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  Phoebe narrows her eyes. “You didn’t.”

  “We did. Nicked it right off IA’s miner during our last raid. Perfect condition.”

  She reaches for it, but I slap her hand away. Phoebe draws her blaster at the same time I raise my pistol. At my side, Vega takes in a sharp inhale and braces herself.

  “You know I’m a faster, better shot than you,” I say. “Do I have to prove it again? Give us the opalite. You keep the part.” I nudge the Defense officers’ fallen coins. “I got rid of these guys for you, so you get their credits too as a bonus. Really, I’ve done you a service.”

  Phoebe lowers her blaster. “I need to check the part’s in decent shape at least.”

  “Fine.”

  I keep my pistol on her as she sets a pair of pince-nez glasses on her nose and unwraps the part. It’s greasy and dirty, but there’s no rust or broken pieces. I know enough about mining equipment to understand a part like that is nearly impossible to come by. Without it, Phoebe’s business will sink quick.

  “It’s not in great shape—” Phoebe says.

  “Don’t start,” I interrupt. “Take it or leave it. I’m not offering anything else.”

  “Not even the Intelligence girl?”

  That throws me off. Vega isn’t dressed in Intelligence clothes. There’s nothing to define her as anything other than my crew mate. A slow smile spreads across Phoebe’s face.

  “You haven’t heard?” Phoebe says. “IA’s on the lookout for you, girl, and they’ll do anything—pay anything—to get you back. Whoever gets hands on you gets a huge stipend from IA.”

  Vega stands her ground, but I step in between her and Phoebe anyway. My pistol shakes in my grasp.

  “She’s not involved in this deal,” I declare. “You want the part or not?”

  Phoebe pretends to think it over. She’s wasting my time. Every second that goes by, we’re one step closer to another of Phoebe’s clients showing up to make an offer on her haul.

  “One condition,” she says finally. “A lock of her hair.”

  “No way,” Vega says.

  I whip out my pocket knife and slice through one of Vega’s curls before she processes what’s happening. Then I drop the perfect curl into one of Phoebe’s drawstring pouches and hand it over.

  “There,” I say. “And the haul?”

  Phoebe tucks the pouch into the front of her shirt between her pendulous breasts. She gestures dismissively to the opalite stones. “Take it.”

  I make Vega wheel the haul through the crowd, keeping close behind her in case anyone tries to take a pass at our product. The opalite stones are covered and secured with a black tarp, hidden from view, but I’m not taking any chances. The Impossible is in view as we make our way back through the market.

  “Why’d she want my hair?” Vega asks, raising her voice above the chaos.

  “Proof you were here,” I reply. “IA will come asking about you, and information is valuable. She’ll make a few extra credits off your DNA.”

  “You just gave it to her.”

  “I needed the opalite. It was worth the risk.”

  “Not worth the shitty haircut.”

  I smirk, glancing at her uneven locks out of the side of my eye. “Don’t worry. You’re still cute.”

  “Shut up.”

  We make it back to The Impossible without issue, and the weapons bay crew meets us at the gangway. Tariq reaches us first and whips back the tarp for a look at the opalite. He lets out a whistle.

  “Damn, Ophelia,” he says. “Those are the nicest rocks I’ve seen in years.”

  “Yeah, so do me a favor and don’t cut corners when you process it.” I nudge Vega to pass the cart on to Tariq. She relinquishes her duties. “Low and slow, Tariq. Like cooking roast. You got it?”

  He runs his fingers over the smooth indigo stones, eyes sparkling with admiration. “I got it, boss. Low and slow.”

  “Get it on the ship before someone else sees we have it. When are we launching?”

  He heaves the cart up the gangway. “Not anytime soon. The Impossible took a beating. They’re still making repairs. Jett reported we’ll be here until dusk at least.”

  “Dusk?” I say. “Defense is tracking us!”

  “Take it up with the captain,” he huffs. “Which reminds me. She wants the two of you to decode the intel you got from Harmonia.”

  “I told her I don’t know how to do it,” Vega says.

  “And she said she didn’t believe you,” I remind her.

