“How does an anticapitalist justify being part of a smuggler crew?”
His laugh was freeing, and he gestured past the doors of her berth. “Have you met them? Ninety percent of what they smuggle is about increasing access to items that not everyone might be able to have. The shipment we carried to Heph Prime? They can’t get it without smuggling because the local government had a fight with the company that produces it. Yes, the crew makes money off their ventures, but that’s because the ship maintenance industry is another corporatized hell, and we couldn’t fly without it. Captain Barnes works hard to stick to that code.”
The bed shifted as she nodded. “I hadn’t thought about it like that.”
“My family and I fell out because I pointed out that not considering the human cost in how they earned their money was not simply disgusting but actively evil.” Of course, the moral high ground also meant he couldn’t stop from thinking of himself as a hypocrite because he was perfectly willing to sell otherwise dangerous drugs if it meant he could supply his medical suite. He could lie to himself and say they’d only go into the hands of providers who would use them carefully and monitor the people taking them, but he knew the medication was just as likely to end up lining the pocket of someone who preyed on addicts who had no choice in the matter.
But without the supplies he needed, Barr wasn’t safe. Or Zion, or Tyler, or any of the other members of the crew he’d patched up since he’d come aboard. Even Meja would have had a much harder time if he didn’t keep his clinical stocks up.
And that, he realized, would be unacceptable.
11
As fabricators went, the one in the Sentinel’s mess produced some surprisingly tasty meals. Meja took another spoonful of the rice and beans that it had printed out and marveled at the way it had even managed to make the two textures different enough to be recognized. That wasn’t a guarantee, even on a high-end unit. The one in Golden Ratio’s cafeteria had been proof of that. There was a reason why people planetside preferred fresh food. This, though, might make her change her mind about avoiding printed meals.
At least for as long as she was on board.
She felt Layth enter the room before she saw him; her entire body seemed tuned to the signs of his presence, from the soft footfalls to the rustle of his clothes. He moved past her to print a drink on the fabricator and then walked back to her table. Well, the table—the Sentinel wasn’t big enough to warrant multiple tables in the mess, just one large enough for the crew to sit together.
“Mind if I sit?” His smile was a little introspective, even with the innocuous question, like he expected her to say no.
As if she could. “By all means.” He folded into the seat opposite her with the same grace he did most everything, and she found herself staring at his long fingers, the way they curled around his cup—coffee by the smell of it—but the pinky lifted almost imperceptibly. As though despite the crude, printed cup, his hands wanted to treat it like porcelain. She wondered if he even knew he did it.
“So, what’s the plan? Now that Hephaestus Prime fell through, that is.”
She nodded. After a few days recovering, her first stop had been to talk to Captain Barnes about that very thing this morning. “I was thinking I’d try to spread the word around the TriSystem Circuit crowds.”
He took a sip of his coffee, brow furrowed deeply as he considered her suggestion. “Dangerous, though Golden Ratio doesn’t have any direct ties to the races that I’m aware of. And there’s certainly plenty of money flowing in those circles. That just might work.”
Plenty of money was an understatement. The twenty-race circuit made teams travel the length of the three systems to compete, each bringing their own high-end raceships and a crew of mechanics, engineers, and the like with them. The cost per race was exorbitant, but so were the potential profits, and the races drew celebrities from across the upper sector of TriSystem society. For people with money to burn, a status symbol like a cat would go quick, or so she hoped.
It took her a second longer to realize he hadn’t disagreed with her. Had in fact called it a good idea. She’d been so prepared for confrontation she’d already been readying her counterargument for him, and now she felt a little frustrated that she didn’t need it. “I, um, thanks. It’s not going to be easy, though. And there’s still the matter of actually getting in with a contraband feline in the first place.”
“We’ve got time. I’m sure you can solve it.” He smiled again, more honestly this time, and it tugged something loose in her chest. Or maybe it was the faith he put in her abilities.
Whichever was responsible, it left her feeling suffused with warmth and a desire not to disappoint him. “I’ve got a few ideas, but it’s not much. I’d love to work through them with you…”
Yes, he’d been in her room every day since the injury, but she didn’t want to make him feel like he was obligated to help her. Like she’d told the captain, this was her mess to fix, and she’d do her damnedest to get Barnes and her crew their money after they’d stuck their neck out for her.
“I’d be happy to help,” Layth said. “Besides, Collins would be beside himself if I stopped showing up all of a sudden.”
She smiled at that. The cat was undeniably imprinted on him and demanded to be in his arms as soon as they were in the same room. It was adorable, even if she felt a bit frustrated that the other cats hadn’t chosen to form as tight a bond with her.
“Just be careful,” she said in a teasing voice. “I’d hate for the rest of the crew to get jealous about how much time you spend with me.”
“If they want to spend time with you, they can take a number.” His grin turned her insides into a molten stew, and her imagination wasn’t helping things any. Her memory flashed back to the moments before things on Heph Prime had gone pear-shaped, tracing the fullness of his lip in the close and dark.
She wondered, not for the first time, but certainly the most explicit time, what he’d kiss like. Would he be focused or distracted? Slow and teasing, or rough and demanding? Her cheeks heated as she tried to decide which she might prefer, and she filed the thoughts away with the hope that he didn’t notice her blush.
Meja forced her mind onto responsibilities instead of entertainments. She stood. “I need to get the printer started on food for the kittens. I don’t want other people to have to wait, so now’s a good time.”
It also gave her the excuse to put some distance between herself and Layth, which would help keep her head clear. She was leaving as soon as the cats were sold. There was no sense in forming attachments when he wasn’t likely to choose her over his shipmates.
Even if he was, she wouldn’t ever ask that of him. He was where he needed to be—she could see that in the way he talked about the crew and in the way they talked about him. He might see himself as on the fringe, but they acted like a family and accepted that about him.
He’d already lost one family. She’d never be the one to take another from him.
She turned after programming the fabricator, and Layth was standing behind her. Not threateningly close, just out of arm’s length, but there. Her pulse was loud in her ears, and she worried that he could hear it just as clearly.