Rosealma didn't look behind her, but she wanted to. Had the other tourists come here? Or were they still cowering in the corridor?

She nodded toward Boss, hoping Boss could see that, then pointed at the crazy tourist again. Then she lifted a finger in a silent countdown.

One…

Two…

Three…

She and Boss both stormed the tourist, knocking her down and holding her in place. The woman started screaming and fighting hard. She kicked and slapped and moved her entire torso. It took all of Rosealma's effort to hold this woman in place—especially since her body was starting to float. They had knocked her magnetic boots off their anchor on the bridge.

“Do you have anything to restrain her?” Rosealma asked Boss.

“What do I look like, a cop?”

“No,” Rosealma snapped. “I just thought you might be prepared for emergencies.”

“I
am
,” Boss said. “I have a medical kit.”

“Oh, for God's sake,” Rosealma said. “Hold her.”

She got up, leaving the kicking, squirming crazy person to Boss. Rosealma shut off the boot magnets and floated to a tether, grabbing it and tugging. The damn thing didn't come loose. It was fixed quite well.

Rosealma tugged again, and couldn't get any traction. She needed a knife. But Boss hadn't allowed them.

So Rosealma held on to the tether, pointed her feet downward, and turned her boots back on. The boots' power sent her to the base of the bridge, and that dislodged the tether. Then she stomped her way to Boss, who was having as much trouble restraining the tourist as Rosealma had had.

Another set of hands joined them, another body got in the way, holding the woman down. The woman kept kicking and screaming, but Boss moved to her feet, grabbed them, and pointed them at the metal floor. The magnets held, making it hard for her to kick.

Rosealma looked up, saw that the third pair of hands belonged to Turtle. Rosealma grinned, even though she knew Turtle couldn't see her through the faceplate on her helmet.

“Nice of you to join us,” Rosealma said.

“I wanted to see you one more time before you died,” Turtle said.

“Who's shooting at us?” someone asked from the door.

“
No one
,” all three women said together, and then Turtle giggled. Rosealma couldn't help it. She giggled too.

Boss didn't. She just grabbed the crazy tourist's hands, pulled them together, and said to Rosealma, “Were you planning to use that tether for anything?”

“Oh,” Rosealma said, catching her breath. “I suppose.”

She wrapped the tether around the crazy tourist's hands, and as she did, she realized she hadn't giggled in years. She was actually having fun.

“How are we going to get her out of here?” Turtle asked.

“I say we leave her,” Boss said.

“No!” the crazy woman cried. “They're killing us! Why don't you believe me?”

“Why don't you issue sanity tests before allowing anyone to dive?” Rosealma asked Boss.

“You want to tell me how I can legally do that?” Boss asked.

“I have a few ideas,” Rosealma said.

They looked at each other—or tried to, since the faceplates were vaguely reflective. Neither of them spoke for a long moment, not that it mattered. The crazy woman did most of the talking for them, about shootings, and dying, and how none of them would survive.

She was still thrashing. It would take some work to get her off this ship.

Boss looked down at the crazy tourist, then back at Rosealma.

“Okay,” Boss said calmly. “She's convincing me. I'd love to hear your ideas.”

“All right,” Rosealma said. “We get her out of here, and you owe me a beer. I'll tell you then.”

“I'll owe you a full refund,” Boss said.

Rosealma shook her head.

“You promised an adventure,” she said. “I didn't think you could pull it off. But you just did. So I'm getting my money's worth.”

“You're nuts,” Boss muttered.

“Nah,
she's
nuts.” Rosealma nodded toward the tourist. “I'm just hard to please.”

“I'm not nuts!” the tourist shouted. “We are all going to die.”

“True enough,” Rosealma said to her. “Just not this afternoon.”

This afternoon, though, this afternoon, she had found something she thought she had lost, a sense of herself she had completely forgotten.

She had missed it.

And she was happy to have it back.