Catch and Release

Part IThe Hunt

I first noticed her at the water stall, watching me over a bottle she hadn’t opened.

There were better reasons for a woman to look at me. I’d learned to consider those after checking her hands.

One rested on the counter. The other, metal from the knuckles into the sleeve of her jacket, held the bottle loosely against her hip. A rifle hung from a short sling at her side, positioned where she could bring it up without fighting her clothes. She wasn’t pretending to examine the stalls or consulting a photograph. She watched me pay for my water with the patience of someone who had already found what she wanted.

I took my change.

The vendor leaned across me to retrieve an empty crate, briefly blocking my view of her. When he straightened, her eyes met mine.

I gave her a small nod. She raised the unopened bottle.

That could still have meant something pleasant. The rifle made me reluctant to investigate.

I moved on beneath the patched awnings, carrying the replacement coolant coupling I’d spent most of the afternoon trying to find. The market occupied three streets between the landing field and the freight depots. At this hour the shade had cooled enough to be comfortable, though the paving still gave off heat through my boots. Fans rattled above the stalls, pushing cooking smoke into the narrow passage between them.

I was hungry. The ship needed a repair I could finish before dark, and a man near the south entrance was grilling skewers over a heat coil. Until a minute ago, those had been the remaining complications in my day.

At a stall selling salvaged instruments, I stopped to inspect an amplifier.

Its dark display reflected the lane behind me. A woman carrying folded cloth passed through it, followed by two dockworkers. Then the woman from the water stall appeared at the edge of the screen.

She had left the bottle behind.

“Still works,” the dealer said.

I looked down at the amplifier. Someone had replaced two of its controls with mismatched knobs and scorched the casing around the power socket.

“Convincing pitch.”

“You want convincing, I can plug it in.”

“No need to endanger the market.”

He chuckled. I set it down and continued toward the south entrance.

The woman followed.

I felt the familiar disappointment settle in. Someone had found me, and now I needed to work out how much they knew before I led them anywhere that mattered.

At the next crossing, I turned away from the docks.

The lane narrowed between a repair shop and a row of food counters. I slowed behind a pair of men carrying a refrigeration unit, then slipped through a gap beside them just before they reached the corner. On the other side, I stepped into the repair shop’s recessed doorway and waited.

From there I could see anyone following without standing in the lane myself. My hand rested beneath my coat, close to the revolver.

The men struggled around the corner. One swore at the other. A small wheel broke off the unit and rolled past my boot.

I caught it with my heel and handed it back.

“Thanks.”

“Wouldn’t put anything expensive in that.”

“Too late.”

They moved on.

The woman never came around the corner.

I waited a few seconds longer, listening past the shop’s compressor. No hurried footsteps, no quiet approach along the wall. Either she’d stopped when she lost sight of me, or she knew another way through.

I disliked the second possibility enough to leave.

The lane opened beside a food counter. I stepped back into the crowd and found her on the opposite side of the street.

She stood near a public charging post, one shoulder against the wall. Her mechanical leg planted slightly forward as she waited. She looked directly at the doorway I’d just left.

When she saw me, her mouth curved.

I almost smiled back. It was a good piece of work, and I could appreciate that while wishing she’d found another occupation.

Then she pushed away from the wall.

I kept walking.

There was no reason to draw on her here. Too many people, too little cover that wouldn’t put someone else behind it. She seemed to have reached the same conclusion. Her rifle stayed down as a family crossed between us, a child dragging one hand along the fronts of the stalls.

I used the interruption to turn north.

The freight yards lay beyond the back of the market. I’d come through them earlier, checking the route before going shopping. One yard had a side gate opening onto the service lane and a rear gate that led toward the docks. The aisles were narrow enough to keep her from using the rifle comfortably if she followed me inside.

If she stayed outside, I could leave by the rear. If she came after me, I’d have somewhere to ask what she wanted.

I tucked the coupling into my coat pocket and lengthened my stride.

At the mouth of the service lane, I glanced back. She was still there, passing a shuttered stall with the same unhurried purpose. She made no effort to hide now.

That bothered me more than the smile.

I turned into the loading yard and moved between stacks of cargo. The market noise softened behind the buildings. A refrigeration motor hummed inside one of the containers, and somewhere water dripped steadily into a metal tray.

The side gate was closed. I passed it without slowing, keeping my attention on the rear exit and the narrow gap beside it where I could step out of sight.

Then I saw the chain.

It was new.

I stood looking at it for a moment, still holding the latch. Twenty minutes ago, this had been a perfectly good exit. I’d checked it myself before going into the market, which made finding it locked considerably more irritating.

“That was supposed to save us some walking.”

I turned.

The woman from the water stall stood at the entrance to the yard, holding her rifle across her body. She seemed pleased to find me there. Since I’d spent the last three streets congratulating myself on leading her somewhere useful, the feeling wasn’t mutual.

“You chained the gate?”

“Both of them.”

Of course she had.

“You knew I’d come through here?”

“You checked the exits before you went shopping.” She watched that settle. “I thought I’d save you the trouble of choosing.”

I’d first noticed her at the water stall. Apparently, she’d started earlier.

I let go of the latch. She was breathing easily, her rifle steady. From this distance I could see the amusement in her face, but her attention remained on my hands.

“You could’ve introduced yourself.”

“Would that have helped?”

“Would’ve been polite.”

“Vexa Rourke.”

I wished she’d given me a different name.

I’d heard enough about Rourke to know this could get unpleasant. One man had spent an entire card game explaining how he would have beaten her if she hadn’t broken his arm. At the time, I’d found the distinction entertaining.

She caught my expression.

“Somebody’s mentioned me.”

“A few people.”

“Anyone you liked?”

I considered that. “No.”

“Good.”

She moved farther into the yard, putting a stack of freight between herself and the open entrance. I had to shift away from the gate to keep her in view. By the time she stopped, the rifle covered me from a few paces away, and there was nothing within reach that would stop a round.

She’d chosen her position well. I was beginning to take that personally.

“Gun belt,” she said. “Put it down.”

“How much are they offering?”

“Enough.”

“You should ask for more.”

“I’ll know in a minute.”

I unfastened the buckle slowly. She watched my hands, giving me none of the easy openings people sometimes offered when they thought the weapon had settled everything. Beside me, an empty pallet leaned against the cargo stack. I lowered the belt onto the ground next to it, leaving the revolver within reach if I could get low enough.

“Step away.”

I straightened and moved half a pace.

Her eyes narrowed.

“The knife too.”

I had one at my belt and another inside my boot. She hadn’t specified, and I saw no reason to complicate her instructions.

I reached for the visible one, turning just enough to bring my foot behind the pallet.

“Slowly,” she said.

I kicked it into her rifle and went for her.

The shot cracked overhead, deafening between the containers. I caught the barrel before she could bring it down, but she hit the sling release and let the weapon go so quickly I nearly pulled myself off balance. Her metal hand seized my coat.

I drove her backward into the cargo stack. The crates shifted under the impact, and for one satisfying moment I thought I had her.

Then her mechanical leg locked beneath her.

She hauled me around and slammed me into the container across the aisle.

Pain spread through my right shoulder. I tried to breathe and couldn’t quite manage it. The rifle clattered out of my hand. My hat tipped forward with the impact, cutting her face from view until I lifted my head.

Well. The man at the card table had left out a few things.

Vexa pressed in before I recovered, getting her forearm across my upper chest. I caught it and turned enough to keep the pressure off my throat. Moving her took more effort than I liked, and she adjusted with me, keeping her weight where I couldn’t use it.

