Ghost Pirate Gambit, page 14
He squints up at her, shielding his eyes from the slanting rays of the sun as he points one leathery hand at a spot a few dozen meters away. “You can take that berth there. Do you want a hotel recommendation? Or are you and your crew sleeping on the ship?”
“We’re not staying in White Rock.” Lasadi cracks her neck, giving her shoulders a quick stretch, though it’ll take a hot bath and a strong hand at massage to unknot her back after these last hours of constant tension and trick flying to navigate the Liluri Mountains without breaking any elevation rules.
The dockmaster shakes his head. “Sun’s setting,” he says. “There are no good touchdowns near here. You’ll run out of light before you find a clearing in the jungle big enough to camp in.”
“We’ve got a spot in mind,” Lasadi says. She digs her fingertips into the back of her neck, working the screaming muscles along the ridge of her spine, then rolls her neck to loosen it. Just a little bit more today, and she can take a break.
“Well, I can’t stop you, but I don’t recommend it,” says the dockmaster. He hands over his tablet for her signature. “Safe flying out there.”
Lasadi’s lower back protests as she slips back into the pilot’s seat. Qacha’s already in her co-pilot’s seat, hunched over the map in her lap. Lasadi waves to the dockmaster through the window and buckles her harness.
“How far is it?” she asks Qacha.
“About forty-five minutes.” Qacha cranes her neck to study the sky out the window. “We’ll be cutting it close. And if these coordinates are wrong, who knows where it’ll be safe to land.”
Across the dockyard, Peter Fangio and his crew have a cookstove out and are cracking open beers with the crew of the ship next door. It’s such a comfortable scene, but it’s teeming with as much danger for Lasadi as a deeper run into the jungle. Fangio’s been coy about not letting her real identity slip, but get those beers flowing and he might. Good thing they’re not staying here.
Lasadi opens up the channel to the rest of the crew. “Jay?”
“All set back here,” he says.
Lasadi takes a deep breath. “All right. Let’s — ”
The Figment’s radio crackles open. She’s expecting the dockmaster, but it’s Fangio’s voice. She can see him through the cockpit’s window, standing apart from his crew, talking into his comm but looking straight at her through the window.
“Join us for dinner, Figment,” he says.
“Sorry, Wager,” Lasadi replies. “We’ve got other plans.”
Even at this distance, Lasadi can make out the surprise on Fangio’s face. “Are you crazy?” he asks. “There’s nowhere to park within hours of White Rock.”
“We’ll see,” Lasadi says. She raises a hand to wave through the window. “And we’ll see who gets to Moie first tomorrow.”
Fangio raises his own hand in salute. “Don’t crash that plane, Mercury,” he says, and a trail of ice slips down her spine. “Or get yourself killed. I had a lot of fun today.”
“See you in the air,” Lasadi says. She doesn’t let herself turn, doesn’t let herself check if Anton noticed Fangio’s comment. But she doesn’t have to — she can feel the silent fury rolling off him in waves. She clears her throat, dries the palms of her hands on her thighs. “Let’s do this, Qacha.”
“Copy. Next stop, Theodor Usoro’s mysterious coordinates.”
The Figment soars into the air; Lasadi blinks against the dimming light as the valley around White Rock smears into daubs of colors, the chalky cliffs fading to ashen gray and casting dark shadows over the jungle below.
CHAPTER 18
LASADI
“We’re about five hundred meters out,” Qacha says, when they reach a jungle mountain valley that’s near identical to every other one they’ve passed today — even more so with Durga touching the horizon. Qacha points. “There’s the canyon. Do you see it?”
Lasadi has to squint to make out what Qacha’s pointing at. The valley runs east to west, the mountains sweeping together to create a tall peak in the west that blots out what’s left of the sun, casting the entire valley in shadow. Maybe when the sun was overhead, the dark cleft in the canyon floor would be easy to spot, but right now it’s next to impossible to make out against the dark green of the jungle foliage.
“Where are we supposed to land?” Lasadi asks. “Are you sure this is it?”