  Vega purses her lips. “Fine. I can get some of it, but I’ll need a decent connection.” Vega peers up at The Impossible as a pirate drops a ruined metal plate from the side of the ship to replace it with a new one. “I doubt I’ll find one on this hunk of junk. I saw a cyber café back through the market. Should we go there?”

  I study her up and down. “Is this a trick?”

  “What kind of trick?”

  Tariq clears his throat. “She’s worried you don’t want to get back on The Impossible because you’re going to make another escape attempt. It’d be easier for you to take off running with this crowd to get lost in.” Vega fixes Tariq with a hard stare, and he cowers in his boots. “I could be wrong,” he adds.

  “You want the intel or not?” Vega asks me.

  We end up at the cyber café, which is no less busy than the market. I bribe a trader and his girlfriend to give up their table to us. As they walk away, I nudge Vega.

  “Check her out,” I say, pointing to the girlfriend. “Since you didn’t believe me about outsiders in Pavo.”

  She studies the girl. “What about her?”

  “Watch her back when her shirt moves.”

  Vega stares her down. The girl’s short crop top hitches a little too high when her hips roll, revealing a stretch of scales across her back where her skin should be. Vega’s jaw drops.

  “But how?” she says.

  “My guess is IA’s got more than a few moles.” I tap her messenger bag where she keeps the tablet she’s been working on. “Get to it, Major.”

  I order coffee and a fruit plate then savor every second of the fresh goods. Since Homados is so dry, almost nothing grows here. Everything’s imported and expensive, but I don’t care. I haven’t eaten anything but jerky and snack cakes in months. While I indulge, Vega works. At first, she hides the tablet’s screen from me, but I make her put it flat on the table so I can watch. It’s slow going. Vega’s entire face scrunches up in concentration, and I don’t understand a single thing happening on her screen until a giant red logo flashes.

  “That doesn’t look good,” I say.

  Vega hammers the screen. “I can’t access anything. I can’t finish decoding—”

  “Don’t pull that stunt with me,” I say, putting my feet up on the rungs of her chair. “I’m not buying it.”

  Vega’s temples bead with sweat as the tablet riots against her touch. “I’m serious. My credentials have been flagged. IA knows I’ve been compromised.”

  The tablet shuts down, and no matter how many times Vega presses her print against the power button, it won’t turn on again.

  “Are you serious?” I said, snatching the tablet out of her hands. “You did that on purpose!”

  “I swear I didn’t.”

  I try the power button myself, but it’s no good. “How much did you get off of it before you fucked it up?”

  “I don’t know. A few files.”

  “That’s it?”

  “I’m sorry, Fee.”

  Across the café, a Defense officer walks in and orders something from the counter. As he waits to pay, he leans on his elbow and surveys the room. When his eyes land on Vega, they go wide. I haul Vega out of her seat.

  “Sorry’s not gonna cut it,” I mutter. “Move.”

  “Hey!” the officer shouts.

  We make a break for the back door. I follow Vega as she cuts a clear path, pushing café customers and vaulting chairs to get out. I throw tables down behind us, forc
ing the officer to find alternate routes as the furniture threatens to bash into his shins. We burst into the alleyway, and Vega grabs my hand.

  “This way!”

  She drags me away from the market, toward the quiet suburbs. Among the sandstone houses, there’s nowhere to lose the officer on our tail. I struggle to switch directions, but she puts all her weight on me, tugs me into a narrow offshoot, and puts her hand over my mouth. I bite down on it.

  “Ow, what the fuck are you doing?” she whispers, pressing her body to mine to keep me from trying anything else. “Shut up and stop struggling. Unless you want him to find us?”

  The door to the café bangs open, and we both go still. The Defense officer’s boots scuff against the sand. I hear the familiar beep of an IA-issued Monitor.

  “Hans to Base,” the officer barks. “I lost ‘em around the market.”

  On the other end of the Monitor, the officer’s superior replies, “Way to go, asshat.”

  We wait until the officer’s footsteps truck off in the opposite direction. Then I peek out from our hiding spot to make sure he’s gone.