There was nothing clumsy about her strength. That was the problem. I could work around someone who relied on being stronger.

She knew what she was doing.

Up close, she was also very attractive. I resented noticing while she was trying to fold me against a shipping container.

“You’ve done your homework,” I said, once I had the breath.

Her eyes moved over my face.

“Your photograph’s terrible.”

I laughed despite myself and felt her grip change immediately. This time I was ready. I turned beneath her arm, leaving a fistful of coat in her metal hand. The lining tore from shoulder to hem, but I came away with both arms working.

We separated by a few paces. I shrugged off the coat and dropped it, testing my shoulder as discreetly as I could. She noticed anyway. Her breathing was heavier now, which pleased me more than it should have.

The gun belt lay near the rear gate, behind her. Her rifle was on the ground between us, close enough that either of us reaching for it would give the other an opening.

Vexa glanced at my shoulder.

“You can stop.”

“So can you.”

“I’m being paid.”

That settled how useful the conversation was likely to become.

I moved toward the rifle. She shifted to intercept, and I changed direction, catching her cropped jacket at the shoulder and driving her past me. She struck the cargo hard enough to knock dust from the straps. Before she could turn, I had her enhanced arm pulled behind her back.

It was a good hold. I braced a foot and put enough pressure on it to make the consequences clear.

“Stay there.”

She tested my grip once.

“Better,” she said.

Then she planted her free hand against the stack and pushed us both backward.

I let go before she could crush me against the opposite container. She turned with me, caught my next punch on her forearm, and drove her metal fist into my ribs.

The pain took a second to arrive. When it did, I lost most of my interest in finding out how strong she was.

I hit her across the mouth, felt her grip loosen, and headed for the entrance.

Almost made it, too.

Her hand caught the back of my shirt. The collar tightened across my throat, pulling me short just as I reached the end of the aisle. I turned into the grip before she could drag me backward, and another seam gave.

“Stop pulling on my clothes.”

“Stop running.”

I knocked her arm aside and put a low crate between us. Breathing hurt now. I could still fill my lungs, but the last part of each breath came with a sharp warning beneath my ribs.

Vexa had blood on her lower lip. She wiped it with her thumb, glanced at it, then looked back at me with an enthusiasm I found deeply unhelpful.

There were people who got angry when a fight stopped going their way. She seemed delighted to have found one worth the trouble.

“You enjoyed that,” I said.

“You’re still standing. Don’t disappoint me.”

I wanted to put her on her back badly enough that I had to remind myself where the exit was.

She came around the crate. I gave ground, making her turn, watching how she planted the mechanical foot. She had a solid base when she settled her weight, but she still had to move it.

This time, I caught her before she did.

We hit the concrete together. The impact drove a grunt out of her, and I got a knee across her hip before she could roll. I lifted my chin enough to see her beneath the brim. The surprise on her face was enormously satisfying.

Then she laughed.

It was a short, breathless sound, almost involuntary. I liked it enough to wish we’d met under circumstances where making her do it again would have been a reasonable ambition.

Her metal hand closed around my wrist.

I drove my other forearm against her shoulder, keeping her down while I tried to break the grip. Her free hand moved at her belt. I saw the restraint just before it snapped shut around me.

That changed things.

I pushed away and got a foot beneath me. She stayed attached to my arm. I dragged her up with me, caught her across the face with my elbow, and felt the grip slacken enough to turn toward the entrance.

She still had the loose end of the cuff.

She dragged my cuffed arm behind me and drove me against the container. Before I could turn, the loose cuff closed around a securing ring at the small of my back.

I tried to pull away. The chain stopped me short, wrenching my right shoulder.

My free hand caught the steel as she pressed in behind me. I pushed back hard enough to make her shift, but she caught that wrist too and folded it behind my waist.

“Careful,” she said, close to my ear. “You’ll tear something.”

I tried anyway.

For a few seconds there was only the scrape of my boots, the pressure on my wrist, and her weight keeping me against the steel. I got enough room to turn once. She took it away without hurrying.

A second set of cuffs secured my left wrist to the same ring.

I stood there breathing through my teeth.

The ring was bolted into the frame of a loaded freight container. I tested it once. Nothing moved except my shoulder, which had developed strong objections.

Vexa stepped back.

I could hear her catching her breath behind me. The yard had gone quiet after the gunshot; even the argument somewhere beyond the entrance had stopped. No one came to investigate.

After a moment she returned to my field of view carrying my gun belt.

Being beaten was bad enough. Watching her buckle my revolver around her waist made it considerably worse.

She checked the restraints, then loosened one a fraction where it pressed into my wrist. There was a scrape along her cheekbone now, and her lip was beginning to swell. I’d made her work for it. That gave me very little comfort with both hands locked behind me.

“You done?” she asked.

I pulled against the cuff.

She waited.

“For the moment.”

“Good.”

She searched me with practical thoroughness, removing the knife at my belt before crouching to check my boots. When she found the second blade, she looked up.

“Saving this?”

“I hadn’t decided.”

She put it beyond my reach with the first.

The small scanner came next. I turned my face away, and she lowered it with a patience I was beginning to dislike more than her strength.

“We can do this until morning,” she said. “But you’re the one standing like that.”

My shoulder made a persuasive argument on her behalf. I looked at the scanner.

It chirped.

Vexa checked the result, tucked it away, and took out her comm unit.

“Who’s collecting?” I asked.

“Kestrel Transit. Private recovery team.”

I stopped moving.

She noticed. Her thumb paused above the screen.

For the first time since she’d stepped into the yard, I had nothing clever to say.

“What?” she asked.

I looked at the comm unit in her hand. Until she’d said the name, I’d been working through the usual possibilities: a holding cell, a transfer, someone careless with a door. Kestrel made all of them less likely.

“What did they tell you I did?”

“Stole a transport. Destroyed it. Killed three of their security personnel.”

“Four.”

Her eyes lifted from the screen.

“One died later.”

She studied me for a moment. “That supposed to discourage me?”

“No. But you should know how carefully they’ve prepared your paperwork.”

“Enough to identify you.”

“Rourke.”

Something in my voice made her stop. I waited until I had her full attention.

“They’re not taking me to a holding facility.”

“The contract specifies a recovery depot.”

“They can call it whatever they like.”

“Then tell me something useful.”

I drew a breath, felt the ache spread beneath my ribs, and tried to think past the sight of her thumb resting beside the transmit control.

There were things I could tell her. There were also twenty-six people whose continued freedom depended on how little Kestrel knew. I had no idea what she’d already been told, whether the comm was recording, or what answers might buy her a second payment.

“The transport was carrying people,” I said. “They wanted off. I helped them.”

“Passengers?”

“That’s a generous word.”

“Did you kill the guards?”

“Yes.”

She waited for more. I could see the decision forming in her face: a captured man revising the circumstances of a killing now that the killing had become inconvenient.

“They were shooting at the people leaving,” I said.

“And there’s someone who can confirm that?”

I looked away.

“Of course there is,” she said. “Who?”

“No.”

“I can check a name.”

“So can Kestrel.”

Her expression hardened a little. “You think I’m going to hunt down everyone you’ve ever met?”

“I don’t know you.”

“No. You don’t.”

For a moment we watched each other. I’d liked the way she waited at the water stall. I’d liked that she hadn’t raised her rifle with a child between us. Those things mattered, but I was asking them to carry more weight than they could.

She glanced at the comm again.

“Check the transport’s crew manifest,” I said. “Against its life-support load.”

That brought her eyes back to mine.

“If you want something you can verify, start there.”

