Derelict: Halcyone Space, Book 1 (13 page)

"No, but you do need a friend." Nomi stood up as well, glaring down at Ro from the advantage of a few more centimeters of height. "The ship's waited all these years. It can wait a few hours longer."

Ro's face blanched gray-white. The muscles of her jaw bunched and relaxed. "What do you know about the ship?"

Her brittle voice gave Nomi the chills and she couldn't help herself from stepping back. Where had that come from? She certainly hadn't meant to give away her snooping, but once you reached the wormhole, you had to make the jump. "I was trying to find you," she said, lifting her chin and staring across at Ro. "But I couldn't get through your away message and you weren't where Daedalus said you were. So I went looking for Micah. I found him, but he wasn't where Daedalus placed him either."

Ro opened and closed her mouth. No sound came out. Nomi pressed onward, wrapping her arms around herself.

"So I followed him. Right to the ship." She paused, swallowing. "And you."

"I don't know what you think, but I'm not doing anything wrong," she said, looking up at Nomi, her eyes pleading.

"I didn't say you were."

"Who have you told?" Ro exhaled and looked past Nomi toward the door.

She paused to take a deep breath. "You. Just you."

"Me," Ro whispered, slumping back onto the sofa. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. "I don't understand."

"Are you that scrambled?" Nomi asked, shaking her head, a slow smile stretching across her face. If Ro wanted direct, Nomi could be direct too. "I like you, Ro. I didn't read you and Micah as a pair, so I figured I'd have a chance."

Nomi skirted the coffee table and sat next to her, hands awkward in her lap. Ro hadn't rejected her, but she hadn't given her any other cues either. "Look, I get it. If you're not looking for anything more than a casual friend, I'm okay." She tried to catch Ro's gaze. "Hey, I'm not searching for a permanent contract here."

She didn't expect Ro's laughter, impossibly bright and loud. It burst through the room, shaking her shoulders.

"Well, you could just say you're not interested," Nomi said, trying not to laugh with her.

Ro wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry. Really. It's not you."

Nomi frowned. She hated that line and she'd just made a complete fool of herself.

"No, no, that's not what I meant," Ro said. "You don't understand." She looked up, her face strangely open and vulnerable. "I just figured you'd be a much better judge of character."

"I am," Nomi said.

"Trust me. You don't want to be my friend." Ro leaned forward, gathering her legs to stand.

Nomi stretched out her hand to her. "You really hate yourself that much?"

"I'm so tired. I don't know what to think."

"Look, I won't ask you for anything you're not willing to give. But you need to rest. Look at yourself. Will working to the point of exhaustion fix the ship any faster?"

"No." Ro dropped her head in her hands.

"Then stay. Sleep for a few hours. No one knows you're here, right?"

Ro glanced at her micro and back up at Nomi.

"You need to show me that ghosting program sometime."

"Four hours. No longer. Deal?"

Nomi let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "Deal." She tossed Ro the blanket folded behind the couch. Ro wrapped herself in it and stretched out, her head close to Nomi's lap.

"Thank you."

Hardly daring to move, Nomi sat as Ro's breathing settled and slowed. She waited until she was sure she was hard asleep and then waited even longer before reaching out a hand to smooth Ro's hair from her face.

Barre dressed behind the privacy curtain around the medi-bed, glad to be free of the monitoring lines and being poked and prodded by a constant parade of medical staff.
His mother pushed the curtain aside just as he tied his dreads in a knot so they draped down his back and out of his face.

"Your father will be here in a few moments." She stood, back-lit by the bright exam lights and Barre was glad he couldn't see the expression on her face.

"I think I can find my way back to our quarters on my own," he said. "Besides, I feel fine."

"It's not about how you feel. And I know you're fine. I did your discharge eval myself." She stepped close to Barre and scowled, deep lines forming grooves between her eyebrows. "Just because I couldn't prove it, doesn't mean you weren't using."

His mother was as brutal and as blunt as ever. Barre shouldn't have expected anything different, but he couldn't ignore the pang of disappointment.

