Derelict: Halcyone Space, Book 1 (12 page)

"Better."

"It wasn't my fault," Jem said in a small voice.

"Did I say it was?" Ro opened and closed her right hand, working the cramp out. The cube of her waiting program still hovered over her left.

"You overloaded the interface."

She gestured and new windows popped open all around her. "Yeah, I figured."

"You should've let me debug first."

Probably so, but that ship had jumped the wormhole. She studied the wrecked AI code and her helper utility. There was still time to make this work. Sweat dripped off her forehead and into one eye. Ro wished she had a hand free to push the hair out of her face.

"When you had me use the virtual window to interface with the emergency lights, everything crashed."

"I know. I know. Now will you shut up and let me work?" Damn but Jem was touchy. He started to talk, but Ro just kept right on going as if he hadn't said a thing. "Follow internal chatter from Daedalus. Let me know if it starts to ping the ship."

No sound from behind her. She could feel him sulking even without being able to see his face. Well, at least he was quiet.

Ro watched the code waver in the display. She had a narrow window. Too early, and the new program would bounce off the defenses of the old. Too late, and it wouldn't be able to anchor itself to the autonomic processes and form a unified AI. Even if she'd calculated everything perfectly, there was a solid chance the AI wouldn't coalesce and the programs would simply fragment, leaving a ship that could run basic environmentals but would never be able to fly.

No wonder her father hadn't even tried.

A flash of green caught her eye. Her hand steadied, holding the new code still. Without any conscious thought, she tossed the waiting cube underhand through the bridge towards the holo display. It sank through without a ripple and flattened, forming a large rectangle that bisected itself over and over, forming multiple sheets. Each represented a subroutine and each one folded into a complex three dimensional shape.

Each shape found a part of the program to fit itself into, seamlessly, before vanishing. She'd modeled the mechanism after the holographic version of old-style Tetris and the folding paper technique of origami. When all her pieces had seated themselves, instead of game over, it would be game just beginning.

Ro rolled her neck and squeezed her shoulders back. "Jem, you still with me?"

"Yeah."

She turned to him and spread her arms out. "Look, I should have told you. I'm sorry."

He shrugged as if he didn't really care, but Ro knew him well enough to know he was still pretty mad at her. "This is going to take some time." She gestured at the colorful shapes floating down through the broken code. "You should head to bed."

"I want to see this through."

Jem's eyes looked as red as a bittergreen user's.

"Oh, I have the assay results."

"And?"

"Micah was telling the truth. Look." She walked over to him and accessed her server space from his micro. The assay spooled out for them both to see. "It wasn't Micah's plants. The problem was with the stuff Barre used."

Jem stood silently for several minutes as her program continued to propagate through the old AI space. He frowned. "It doesn't matter. He's using again and he got sick. And I don't know what's going to happen to him."

"Well, isn't that his problem?"

Jem winced and Ro realized she'd crossed a line. That was something her father would say and it killed her to hear it coming out of her own mouth. He grabbed his micro and stomped out of the bridge before Ro had a chance to apologize.

"Shit."

In the display, her program continued to churn away. There was little Ro could do from here and chasing Jem through the station would only call attention to her and the ship. The program had stabilized itself enough to run on its own. It would take the time it took. She uncoupled her micro and left the bridge with one final look at the color and light display inside.

The rush of accomplishment never came. Instead, Ro clenched her jaw, thinking of her interactions with Nomi and Jem. If only people were as logical as programs, Ro could just debug them and everything would work.

All night long, Micah stared up at the bare ceiling in his quarters.
He shifted the lumpy pillow trying to get comfortable, but his mind continued to churn. He kept coming back to Ro and the ship. Could she really do it? Could she really get that thing to fly?

And why did Micah feel a surge of excitement every time he thought about it? Escape was a flat out impossible dream. He'd made a promise. It didn't matter that he'd made it years ago, before he could possibly have known the shape that promise would twist into.