She considered it. I let myself hope for perhaps two seconds.

Then she pressed transmit.

The confirmation tone sounded very small in the yard.

“Live recovery,” she said into the unit. “Identity verified. Sending location.”

I turned my face toward the container.

Behind me, someone answered. She confirmed an access lane and ended the call.

“They can hear your account at the depot,” she said.

I rested my forehead briefly against the cool steel. The relief was welcome enough that I hated having to lift my head again.

“Yes,” I said. “I expect they will.”

◆

The vehicle arrived through the service lane twelve minutes later.

I counted because there was little else to do that didn’t hurt. Vexa spent the time collecting our scattered equipment and watching me think. She picked up my torn coat and shook the dust from it. The coolant coupling fell from the pocket.

She picked it up.

“What’s this?”

“An increasingly wasted afternoon.”

She turned the part over once, then put it back.

I tried the restraint again while her attention was down. She looked up before I’d finished.

“You’ll need that shoulder.”

I stopped pulling.

The engine outside settled into a low idle. Vexa moved to the side gate and opened it with a key from her belt. White light swept across the cargo as a boxy utility carrier backed into the yard.

Two men stepped out. Both wore dark work uniforms beneath armor, with Kestrel’s narrow wing emblem on their sleeves. One stayed beside the open rear doors, his weapon held low. The other approached carrying a restraint set and a flat document reader.

I didn’t recognize either of them. I was grateful for that until I realized I’d been hoping to.

Recognition might have told me what came next.

“Rourke?”

She nodded.

The man looked me over, taking in the blood on my sleeve, the restraints, the damage around us.

“Difficult?”

“He’s here.”

He gave her a brief smile and held out the reader.

She didn’t take it.

“Funds first.”

“Released after intake verification. Same as the contract.”

“Identity’s already verified.”

“Medical condition and property inventory still pending.”

She stared at him long enough that he added, “You can ride with us. Settlement office is on site.”

That satisfied her, though she didn’t look pleased about it.

I watched them discuss where the payment would clear and how my weapons should be logged. My gun belt still hung around her waist. She removed it reluctantly and handed it over with the knives.

“Those stay with his effects,” she said.

The man lowered them into a locking case. “Everything’s recorded.”

He said it easily. She seemed to accept it.

They put transport restraints on me before taking hers off, one man controlling each arm while Vexa worked the releases. I tried to straighten too quickly when the pressure came off my shoulder, and pain caught hard enough to make the yard blur at the edges.

The man beside me tightened his grip.

“Easy.”

I looked at him. He was watching my feet, ready for a move.

Vexa noticed too. She stepped into the path I would have needed to take, and whatever chance I’d been considering ended there.

They brought my wrists forward and secured them to a short waist chain. It was a considerable improvement in comfort and none at all in usefulness.

I walked to the carrier because the alternative was being carried.

At the rear step, I paused. The interior held two narrow benches and a row of restraint anchors. Scrubbed metal smelled faintly of disinfectant beneath the warm breath of the engine.

Vexa stood beside the doors with my coat over one arm.

“Last chance to charge them more,” I said.

She looked at me, searching for the amusement that should have gone with it.

I climbed inside before she found an answer.

◆

Part IIThe Depot

The depot was close enough that I could still smell the market smoke when we turned through its outer gate.

Through the small armored window, I watched a security post pass on the left. A maintenance truck waited beneath a raised barrier, its driver leaning out to argue with someone inside the booth. Beyond it stood a long freight building with brightly lit loading bays. People moved between pallets. A lift operator waved us past.

From the road, it could have been any transport company working late.

We drove around the end of the building and descended a shallow ramp.

The daylight disappeared.

I kept count of the turns until the carrier stopped. When they opened the doors, cold air moved over the sweat drying beneath my shirt. Vexa waited outside with the man who had handled the paperwork. She’d ridden in the cab.

I stepped down carefully. My ribs had stiffened during the drive.

The intake corridor smelled of floor cleaner and old air filters. We passed a freight lift, a recessed fire cabinet, and a door marked DISPATCH before reaching a barred checkpoint. A guard behind reinforced glass checked the recovery number against his screen.

He looked at me twice.

Then he picked up a handset.

Vexa heard the lock release. So did I.

Inside, a woman at a desk took the property case and began matching its contents to a list. My revolver went into a numbered compartment. Vexa handed over my coat.

“Hat,” the woman said.

The guard took it off before I could answer and passed it across the desk. It went into the drawer with the rest.

I watched the drawer close.

“Contractor settlement is upstairs,” the woman told Vexa. “They’re expecting you.”

Vexa accepted the receipt and glanced toward me.

There was a moment when it seemed she might say something. I couldn’t tell what. Her gaze moved from my face to the man holding my arm, then back again.

I wanted to ask her one more time.

That was the part I would remember later: I still wanted to.

The inner door opened.

A man in a pale shirt stepped through, fastening one cuff at his wrist. He had no weapon I could see. The guards made room for him anyway.

He stopped when he saw me.

For the first time that evening, recognition gave me exactly what I needed to know.

I’d seen him standing above a loading ramp while frightened people stumbled past me toward an open hatch. He’d been farther away then, shouting into a comm unit, with armed men between us.

Now he came close enough to examine the bruising along my face.

“Who did this?”

“He resisted recovery,” Vexa said.

He glanced at her split lip.

“I see.”

His tone was mild. He turned to the guard.

“Bring him through.”

Vexa remained beside the desk. Behind her, the settlement door clicked open.

“Rourke,” I said.

She looked back.

“The manifest. Check it.”

Her eyes held mine for a moment.

Then the guard pulled me forward, and the door closed between us.

Beyond the door, the depot stopped pretending to be somewhere that moved freight.

The corridor narrowed. There were no destination boards or scuffed pallets, only numbered doors and a camera mounted where the walls met the ceiling. Somewhere above us, machinery dragged something heavy across the floor. I followed the sound as we walked, trying to place us beneath the loading bays.

The man in the pale shirt led the way.

“You remember me,” he said.

“I remember the ramp.”

He glanced back. “Then we can save some time.”

At the second door, he touched his badge to a reader. The guard behind me kept hold of my arm while the lock released. Another guard waited inside.

A table stood against one wall, with a terminal and a paper cup beside it. The chair in the center of the room was bolted to the floor.

I stopped in the doorway.

The guard tightened his grip. I could feel exactly where his thumb pressed against the shoulder Vexa had hurt. There was still a chance to make this difficult, perhaps catch him against the frame before the other man reached me. After that I would be in a locked corridor, unarmed, with my hands chained to my waist.

I went inside.

They secured my ankles first, then transferred my wrists to the arms of the chair. I watched each release, each hand moving between me and a weapon. The guards stayed on opposite sides until the last lock closed.

They’d done this together before.

The man in the pale shirt pulled the table nearer and sat opposite me. A small name appeared when he woke the terminal.

M. VENN — OPERATIONS.

He followed my glance.

“Venn,” he said. “In case you’d like to address me properly.”

I settled back as far as my shoulder allowed.

“What happened to the people who got away?”

“That’s what I’m going to ask you.”

He opened a file.

For a moment I saw the loading ramp again: a woman barefoot on hot metal, one hand gripping the sleeve of the man ahead of her. She had stopped at my hatch and asked what the journey would cost. Behind her, the others had waited for my answer.

I’d told her to get inside.

Venn turned the screen toward me. It showed the transport before I’d burned it, its registration neatly printed beneath the image.

“You removed twenty-six contracted personnel from this vessel.”

“Yes.”

