Breach of Containment. Elizabeth Bonesteel

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      “Hide it then,” she told him.

      “Where?”

      “Do I know your workshop? Someplace nobody else knows about.”

      “There isn’t—” He broke off. “Good. Yes. Good. Let them search. They won’t find it. Thanks, Shaw. Four hours?”

      “Four hours, Jamyung.” She hoped Galileo would not be delayed. And that they’d be willing to offer help to a paranoid small-time parts trader.

      Huff. “Thank you. Thank you. Four hours.” He disconnected.

      She leaned against a storage carton just as Arin crept hesitantly around the corner. He had picked up the cat, who blinked at Elena with bored green eyes. “Everything okay?” Arin asked.

      No, she thought. She turned and gave him an absent smile. “For now,” she said, not wanting to alarm him. “But I’ve got to talk to Bear.”

      Bear Savosky was an enormous man. Half again larger than anyone else Elena had ever met, he had broad shoulders, no neck to speak of, and a voice that carried even when he whispered. He had a severe jaw, shrewd eyes, and an entirely bald head covered in elaborate tattoos, nearly invisible against his night-dark skin. She had known him nearly nineteen years, and over all that time she had seen both his temper and his pragmatism. She had always found him to be consistent and fair.

      But she had learned, after six weeks and more culture clashes than she could count, that there were things about him she was never going to understand.

      The rest of the crew sat around her at the large common-area table, listening to her relate her conversation with Jamyung. She had expected a sensible response to the nuclear rumors, including a discussion about rescheduling the drop after the situation on Yakutsk had cooled down. Instead, when she finished, they all looked at Bear, awaiting his assessment. For Bear’s part, he was watching Elena, his dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

      “I’ve heard these rumors already,” he told them.

      She gaped at him. “Then why are we still headed there?”

      “Because,” he said, straightening, “nobody has actually seen any bombs. I spoke to one shop that ordered a few just to see what would show up, and they’ve had nothing but delays and excuses since then.”

      “So this is some governmental fear tactic.” This came from Naina Chudasama, the ship’s accountant, and the one Elena would have expected to be the most likely to want to leave the entire mission behind.

      “That’d be my guess,” Bear told her. “But Elena’s right: we don’t know, and if I’m guessing wrong, the downside is pretty big.” He leaned back in his chair. “What do you all think?”

      Good God, Elena thought, he’s letting them vote. She fought to sit still, hands on her lap under the table, where nobody could see her fists clenching.

      “I think we should go,” Arin said.

      Bear shot him a look. “Some of us will be staying in orbit,” he said. “And that means you.”

      “But—”

      “Not now, Arin,” Bear said flatly.

      Arin slumped back in his chair, glowering. Elena felt a wave of sympathy for him, but she was relieved. At least Bear had heeded her enough to protect some of them.

      Naina glanced at Arin, then turned back to Bear. “Whoever goes,” she said, “I agree. We need to complete this delivery. The contract only calls for us to have someone on Yakutsk accept the cargo on the record. Once we have that, the funds are released. What happens afterward makes no difference to us.”

      “It’s a quick trip, then,” said Yuri. “We make the drop, get some bureaucrat to stamp the paperwork, and we’re gone.”

      “Which is fine,” Elena put in, “until someone blows a big fucking hole in the dome.”

      Yuri, usually so sensible, gave her a resigned smile. “If we worried about eventualities,” he told her, “we’d never deliver anything.”

      Eventualities. She opened her mouth, but Bear quelled her with a look. “Chi?”

      Elena knew she would get no help from the supply officer. Chiedza, taciturn and standoffish, could usually be counted on for pragmatism, but Elena, who had been watching the woman throughout their trip, had come to believe Chiedza’s background involved activities less aboveboard than cargo delivery. Chi wasn’t going to turn down a sale for what Bear apparently considered an imaginary risk.

      “This is rumor,” Chi said dismissively. “We can’t call a delivery over a rumor.”

      Bear was silent for a moment, and Elena beamed desperate thoughts in his direction. You’re the captain of this ship. Civilian freighter or no, you’re in charge here. Overrule them. Tell them no. Why the fuck did you ask them to begin with? “Nai,” he asked, “how much could we get on the secondary market if we skipped this drop? Theoretically.”

      Naina was frowning in concentration. Elena, who was no slouch with numbers, was continually amazed at how quickly Nai could do calculations in her head. “We couldn’t make it up with what we’re carrying now,” she said. “We could resell some of it, but not enough.” She looked at Bear. “Eighteen thousand decs, three weeks minimum, and that’s if we find a buyer for the surplus right away.”

      Elena could tell from everyone’s posture, even Arin’s, that her argument was lost.

      She did, in the end, get a compromise from Bear: only three of them would head down to the moon’s surface. Elena and Chiedza would each pilot a cargo shuttle, and Bear would accompany them to deal with the financial validations. “The paper pushers will keep us there for a while,” he said, “but it shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours. Then we can get out of there, and they can buy nukes from whoever the fuck they want.”

      They all stood to leave. Arin stalked out first, not looking at her, and her sympathy was tempered by annoyance. Even if they’d needed the extra hands—which they didn’t—after the way Bear had chewed her out over the last time she had brought the kid along on a drop, she couldn’t imagine why Arin would think she’d champion his participation. The others drifted away until only Naina was left, her eyes on the door Arin had just passed through.

      “He’ll get over it,” Naina said, half to herself.

      “I hope,” Elena said, “what he has to get over is a boring op he was lucky to miss.”

      Naina met Elena’s eyes. She was a good deal older than Elena, perhaps close to Elena’s mother’s age, round and soft in a way so many civilians were. She was also relaxed and good-natured with a tendency to smile, and Elena had felt less uncomfortable with her than most of the people she’d had to deal with since she left the Corps. After six weeks, Elena was beginning to think of Naina as a real friend, although they had never shared anything deeply personal. Still, it was nice to have someone who would sit with her and chat about ordinary things, instead of frowning at her and reminding her, all the time, how little she knew about the universe outside the Corps.

      Naina’s dark СКАЧАТЬ