"And once I'm escorted home? Then what?" No one around them in the surgery even looked their way. Partly that was because he kept his voice down and so did she and partly because no one wanted to risk getting in Leta Durbin's way. If only Barre could figure out how to avoid her.

"Then we'll talk."

Her voice had a chilly finality that terrified Barre more than any of her overt threats or endless disapproval. She looked him straight in the eye until he squirmed like a little kid caught out in a lie. Barre was the first to break away. For the thousandth time he wondered why they didn't just send him away. He wouldn't be the first child conveniently disposed of at any number of specialty boarding schools for under-performing scions of the upper class.

But then they would have to face their failure as parents.

His father walked in and settled his hand on Barre's shoulder like a clamp. "Ready?"

Barre swallowed and nodded. He glanced back at his mother, but she never looked up from her micro.

They headed back to their quarters in silence, his father walking beside him, frowning. The door opened. Barre stepped inside hoping he wouldn't have to deal with Jem. Even more, he hoped his father would let him be alone. What Barre needed most right now was his music.

With his mother working a full shift, it would be evening before he got double-teamed. Maybe he could find enough peace between now and then to get through it without blowing up. They couldn't prove anything. For whatever reason, they didn't find the bittergreen in him. Barre knew how lucky he was.

His father cleared his throat and Barre looked back at him. "Your door stays open."

"Dad!" Barre whined, hating the way his voice sounded. "You know I need to play."

"You have headphones. Use them." He turned away from Barre and settled onto the sofa, micro in hand. "I'll be sitting here if you need me."

Barre retreated to his room. Looking around, he cursed, not caring if his father heard. The bed had been freshly made, the sheets tightly tucked under the mattress. Permapapers lay in a neat pile on his otherwise empty desk. The floor was a bare expanse of burnished metal. Nothing was where he'd put it or where it should be. They must have turned the room practically inside out looking for drugs. Thank the cosmos for small favors or maybe just large irony that he hadn't been able to find a new supply on Daedalus.

Jem had the last of it now, but Barre wouldn't risk using any of what was left, even if he could convince his brother to give it back to him. He should have known by the smell and taste of that batch of tea that something was wrong. If he could get through the coming confrontation with his parents, then he'd have to find Micah Rotherwood. He just had to fill his mind with music and let his mother's rage flame over him without getting burned.

His headphones had been carefully hung off the pegboard he never used for anything except his dirty clothes. He snatched them, glaring through the open door at his father. Pairing his micro to the headphones and his neural interface, he searched for something loud and utterly consuming.

The last piece he'd worked on started pounding through his body, mimicking the beating of his heart and the thrum of tribal drums. High strings wailed his defiance, drowning out the uncertainty. The keyboard track echoed all of his disappointments.

It was the best thing he'd ever written and his parents wouldn't be able to appreciate it, even if he risked the rejection by sharing it with them. What a waste. Well, tonight would bring what it would bring.

He let the music spill through him.

***

Jem stood in the doorway watching Barre's dreadlocks sway as his head moved to music only he could hear. Their parents were going to send Barre to a place where his music wouldn't be able to follow. He shouldn't care. His brother made his own stupid choices.

Barre opened his eyes and focused on Jem. He slipped off his headphones and distorted music filled the room with drums and dissonance.

"Come on in." Barre shrugged, trying for a smile. "Door's open."

"Yeah, I see that." He looked back and forth between Barre and their father furiously typing away on his micro. What Jem had to say would only make the desperation in Barre's eyes worse.

Jem sat on the neatly made bed, creating wrinkles across its smooth surface. Barre met his gaze with an eyebrow lift. Without saying a word, they both grabbed pillows from their piled order by the wall and tossed them across the bed. Several landed on the floor, making the room feel a little more familiar.

"Here, give a listen. It's something I'm working on."

His brother had never shared his own compositions with Jem before. Barre slipped the headphones over his ears. Music surged and crashed against him. Jem shivered. This was what had been blaring through their quarters just before he'd found Barre unconscious.

"You wrote this?"

"Yes."