“Where did you take them?”

“Away.”

He waited.

The room was cold enough that the damp cloth between my shoulders had begun to chill. I shifted my wrist, testing the space inside the cuff without pulling against it.

Venn noticed.

“Where?”

“I put them down outside the port. They went their own ways.”

“Which port?”

I gave him the name of the one the transport had departed from. He entered it without comment.

“How did you get them there?”

“In the transport.”

“The transport was destroyed at the extraction site.”

“Afterward.”

He looked up.

We watched each other for a moment. Then he tapped the screen and brought up a grainy overhead image. My ship stood beside the loading apron, its ramp down. The angle was poor, but there were people between the two vessels.

So they had that much.

I kept my eyes on the image long enough to judge what it didn’t show. No clear registration. No view inside the cargo hold. Nothing of the departure.

“Let’s try again,” he said.

◆

For a while, I gave him things he already knew.

The departure time. The guard at the ramp who had fired first. The damage to the transport. I made him correct details, repeat questions, pull up records. Every minute he spent proving I was lying was a minute he wasn’t asking someone else where those people had gone.

Venn let it continue longer than I expected.

Then he closed the file.

“You understand the position you’re in.”

“Yes.”

“Then why are we doing this?”

I looked at the guard beside the door. He had been standing there long enough to shift his weight twice. The other had moved behind my chair.

“I was about to ask you.”

Venn gave a small, tired nod.

The first blow came from behind and to the side. It drove my head forward, bringing a flash of white across my vision. Before I could lift it, a hand caught my hair and pulled me upright.

Venn stayed seated.

“Where did you take them?”

I tried to swallow. My mouth had filled with blood where my teeth had caught the inside of my cheek.

He waited until I could look at him.

“Your ship left the apron with twenty-six people aboard. Where did it land?”

I said nothing.

The next blow struck the ribs Vexa had already bruised.

For several seconds I couldn’t get air. I bent as far as the restraints allowed, concentrating on the small, useless movements my chest kept trying to make. The guard held my shoulder against the chair until I stopped struggling.

When breath finally came, I took it too quickly.

Venn slid the paper cup closer.

“Water?”

I looked at it with a hatred out of all proportion to a cup.

He took a drink himself.

◆

I learned that he had names.

He brought them up one at a time, watching my face while he read. Some I knew. Others I had never heard, though I might have shared food with the people they belonged to.

I hadn’t asked for papers. I’d needed room for them to sit, enough water for the journey, and somewhere safe to put them down. Names had come later, offered over cups and during the long hours when no one quite believed the locked door was behind them.

Venn stopped on a photograph of a woman with gray at her temples.

“Lidia Senn.”

I kept looking at the screen.

“She owes six years on an amended contract.”

She had asked me whether there was a charge for coming aboard.

I felt something move in my face before I could stop it.

Venn leaned forward.

“You know her.”

I said nothing.

“Did she arrange the extraction?”

“No.”

“Then who did?”

“I did.”

“Who contacted you?”

“No one.”

He glanced toward the man behind me.

“That answer won’t improve.”

The words came out rougher than I intended. My lip had swollen, and speaking pulled at the split.

Venn studied me with renewed interest.

“So this was spontaneous.”

“I found a locked freight deck with people inside it.”

“And killed four men.”

“Your men opened fire.”

“After you interfered with company property.”

I looked at Lidia’s photograph. Whoever had taken it had told her to stand straight against a blank wall. Her mouth was set in the careful, unhopeful expression I’d seen when she first reached my hatch.

Venn followed my gaze and left the photograph on the screen.

“Who received her?”

I closed my eyes.

That was a mistake. Without the room to look at, I could feel every place they had hit me.

“Look at me.”

I opened them again.

He had turned the terminal back toward himself.

“We will find them,” he said. “You’re deciding how much of this is necessary before we do.”

For the first time, I was afraid I might give him something.

Not deliberately. A correction. A glance at the wrong name. Some small reaction he could take apart after I was too tired to remember what I’d already denied.

I pressed my tongue against the uninjured side of my mouth and stopped answering.

◆

I lost track of how long that lasted.

The freight machinery overhead started and stopped. Once, a voice outside the door called for a supervisor. Venn checked a message, frowned, and continued.

Between questions, I worked at the cuff on my right wrist.

Sweat had made the metal slippery, and there was a little more room than there had been at the start. I kept my hand relaxed whenever anyone looked, then drew my thumb inward and tested it again.

Eventually the skin gave enough for me to feel the edge move.

I waited.

Venn stood to take a call near the door. The guard behind me stepped around to the table, blocking the other man’s view.

I pulled.

Pain burned through my hand, but it came free.

I caught the guard by the front of his uniform and drove him into the edge of the table. The terminal fell. He staggered, and I reached for the weapon at his hip.

My fingers closed around the grip.

Then the second guard hit me.

The chair held me in place while the rest of my body tried to follow the impact. I lost the gun before it cleared the holster. Someone seized my free arm. I fought him for it, using everything I had left, and for a moment all three of us were moving around the fixed point of my other wrist.

Then my shoulder gave a sharp, deep pain that emptied the strength from my hand.

They forced it back onto the chair.

The new restraint was tighter.

I sat with my head down while Venn picked up the terminal. The guard I’d caught was breathing through his mouth, one hand pressed beneath his ribs. I watched him because it was easier than thinking about how close I’d come to holding a gun.

Venn inspected the cracked screen.

“Leave us.”

Neither guard moved immediately.

“Outside,” he said.

The door closed.

For a few seconds he stood over the table, deciding what to do with the broken terminal. Then he set it down carefully.

“That was your opportunity,” he said.

I couldn’t lift my head enough to look at him.

He came closer.

“The next time we move you, you’ll be secured for transfer. You won’t get a second one.”

A thin thread of blood dropped from my mouth onto my shirt. I watched it spread into the fabric.

“Where?” I asked.

“Somewhere I have fewer interruptions.”

He waited, perhaps hoping the question meant I was ready to bargain.

I needed to say something. Keep him here. Keep him talking until I could think past the pain in my shoulder.

But I couldn’t find anything useful.

Venn went to the door.

When it opened, I heard the depot again: footsteps, the low hum of ventilation, someone speaking into a comm. Ordinary work continuing a few walls away.

Then the door shut, and I was alone.

I lifted my head slowly.

The cup had fallen beneath the table during the struggle. Water spread across the floor, stopping just short of my boot.

I stared at it for a while.

Then I tested the new restraint.

The new restraint didn’t move.

I tried twice more before admitting that all I was doing was making my hand swell. After that I sat still and listened to the corridor.

A trolley passed. Somewhere a door opened, and a man complained about a missing authorization. I tried to follow the conversation, but the words blurred into the ventilation hum before I could make anything useful of them.

My head had begun to ache in time with my pulse. Keeping it upright took effort; letting it hang pulled at my shoulder. I settled for leaning back and looking at the ceiling.

There was a stain around one of the vents.

I studied it until I realized I was no longer thinking about escape.

That frightened me enough to sit forward.

The movement sent pain through my ribs, sharp and immediate. I waited for it to settle, breathing carefully. My right hand had gone partly numb. I could still move the fingers.

Feet. Hands. Door.

I went through what I had, though the list hadn’t improved.

Outside, footsteps stopped.

“Where’s Venn?”

A woman’s voice.

I lifted my head.

“He’s arranging transfer,” a guard answered.

“Then get him. Settlement’s holding my payment.”

“You’ll have to take that upstairs.”

“I did. They sent me down here.”

I closed my eyes briefly.