“What do you mean?” Anton asks sharp; Lasadi ignores him, and to her credit, Qacha does, too.
“The landing site is protected in the cleft,” Qacha says. She peers nervous down at the dark gash in the forested mountainside below them. “Maybe. The coordinates are directly over the canyon, at least.”
And we trust the coordinates. She smooths one hand, then the other, down her thigh to dry her palms.
“Lead me in.”
Lasadi slows the Figment of the North to hover over the point Qacha directs her to, then engages the landing gear. The landing lights and camera come on automatic — all glitches from the fire gone, thanks to Qacha’s electrical work — and she leans forward to study the screen. Nudges the Figment slow along the edge of the dark cleft until something catches her eye.
A glint of metal, shaped like a wing. And there, tangled in vines a few meters below, is the rest of the plane.
Qacha breaths in quick and whispers what sounds like a prayer.
“I think we found Theodor Usoro’s final resting place,” Lasadi says.
And she’s found the spot where he was trying to land: a ledge, jutting out about fifteen meters down from the top of the cliff, about twice as wide as the Figment and three times as long. Shrouded in shadow.
Qacha gives Lasadi a nervous glance, then clears her throat and straightens, going into professional mode. “Landing gear check’s good,” she says. “The ledge appears to be clear of debris.”
“Keep an eye on the side cameras,” says Lasadi. “I want as much clearance as we can get without going over the edge.”
“Copy that.”
And Lasadi slowly eases the Figment of the North into the cleft. Heart rate calm, breathing steady, all senses alive and bright as she steadies the plane to the slow, confident beat of Qacha’s quiet voice ticking off their altitude.
Even Anton is silent as darkness swallows them.
And ever so gently, the Figment’s land gear touches solid stone. Lasadi’s knuckles are white on the controls as she waits for Qacha’s confirmation that their position is secure, then she lets out her breath and sinks back against the seat. Cuts the engine.
“We’re at camp,” Lasadi calls.
“Where is camp?” Ruby calls back.
“Let’s go find out.” Lasadi unbuckles her harness and slips out of her seat. Raj is smiling at her, Anton glaring; she ignores them both to find Jay at the controls to the ramp.
“Plenty of room,” he says as it lowers. He plays a torch over the ledge, revealing uneven stone, mostly dry but for a few glassy puddles left from the afternoon’s rainstorm. “Nice job, Las.”
“Watch your step,” she says, though nobody has made a move to leave the ship. “It’s not a wide ledge and it looks like a long way down.”
“Ladies first,” says Jay.
But Alex pushes past them both. “Are we checking it out or what?” Alex grins at her and strolls down the ramp until his feet hit stone. He turns in a slow circle. “Wow, Cap. Nice landing job.”
“Well, nothing ate Alex,” Ruby says after a minute. “We might be safe.”
Lasadi lets out a laugh she hadn’t realized she was holding back, at the absurd reality that all the rest of them were indeed subconsciously waiting to see if something happened to the seventeen-year-old kid who’d volunteered as bait. She follows Alex down the ramp to survey their camp for herself.
It’s not just a nice landing job — it’s a perfect landing job, actually, equidistant from the canyon wall and the edge of the ledge. The ledge is bare stone, about the size of the plaza where she and Raj had dinner the night before. Lasadi could put two more planes the size of the Garuda down here if she had them. And didn’t think the stress of trying to land in an even tighter area would kill her.
Here, the canyon is about thirty meters across, the stone pitted and craggy in the dim light.
“Granite,” Raj says. He glances at Qacha for confirmation, and she nods. “There were river canyons like these in Granisa, where my family . . .” He trails off with a wince.
Ruby shoots him a look. “Were you going to say something obnoxious, like ‘where my family had a summer home’?” she asks, dry.
“Yeah.” Raj clears his throat. “Anyway, it’s sturdy stuff, is what I was trying to say. We can feel good about camping here.”
“Glad to hear it,” Lasadi says. “Because we’re not flying anywhere else this time of day.” She looks to Jay, who’s standing closer to the ledge than any of the rest of them have dared. “How far down does it go?”