Jem drew in a breath and held it as he listened. His bones vibrated with the growl of engines. He closed his eyes, letting the complicated mix of drums, keyboards, and strings fill him. The music kept blurring and blending in strange ways and it was impossible to pick out each track. It triggered a memory of the colors flaring across the bridge when Ro grafted her repair to the AI.

Amid the clean brightness of starlight, the derelict ship rose around him in his mind.

More than that, Barre's song mirrored Jem's frustration and longing and became a soundtrack for a dream of escape — his, Barre's and Ro's.

The song ended, bringing a wash of quiet with it that was more than the absence of sound. "Wow."

Barre's smile drove away the simmering anger that always seemed to rise up between them. "Really?"

Jem smiled back. It was like a perfect piece of code — elegant and sharp; potentially dangerous. "Outstanding."

"Cool." Barre came over and sat next to Jem on the bed. "This is who I am. Can you get that?"

Jem nodded. He shot a glance back through the open door to his father who had slipped on his own headphones and never looked up from his micro. The echo of Barre's anthem surged through him. "You need to get out of here," he said, keeping his voice low.

"Yeah, no surprise there. What do you think I've been trying to do for the past few years?"

The fights just before they left for Daedalus had been particularly vicious. Jem didn't get why their folks wouldn't just let Barre go to follow his music. It wasn't like they had any hopes of him following in their footsteps. Jem looked up at his brother. His dark eyes were almost swallowed by the swollen skin beneath them, his dreads mashed flat from where he had lain motionless in the infirmary all night. "They're sending you to involuntary rehab."

The blood drained from Barre's face, graying the skin. "I don't … they can't …" He swallowed hard, the Adam's apple sharply visible in his throat. "Shit."

"They were arguing about it all night."

"Let me guess. It's for my own good, right?"

That's what their mother said. "You have to leave."

Barre laughed, a sharp bark of a sound that made Jem jump and turn to see if their father had heard. "And go where?" Barre asked, not even bothering to keep his voice down.

Jem looked around the room, looking at the guitars, horns, and drums lined up against the far wall. Barre could play any of them. But for how much longer? "I don't know. There has to be a freighter or a shuttle due here at some point, right? Just go. Anywhere." His voice cracked.

"Thanks for the warning, bro, but too little, too late, I think. The only ship due here is going to be the one that takes me away." He reached for his headphones. "Better play while I still can."

Jem grabbed his brother's muscular arm with both of his hands and shook as hard as he could. "Don't you dare give up!"

Barre looked down at him and pulled away with one quick jerk.

"You just told me music is who you are. If you let them do this, it'll be like killing you."

"You think I don't know that?" Barre glanced through the open door and pointed at their father. "You think they don't? It's not like I have any place to go. No matter where I try to hide, they'll find me. And if I miss this shuttle, they'll just send another one." He shrugged. "No expense spared for their first-born son, right?"

"There has to be something. I can't let them do this."

"Just be the good little son and everything will be fine," Barre said. His hands curled around the micro so tight, Jem saw the plastic warp.

"Wait. Ro can ghost you." He frowned, wondering what she was going to say about this, but she was already involved.

"What?"

He didn't have time to explain it. "Are you under like house arrest?"

"Mother set Father as my babysitter-slash-jailer. You'll need to take it up with him."

"I have an idea, but you're going to have to trust me."

"Do I have a choice?"

Jem looked around Barre's room again. "Sure. You could always let them burn out your music or try to kill yourself with another dose of that tainted bittergreen."

Barre opened his mouth to answer, but Jem didn't give him the chance.

"Or you could shut up and let me help you."

The snap of his closing jaw echoed in the room.

"I need to arrange some things. Sit tight. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"You know where to find me," Barre said, sweeping his arm around the room and glancing toward the open door.

***

Turning over, Ro fell off the sofa. Her legs tangled in an unfamiliar blanket. A light floral scent rose from it and she stiffened, remembering where she was. She freed herself from the stretchy fabric and stood up, rubbing her hip where it had hit the floor. Squinting in the dimness, she reached for her micro just as the lights flashed and the part of the room just over the sofa brightened. The soft chime of a wakeup call sounded after exactly four hours.