Of course she was still here. There was money involved.

The guard said something I couldn’t catch. Vexa answered more quietly, and I found myself straining to hear her despite having no wish to listen.

Then came a hard impact against the door.

I straightened.

A second impact followed, lower this time, accompanied by a short, strangled sound. Something heavy struck the floor.

The lock clicked.

Vexa entered with a security badge in one hand and a pistol in the other. Through the narrowing gap behind her, I saw a boot lying at an angle across the corridor.

She shut the door and turned.

For a moment, she didn’t move.

Her gaze went over my face, down the front of my shirt, then to the swollen hand against the restraint. The expression she’d worn in the loading yard vanished so completely that I almost failed to recognize what remained.

I watched her take it in.

“Payment clear?” I asked.

Her eyes returned to mine.

“Orion—”

“If they’ve brought you back to help, you’re wasting your time.”

She flinched. It was small, but I saw it.

Then she crossed the room and crouched beside the chair.

“I’m getting you out.”

I pulled my wrist away as far as the cuff allowed when she reached for it.

She stopped.

We looked at each other across the space between her hand and mine. I wanted to believe her badly enough that it made me angry.

“What changed?”

“I checked.”

“The manifest?”

“That first.”

Something sounded outside. Her attention flicked toward the door before returning to the lock.

“We need to move.”

She fitted a release key into the cuff. I watched her fingers work, expecting some explanation that would turn this into another part of the questioning.

The restraint opened.

My hand remained where it was.

Vexa looked up at me. “Can you move it?”

I brought it toward my chest. Pain spread along the arm, and I had to stop halfway.

“Yes.”

She didn’t argue with the answer. She moved to the other side, released that wrist, then bent to the ankle restraints. Her metal hand was steady. The other slipped once before she got the key seated.

I noticed because I hadn’t seen her fumble anything before.

When the last cuff opened, she stood and offered her arm.

I ignored it and pushed myself out of the chair.

For a moment I was upright.

Then the floor seemed to tilt beneath me. My knee struck the edge of the seat, and Vexa caught me around the waist before I could fall. I seized her shoulder with my good hand, breathing through a sudden rush of nausea.

She held still.

I hated that she knew to.

“Give it a second,” she said.

I stared at the floor until it stopped moving.

Her jacket was warm beneath my hand. Earlier, I’d been trying to get a grip on it so I could put her through a cargo stack. Now it was keeping me on my feet.

“Don’t,” I said when she tried to shift more of my weight onto herself.

“All right.”

She loosened her hold, but didn’t step away until I had my balance.

I looked toward the door. “How long?”

“Since they brought you down? A little over two hours.”

That was longer than I’d thought.

Or shorter.

I couldn’t decide which was worse.

Vexa took a small water flask from her belt and held it out. I accepted it with my left hand. The first swallow hurt my mouth enough to make me pause. I took another anyway.

“They offered me the rest of the contract,” she said.

I lowered the flask.

“Recovering the people?”

She nodded.

I felt my fingers tighten around it.

“How much?”

“Orion.”

“How much per person?”

She told me.

For a few seconds, all I could hear was the ventilation.

“That included a return bonus,” she added. “For keeping them fit to work.”

I looked at her.

“The original terms were in the recovery files. Six months’ employment. Return passage included.” Her jaw tightened. “Then extensions. Transport debt. Accommodation. Charges for refusing shifts.”

“Leaving?”

“Breach of contract. Detention pending reassignment.”

There it was. Plain enough that she could no longer put my version beside theirs and decide she hadn’t been hired to choose.

I handed the flask back.

“They sent you all that?”

“They thought I was interested.”

“Were you?”

Her face tightened, but she kept looking at me.

“I needed to be sure.”

“And now you are.”

“Yes.”

I waited for her to explain why I should be grateful, why the blame belonged somewhere else, why coming back settled what had happened.

She put the flask away.

“I should have checked before I handed you over.”

“Yes,” I said.

She took that without looking away.

A comm crackled beyond the door.

Both of us turned.

“Lower intake, confirm transfer readiness.”

Vexa holstered the pistol long enough to draw a second weapon from behind her hip. She offered it grip-first.

I looked at the gun, then at her.

“It’s loaded,” she said.

“That wasn’t what I was wondering.”

“I know.”

I took it with my left hand.

The weight steadied me more than the water had.

◆

Part IIIThe Escape

There were two guards outside.

One lay against the wall beside the door, breathing heavily through his mouth. The other was farther down the corridor, folded beside an overturned chair. Vexa had taken their weapons and kicked them into the room with me.

She pocketed the release key and checked the stolen badge.

“Those still work?” I asked.

“They did on your door.”

“Keep both.”

She glanced toward the nearest man as we stepped out.

He looked at the pistol in my hand and went very still.

“Stay there,” I told him.

Vexa moved ahead to the corner. Her rifle was back on its sling, the stock tucked against her shoulder now. She checked the passage before signaling me forward.

I made it to her without help, though each step jarred my ribs. Keeping the injured arm close to my body seemed to make the shoulder hurt less. I settled on that and hoped I wouldn’t need to run.

“The checkpoint?” I asked.

“Guard’s locked in the staff washroom. Intake clerk’s in settlement.”

“You cleared the whole route?”

“To the service stairs. My vehicle’s outside the west loading bay.”

I looked back down the corridor.

“You’ve been busy.”

She glanced at me, perhaps hearing something in the words that I hadn’t meant to offer.

Then a heavy lock engaged beyond the corner.

A second followed farther away.

Vexa swore under her breath.

Overhead, a speaker clicked on.

“Contractor Rourke. Remain where you are.”

Venn sounded almost as tired as he had when he’d asked why we were making this difficult.

Vexa reached for the door at the end of the passage. The handle wouldn’t move.

“Your access has been revoked,” he said.

She raised the stolen badge to the reader anyway. Red light washed across her knuckles.

I leaned against the wall and listened past his voice.

Somewhere close, machinery began to move.

The freight lift.

I remembered passing it on the way in, before the barred checkpoint. Heavy enough to carry cargo between this floor and the loading bays. I could feel its motor faintly through the steel at my back.

“Does that lift come down beside intake?” I asked.

Vexa looked toward the ceiling, following the sound.

“Yes. Outside the checkpoint.”

“They’ll open it for their own men.”

She looked toward the intersection.

A lock released beyond it, followed by the scrape of the checkpoint gate.

I pushed away from the wall.

“There’s our way through.”

She stepped back from the locked door and turned her rifle toward the intersection.

Venn continued speaking.

“Put down your weapons. We can resolve this without further injury.”

I checked the pistol’s sight with my left hand. There was a tremor I couldn’t quite control. I lowered it until the moment I’d need it.

Vexa noticed. Her gaze lingered on my hand, then moved to my face.

“Stay behind me.”

“Leave me a clear side.”

She hesitated for only a moment before shifting left.

The lift motor stopped.

Beyond the corner, metal doors began to open.

The first guard came around the corner with his weapon raised.

Vexa fired before he finished turning. He struck the wall and fell back out of sight. The man behind him answered with a burst that tore chips from the corner beside her head.

She pulled into cover.

I stayed against the opposite wall, waiting for him to follow.

For a moment there was only the ringing in my ears and the sound of something small settling onto the floor. Then a rifle barrel appeared low around the corner, well below where Vexa had been standing.

I raised the pistol.

The guard saw me as he leaned out. I fired twice. The first shot struck the frame behind him. The second caught him high in the chest, and he dropped against the wall.

