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“Yeah. I just thought you’d like them written down.”

“My brain’s a trampoline.” Jordan agreed. “If it’s not written down, it bounces off.”

Natalie rubbed her arm in a caring caress. “You got that right,” she said softly. “Hey, I’m giving pedicures later. Stop by and treat yourself.” Wearing her no-arguments expression, she gathered her paperwork and moved on to her other duties.

The woman never sat still. Maybe her defense mechanism was staying busy so she wouldn’t have time to think. Jordan’s gaze slid to the chair next to her. Ben sat hunched
over, his face cradled in his hands, his lips moving as he muttered fervent prayers. Now,
there
was a guy who thought
too
much.

A movement in the corner of her eye pulled her attention from Ben. Ian Dillon, the redheaded Irishman. It was obvious that he was waiting for her, and she used it as an excuse to sneak away from the prayer service before it ended, moving her a few steps closer to her secluded corner briefing room before everyone was released.

As she approached, Dillon gave her a concerned perusal. “You look tired.”

“Find me one person who doesn’t.”

“I don’t think I could.”

“I’m not sleeping well,” she confessed. Dillon was the least needy of everyone onboard, and the least likely to panic at any perceived weakness on her part. If life had stayed normal and she’d met him on Earth, she might have thought about dating him. But life wasn’t normal anymore, and starting up a relationship was the furthest thing from her mind.

“Nightmares?” he commiserated.

“No. Dreams.” Of Boo. Of horses, meadows, and sunlit glades in the Rockies. Of all the things lost to her forever. She forced a smile. “So, what’s up, Dillon?”

“I need your blessing.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to ask Father for that.” Jordan glanced over her shoulder. Father Sugimoto caught her eye and cocked a brow. Guiltily she crossed herself, to his obvious satisfaction. What did she expect after admitting to the priest that she was raised Catholic and then sneaking away from Mass?

Dillon chuckled and beckoned for her to follow. “Not for this I won’t. I’ve embarked on an exploration venture of sorts. I want to show you what I’ve found before I proceed any further.”

Before they could move, the prayer services ended, sending throngs of passengers in search of Jordan.

“Captain,” a woman called out as she rose and limped toward them, a fifty-pound hitchhiker attached to her leg. A little girl, a year or so younger than Boo, clung to the woman’s thigh. “Hi, Lydia Funneman here. And that’s Katie.” She smiled indulgently at her child and ruffled her hair. “The kids are going to hate me for asking, but have you found out anything more about us getting fresh fruit and vegetables?”

“I’m working on it. The medics were worried about food allergies.” Jordan took out her date book and to her growing list she added,
Ask about diet!
“I’ll be following up on it later today, Lydia,” she assured the woman, who smiled and moved on.

Next a group of five women crowded in Jordan’s direction. She was overwhelmed with a desire to flee, to tell everyone to fend for themselves. But it wasn’t that she didn’t want to help; she just needed a break. Inspiration hit. “Did I see you ladies at yesterday’s two-mile speed walk?” she asked. “No?”

That stopped them. Jordan flexed her biceps. She had begun bullying everyone to get in shape. Who knew what conditions awaited them wherever they were going? “ ‘Stay strong and survive,’ right? Oh, look. Over there, at the far wall. Another walking group is forming. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll join you.”

The women looked less than enthusiastic and turned away from her. Jordan grabbed Dillon’s elbow. “Let’s go.” A businessman in a flowered shirt waved at her. She pretended not to see him. “Dillon, help. Start talking to me nonstop, as if whatever you’re telling me is the most important thing to our survival.”

“It may very well be.” He took her by the arm and swept
her forward at high speed. It worked: everyone let them pass by.

He led her to the community computer, sleek and inset into the molded wall. A floater chair bobbed next to it. Empty food containers and sanitizer wipes indicated that Dillon was spending a lot of time here. “I’m in,” he said, bouncing onto the chair.

She squinted at the screen. The alien workstation was linked to the shipboard computer. The letters and numbers still looked like gibberish to her when taken in all at once. “What do you mean, you’re in?”

“In the computer.”

“But they gave us the computer. We’re
supposed
to use the language program and the educational database.”