Voices, slurred by anger and drinking, rose and fell in waves. Micah didn't want to know who his father was arguing with this time. It never mattered. It never changed the fact that he was trapped.

"You said you could manage it," his father said, his voice surprisingly clear for a moment. A second voice came through in an indistinct murmur.

Micah rolled out of bed slowly, gliding over to the door.

"We have less than two weeks. See to it."

He stiffened. What was his father planning?

"Keep your afterburners cool. She'll have it nailed down."

That was Alain Maldonado's voice. Micah drew his breath in and held it. He stood with his ear pressed against the cold surface of the door. There was no reason in the cosmos for Ro's father to be working with his father.

"We are already behind schedule. Your payment is contingent on delivery."

Shit. Micah had almost convinced himself that his father's new job meant a new start. He should have known better.

"Don't threaten me, Senator. You have as much to lose as I do."

His father laughed. Maldonado had no idea. The only thing Corwin Rotherwood had left was Micah and he wouldn't even have that for much longer. Either Micah's work would finally destroy the cartel and its hold on their lives, or he walked away when he earned his citizenship. Surely, the promise he'd made to his mother couldn't bind him beyond that.

Micah wanted to storm out into the common room and confront the two men, but that wouldn't accomplish much. He waited, hoping they would continue talking and that something they said would help him figure out what they were doing.

"The ship will be ready. Make sure you will be," Maldonado said.

Silence answered him and seemed to stretch until it filled the entire compartment.

Waiting until his legs had stiffened and his clenched jaw ached, Micah finally risked opening the door and stepping through to the living quarters. His father lay sprawled across the uncomfortable generic couch that furnished all the station's habitation ring, snoring, an empty bottle and a broken glass on the floor beside him.

There was a time when Micah would have struggled to drag his father to bed and clean up after him. Not anymore. He retreated to his room to wash and change, letting his father stew in his own alcoholic sweat. At least one of the Rotherwoods knew how to take care of himself.

He needed to talk to Ro, and this time, she couldn't dismiss him.

***

All shift long, Nomi replayed her interaction with Ro, trying to understand what had unsettled the engineer so badly. Unable to keep her focus tight-beamed, she went through the shift-change checklist on automatic pilot and handed over control of the array to her morning replacement. She yawned and glanced away from his ident, already forgetting the man's name.

"Anything interesting?" he asked, smiling.

"Just the usual field full of quiet," Nomi said.

"Night shift," he said, shaking his head. "Glad you came aboard. You saved me from another stint. How about I buy you dinner some night as a thank you?"

"Right now, all I want is to sleep." She yawned again, dramatically before turning away. It was rude, but she didn't want to chat with him. She certainly didn't want to flirt with him.

"See you around, Konomi."

"Later," she said and left the array, wondering how to find someone who didn't seem to want to be found.

"Nomi."

She whirled around, staring into Ro's face. Nomi felt her cheeks heat up. "I was just thinking about you."

Ro stared at her, without blinking, her eyes a muddy green and bloodshot. "I'm not very good with people and I owe you an apology. Is there somewhere we can talk?"

The dark circles beneath her eyes made her skin even paler in contrast and her usually neat braid unraveled into a hopeless tangle. "You look like you've been up all day and all night."

"I have."

"Look, it's okay. Why don't you head home and chill and we can meet later."

Ro shook her head and the rest of her hair slipped free of its tieback. Nomi resisted the urge to smooth it behind Ro's ear.

"I'm not going back. I'll get Mendez to issue me my own quarters."

Nomi frowned, wondering what it would be like to dislike her own parents so intensely. "When was the last time you ate anything?"

"I don't know. Breakfast?" Ro shook her head again. "It doesn't matter. I'm okay. I'll eat after I square things with you. Deal?"

"Deal," Nomi said. "We can talk in my quarters." Her face flushed again. "I mean, if you're comfortable with that." She forced herself not to look away. It wasn't like she was asking her out on a date. Nomi forced her shoulders to relax. What was wrong with her?