The recoil jarred my shoulder despite holding the weapon in the other hand. I lowered it before the tremor could pull the sight any farther off line.

Vexa glanced across at me.

I nodded toward the corner.

She moved.

I followed as quickly as I could, keeping close to the wall. The checkpoint gate stood open beyond the two fallen men. Through it, across the intake passage, the freight lift was still waiting. A third guard was retreating inside it, reaching for the controls with one hand.

“Drop it,” Vexa said.

He turned with his pistol.

Her rifle cracked again.

He fell against the control panel, and the lift doors began to close.

Vexa caught one before it met the other. The mechanism strained against her metal hand. She planted her mechanical foot, pulled, and forced enough space for me to pass through.

“Inside.”

I stepped over the fallen guard and found the upper-floor control.

The panel ignored me.

A red notice blinked across it.

REMOTE HOLD.

Vexa backed into the lift and let the doors close. The sudden quiet felt almost worse than the shooting.

“They’ve stopped it,” I said.

She looked at the panel, then at the inspection cover beneath it.

“Can you keep them off me?”

“For how long?”

She dropped to one knee.

“I’ll be quick.”

◆

The first impact struck the doors while she was pulling the cover loose.

I flinched before I could stop myself. Vexa looked up.

“Still here,” I said.

She went back to work.

A guard outside ordered us to step away from the doors. Another voice called for an override. I stood to one side of the opening with the pistol lowered, trying to save what strength remained in my arm.

The lift smelled of hydraulic oil and hot wiring. Beneath the panel, Vexa worked with a small tool from her belt, her mouth set in concentration.

I watched the doors.

“Where did you learn that?”

“Stealing things.”

A relay clicked. Nothing moved.

She swore and reached farther into the housing.

I wanted to sit down. The desire had become so simple and reasonable that I caught myself looking for somewhere to do it.

Instead, I shifted my feet.

The doors parted a fraction.

I raised the pistol as a hand appeared between them, followed by the dark edge of a weapon. Before I had a clear shot, Vexa drove her metal fist into a contact beneath the panel.

The lift lurched upward.

I hit the wall with my injured shoulder.

Pain took everything for a moment. I heard myself make a sound I couldn’t hold back, and the pistol knocked against the steel as I tried to keep it in my hand.

Vexa caught my elbow.

“Orion.”

“I’ve got it.”

The doors slid shut. Below us, someone shouted.

I pulled my arm from her grip and leaned against the wall until I could see properly again.

She watched me for another second, then pressed the loose panel back into place.

The lift kept rising.

◆

At the upper floor, she opened the doors only far enough to look through.

Warm air carried the smell of dust and freight packaging into the car. A warning bell sounded somewhere across the loading hall, but the machinery had stopped. Through the gap I saw abandoned carts beneath long rows of ceiling lights.

Vexa pushed the doors wider.

“West bay. Across the hall, then left.”

I looked where she pointed. A shutter stood halfway down at the far end. Beyond it, night had replaced the last daylight I remembered.

There were stacks of cargo between us and the opening, enough cover to make it possible if we weren’t stopped.

We left the lift.

Vexa moved ahead, checking the cross aisles. I followed with my right arm held close, trying to place my feet without catching them on the straps and packing scraps scattered across the floor.

A man in work coveralls rose behind a trolley.

“Down,” I said.

He saw the pistol and dropped immediately.

“Stay there.”

Vexa waited at the next stack until I reached her.

The shutter was still descending.

“How far outside?” I asked.

“Second vehicle. Dark gray.”

“Go.”

She looked at me.

“Get it running,” I said. “I’m coming.”

She hesitated, then turned toward the bay.

A shot struck the cargo beside her.

Vexa ducked behind a loading tractor and returned fire toward the offices overlooking the hall. Glass broke above us. I moved into the shelter of the next stack, keeping the tractor in view.

There were two men on the office walkway. One pulled back from the railing while the other fired down at her. From where she stood, the tractor’s cab blocked most of the angle.

From where I stood, I could see him.

I rested my left forearm against the cargo and waited for the sight to stop moving.

He leaned out again.

I fired.

The man disappeared behind the railing. His weapon struck the floor below a moment later.

Vexa looked back toward me.

I waved her on.

She reached the shutter as it came down to shoulder height. Beyond it, I could see the gray vehicle and the empty lane leading away from the bay.

I was close enough now to make it.

Then a door opened beside the loading tractor.

The guard came out almost behind her.

He seized the rifle sling and dragged her backward before she could turn. The weapon trapped across her chest. She struck him with her elbow, but he kept hold and drove her into the side of the tractor.

I stopped.

The open bay was to my right. There was room beneath the shutter, and beyond it a dark line of parked vehicles where I could disappear.

Vexa’s rifle went off into the roof.

I turned back.

The guard had her between himself and my gun. I moved along the tractor instead, searching for an angle. She caught his wrist with her metal hand, but he had his other arm across her throat and was pulling her away from the bay.

She saw me over his shoulder.

“Go,” she managed.

I kept moving.

My leg caught a tow bar I hadn’t seen. I stumbled against the tractor, and both of them turned at the noise.

The guard brought his pistol up.

Vexa wrenched his arm aside as he fired. The shot struck the floor near my boot. I braced against the tractor and waited until she drove him backward enough to clear the line.

Then I shot him.

He let go.

Vexa spun out of his grip and caught the rifle before it hit the ground. For a moment she stood looking at me, breathing hard.

The shutter ground lower behind us.

“Move,” I said.

She came back for me.

This time, when her arm went around my waist, I let it stay.

◆

Getting beneath the shutter cost me the last of whatever had kept me upright.

I tried to bend and nearly went to my knees. Vexa lowered with me, taking my weight while the metal edge continued its slow descent.

“Another step.”

“I know.”

“Then take it.”

I did.

We cleared the opening with the shutter brushing the back of her jacket. She hauled me upright on the other side and half carried me to the vehicle.

Cool night air struck my face. I hadn’t realized how badly I wanted it until I could breathe it.

Vexa opened the passenger door and got me onto the seat. The effort jarred my ribs enough that I couldn’t speak. She reached across me for the belt, then stopped when she saw the way I was holding my arm.

I caught the strap myself.

“Drive.”

She shut the door.

The engine started before she had fully settled behind the wheel. We pulled away hard, and I pressed my head against the seat as the depot lights swept across the windshield.

At the end of the service lane, a barrier began to lower.

Vexa accelerated.

We passed beneath it with a crack of metal against the roof. I heard it scrape backward, then break free behind us.

She took the next corner fast enough to throw me against the door.

“Rourke.”

“I see them.”

“I meant the turns.”

Her foot eased off for half a second. Then lights appeared in the mirror, and she accelerated again.

I closed my eyes through the next one.

◆

Part IVWhat Comes After

We lost the vehicle behind us somewhere among the freight yards.

I knew because Vexa stopped checking the mirror every few seconds. She still watched it at intersections, but her shoulders lowered a fraction and the engine settled into a quieter rhythm.

I kept the pistol across my lap.

The city passed in pieces: a closed repair shop, blue light beneath an awning, people standing outside somewhere that served food. A woman laughed as we drove past.

I couldn’t seem to connect any of it to the room we’d left.

Vexa glanced at me.

“Still with me?”

“Yes.”

She looked at the blood on my hand, then back at the road.

“I know someone who can treat you.”

I turned my head enough to see her.

“Who?”

“A medic. Independent. She’s worked on me.”

“Does Kestrel know her?”

“No.”

I watched her for a while, trying to judge an answer I had no way to verify.

“Tell her we’re coming,” I said.