“The educational database looks quite fine, actually. But look. I just accessed a schematic of the ship.”

“How?” She leaned over his shoulder. Like every computer she’d seen so far, this one had a screen that could be bent to fit any surface, even rolled up and shoved in a pocket. “Their stuff is nothing like we have on Earth.”

“Ah, that is where you’re wrong. Their computer programs rely on the same small set of standard modules—forms to accept data to a program, files to keep the data in, calculations to transform that data, techniques to sort the data, forms to present the data to the user upon demand, the ability to present results in various graphics, and so on.”

His freckled fingers smoothed over the flexible screen and found the keyboard, or what she guessed was the keyboard. He began typing, using the alien runes. “They’re on what’s similar to a network in Earth terms. It allowed me to get into the main computer.”

“The main
ship
computer?”

He nodded.

“Good Lord,” she mumbled. She glanced nervously over
her shoulder. What was the punishment for breaking and entering?

“As expected, when I got there, the mainframe, I was located in an applications program. Just like on Earth, it’s all that’s needed to call up a veritable buffet of other applications. Which I have. I’ve been dining quite nicely all day.”

“Yeah?” She leaned over his shoulder. “On what?”

“Shipboard schematics,” Dillon said. “This is one of the decks. I’m not sure which, though.” His fingertips tapped away. The image changed. “And this—I think it’s a maintenance status page for that deck.”

She was speechless. Dillon was a bloody genius, in his words, if he’d learned enough Key and was computer-adept enough to log on and wander into places that might not be intended for their viewing.

“These are life-support readouts.” He frowned, typing faster. “Temperature . . . moisture content in the air. I’m better at reading Key than speaking it. And I’ve got my numbers down pat,” he added proudly.

All around them, the chaos of a couple of hundred people in relatively close quarters simmered. But Jordan’s attention was riveted by Dillon’s fingers pitter-pattering over the glowing runes. Each keystroke brought up new images on the computer screen. Despite an obvious language and technology handicap here on the starship, Dillon was working the computer like a pro. She’d bet he was one of those lucky folks who tackled computers instinctively. “You said you worked for a high-tech company,” she prompted.

“Network Global Technologies. In Dublin.” Regret he didn’t need to explain washed over his face. “Beautiful city, it was, Jordan.” He resumed typing.

“Were you . . . a hacker?”

“Hackers have an undeserved bad name,” he replied in an obvious non-answer. “Easily ninety percent of the information
anyone wants is available for the taking. The difficult part is recognizing and analyzing it. Of the remaining ten percent, half can usually be inferred from the material you already have. There’s no greater fun than developing an understanding of a system and finally producing the skills and tools to defeat it.”

“And you’re having the time of your life figuring it all out.” In a way, she envied him the distraction.

His blue eyes sparkled. “For me, the process of ‘getting in’ is always more exhilarating than what I discover in protected files.”

His excitement was contagious, a much-needed dose of optimism. “What was your job title at Global?”

“Senior VP.”

“Yeah, but what were you really?”

He barely glanced up. “A spy.”

“Get out of here.” All she could think of was 007. Ian Dillon didn’t look like James Bond. But he’d transformed a heart-starting device into a weapon and had hacked into a computer built by a civilization capable of light-speed space travel. One didn’t learn such skills in prep school. “Who’d you work for? The UK? Scotland Yard? The Russian Mafia?” she threw in for good measure.

“Nothing that tedious, no. My chessboard of intrigue was industry—the computer industry. I checked up on the bad guys. And when the bad guys hired me, well, I’d get them information on the good guys.”

“You spied for both sides?” She wasn’t sure if she liked that.

“Money has a way of erasing borders and loyalties.” He said it as if the concept was one she’d relate to or understand. “It cost a pretty pence, though, for what we could do.”

“I’m sure it did.” Jordan tapped her chin with her index finger. Dillon reminded her of her two pet cats, loyal because
they
wanted
to be, not because they
had
to be. “While you’re exploring, see if you can find out anything about our resettlement plans. It’s been over two weeks, and I know nothing. Kào says that’s because his government hasn’t decided where to put us. But sometimes I think he’s as in the dark about things as we are. But unlike him, we’ve got to understand what our future involves, even if it means digging for the facts ourselves. I think you may have just made that possible.”