Jay tosses a rock over; it echoes as it tumbles down. It’s a long breath before it hits the bottom with a splash.
“A ways,” Jay answers.
The sky above is washed a deep blue, the last rays of the sun catching pink and gold in the clouds above. Something flashes overhead with a leathery slap of wings and a staccato of supersonic chirps. Beside Lasadi, Ruby looks up.
“Bats?” she asks.
Qacha nods. “They live in the cliffs. Now is their favorite time to hunt.”
“This is just wild,” Ruby says, grinning. “I can’t believe you grew up with all this stuff.”
“I suppose everything seems normal if you grow up with it,” Qacha says.
“We’re losing light fast,” Lasadi points out. “Chat while we’re setting up camp. Only bring out what you need from the ship — we don’t want to waste a bunch of time repacking in the morning.”
Ruby flips her a casual salute and turns to walk back up the ramp. Lasadi is about to follow her when a touch above her elbow stops her. She knows that calm, possessive hand, not quite circling her arm, definitely not letting her go.
She turns to meet Anton’s gaze; the fading light has cast his eyes into shadow. “What is it?”
“Walk with me,” he says.
There’s nowhere to walk but the far edge of the ledge, not quite out of earshot from the others, though the sound of the river below offers them a touch of privacy. The rest of Lasadi’s crew aren’t trying to listen in, though, they’re laughing with each other as they unload, their voices ringing off the walls.
Here, the ledge narrows to a point that isn’t quite comfortable. The stone feels sturdy beneath Lasadi’s boots, but she’s not far from the edge, and the drop — she’s not going to think about the drop. She stops to face Anton.
“You were right about us being able to decipher Theo’s journal once we had his maps,” Lasadi says, attempting to take control of the conversation with naked flattery. “And the coordinates led us straight here. I’m eager to see what we find tomorrow.”
“How long has Fangio known?” An angry muscle works in Anton’s jaw.
“We don’t have to worry about him. He — ”
“How. Long.” The words snap like ice.
Lasadi takes a deep breath. “I don’t know how long. But he told me yesterday and I dealt with it.”
“And you didn’t come to me.”
“I dealt with it, Anton.”
“You didn’t deal with it,” Anton says, voice low and dangerous. “You ignored it, which will create an even bigger problem.”
“I told him I was working to help train NMLF pilots — isn’t that the story you wanted out? That Qacha and I are racing the Star Run as a publicity stunt for the NMLF?”
“That’s classified,” Anton says, as though he and Vasavada hadn’t told her exactly that. Panic spikes her heart rate — maybe they’d changed their minds and she hadn’t known — but she shoves the thought aside. She’s not second-guessing herself with him anymore. She knows what Anton told her, she gave Fangio that story, and she’s not going to let Anton knock cracks in her memory.
She doesn’t grovel, doesn’t rise to his bait.
“It worked,” she says instead. “He’s from the Belt, he has no love for the Alliance.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know plenty of Belt drifters like Fangio,” she says. “I’ve lived with them for the past three years.”
“Making you the expert?” he asks, sarcastic.
“More than you.”
She’s slashed too close to the line, she can tell by the way his gaze stills on hers, emotionless.
In the way he says, voice completely even, “Is this a game, Lasadi?”
She’s always pushed his buttons, he’s told her, forcing an issue to see how far she can go before he snaps. Though of course when the roles are reversed — and they often are — he’s not pushing buttons, he’s testing. When she breaks under that test it’s because she’s weak and emotional. When he snaps under her needling, it’s because he’s an exasperated leader who’s at his limit with a foolish little girl.
She knows this precipitous place all too well, and it never ends without scars.
If Jay were here, he’d know how to disarm Anton. Offer an easy joke and an explanation Anton would actually accept. Olds, he’d probably claim he was the one who spoke with Fangio — he’d taken credit for Lasadi’s decisions more than once during their Mercury days, when it seemed like Anton was going to tear a perfectly good decision apart simply because he was in a mood with Lasadi.