Vexa reached for her comm.

Only after the call was finished did she speak again.

“You could have kept going.”

I knew what she meant.

The loading bay came back to me: the open lane, the falling shutter, her rifle caught across her chest.

“So could you,” I said.

She looked at me.

“Upstairs. After they paid you.”

Her eyes returned to the road.

“That doesn’t make us even.”

“No.”

The answer seemed to settle something between us, though I couldn’t have said what.

I leaned back, keeping the gun where I could reach it.

At the next turn, she slowed.

The medic let us in through a garage.

Vexa stopped beneath a dead security light and waited with the engine running until the door rose. Inside, an older woman stood beside a wheeled examination bed, her sleeves rolled to the elbows. She watched us pull in, then closed the door before approaching my side.

“Can you walk?”

“Yes.”

Vexa came around the vehicle.

“With help,” she said.

The woman looked at her, then back at me.

“Walking isn’t part of the price. You can sit.”

I considered the distance to the bed and decided I liked her.

Getting out of the vehicle took both of them. Once I was seated, the medic wheeled me through a door into a room that smelled of clean linen and heated electronics. There were cabinets along one wall, a diagnostic unit beside the bed, and no restraints that I could see.

I checked twice.

“My name’s Mara,” she said. “I’m going to examine you before we decide what needs doing.”

I nodded.

Her eyes dropped to the pistol in my hand.

“That needs to go somewhere.”

I set it on the narrow trolley beside me.

Vexa reached toward it.

“Leave it.”

She stopped.

Mara looked between us, then moved the trolley so it remained beside my good hand.

“There. Now tell me where it hurts.”

◆

She cut the shirt off.

I watched the fabric come apart with the distant irritation of someone whose evening had become too expensive to calculate. Vexa stood near the door while Mara passed a scanner over my chest and abdomen, then examined my shoulder.

The questions were simple. Following them took more effort than it should have.

Had I lost consciousness? Was my vision clear? Could I feel her touching each finger?

I answered as accurately as I could.

When she pressed beneath my ribs, I caught her wrist.

She stopped immediately.

“Right there?”

I released her.

“Yes.”

Vexa shifted by the door. Mara glanced toward her.

“Were you present when this happened?”

“Some of it.”

I looked at her.

“The shoulder and ribs started with me,” she said. “In the yard.”

Mara waited.

“I brought him to the people who did the rest.”

There was no explanation attached to it. Hearing her say it plainly hurt in a way I hadn’t expected.

Mara returned her attention to me.

“Then I’ll ask you.”

I was grateful enough for that to answer the next question without looking at Vexa again.

◆

Treatment came in pieces I remembered unevenly.

The scanner’s quiet pulse. Something cold against my split lip. Mara explaining what she was giving me before the pain began to loosen its grip. My shoulder needed more attention than either of us enjoyed, and afterward she supported the arm against my body.

Two ribs were cracked. The hand would work, though not comfortably for a while. She wanted to keep checking my head and breathing through the night.

I let her.

At some point Vexa left the room.

I noticed because my attention kept returning to the doorway after she was gone.

That annoyed me enough to stay awake.

When she came back, she carried a folded shirt and a basin. There was a dressing across the scrape on her cheek now, though the swelling at her lip remained. She set the clothes on a chair and put the basin beside Mara without speaking.

“Sit,” Mara told her.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re dripping on my floor.”

Vexa looked down. Blood had worked through a tear near the hem of her jacket.

I hadn’t seen her get hurt.

She pressed her hand against it, inspected her fingers, and sat.

Mara took one look and went to a cabinet.

“Bullet?”

“Grazed me.”

“Of course it did.”

While Mara cleaned the wound, Vexa watched the closed door. She barely reacted when the antiseptic touched her skin.

I remembered the sound she’d made when I put her on the concrete. That surprised laugh. It seemed to belong to another evening.

◆

Later, Mara moved me into a small room behind the treatment area.

The bed could be raised enough that I didn’t have to lie flat. There was a lamp, a chair, and a window covered by a metal shutter. My borrowed pistol rested beside a glass of water.

Mara checked the monitor once more.

“I’ll be next door.”

“Thank you.”

She nodded and left us.

Vexa remained standing.

Without a rifle pointed at me or someone shooting at us, she seemed less certain where to put herself. She looked at the chair but didn’t take it.

“What happened to your vehicle?” I asked.

“It’s out of sight. A friend’s moving it before dawn.”

“Here?”

“No. I moved it away from the building first.”

I studied her face.

“I didn’t give him this address,” she added.

“All right.”

The silence stretched.

Now that the pain had eased enough to let me think, there was room for everything else. Anger came first. It had been useful in the depot, something to hold onto when the questions kept coming. Here, with clean dressings on my wrists and her standing a few feet away, I had nowhere useful to put it.

“You believed them.”

She looked at me.

“Yes.”

“Even after I told you.”

“I thought you were trying to get out of a bounty.”

“I was.”

Her mouth tightened.

“I know.”

“No. You knew I wanted to get away. You decided that made the rest of it worth less.”

She stood very still.

I looked down at my bandaged hand. I could remember exactly how the cuff had felt when it finally came loose. For one second, I’d been certain I was going to get out.

“I kept thinking you might check before they arrived.”

“I didn’t.”

“You had twelve minutes.”

She lowered her eyes.

I stopped. Not because I’d run out of things to say, but because I was beginning to want to hurt her with them.

The room hummed quietly around us.

Finally she pulled the chair closer and sat, leaving enough distance that I didn’t have to look up at her.

“I’m sorry.”

I watched her face. There was no impatience in it, no request that I make the words easier to have said.

I couldn’t give her forgiveness just because she’d come back for it.

I also couldn’t look at the dressing beneath her jacket and pretend coming back had meant nothing.

“I’m glad you returned,” I said.

Her breath left her slowly.

“I’m still angry.”

“I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

For the first time since the loading yard, something in her voice sounded familiar.

I reached for the water. She started to move, then caught herself and let me pick it up.

That helped more than I wanted it to.

◆

After a while, I asked, “What did you do with the records?”

“Copied them.”

“All of them?”

“Everything they gave me access to.”

“Keep the names out of whatever you do next.”

She nodded.

“I mean it. Those people don’t need to become evidence someone can put an address to.”

“I heard you.”

There was an edge to it. I found I preferred that to watching her agree with everything because I was hurt.

“Good.”

Vexa leaned back in the chair.

“They’ll know I took the files.”

“They know you shot your way out of their building.”

“Yes. That may have affected the relationship.”

I almost laughed. My ribs warned me before I finished.

She noticed and looked away, but not before I caught the small change in her expression.

I let the quiet sit between us for a moment.

“My ship’s still at the landing field.”

“Do they know which one?”

“They’ve got an image. No clear registration in what Venn showed me.”

“That buys some time.”

“Not much.”

“No.”

I stared at the shuttered window. Somewhere beyond it, the night was continuing without me. My ship sat where I’d left it, with a damaged coolant line and no reason to know I might not be coming back.

“The repair part’s in my coat,” I said.

Vexa looked at the folded shirt on the chair beside her.

“Still at the depot.”

“With my revolver.”

“And your hat.”

I closed my eyes.

A few seconds passed.

“I can get another coupling,” she said.

I opened them again.

She had her comm in her hand.

“Tell me the specification.”

“You know what you’re looking at?”

Her eyebrows lifted.

That was fair.

I gave her the part number as closely as I could remember it. She asked two sensible questions, checked a supplier listing, and showed me the image before ordering.

It was the right one.