  “Clear,” I say. “Where’s the tablet? I’m hoping Mauve or Roy can fix it. They’re the closest things we have to Intelligence operators. Good with gadgets.”

  Vega pulls the tablet from her back pocket. In the race to escape the Defense officer, the screen’s been crushed into oblivion. It’s no more than a paperweight.

  7

  When we return to The Impossible to deliver the news, Saint Rita asks to speak to me alone. She lets Vega find her way back to my bunk on her own, trusting our hostage not to make a run for it. The busted tablet lays on the table between me and the captain, and her disapproval is thick like noxious gas.

  “Captain, let me explain—”

  The first blow lands on my temple. It throws off my inner ear and sends me spinning. I trip over the table and hit the floor. My whole head buzzes, but the captain’s far from finished. Her boot makes contact with my ribs. My protective vest prevents anything from cracking, but her kicks land hard and sharp. I fight for a breath as Saint Rita leans over and hammers me with gloved fists.

  “What did I tell you?” she growls, accentuating every word with another blow. “I can’t afford your screw-ups. First, The Impossible takes a beating. Now, you’ve lost our only lead and brought Defense right to our door. We’re lifting off early because of you.”

  “We lost the Defense officer,” I force out, wheezing. “Vega says she could potentially still access the information we lost if she can find another IA tablet. We could go to Palioxis—”

  “No, we can’t,” Saint Rita snaps. “Look around, Ophelia. The Impossible needs repairs. One more run-in with IA might mean the end of all this. It takes years to build a reputation and seconds to destroy one. I won’t have you sullying mine. We’re taking the long way around to the outer planets. That gives us time to repair the ship before we approach Phobos.” She rolls me over and plants her foot on my torso like I’m a moon she’s conquered. “This is your last shot. Keep Vega Major in line. Get her to tell you the secret to landing on Phobos. I don’t care what you have to do, but if we make it to that damned planet and you haven’t fulfilled your mission, all of this is over, Ophelia. You’ll die here on The Impossible, and in a few months, no one will remember your name.”

  Dustin—Saint Rita’s brawny bedfellow—practically carries me to my bunk. His hands are callused but gentle, like he’s aware of what the captain’s beatings feel like. Vega’s pacing when we arrive, but as Dustin sets me on the bed, she covers her mouth in horror. Not only am I barely conscious, but I’m covered in bruises and scrapes, and a blaster wound along my side bleeds profusely.

  “Fee,” she says, dropping to her knees at my side. “Heaven and hell, what did she do to you?”

  “I don’t want her here,” I tell Dustin as he covers me with the rough blanket and sets a first aid kit next to me. “Get her out.”

  “Captain said she’s gotta stay,” he replies gruffly. “Sorry, kid.” He shoves a few bandages and a bottle of painkillers into Vega’s arms. “I like Ophelia,” he tells her. “I don’t like you. If she’s not feeling better in a few hours, I’ll string you up against the boiler in the engine room.” He leans as close as possible to her face. “It’ll burn your skin right off.”

  “Dustin,” I groan. “Enough.”

  The massive man straightens up. “You’re the best First Mate the captain’s ever had, O. I don’t want to lose you over something stupid. If you need anything, let me know. That includes bodyguard capabilities.”

  “Will do. Thanks.”

  He grunts out a farewell and leaves me alone with Vega. I roll over to face the wall, but my ribs twinge. I let out a pathetic squeak.

  “Here,” Vega says. She unzips my bloodstained vest and eases it off my shoulders then pulls off my shirt. When she sees the bruises developing all over my torso and the long cauterized cut from Saint Rita’s blaster, she sighs. “Oh, Fee. This is all my fault.”

  For the next hour, she tends to my injuries. I don’t have the strength to tell her off. The captain has an unspoken rule about her beatings: you’re not allowed to treat them in the medical bay. So I let Vega do her thing. The IA trains all of its employees in basic first aid, so she knows how to dress the blaster wound and splint my broken fingers. She sponges the sweat and blood with a warm cloth, and even though I hate her, I feel gratitude for her in that moment. I drift in and out of consciousness before fading completely.