Ro flashed her a smile so brief it hardly eased the tension in her expression. "Five by five."

They walked toward the habitation ring through the increasingly crowded morning shift. Nomi nodded to the few people she recognized. Ro scowled and kept her head down.

"Ro?"

She looked up, her gaze unfocused.

"We're here."

Nomi signaled for the door to open and waved Ro inside the standard single quarters that she'd done as much as she could to make home-like. A row of holos lined the wall of the short entryway. "Lights, morning scene." A pale pink glow softened the harsh metallic surfaces.

Ro stopped, studying the images of her family as if they were a rare biological specimen.

"My folks and my little brother, Daisuke."

"Traditionalists?"

"Not hardly, though you'd think so since my dad's big on old fashioned Japanese names." Nomi laughed, pointing at the image of her and her mother in kimonos. "That was the day Mom dragged us to the cultural fair. She made us dress up for the holo. 'Suke wanted to wear the shinobi costume, but Dad nixed that."

"You look happy." Ro frowned at the holo and then looked at her.

"It was a good day. Even with Daisuke complaining."

Ro turned to face her in the small entry space. "You miss them."

"They're my family."

"You're lucky," Ro said, and brushed past her into the main living quarters. Nomi's skin shivered at the touch.

C
ut it out
, Nomi thought,
she's probably not even into you
. "Make yourself comfortable." She was glad long force of habit made her stow the bed and organize the one room. Ro perched on the edge of the standard issue sofa. Nomi turned to the small galley kitchen. "What can I get you?"

"Coffee. Black."

"Any more caffeine and I think your head's going to explode."

"I'm a big girl, Konomi. I've been taking care of myself since I turned six."

Nomi turned around, the coffee carafe in her hand. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's just the way things are." Ro raked her hands through her hair. "Can I use the head?"

"Through there."

Nomi busied herself making coffee and rummaging through her meager stores to put some food together. She cut up a few pieces of melon she'd splurged on from the commissary and cut off the rind from some left over cheese. A handful of crackers made the plate look more balanced. Her mother would have been able to put together a feast from the contents of an emergency ration kit, but this was the best Nomi could manage.

"You didn't have to do that," Ro said, startling her.

"You're welcome." Nomi handed her the plate.

Ro glanced away. "Thank you."

Nomi looked her up and down. She had re-braided her long, blonde hair, and seemed slightly less likely to collapse. "Sit. I'll get the coffee."

"Look, last night — I didn't mean to scare you," Ro said. "I'm not used to … people."

Nomi set two cups of coffee down on the low table, black for Ro, lightened for herself. She pulled over a chair and sat across from the sofa, giving Ro some space, even though she'd rather have slipped in beside her. "What about friends?" Nomi asked, staring directly into her odd, changeable eyes.

"We never stayed anywhere long enough. Besides … my father's …" She trailed off, eyes unfocused. "Difficult."

"Is that all the family you have?" Her own folks could be considered traditionalists, at least in one sense: They worked hard to create an old-style biologic family, similar to what her great-grandparents might have had.

"If you could call a distant, emotionally stunted father family. Then yes."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry." She turned away.

Ro laughed, a thin, sad sound. "Probably he would have been happier without a child, grown or bred. But my mother had me with him the old-fashioned way. She was a closet tradie. Too bad for her, she picked the wrong man. I think he won custody just to spite her."

Nomi had to keep herself from leaning over to comfort Ro.

"But that's not the point. My father is a paranoid, angry man and he's molded me in his image." Her voice softened. "I was completely out of line with you in the comm array."

"It's okay," Nomi said, this time reaching her arm out.

Ro's lips thinned and she crossed her arms over her chest. Nomi pretended she'd been reaching for her coffee.

"This isn't your fault and it's not your issue. I appreciate the gesture." Ro indicated the coffee, as yet untouched, and the full plate. "But it's not necessary. I have work I need to do."

"If you keep pushing yourself like this, you're going to collapse."

"I don't need a babysitter," Ro said as she stood up.