Dillon went back to work. His mouth remained in a smile. Obviously, he was pleased with her encouragement. “Ah, look,” he murmured in his leprechaun-like brogue. “More deck diagrams. Next I’ll figure out where our rooms are in relation to the rest of the ship. We could use a map.”

“We sure could. Be careful, that’s all I ask. I don’t want us getting into trouble before we know what ‘trouble’ means to these people.”

“Darth Vader’s here!” It was Christopher’s usual delighted warning cry. He sang it out every time his “spaceman” showed up at the door.

“Speaking of trouble.” Dillon jerked his hands away from the computer, and the flexible monitor snapped into its container like a window shade on a roller. Folding his hands on his lap, he began whistling an innocuous, I’m-so-innocent little tune.

With that proverbial hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar feeling, Jordan turned around. At the far end of the common room, Kào Vantaar-Moray stood in the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back.

The epitome of chilly composure, Kào appeared unaware that he was the target of Jordan’s attention; he was too mesmerized by the bustle of Town Square. “He’s early, way early. I hope we didn’t trip an alarm by hacking into the computer.”

“Oh, he’s come around in the morning before,” Ben said, appearing out of nowhere and joining Jordan and Dillon at the computer station.

“I never see him,” she said.

“You’re too busy to notice. He doesn’t ask for you; he stays in the doorway, watching us, like he’s doing now.”

Their eyes shifted to Kào.

“Check out those eyes,” Ben muttered. “It’s like he’s sizing us up to sell on the market.”

Dillon stopped typing. “What market?”

“The human market. I don’t know.”

“Come on, guys,” Jordan complained. Ben was scaring himself.

But Dillon took the ball and ran with it. “Would they intend to sell us individually or as a package deal? It would depend on the going galactic rate, I suppose. And what we’d be sold as, too. Food or slaves.”

“Stop it,” Jordan hissed. “The last thing we need is a rumor like that turning dormant fear into panic.” Ben already looked like he was about to be sick.

Dillon’s fingers returned to the community computer keyboard. “Is there a way to check the futures market for humans, I wonder?”

Jordan groaned. Grabbing Ben by the arm, she tugged him toward the conference room. “You haven’t been to a single one of the meetings between Kào and me. It’s time you started attending.”

“Right now?”

“Now.”

He resisted at first. Then he gave in and walked with her.

“You’ll change your attitude once you talk to him,” she encouraged. “He’s not as intimidating as he looks.”

“Well, forced to choose, I’d rather hang out with ol’ Attila than those two red-eyed aides. They know something that we don’t, I swear it. Those albinos . . . Something’s up, but I can’t tell what.”

His apprehension was contagious. She girded herself against it. Unless she kept a clear head, she wouldn’t be able to sift the facts from the unfounded fears that bombarded her daily. “I respect your opinion,” she said, more softly. “Just tell me the minute you figure out what it is that’s bothering you, okay?” Or maybe Dillon would find out first.

They passed a group of people performing Tai Chi. Others lifted makeshift weights. Men and women jogged
around the perimeter of the room, and four of the five ladies Jordan spoke to earlier had heeded her suggestion to join the speed walk.

Natalie breezed past the groups and waylaid Jordan with a new list that looked to be a mile long. “How about I handle it?” Ben offered.

In her heart of hearts, Jordan wanted nothing to do with the list. Ben clearly wanted nothing to do with Kào. “All right. Why not?” she gave in with a sigh, exchanging glances with Natalie. “I’ll see you both at the staff meeting.”

She turned her attention back to look at Kào. Strangely, the weight pressing down on her shoulders lifted. Relief filtered down through her body, bringing an almost-bounce to her step. All of a sudden, she felt ready for anything, even trying an unaided conversation in Key, her new tongue.

She tucked her translator into the back pocket of her jeans and approached him. “Good day, Kào,” she said, speaking to him in his language for the first time.

His face lit up, as much as a face as forbidding as his could brighten. She remembered her dream and endeavored not to look at his mouth. “Good day, Captain,” he responded.