“I’ll bring it here,” she said. “After Mara’s happy with you, we can decide how to get you aboard.”

“We?”

She held my gaze.

“You’ll have trouble fitting it one-handed.”

I would. I disliked that almost as much as I disliked needing a driver, a medic, and somewhere to hide.

But she’d stolen a lift out from under a security lockdown. I could probably allow her near a coolant line.

“We’ll discuss it,” I said.

“Fine.”

She put the comm away.

◆

Mara came back to check on me, made a few adjustments, and told Vexa where she could find coffee.

When the door closed again, I was having trouble keeping my eyes open.

Vexa noticed.

“I’ll be outside.”

I glanced at the pistol, then at the door.

She followed the look without commenting.

“The door stays unlocked,” she said. “Mara comes and goes. No one else.”

I nodded.

She rose, moving carefully enough now that I could see the wound at her side bothering her.

“Rourke.”

She stopped.

“If you hear anything about a transfer vehicle leaving that depot—”

“I’ll find out.”

“Don’t go back there alone.”

For a moment she looked almost offended.

Then she studied me more closely.

“Worried about me?”

“I don’t want to have to come get you.”

Her mouth curved faintly.

“In your condition, that would be embarrassing for both of us.”

“Then spare us.”

She opened the door.

I watched her leave, listening as she spoke briefly to Mara in the next room. A chair scraped across the floor outside my door.

She sat down.

I kept the pistol within reach.

After a while, I slept.

By late afternoon, I could get out of bed without assistance, provided no one expected it to happen quickly.

Mara watched me do it once, asked whether the room was moving, and made me sit down again when I took too long to answer.

We left after dark.

She sent instructions, medication, and enough supplies to make my ship resemble a small branch of her practice. Vexa carried the bag. I carried myself, which seemed a fair division of labor.

At the garage door, Mara caught my good arm.

“Somewhere quiet,” she said. “And someone who’ll notice if you get worse.”

“I know someone.”

“Tell them you’re coming before you leave.”

I nodded.

Vexa waited beside a battered maintenance van. She had changed vehicles, bought the coupling, and spent part of the day watching the landing field. Kestrel had people asking questions at the main terminal, but no one had approached my ship.

“They’re showing the overhead image,” she said as I climbed in. “Yours is under a service canopy. That helps.”

“For now.”

“For now,” she agreed.

She drove through the freight district with the lights low. I watched the mirrors with her.

◆

Part VA Next Time

Seeing my ship hurt more than I expected.

It stood beneath the canopy exactly where I’d left it, dark hull streaked with dust, a service cable hanging from the port connection. The access panel I’d opened yesterday was still secured with the wrong fastener because I’d intended to replace it after dinner.

I had to stop at the foot of the ramp.

Vexa waited behind me.

“You all right?”

“Yes.”

She let the answer stand.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of coffee and warm wiring. A cup sat beside the sink. I put my hand against the bulkhead and stayed there long enough that she walked past without looking at me.

“Show me the line,” she said.

◆

I sat on a folded cargo pad while she fitted the coupling.

That hadn’t been my original arrangement. It became the arrangement after I tried to crouch beside the open panel and discovered what my ribs thought of the idea.

Vexa worked with her sleeves pushed back, passing tools between flesh and metal with an ease I found myself watching. Once she understood the layout, she needed very little direction.

“The lower fitting,” I said.

“I see it.”

“It has a tendency to—”

“I see that too.”

I shut my mouth.

She glanced over her shoulder.

“You can keep talking. Just pick something else.”

There was enough of the woman from the market in that look to catch me off guard. I remembered wanting to smile back at her across the street.

I still did, apparently. It was inconvenient information.

“Did you ever open the water?”

“What?”

“The bottle. At the stall.”

“No.”

“You bought it just to stand there?”

“I was thirsty. Then you moved.”

“Sorry to disrupt your afternoon.”

She looked at me for a moment, uncertain how much of that she was allowed to enjoy.

Then she returned to the fitting.

“It got worse.”

I let out a small breath that nearly became a laugh.

She tightened the coupling and handed me the diagnostic lead. I connected it to the terminal beside my knee.

The pressure climbed, steadied, and held.

For the first time since I’d gone looking for the part, something had gone the way I’d intended.

◆

In the cockpit, I sent Atlas a short message.

I gave him a rendezvous, my estimated arrival, and enough of the truth that he would come prepared. His reply arrived before I finished the departure checks.

How bad?

I looked at my supported arm.

I can fly. I shouldn’t do much else.

The next message took longer.

I’ll be there.

I sat back.

Vexa stood in the doorway, holding the empty packaging from the coupling.

“Someone meeting you?”

“Yes.”

She nodded without asking who.

I appreciated that.

The ship’s automated departure check worked through its final sequence. I chose a gentle ascent and a route that would get me away from the port before I had to do much besides watch the instruments.

Vexa leaned against the doorframe.

“You’ve got everything?”

“No. Kestrel has a fair amount of it.”

Her eyes moved to the bare hook where my coat belonged.

“I know.”

“The revolver matters.”

“I know that too.”

I turned toward her.

“That wasn’t a request to go back tonight.”

She looked almost amused.

“You’re very specific about what I’m allowed to do.”

“You’ve given me reason.”

The amusement faded, but she nodded.

Fair enough.

She put the packaging aside and took a small contact chip from her pocket.

“My number. Direct.”

I accepted it.

“If anyone starts asking about this ship, I’ll tell you.”

“And if they offer you another contract?”

She met my eyes.

“You won’t be the one surprised.”

I believed she meant it.

That was as far as I could take it yet.

◆

She walked with me to the ramp.

Outside, the port lights shone through the canopy, catching the dust drifting beneath it. Somewhere nearby, an engine started. I stayed just inside the hatch, where the shadows covered most of my face.

Vexa stopped at the top of the incline.

The borrowed pistol was tucked at my left hip. I drew it carefully and held it out.

She looked at it.

“Keep it until you’ve got your own back.”

“I’ll owe you a gun.”

“It’s a loan.”

“That’s what I said.”

Her mouth curved.

I lowered it.

For a moment neither of us moved. There were things I could have said about the depot, about coming back, about the chair outside my door. We’d already said enough that repeating them would have made them smaller.

“Thank you for getting me out,” I said.

She glanced down the ramp, then back at me.

“You helped.”

“I noticed.”

That earned a brief smile.

She started down.

“Vexa.”

She stopped, turning with one hand on the rail.

It was the first time I’d used her name without the distance of her surname. She seemed to notice.

“Next time,” I said, “you could just introduce yourself.”

Vexa turned on the ramp.

“Next time?”

I regretted giving her those two words together.

She came back up a step, her hand resting on the rail. The hesitation had gone from her face. I recognized the look replacing it from the loading yard, just before she’d decided I was worth the effort.

“You’re assuming you’ll catch me again,” I said.

“You’re assuming I’ve stopped thinking about it.”

I looked at her.

“Already?”

“I’ve been behaving for hours.”

Despite myself, I smiled. She watched it happen with obvious satisfaction.

“Next time I catch you, I’m keeping you,” she said. “No buyers. No handover.”

“And then?”

Her eyes moved over me, slow enough to be deliberate.

“Then I find out what else you do when I’ve got you underneath me.”

That left me quiet for a moment.

“There’s something wrong with you.”

“You were enjoying it before the cuffs.”

Unfortunately, I remembered exactly how much.

She stepped back down before I could find an answer I trusted.

“Heal up, cowboy.”

“Why?”

The smile she gave me was all hers.

“I like it when you make me work for it.”