  The sight of Vega’s worried hazel eyes greets me when I wake up. I glance out the porthole. We’re in deep space.

  “We left Homados a few hours ago,” Vega reports. She presses the back of her hand to my forehead, checking my temperature. “Dinner’s over, but your friend brought by some food for us. There’s fresh meat.”

  I sit up, feeling Saint Rita’s beating in every bone of my body. The smell of boiled meat makes my stomach rumble. At least my appetite is in working order. Tenderly, I take note of my injuries. I have a black eye and a few bruised ribs, but the blaster wound is the worst of it. Thankfully, Saint Rita only grazed me. I check Vega’s bandaging skills.

  “Satisfied?” she asks.

  I re-tape the bandage. “Not bad. Did you put the antibiotic cream?”

  “Yup.”

  I gingerly move to the edge of the bed and gesture for her to bring me the food. She hands it over. All of the food’s been wrapped in clean napkins, then shoved into a canvas bag.

  “Tariq must’ve packed this,” I say. “He’s the only one brave enough to steal food from the chow hall.”

  “Yeah, he brought it by with that Soleil girl.”

  “Soleil was here? Did she see me?”

  “She probably caught a peek. Why?”

  I groan as Vega unpacks the food for me. “She’s going to know Saint Rita kicked the crap out of me. Ugh, she’ll be vying for First Mate even more now.”

  Vega builds me a sandwich, wraps it in a napkin, and hands it over. “Can I ask you a question? Why are you so dedicated to Saint Rita? It’s not like she’s done anything for you.”

  I take an enormous bite and let out a satisfied moan. “You don’t understand,” I mumble through my mouthful. “Saint Rita’s done everything for me. Without her, I’d probably be locked up in one of IA’s prisons.”

  “I doubt it,” Vega replies, a skeptical tint to her tone. “Your mother is one of the most well-respected IA agents, and your family has enough money to bribe Justice to let you off easy. That’s why I don’t get why you’re on this damn ship.”

  I pretend to be too absorbed with the sandwich to reply, but Vega isn’t letting me off that easy. She pokes my bruised cheekbone.

  “Ow!”

  “Seriously, what’s your deal?” she asks. “What’s Saint Rita holding over your head?”

  “Protection,” I reply. “It’s been over seven years since I defected. I’m a wanted criminal.”

  “You were decla
red dead two years ago, Fee,” Vega says. “No one knew you were alive until you showed up on Proioxis a few days ago.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “If I leave the ship or get kicked off, I’m dead.”

  “But IA—”

  “I’m not talking about IA.” I peel the crust off the sandwich and toss it into the garbage chute. “I’m talking about Saint Rita. No one gets released from this crew. If you board The Impossible, the only way you’re getting off is in a body bag.”

  Vega wrinkles her nose. “I’m not liking the sound of that.”

  “She would track me down.” I stack my pillows behind me and lay back. My ribs ache too much to stay upright for long. “I can’t leave. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am.”

  “You’ve worked too hard to get beaten to a pulp?”

  “I wouldn’t be in this position if it weren’t for you.”

  “No, you wouldn’t be in this position if you hadn’t defected,” she bites back. “All of this started because you were too afraid to stick to your guns in IA.”

  “We’re back to this?” I ask her. “How many times do I have to tell you—”

  “At least once more,” she replies. “Because I don’t understand your reason for leaving. Your whole life was IA. Then all of a sudden, you’re scared of everything you were raised with. I want to know what provoked that change.”

  “Nothing, okay?” I toss the rest of the sandwich in the chute too. Suddenly, I’m no longer hungry. “I didn’t want to be IA. There’s no higher reason, no bigger calling. I was a coward who didn’t want to deal with the discipline of the system. Sorry I can’t give you some righteous tale about how I escaped IA’s twisted dealings, but that’s it. That’s the story.”

  Vega stirs a packet of tea into a cup of lukewarm water. She stares wistfully into the swirling mixture. “I wish you’d never defected. You got on the wrong side of everything.”

  “You don’t know what the right side is.”

  “I know it’s not this.”

  “And I know it’s not IA,” I reply. “They’ve brainwashed you—”