But Jay’s not here, and Lasadi’s not Mercury’s captain — or sharing Anton’s bed.
She no longer gives a shit about massaging Anton’s ego.
“No,” she says. Calm, cool. No weak emotion in sight. “It’s not a game. I didn’t come to you about Fangio because you asked me to do this job, and I’m doing it as I see fit. We got your coordinates, we’re at the location, and Fangio’s not a problem. So far we haven’t failed to deliver, and if you have a problem with how I run my crew, we can talk about it tomorrow when we’ve got the goods in hand.”
Anton tilts his head, studying her, and for a brief, terrifying moment she can sense how close the edge is, how far down the river. The jungle eats pilots alive.
Then he smiles. Genuinely smiles.
“I’m proud of you, Captain,” he says. “I don’t say that enough.”
Lasadi studies him, uncertain.
“I won’t lie. I had my doubts during the early days of Mercury Squadron, but you’ve grown into your own. You’ve proved your loyalty, too. After the Battle of Tannis you could have destroyed all the peace we had worked for, but you made the sacrifice to stay silent — and your country thanks you. But the true pleasure for me is to see how you rebuilt your life. To meet the people whose loyalty you earned. And to see how you’ve grown in your confidence.”
Anton’s smile turns wry. “You never would have stood up to me like that before,” he says. “It makes me proud that you will now.”
And like that, the storm of his anger has cleared to reveal the sun of his affection — only maybe that sun has always been there, and she’s the one who hadn’t been strong enough before to weather the storm. Anton’s right, she’s a completely different person from the girl he first gave command of Mercury. She’d been a capable pilot, of course, but she wasn’t the most senior, and she’d had to fight like hell to earn the respect of Henri, Tania, Ana Mara — all the others who grumbled she was only there because she was sleeping with Anton.
She’d earned that in the end, and maybe making her fight for respect had been part of Anton’s plan all along. He always had keenly understood the strengths of his people, and gave them tests to shore up their weaknesses. Years ago she’d passed the test of gaining Mercury Squadron’s trust. And now?
“Thank you,” she says. It’s not relief washing through her, but something stronger. Peace. “For trusting me.”
“I do, Lasadi. You’ve proven that I can.” But Anton’s smile fades. “And I respect you. Which is why I come to you with this advice.”
“What is it?”
“The Arquellian.”
“Raj,” Lasadi says. “The Arquellian has a name.”
“He was out well past midnight last night.”
“So were Qacha and Alex,” Lasadi points out.
“It would be one thing if this were a lover’s tryst,” Anton says, and despite their newfound understanding, an icy sliver sticks in her spine. Does he know Lasadi was out with Raj last night? “However, this morning I intercepted a signal going to an Alliance ship in orbit. The flagship. You know who his father is?”
“I do.”
“Blood is thicker than loyalty to a cause, Lasadi. In the CLA, in the Senate — in your crew. Blood is thick.”
“I trust him.”
“I know. You’re very trusting, it’s one of the things I always loved about you.” He gives her a kind smile. “We’re at a dangerous time in history with the Limitations Act. Our enemies would do anything to keep it from passing.”
“I wouldn’t put that in jeopardy.”
“Be careful.” Anton tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve taught you everything I can. I want to see the cause succeed, but I also want to see you happy. Even if it’s not with me.”
She acts before she can second-guess herself, stepping into him. His arms envelop her, and just like always, they carry strength, safety, home. He’s changed his cologne, but beneath it he still smells like the Anton she fell in love with: sandalwood and cinnamon and heat.
Her skin devours the pressure of his touch, the way one broad hand covers her shoulder, the other searing pleasant warmth into her back, and for one wild moment she knows that if he of all people took her to bed and saw her scars, he wouldn’t look away, he wouldn’t pity her. He would know her as he always had. He would see her for the woman she is despite the burns.
She has to stop herself from burrowing her face into his neck and letting his hands linger over her touch-starved skin — she doesn’t want Anton, not anymore. She wants to be known. And despite his flaws, despite their fraught history, he knows her better than anyone.
